“I'm sorry,” Amarissa murmured after a moment. “Do I look like I was about in 1965?” It was an easy to joke to fall back on; the difference in age. The perceived difference versus what was reality. And the reality was a strange one. He had been born long, long before, but she had lived longer than he had. Most of them she fell back on the belief that he was older than her, but it wasn't strictly true. But that was easier just to ignore. Especially now. It was easier that way.
She moved up easily ahead of him, taking the stairs a bit cautiously, but Merlin, every motion seemed so less restricted now that that thing was no longer inside of her. She was still a bit sore, still in a little bit of pain, yes, but all of this was nothing compared to the state she had been in yesterday. She headed into the bedroom, leaving the door open for James. There wasn't anything inside that he hadn't seen before, and in truth, she wasn't quite ready to relinquish his company quite yet. The distraction he offered was much needed. She had forgotten the value of having someone else around.
“Ribbons and lace?” Amarissa repeated as she opened up the top of her drawers to pull out a long sleeved burner and a pair of black boy shorts. The burner had the logo of Quidditch team stamped on the front. It was almost entirely worn away from frequent wear. It had been one of the last gifts that Gabriel had ever given her. Just before he had moved to England, it had been a souvenir of the English team that he had been looking to be signed with. She looked up at James from where he was standing near the doorway.
“Well, I'm afraid that I'll have to leave that a bit of a mystery, won't I?” she responded, eyebrows raising just briefly as she teased him. She moved into the adjoining bathroom an instant later, shutting the door, but all too aware that the last time he had been here they had wound up in the tub together. Still, she changed quickly, pausing only to examine the bandages that were wrapped around her middle. They could probably hold until morning. She would change them then, she decided. That would be best. A moment later, she reappeared in the bedroom.
The quintessential girl-in-her-nightclothes look, it was not. But it suited her. And really, it was beyond James to begrudge her the choice of apparel. There would always be something appealing in girls wearing a guy's shirt to bed, which was what it looked like to James. Well, could've done without the shorts, but he managed to keep that comment safely inside his head. Actually, before James could say much of anything she had vanished behind the door, leaving James to wonder a bit at that. Absent the convenient distraction of someone else in the room, James couldn't help but wonder after her condition. She was still moving like someone injured, even if she'd had the blade filtered out of her. It was possible that there was still some internal damage healing up or something. Before he could follow the line of thought she was back again, drawing James momentary gaze to her freshly exposed legs. "You know," he mentioned, "A mystery's a bit more fun when you've got a couple of clues." It was about all he could say to stop himself from asking after her injuries. The though was hard to avoid when he was pretty certain he could see the fabric of her shirt snag here or there on what looked like bandages still around her side.