As Lane puzzled over the dilemma that was them as well as her own family history, James couldn't keep the smug look off his features as he watched her over his bowl of noodles that still tasted like cardboard mixed with ash in his mouth. Regardless of any sure fire expression on his face, though, the toll of the night's antics showed through the cracked mask of his facade. He was slumped over on the table and his nose was starting to brim again with a slow roll of bright crimson. His own darker green eyes lowered down to his bowl once his vision even blurred again and the fork shook in his hand.<br/><br/><i>I'm an old man.</i><br/><br/>He was even starting to look the part as well as feel it. As stubborn as the man was to cling on to the turmoil of his existence, there was still a voice, that same voice that whispered in his head to remind him of his age, that told him to just let it go. The narcissist always beat the old geezer down to keep that particular voice at bay as he reminded himself just how much of the world he would miss if he let such tenuous life slip right through his fingertips.<br/><br/>And so in his own glossed over stare, there was still fascination toward the blonde that sat so close to him but still far away. Dropping his fork, he reached over as her face fell as realization slid over her own being that she might just be a plain ol' witch after all. Calloused palm covered the back of her hand and squeezed.<br/><br/>“Lane,” he said softly. “Yesterday--” He shook his grin, his grin quirking at the dimple embedded in his cheek. “Earlier tonight,<i>your </i>eyes were brown. Now they're green. And the wings were real, luv.”<br/><br/>The crackling power had simmered down between them to leave them to come down from the high of it, her to mellow and him to fight against his own make shift biology as he struggled not to fall apart in front of her, but the evidence was still there. Letting his thumb trail her soft skin, he let his sights traverse the soft glow of her face.<br/><br/>“I wouldn't start questioning your parentage yet. I was born with a<i>wee, minute </i>bit of fae blood in my veins from some great great grand parent from someone's side. Sometimes, the most dormant of bloodlines can be awakened in a big way. I think it came from Adella myself, so your mother's side. That's not to say that your mother – and certainly not your father – knew of any innate abilities or mythological being lurking in their bloodstream, but that doesn't mean it's not plausible. Think of what we did tonight as giving you a jump start. In the Harry Potter world, you're not a muggle, sweetheart.” So said the professor. Though James had never claimed to be any kind of professor of the magical arts.<br/><br/>“Or, sure. We can go with the torrid love affair between your mother and some supernatural entity that swooped in like some sort of vengeful fallen angel to seduce his way between your mother's legs--” He winked then as a cover up to the tremor that caused him to lean back in his seat and retreat his hand from hers. It rose to cover his mouth as a cough rattled inside his lungs. “Kind of like myself.”<br/><br/>His voice cracked with the last, followed by a hoarse chuckle. “Only I'm not really being a ravaging, dark entity come to whisk you off to the bedroom, am I?” Only the darkening look in his eye suggested that the prospect wasn't about to leave his mind. He just needed his body to even itself out. Maybe all he needed was another boost... The absent drift of his gaze was something his subconscious set up for him as his attention went to the bathroom. He had another adrenaline shot in there.