Moira watches James out of the corner of her eyes, the way he slides easily into a chair and starts cleaning the weapon. Very matter of fact, but his manner appears more relaxed than she's ever seen him, even as he's appraising the blade of an old sword. There's almost something amusingly domestic about this entire scene, she thinks, as she finally finishes cooking and prepares them each a plate, complete with what remains of the milk in the fridge.

She sets down James' plate before him before sitting across from him, digging into her own meal. God, but an actual breakfast tastes so damn good. She really ought to appreciate the simple things in life more.

"Magic," Moira says, shrugging in between bites of food. "With the right combination of concealment charms, repellent spells, and glamours, no one would suspect a thing. Hell, wherever we are probably looks like some rundown house to the casual observer."