He makes an excellent point. Speaking of eye catching, her own attention had wandered for his silver arm, eyes tracking towards where it seams, metal meeting flesh, wondering exactly how far it goes beneath his skin, whether it knits into the bones of his torso, how it has to off-set its own weight, and can he feel? But her gaze ticks back to his face in time for a half-smile.

Her hands duck down, taking the hem of her dress beneath her fingers, and with one sinuous movement, she drags it up, shedding it up over her head with a flap of red fabric. The garment is dangled out, a subtle implication he ought to be a gentleman and take it from her; if not, it'll puddle onto the damp tile as she steps up to the edge of the pool. Water patterns reflected up her long body is all she's wearing.

"I swim."