"Yeah, well. Losing clothes is too much effort, at this point in time," Moira says with a small smirk and knowing shrug, which, like James', fades after a moment. They'd improved their relationship slightly before she'd hightailed it for Europe, but they still have a ways to go in terms of being beyond politely friendly with one another. Still, she'll give him credit for not being openly antagonistic towards her.

"Yeah, it's a long story," she says, heaving out a breath and running her hands through her hair. God, she doesn't know where to start; let alone, she isn't sure how to really say what she needs to. She's gotten her memories back, but she's still lost Stefan. "I was in Europe, as you know. I met a man named Stefan pretty soon after I got there, and we started dating as we traveled all over." She pauses, bringing up her hand with the engagement ring still on it. "He absolutely proposed to me, and I said yes."

"And then we wound up in Scotland, and we found ourselves surrounded by some kind of cult coven, with a leader who makes my mother look sane," she says, bringing her gaze to the ocean. "George Logan, I think his name was. And the next thing I knew, Stefan's dead, and I'm running to France, where someone told me to head back here. And well. Here I am."