He stared at Chinatsu blankly, watching her move to find a change of clothes and then gazing down at those she offered. He gave a small nod if only as a sign he understood, though his brows knit slightly at mention of a suit. ".... I-... I don't.... I don't need.. a... suit. I... like my clothes. I just-..." He paused, wondering for a moment if the woman wanted him for a model as he recalled the mentioning of a model company. Not in four thousand more years was that happening. "... I just.. need them.. washed."
As soon as the Sauria had left to change, Amon used the time to change, too. The pajamas were too big as promised... but only the pants really needed any adjusting. He didn't mind the shirt being too big - in fact, he rather preferred it, as Amon liked his sleeves to end at his knuckles. He tugged one of the oversized sleeves down consciously, then feeling up his wrist for the bandages coating the entire length of his forearm beneath. Though Amon's rapid healing made the use of bandages rather a moot point, he still liked to have something on over the web of scars wrought across his wrists and forearms... but then he generally needed something to cover the bandages, too. The black T-shirt he had on underneath his hoodie was not half as bloodstained as his other clothes; he could have worn it instead of the pajama shirt... But it was short-sleeved. His bandages would be exposed. And the shirt needed to be washed anyways, bloodstained or not - it wasn't often he got the chance to wash his clothes, after all. They carried the odor of garbage from the grimiest of the city's alleyways.
He stood staring out the window until Chinatsu had finished changing and returned. Considering the sleek nightgown that hugged the woman's curved form in all the right places, the very brief amount of time Amon spared a glance at her was almost enough to suggest he was asexual. He felt a small sense of relief when the lights were dimmed, so some of the tension he had barely been aware of seemed to slip off down his shoulders. He did not move from where he stood in the living room as the woman retrieved her wine glass. Amon couldn't help looking at the glass with subtle distaste. He had never taken to blood that wasn't fresh, and didn't understand how any vampire could.
His gaze met hers only fleetingly before his eyes shifted back to the window. "... Why am I here?" He asked quietly. There was no venom in his tone, only a timid curiosity.