The Pirate's insistence that the large, obscure looking Hyena he kept for a pet was 'a mutt' prompted little more than a dubious lift of the Sly's eye. Alright then. If that was what he wanted to go with. Still, he supposed, it didn't exactly look like any one breed. Maybe it was a mutt- but of something far more fanciful than a Doberman and a German Shepherd. Sly's head shook ever so slightly in an effort to dismiss the strange creature from his mind as the dog began to settle down in turn. His attention, instead, was given entirely to his customer. The man's thick Irish accent was undeniable and yet it seemed an Irish pirate living on a boat in America was willing to...entertain that well and truly over cooked meal. In the very least he hardly sounded angry so much as he did bemused by the entire ordeal. That was a good sign. Sly could work with that. Now it was just a matter of getting him to actually pay for it- and find something fireproof to put that meal on. The pirate was quick to leap from the boat and down onto the dock with all the flare of a man who'd performed that very maneuver countless times before. Sly's request for that fireproof surface however seemed to result in the appearance of a cloche out of thin air. The pirate holding it out expectantly towards him. Huh. That was different. Sly's blue gaze narrowed momentarily before shifting from the Irishman to the cloche and back again. It had been quite awhile since he'd met another warlock. Longer still since he'd met one whose power seemed to revolve around summoning.....heat proof containers? Was that all he could do?
Other warlocks were a relative....rarity within the young warlocks life. His Grandmother aside there had been few other magically capable beings within his existence. Those few he had interacted with had hardly been impressed with him in any sense. A warlock performing as a street magician was frowned upon in most places. Sly had lost count of the amount of times his own kind had made it clear how little they thought of him. The 'gypsy' boy doing tricks by the side of the road. How his grandmother loathed that term, especially when uttered to Sly himself and yet he'd grown far thicker skin then that over the years. This warlock, in the very least, hardly seemed concerned at showing off that small display of his own power. The Irishman had either worked out what Sly was in turn, or else the man was simply confident in his own skill. Any comment Sly might have made on that magical performance was kept to himself for now. The warlock merely content to...observe his elder companion for a few moments longer as he reached to place that flaming bag on the offered cloche. The food was still good, probably, maybe. That sudden question of just how that food caught on fire however seemed to ensnare the younger warlocks attention.
Sly was nothing if not adaptable. That sale by far more important than the truth in that moment. Even something so simple as a fish and chip delivery was, seemingly, an excuse for a performance....of some kind. How readily that grin seemed to find the warlock's features, Sly effortlessly delivering that entirely falsified story in regards to the miniature ovan on board his bicycle. One made all the hotter by his apparently exceptional peddling skills. All of this, somehow, resulting in an overcooked meal. Sly was nothing if not committed to that tale, those words delivered with effortless ease and suitable dramatic flare. The previously aloof young man seemed to seize onto that chance for a performance no matter how ridiculous it was. People, after all, were often inclined to believe you- if you made your story convincing enough. Else they got lost in the words or particulars all before realising he'd managed to perform that verbal slight of hand. This man however was....different. The Irishamn's gaze found his own, both men, in that singular moment, so seeming to realise just what was occurring and yet- rather than call him out- the pirate seemed inclined to test just how far he would go. Hmm. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to bullshit an Irishman. Still- maybe that Irishman shouldn't have dared a Gypsy.
"Oh, its not a concern for public safety. I don't tell most of them about the bike's oven- so they don't feel any concern."
Sly's shoulders rose in a loose, easy shrug. Those words delivered with an effortless straight face even despite the amusement that lingered with the depths of his gaze. His words offered as smoothly and bluntly as the Irishman's own. The tale of that ovan, however, seemed to spark the Irishman's amusement all the more as the Pirate questioned that 'wee bike' and 'wee ovan'. Oh, this man was certainly onto his game and yet Sly so no reason not to keep running with it. Whether he got that payment for the food- or for the entertainment he provided he hardly cared. He just needed that money. Sly, despite himself, near determined to keep that lie going until the bitter end. Even as the other warlock eyed him with clear dubiousness. The pirate, however, seemed....unwilling to call him out. Even as his dog continued to bark and howl and bay- before abruptly flopping into the seat of the chair he'd scrambled onto as if entirely bored by his master's charade. At least he had stopped barking. The last thing Sly had expected however was the sudden chuckle from the man opposite him. The warlock suddenly questioned why he would accept less when he had clearly gone through so much 'trouble' to prepare that meal.
"I'm willing to accept a little less for customer satisfaction and return business. Really it's just a matter of-. Oh...you...er....want to assess the food?"
Shit. The elder warlock's words sounded almost devious. As if the Irishman took a particular sort of...delight in trying to catch him out in his own lie. Sly's tongue brushed lightly across his lips, that very gesture perhaps giving away a momentary note of insecurity within the younger man as his mind hurriedly worked to attempt to salvage that situation before the Irishman continued. If that meal was no good he could just as easily make him up a new one on his oven bike. Fuck. He was loath to lose this battle of sorts and yet he was rapidly running out of options. The Pirates' insistence that Sly's nifty little bike was 'like magic' prompted the younger warlock's gaze to narrow ever so slightly. He knew. The Irishi bastard knew. Still, he hardly seemed mad. Just inclined to play that game right back. Alright then. Sly's arms moved to fold over his chest, the warlock rolling back on his heels a moment before shifting forward onto his feet once more.
The very acceptance of those terms was offered with a certainty far more convincing then Sly truly felt and yet he was nothing if not determined to go down with that ship.
"If your food is inedible I will cook you another meal on my bike. If even a bit of it is edible though you owe me twelve fifty plus tip."
Surely at least some of that food would be edible right? He only need the other warlock to be able to eat a bite or two. This was a bigger gamble then Sly was so normally willing to take and yet what was life without a little daring?