Maybe he should have given up that lie early on and just accepted his fate. Hell, the pirate seemed nice enough, he might have even paid him anyway and yet what sort of showman would he be if he didn't commit fully? Swindler, maybe, was an even better word then showman and yet how his Grandmother so tended to hate him referring to himself in that fashion. He'd never understood why. Half the people he'd ever met had called him that. The people of his very culture were renowned for being just that and yet no matter how many times he told his grandmother he hardly cared what people called him she continued to defend his honour almost staunchly. Then again, the old woman defended a lot of things pretty staunchly. Maybe he shouldn't have felt so privileged. Sly's efforts to explain how that food had gotten burned within his fabled 'oven bike' seemed to intrigue the other warlock. The Irishman, even despite the...obscurity of that tale, seemed to take it rather well- his head nodding along as if he believed him. Sly's own features hardly gave away that internal suspicion that had begun to claw at him. There was no way this guy was buying this- was he? Surely not. The Irishman hadn't exactly appeared to be a fool even if Sly had been content to play him as one. Besides, he was irish. That was clear enough from his accent. There was every chance this fellow was trying to play him right back. Stereotypes existed for a reason and they were both, surely, playing directly into theirs here and now. The pirate warlock nodded a moment later before insisting that the bike with its oven made perfect sense. Good. Maybe he'd been willing to pay Sly for the story if nothing else.
That question of whether or not that bike was a concern for public safety however was a relative curveball and one Sly had hardly been prepared for. Still, what sort of salesman would he be if he hadn't learned to dodge the occasional incoming missile? The young warlock's voice hardly faltered, Sly nothing if not determined to cling to that tale he'd invented and to deliver it was a seemingly flawless and committed confidence. One that had, unknowingly, impressed the other warlock to some degree even if he had hardly fallen for that ruse to begin with. That bike was hardly a manner for public safety, Sly was certain, the younger warlock content to explain those reasons why. High within that boat the rather larger and apparently mixed breed dog was finally content to cease its barking and flop down somewhere within the depths of the vessel. Odd animal. Sly's blue gaze shifted back to the Irishman's own as he insisted he'd even be willing to take a little off that price for the sake of good customer service. Most people, at even the hint of a deal or a bargain, were willing to take whatever he offered. Even if it turned out they hardly liked it. They usually felt satisfied in the knowledge that it mattered less whether they liked it or not- because they could tell their friends it was a bargain. Why did he feel as if this fellow was hardly so convinced as that?
Maybe it was that near wry chuckle the Irishman offered in response before suddenly insisting he wanted to inspect the food first. This the first time since they started that conversation that Sly stammered slightly with his words. Shit. He wanted to look at the food first? Couldn't he just take the bag or his heat proof silver thing and just leave like everyone else? If he didn't know better he'd almost swear the older warlock was...messing with him. That thick, Irish accent parted the elder man's lips once more, querying whether or not examining that food first was going to be a problem. A soft sigh esed its way past Sly's own lips then. He was getting deeper in this then he wanted to be. Maybe he should just come clean. No. That was exactly what the Irishman wanted; he was sure of it. He could do this. He could sell this- to his own determinant. That near dubious look upon the younger man's features was quickly replaced with an easy grin once more.
"No, it isn't a problem. I stand by my food."
Well that was a lie. Maye the biggest one he'd told all night and yet he'd committed to this charade fully now. His determination to die on this apparent hill only seemed to delight the Irishman all the more. Unless....the pirate truly believed him. He didn't, did he? Damn this guy was hard to read. He just seemed perpetually amused. Really, Sly supposed, it was better than angry. The pirate seemed to consider for several moments longer before suddenly declaring that if that food was inedible Sly himself had to eat it and cook him a new one on his magical oven bike. Sly's own lips parted, that protest and counter offer very near on the tip of his tongue before the warlock suddenly held up his hands in that gesture of silence. Only to insist he needed to come aboard. On the boat? A look of near distinct disdain readily managed to flash upon the warlocks features then as he eyed that boat. Sure it was nice enough but, a boat? The dog, the pirate said, should hardly bother him provided he didn't intend to run or attack him. That very notion prompted one of Sly's own eyes to arch upward.
"Mate, if I was going to mug you I wouldn't have spent the last twenty minutes haggling twelve bucks with you. I'd have just taken it."
That sarcasm, it seemed, had a habit of escaping. Sly realising a moment too late that his customer service had faltered ever so slightly. The near keen sense of the ridiculous Sly had held since he'd been a mere child so had a way of.....making itself known in these moments when that facade of loyal delivery boy faulted. Glimmers of the true personality beneath so inclined to show even as Sly hurriedly lifted one hand upward to run through his blond hair.
"Er, I mean, I'm not going to mug you or anything so the dog won't need to worry. I have a flawless record of non-muggings with the People of Delivery Association."
Well- that was slightly more customer service like. Mostly. That sounded like a real organization. The pirate, for his part, hardly seemed concerned as he gestured toward that boat again, clearly waiting for Sly to climb aboard. Goddamn the things he did for his money. It was with no small amount of hesitation that Sly moved to step up and onto that boat. Even moored as it was the deck beneath his feet seemed to sway slightly in time with the dark water below. Sly moved to head across that boat before glancing back toward the other warlock.
"Alright, where's this table of yours you want to eat at? In here?"
Sly gestured toward that cabin. How did anyone fit a table on this boat at all? Was there more below deck? How did boats even work? If he hadn't been on the cusp of losing a bet with an Irishman he might have even been interested in that boat.