The other warlock's eyes met his own. A silence of sorts seemed to persist between the few men for several seconds in the wake of Sly's announcement he stood by that food. When they both knew it was (or had been) very much on fire. Sly, it seemed,was determined to go down with that metaphorical ship. The young warlock clinging to the rapidly deflating life raft of belief that the other man might let him weasel his way out of this. The Pirate, in turn, seemed equally determined to lead him to his demise. They both knew this was a ruse didn't they? Surely the Irishman didn't actually believe him, right? This wasn't a game of stories any more. It was a game of chicken. One of them, eventually, was going to have to blink first and oh, how certain Sly was that he was rapidly running out of stable ground. Couldn't this guy just let him off the hook already? Maybe he really should just come clean and yet....damn he was loath to lose to the other man when they'd managed to keep it going for this long. Even if his loss was decidedly inevitable. Still, it wasn't over till it was over. The pirate seemed to choose his words carefully then. Insisting that it was rare for a man to stand by his product when it had appeared as if it was on fire. Sly, this time, wholly certain he could hear the slither of amusement in the fellows words even as he kept a decidedly straight face. The older warlock knew how that food was likely to look- yet still, he hardly made an effort to call Sly out directly. What was his angle here? Sly's own mind so readily began to turn over the situation he'd found himself within- at least until the elder man so easily turned his words into a wager. Any counter offer Sly might have made was quickly halted by the lift of the pirate's hand.

Alright then. The other mans insistence he needed to board that boat, however, readily seemed to prompt a look of hesitancy to Sly's own face. He'd hardly been on many boats before and climbing onto this one was the equivalent of letting a stranger lead him into their home. This...was exactly the sort of thing he'd been told not to do. How far was he truly willing to go to win...whatever game it was he was playing? Sly's blue gaze shifted from the boat to the other warlock and back again as the pirate insisted that as long as he didn't try to run- or attack him, that the dog was hardly going to mind. Sly's gaze shifted toward the place the dog had been only moments ago, the animal finally having flopped down as if at last having given up barking its displeasure at Sly's apparent existence. Did this guy really think he was going to mug him or something? That sarcasm, this time, fell readily from his lips quote before Sly could manage to catch it. That lie lacing his lyrics with the same effortless ease as if it was near second nature. Maybe it was. Wasn't it what his people were famous for? There was no chance he was going to mug the pirate. Not when he had a flawless record with the People of Delivery Association. That sounded incredibly real, he was sure of it.

The sound laughter from the Irishman was hardly expected. Sly, for the briefest of moments, allowed that surprise to linger on his own features before the corner of his own lip quirked slightly in amusement. At least the Irishman appreciated his efforts here. Even if they both knew this entire game was a sham. It was not, the pirate insisted, any fear of mugging that had prompted him to offer that warning. His dog, apparently, liked to chase. Sly evidently having 'that look' about him. The younger warlock's own features frowned as his gaze glanced downward at his own figure. 'That look?'

"You mean fit athleticism?"

He might as well take it as a compliment- or make it into one. Even if he suspected the other man had been implying he looked, well, shady. The Irishman's assurance he was simply being considerate of Sly's own well being coaxed one eye to lift ever so slightly. His own dubiousness was clear. Even for all his own...clever words the Pirate Warlock hardly seemed as if he truly intended him any harm. He seemed...trustworthy. Even if he was by far the best player of this 'game' Sly had met in a long time. It was Sly's mention of that flawless record however that seemed to ensnare the other man's attention as he insisted he hardly doubted those credentials. The grin the other man offered him seemed to highlight the scar across his features. Scars were one thing Sly was inclined not to ask after. It was better that way. People tended to be....unwilling to talk about them in most regards. Sly's gaze was quick to shift to that boat itself, the warlock stepping forward to climb up and onto it. Even moored that deck swayed beneath his feet. The dark water below slapped at the boat's side. Did it make that noise all the time? How did this guy ever sleep? Sly's distinct lack of experience on boats was, perhaps, painfully obvious as the warlock attempted to walk near tentatively across the deck before querying where this table was the other man wanted them to sit at. That cabin he pointed to was, apparently, the location of the pirates 'research'.

"Alright then."

The dubiousness in Sly's own words were clear. Whatever the Pirate had in there was, he suspected, not 'research' and yet who was he to pry when they were already haggling for twelve dollars over burnt food? It was probably drugs. Sly's head shook ever so slightly, the thought dismissed for now as the other man gestured to an outdoor table that folded out. Sly's gaze, once more, narrowed in disdain as he watched the other man set up that place.

"What do you do if it rains?"

Wasn't that the most obvious flaw in an outdoor table? Maybe this dude just sat in the rain. He seemed hardcre enough. It hardly took long for the Irsihman to construct that table before requesting Sly take a seat opposite himself and his dog that Sly was still certain was not any dog he had ever seen before. The blond warlock eased himself onto that cushioned chair, that seat admittedly more comfortable then it looked and yet Sly's gaze lingered almost expectantly on that silver tray. His companion eased himself into his own seat then, Sly expecting him to lift the lid on that tray at any moment. The younger man was already working on his next words- when the pirate asked just how Sly intended to 'take' his money and called him out on that People of Delivery Association lie. Sly, for near the first time, allowed a genuine grin to find his own features.

"But it sounded real, didn't it? You have to admit, that was pretty good to think of on the fly, eh? He believed me."

Sly gestured toward the dog then, as if it too were a part of the conversation. This lie, it seemed, was one Sly was entirely willing to admit too- or seemingly so. The warlock's hands shifted atop that table. That movement was near imperceptible and concealed beneath those words. That conversation was both an admittance and a distraction, along with that gesture toward the dog. His performance, so far, veritably effortless. The warlock made use of his companions' brief moment of distraction as the pirate glanced toward that dog- too set up his slight of hand. This was a game he'd played since he was a child. This was the magic he worked best. Far better than his quick words or easy smile. That art of misdirection and simple 'magic' by far his most favourite.

"As for taking your money, I'd do it like this."

Sly lent abruptly forward then, that movement holding a certain clarity to it all the same if only to assure that dog he hardly intended to harm his Master in any way. Sly reached easily towards Brennan's left ear. That trick near the oldest one in the book as Sly, seemingly, pulled several dollar bills from behind the man's ear. Those bills were held up easily within his hand, allowing the warlock to inspect the legitimacy of them before Sly's hand's brushed over them once more. Those bills seemed to disappear entirely as Sly's hands came to rest in front of him again. That display of magic coaxing a final simper to the warlock's lips- the man clearly satisfied with himself. Until the Irishman lifted the lid from that silver platter, releasing several dark plumes of smoke that both men were forced to attempt to wave away. Those fish and chips, or what remained of them, were decidedly.....well done. Sly's gaze shifted from that plate of veritable charcoal, to the Irishman and back again. Damn.

"I fail to see how that's not perfectly edible."

Might as well go down swinging.

sly.