To his credit, Harry avoided arching a brow expectantly - he was no Vivien Leigh. He did tap his foot, awaiting a response from Marcone about why on earth he would not have checked his messages. Didn't vanilla mortals live, breathe and die on their smart phones? The reason was: because the batter was dead and Harry, who had never owned anything that was battery-operated, had not even considered that as a reason.
"Ohh." The reply was weak, but he uncrossed his arms and reached out for the cold dinner that John still had stopped to get for him. Harry stood there, cupping the bag in his hands before opening it and reaching for the cold food. Waste not, want not; and he didn't know how to show his gratitude, or even begin to apologize otherwise. Halfway through a mouthful of fries, he gave the bike another good, long look. John looked completely at home perched astride it. Enough to where Harry's eyes traveled from the sidecar, to the wheels, up the body and then -- up the body. John had changed his attire, and it suited him as well as the suits had. Harry continued to eat through the bag of cold food, heedless of the fact that his eyes lingered on everything from the engine to John's legs.
"How's it run?" Deflecting with another question, Harry tucked into as much of the cold, soggy burger as he could before it was doing no more than ruining his appetite. "I've only ever ridden on the back of Murphy's once or twice, so I don't have much of an educated opinion on bikes yet. I suppose if you'd like something purring between your legs, nothing beats a bike." He'd said something similar to her once, and the memory made him smirk. "Am I really supposed to fit into that sidecar?"
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"Ohh." The reply was weak, but he uncrossed his arms and reached out for the cold dinner that John still had stopped to get for him. Harry stood there, cupping the bag in his hands before opening it and reaching for the cold food. Waste not, want not; and he didn't know how to show his gratitude, or even begin to apologize otherwise. Halfway through a mouthful of fries, he gave the bike another good, long look. John looked completely at home perched astride it. Enough to where Harry's eyes traveled from the sidecar, to the wheels, up the body and then -- up the body. John had changed his attire, and it suited him as well as the suits had. Harry continued to eat through the bag of cold food, heedless of the fact that his eyes lingered on everything from the engine to John's legs.
"How's it run?" Deflecting with another question, Harry tucked into as much of the cold, soggy burger as he could before it was doing no more than ruining his appetite. "I've only ever ridden on the back of Murphy's once or twice, so I don't have much of an educated opinion on bikes yet. I suppose if you'd like something purring between your legs, nothing beats a bike." He'd said something similar to her once, and the memory made him smirk. "Am I really supposed to fit into that sidecar?"