Forgetting for a moment that John has attempted to recruit him at multiple times, one way or another, Harry calls him "boss" for the sheer irony of it. One more sarcasm-laced quip that isn't meant to claw at the man's armor, but demonstrates how quickly the wizard has come to grips with their predicament and moved past 'I don't like him' to 'okay, we're working together'. And they are, without a doubt. Harry realized that last night, after hitting him with about eight angry, worried messages demanding his safe return. While he knew he could do it alone (he'd done it long enough that it was nothing new), he'd rather have someone with him. Someone reliable.

John Marcone was definitely reliable, if not still a criminal back home in Chicago - and one Harry did not approve of. But this was not Chicago, and while he continued to stubbornly cling to his morals, he accepted the cold truth that working with John was going to benefit them both. Also, it wasn't half bad. Having someone to talk to that knew the world he'd come from and all the little nuances and knew him was - for lack of better term: comforting.

"I think I look best in cool colors and neutrals, and I know I could work anything in midnight blue," he drawled out, hiking his elbows up onto the sides of the sidecar, legs crossed right over and sticking out like a battering ram. "It's a good color for dinner jackets." It was sleepy trivia time, it seemed, because as they lapped, he focused - trying to see how much influence he could impress upon the bike before it might falter. The thing held up magnificently - so Harry peered up and shrugged a shoulder curiously.

"Go for it," a suggestion, as he sat up a little straighter.