OOC: Ptricia has a distinctly British accent, which slides back and forth between the home counties and the North West.<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>"Alright, well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning." He grinned at Fiana. "Or afternoon. Or evening." </div></blockquote><br/><br/>She grinned back, and snuggled up to him, muzzle on his shoulder. "I like the sound of that..."<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>He loaded the gear into Reizu's bus, resisting the urge to smack the wolfeasel around a bit, before heading back inside, pulling his shirt on, despite the fact it was still soggy with sweat. He winked at Fiana. "Let's roll."</div></blockquote><br/><br/>Ptricia did the same with her drum kit. She'd calmed down a bit, and spoke at the still curled up wolfeasel. "Ring you tomorrow..." She glanced over at Babs. "Late tomorrow."<br/><br/>She stepped back outside, and Barbra said puzzled, "But how do we get to your place? You don't have a bike?"<br/><br/>Ptricia grinned, and went full sphinx, complete with one seat riding saddle. She looked over her shoulder and said. "Where we're going, We don't _need_ bikes! Saddle up and buckle up."<br/><br/>There were quite a few oohhs from partygoers who'd come to see the band off, both at Chris's awesome bike, and Ptricia's transformation.