OOC: Brutal economy. I like your style.<br/><br/>Chris was, as usual, tempted to floor it, but he kept at a respectable pace for Fox, making an offensive gesture at the traffic light, his smirk shining through his helmet visor. "Huh. I must try that service sometime. It'd be interesting getting a pizza that you can have fired through your window." As the lights turned green, he paused, giving Fox a chance to start flying, getting beeped by the row of cars behind him, prompting him to shout a stream of curses in a number of languages (luckily, he had the good grace to turn his mic off.)<br/><br/>He listened with interest to their backstory, and shared a trimmed-down version of his, from when he moved to around the time his ad got answered. He carefully hid the bike when they arrived at the house, pulling his helmet off. "Alright, mum's the word." He struggled not to laugh at the exchange that went on in the hallway, his smirk disappearing the instant Tamara looked at him, somewhat unconvincingly. "Sorry."<br/><br/>He followed the girls down the hallway into the kitchen, ruffling his hair, which had been flattened by the helmet, giving him a bad case of Blond-O-Vision. He pulled off his leather jacket and hung it wherever was appropriate, placing his backpack next to it.