Faolan glances aside at the other man as he takes the helmet and clips it on. "Richmond," he says, carefully slipping onto the bike behind the other man and giving Daryl Lancelot's full address for good measure. It won't be too long of a trip. Especially not on a bike like Daryl's, and at this time of day.

He isn't quite certain how Daryl expects him to ride. Whether he's the sort to protest at another man hanging onto him quite as close as Faolan wants to, in order to ensure that he's not about to fall off the back of the bike. If he is, he supposes that's too bad. Faolan's going to hang on the way he wants to regardless.