Michael gave Justin a curious double-take, his look an incredulous-leaning mix of confused and over-thought. "That could be taken a few too many ways," he drawled in amusement. "But nevermind Kevin's deviancy. To business." They could return to the subject if it really was of interest later. Michael doubted there was much. He was sure Justin was well stocked in his own way- as was Michael, in his unmentioned stack.
"Nope," Michael emphasized with a comedic, Rowan Atkinson-style "P." He lifted a brow, "Not that that should stop you from trying. It's pretty cathartic to think you have any say when who kicks the football or something." He shrugged. "I don't watch much telly to be honest."
"Ready," Michael noted. On his hand he counted down from three and then stuck his face in, a last second eying making sure Justin was too. The world seemed to face and spin and strain. Odd images flashed with almost subliminal speed, barely able to be picked up by the users' conscious minds.
A notion of prowling and hunting was first and the sensation that one had a tail as one leaped. Terry's face liplocked to Harmony Summers was fast and fleeting but carried a note of heart strain. Then came a heavy feeling of tension and excitement as strange, familiar eyes and a thick Russian accent seemed to waft by.
But as quickly as it all combined and when Michael blinked, they were standing in Diagon Alley. Or at least the Diagon Alley of Justin's memories. Michael peered around at the details that Justin had taken in that day and he turned to his companion. "Alright mate. Where to?"