'A schizophrenic, bipolar banpire' was the first thing that popped into the brunet's head. He gave himself a mental shake. Not appropriate mentality, he told himself and forced his mind back on the issue at hand. Studying the redhead, he took in her defensive position and her tiny frame. She kind of reminded him of a chihuahua; small, loud and annoying, and he wondered if there was a polite way to tell her to faff off without inciting another round of yelling.
"Less crashed," he echoed, arching an eyebrow. How did that work? Carly, it seemed, was a walking contradiction. She apparently owned a bike, which made her older than she looked. But she had the grace and eloquence of prepubescent teenager.
"My name's Xan," the Nephilim replied in kind, figuring it was only fair, shoving away his irritation. "And unless you have another helmet stashed somewhere, it's not safe to ride without one. That's one of my rules."