The spirit listens to the other man talk with that smirk on his lips, only letting it recede into a tightly drawn smile once Apollo goes to pull that bike. He moves slightly in a sway, shifting his weight from one leg to the to the other but not quite willing to abandon his position on the bank.

"So, I am to believe the deputy can't keep his own bicycle from gettin' hustled? Wild times we live in, partner, ain't an ounce of respect around these parts. Figure I've gotten used to it."

The man pulls a hand from his pocket to adjust his tinted spectacles, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose and letting that hand linger there for a second like he might not know what to do with it--blue eyes checking the expression of the deputy before him until a quick chortle escapes him.

"Now you don't think I did it, do ya? Maybe I've come to watch one of the sheriff's boys wallow in the mud as a practical joke?"

He laughs lowly to himself over it, genuinely amused by the thought of even being briefly considered for such an act. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he notes this as maybe a record in the way of conversation for maybe the last month or so. Not counting Sissel, anyway.