[Fiddleford regards that hand for a long moment before he sinks back down to his normal height and takes it. He's careful of his claws; he may be annoyed with Ford as a general rule but he doesn't want to scratch him up. Luckily after over a year with inch-long razors on the ends of his fingers he's good at working around them. He gives Ford's hand two good shakes and lets go. The loop of his tail stays firmly between them.]
I know your name, Stanford. And I don't know which universe I'm supposed to be from but, sure, whichever one that is it's one where I'm cross with you. Y'know there's been one of you here already?
no subject
I know your name, Stanford. And I don't know which universe I'm supposed to be from but, sure, whichever one that is it's one where I'm cross with you. Y'know there's been one of you here already?