Okay, that doesn't really do anything to explain why you have a raccoon in the first place, but sure, we'll roll with that like it's one-hundred percent normal pet material.

[At her second comment, though, he quirks a brow before tilting his head a little to survey her over his glasses.]

Don't know what kind of telephone game you were playing with someone who knows me, but it's Dave Strider, not Davesprite. And any birds trying to involve themselves with me can fly right back into the asscrack of hell where those satanic motherfuckers are birthed from.