"Thanks," Goose says as he releases the Woofaboomus' paw. He then turns to Andrick.
"Yeah, I saw you guys at the orientation, but I showed up too late to really get anything done there." He eyes the plate of food. "Taquitos, eh? Well, at least they're not burritos
. I hate
burritos." He glances around to see if anyone gets it, even though he's half-serious.
Taking his leave from the bar as a rather grumpy white wolf enters, Goose heads over to the booth. "Y'know," he tells Andrick, "that falling trick is usually something that happens to me
. I mean, my tail's not nearly long enough to trip over, but stupid stuff like that happens to me all the time. Painful, or embarrassing, but never fatal. That's sorta why I wound up here." He shrugs.
"That, and the drums." He grimaces. "You'd look downtrodden too, if those drums followed you around night and day. There's nothing that fouls your concentration quite like firing-squad drum-rolls during the delicate periods, and nothing that destroys the mood when you're trying to talk to a girl like disembodied porn music."
They reach the booth, and Goose pulls up a chair rather than squeeze into the crowded benches. "Howzit goin', fellahs?"