<blockquote class="uncited"><div> "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dundee. I'm Reizu." </div></blockquote><br/><br/>"Happy to make your acquaintance mate. So, what can I do you for?" He slides over a laminated menu. It's got a lot of meals on it... in writing, not from spills.<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>"Nice to meet you. I'll bet you've met my sister...this kinda place would suit her. About my height, blue fur, tends to eat customers. Anyway, if it's got peanut butter on it, I'll eat it, provided it's not wriggling."</div></blockquote><br/><br/>Dundee looks thoughtful for a moment. "No mate, can't say I've seen any blue wolves in here lately. As for eating cutomers, that's extra, and by mutual consent only. But you wouldn't be interested, from what Pat says, so one tall stack of toasted peanut butter sarnies coming up, non-wiggling. Veg oil marge, obviously. Do you want smooth or crunchy, would you like jam or honey with 'em, and what do you want to drink?"<br/><br/>Ptricia growled. "'Pat' makes me sound like some character from a 1950's childrens novel. Ptricia, that's my name if you can't remember the full one."<br/><br/>The girl croc, Nailah, sashayed by towards a double door that clearly led to the kitchen, tray full of dirty dishware held high, hips and tail swaying. "He knows, he's just getting his own back for your earlier rambling. You do tend to go on a bit, you know. Old people do, and you're older than dirt." She pushed her way backwards through one door.<br/><br/>Ptricia sniffed. "Hey! I'm 22, and I've been 22 for a number of millennia! I still have my age admittance card for the Circus Maximus..."