Scab's train of thought struck Dugrass's metaphorical deer at full speed, flying off the rails and soaring into outer space. He blinked as he looked back up at the gentleman, hearing his suggestion....Go after the Cabbage Killer, or course! Why didn't HE think of that?

He smiled a lazy smile at Dugrass and gladly accepted the handshake, lifting up his free hand and taking hold of the gentleman's. His skin was unsettling to touch: gnarled and knotted like ground beef, yet coarse and rough like sandpaper.

"Call me Scabbard, man..." He replied. "Like, uh...y'know, a sword. Like this one I got. Not like, uh....Not like 'Scab', like, uh.....like that thing that gets made when you get like a cut? That gross thing....People make that mistake sometimes, and it's kinda embarrassing, y'know? Like....Who wants to be called something gross like [i]that[/i]...."

As he rambled on, something became increasingly apparent: Despite his odd, wispy demeanor, his handshake was quite firm! Very quite firm. [i]Really[/i] very quite firm oh [b]GOD[/b] his [b]GRIP[/b].