She'd forgotten about shaking hands. It was very polite, wasn't it? Very formal. But it was also a gesture of trust and friendship. Demons didn't shake hands with each other - when they touched, they usually had violence on their minds - and they certainly wouldn't shake hands with a slave. When they dragged slaves around by their hair or their collars, friendship was the last thing on their mind.
After a long moment of consideration, Fred reached out a tentative and somewhat grubby hand to take his. She probably did it wrong - probably held too tight and too earnestly, because it had been a long time - but she did it. She was rather proud of herself for that.
"I'm Fred. You don't look like a Pylean. And I don't think they sell humans at the market here."
She'd forgotten to let go again. When she remembered, she released his hand abruptly, tucked a strand of filthy behind her ear, then dropped her hand back to side.
"You were looking for me." She'd been hunted for so long that she didn't have difficulty recognising that. She wasn't important and she wasn't supposed to be a slave here, so she hunted around for a reason and settled on the first thing that came to mind. "Is it because of the hotdog? Because I'm sorry. I was hungry. I don't have any money ..."
Should she run? Could she run? She'd hidden in the alley because it reminded her of her cave, but that was dangerous as well as comforting. Unless she could get around him, there was nowhere to run. Fred tensed, searching for a way out. Just in case.