Charitably, one might call Sid odd, but that was also sort of just par for the course with Satyrs. Not all of them had such incredible fashion sense, though. That was all Sid.
Good handshake, Sid thought, ticking off a mental box of things he'd Googled about the interview process. Definitely a point in his favor. "'Tis!" He replied, face splitting into an unreasonably broad grin. "Little witch lady sells it out of the Vale Diner. Finest ganja on this side of..." He sucked at the pipe again for a moment as if trying to decide where he'd had better. "Anywhere, honestly. And I've been everywhere." Not Antarctica, but he didn't much care for the cold. Bad for the hooves.
He took a seat behind a large, antique cherry wood desk, resisting the urge to swing his Converse over the top of it, instead leaning forward with interest, elbows on the desk, chin resting on top of his fists. "So, have a seat and tell me about yourself, Danny."