"I'm Farranfore," replies the painted dog, rolling her eyes upward in an unsuccessful bid to view the little raptor perched on her head, "and the klutz is Andrew Noble. We went sort of native."

She sounds apologetic about it, like she's worried Horatio will be disappointed that they're not called something with eight syllables and/or an 'x' in it -- or, perhaps, an ambiguous, self-assigned title. 'Farranfore' is a little better, but so's 'Horatio.' Andrew clears his throat like he's going to take over the explanation, but Farranfore goes on. "We're a biological meta-crisis off a botched regeneration. We got the face, but we're really only about sixty percent Doctor; the rest came from a human woman."

"Yes, thank you," says Andrew quickly, reaching out and stroking a hand down Farranfore's back. If Horatio is too brazen, Farranfore is too eager to share. "It hasn't happened to him yet," he explains to Charley. "He doesn't know most of the details."

And he and Andrew didn't get along, but no need to drag Charley into that mess.