"That's not what I mean," Ford snaps, not slowing down even slightly. "Why are you so tall? No one needs to be six foot six!"

Ford has never actually had a problem with Ozpin's height. In truth he doesn't even have a real problem with it now. But the panic is there, simmering under the surface, and his hands are shaking as he yanks open the bathroom door. Even with such a visible sign he can't bring himself to admit it's there, knowing it'll just sweep him away if he does. There's a powerful headiness to anger that lets him feel productive and in control, and as always he chooses it over the alternative of feeling small and vulnerable.

Complaining about Ozpin's height is, however, very silly no matter why he's doing it, and even Ford recognizes that fact. Though he's resentful about the truth behind said fact, he forces himself to move on.

"Did you also die?"