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"Impressive! Do you need a sponsor?"

He saw Gina and he whined before walking away and climbing under a table and laying down.

"The dog isn't very observant, so I'll ignore it. "
*looks past the dog*
"Steve Harrison... successful businessman. I heard you were a big deal during your days at school. Thank you for serving in the army!"

"You got pretty hair. Hmmmm......."

He tapped his chin as if he were making a decision before he shrugged "you're really little, lady. So that means I'll protect you, okay? You can pet Piano if you want..."

He picked the kitten off his shoulder

You appear to be the punchline to the joke that goes "So a heretic and a jokaero walk into a bar"

After covering a smile with his right hand, he spoke "That was unnecessarily cruel, brother given that I had always felt vestiges of The Empire's might radiating from you"

"Unless you know where to find Angolmois Capsules, you are of no use to me."

"Are you some kind of Pokemon I haven't heard of yet?" His eyes widened at the sight of Magmatron. He then quickly pulled out his red notebook to write things about Magmatron down in-case he was in-fact a new Pokemon.

Santiago looked down at the young sickly lad.
Taking a knee he gives a small smile.
"Well, you seem to be quite the lil'studier huh?"

"Y'd fit in real well with 'em Skylax grunts that I used t'run with," Sprite grinned, arms crossed over her chest, "just got a bit of more fancy armor get-up goin'." For the occassion, she'd shed her fresher outfits for her old Skylax uniform: a khaki farmer's garb turned into a symbol of liberation, with terror on the side. No doubt Santiago knew of similar factions on his own planet. "Dig it when us fighter-types are honest with 'emselves. Too many suckos think that they gotta act like they gotta face'o stone around other people, 'em be out there 24/7 puttin' on a tough persona, while everyone knows they're not. An' that's what I like 'bout you- y'don' seem to be afraid to damage your integrity by actin' like a real person." Usually, looks spoke for themselves as far as mercs were concerned. Sprite hadn't really been that comfortable considering herself an outright mercenary just yet, but if she'd learnt anything from cooperating for those who did claim the label with pride, it was that honesty lasted longest. Santiago struck her as a sucko who knew what he was capable of, and didn't have to hide behind a stoic scowl to prove to everyone that he was as a tough as he looked. "Might pull y'round for a cold one if I ever need some advice on startin' in the merc bizz. How's that sound, eyy?" Could take the killin' stick right from him!

The tech witch gave a short giggle of delight in hearing the therian speak, feeling a small sense of comfort. She didn't know if it was just her overall demeanor, but there was something about the woman made Creatia feel momentarily at ease.

"You know, y-you, uh, you r-remind me of, of my c-commander, Miss Lexi..." Creatia chirped, "She's, she's v-v-very h-happy-g-go-luck, lucky and, and talky too!"

And very brash... She mused to herself, a coy smile forming on her lips.

Peristéri took a quick glance at Creatia’s hat, then vigorously checked again two times after realizing. “oh, man, i had a big argument with a witch on how toasted your toast should be — you know — like the bread?” It became increasingly awkward as Peristéri grew nervous in Creatia’s presence.

"What a hideous, despicable and evil looking creature... I must have it."

Nods to his servant to fashion the collar and sets his sword on fire.

"You are like every one of those old, great fantasy movie good guys that kicks the ever loving crap out of a 50-foot demon, but you have a cool beard, you ride a gryphon, and you fight alongside a giant wolf! Holy schnikies!!"

Huh, You look like one of the members at Sector Seven...

"You seem all tough but I feel like you might be misunderstood."

Townley simply sat at their desk, polishing one of their prized Air Forces. The Jordans were pastel green and white. Townley didn't look up from their activity despite the lingering feeling of someone was once there. Must be one of my colleagues, they thought. A bowl of soft peppermints sat on the corner of their desk, open for anyone to take one or two.

'87 stared in horror at Dr. Townley, seeing their lab coat. They were a doctor, they were some kind of scientist.
'87 backed away slowly, his eyes wide and seemed traumatized. Poor thing, maybe he had a bad experience with doctors at some point?

(Molly, the grizzly bear)

She hadn't noticed the kid.

Not at first. Her eyes had been focused on the scientist coat and for a moment her blood has chilled, throwing her back behind the glass cage, back when she had been just a little, lost bear cub.

She had stiffened, torn between wanting to fight and wanting to flee; even now that she was large enough to stand her ground against any puny human being, the blood-curling fear from the traumas of her cubhood could freeze her on the spot.

Until she saw '87. His widened eyes, the fright with which he regarded the scientist, the slow retreat.

And in a flash, she saw herself alongside him, a bear cub not much older, just as scared.

This kid was an experiment too, Molly realized with a start. A cub experiment, just as she - as they all - had been.

And suddenly the choice was made for her; she stepped ahead of '87 and ROARED all her fury against the lab-coat, fangs bared viciously, claws emerging from her paws as she towered in her full strength. "TAKE THE CUB AWAY!" she yelled to.. well, whoever would pay her heed. Because, sure as heck, she was not going to light on a scientist, not with all her pent-up trauma and the mental scars that all her pack-mates shared.