“Then why can’t I bully you into procreating? (Wulf)See! I’m the only human in history to have Viking yenta of his very own. God, how I wish my father had been a fertile man. (Chris)”

“It’s a sun lamp. I thought you might be tired of your pasty-pale complexion. (Chris)Christopher, I happen to be a Viking in the middle of winter in Minnesota. Lack of a deep tan goes with the whole Nordic territory. Why do you think we raided Europe anyway? (Wulf)Because it was there? (Chris)No, we wanted to thaw out. (Wulf)”

“And yet you live. (Wulf)Ever the better to procreate for you. It’s a hell of a life. (Chris)”

“I’m protecting her. (Wulf)From? (Chris)Daimons. (Wulf)Big bad ones. (Cassandra)”

“You can party, but I better not catch you drunk. (Wulf)(Chris rolled his eyes, then bent down to said to Cassandra’s stomach...)Be wise, little guy, stay in there where Lord King Neurotic can’t kill all your fun. (Chris)”

“Chris would disagree with you. (Wulf)I think Chris would disagree with a signpost. (Cassandra)”

“So you guys fought some Daimons, huh? Wish I could. Wulf goes nuts if I even pick up a butter knife. (Chris)”