“What would he imagine next? Little hairy beasties tap-dancing on his sofa, or other fey creatures sneaking up on him in the shower?’ (Syn)”

“(He took a drink of the juice and cursed.)What is this shit? Poison? (Syn)You can’t live on alcohol. (Nykyrian)Wanna bet? (Syn)Wanna die? Drink it and quit bitching. (Nykyrian)You know, you’re a little hairy to be my mother. (Syn)”

“(Nykyrian spun about at the sound, his blaster leveling at the body in the doorway.)Whoa. Friend! (He tapped his chest twice.) Really good guy. ‘Member me? (Syn)”

“You don’t tap on the Devil’s shoulder unless you’re willing to dance to his tune.”

“What now? (Shahara)I’m thinking. (Syn)Could you think a little quicker? (Shahara)You’re not helping. (Syn)You’re lucky you’re still breathing and not limping. (Shahara)”

“What the hell was that action?"Syn asked him."I think it´s something called ´paternal concern.´"Syn scowled at his bland explanation. "What...? You sure? I thought that crap was a myth." Nykyrian shrugged. "No, really. I watched it once in a documentary. It was fascinating. Belive it or not, there are people out there who actually have feelings for their progeny." "Get the f*ck out. No way. You´re screwing with my head again, aren´t you?" "No, I swear. You just saw it with your own eyes. I did not make this shit up." Syn shivered. "Yeah but it´s really messing with my concept of natural order of the universe. Paternal love? What´s next? Limp regrowth? Genetic splicing reversals?”

“Tell me, what smells like shit and screams like a girl? (Syn)(He shot the Partini in the knee.)That’s right. You. (Syn)”