The tink tank tinking of drops on his lonely metal window sill told him it was not a time for contemplation, and certainly not the appropriate time to eat your TV antenna, so he stopped gnawing on it immediately.

"Oh dear, why would I do a dreadful thing like that?" Remarked a simply ashen Mr.Samson. "I hope I will still be able to get the news." He took in a deep breath, and let out a deep sigh, looking about his old, beaten up apartment, with its beaten up couch, and the blood stains from the mess he had made with that whole 'family eating' business. He made a quick mental note to call the carpet cleaners, and then got busy selecting his clothing for the day.

A leather fedora, and a spotty tie; he had to look his best, for he was going to make an appointment with some very important people... and by appointment, he meant he was going to wander on in and hope for the best. He looked in the mirror, he was smashing; both figuratively and literally, as he thought himself a sexy bug, and he also put his foot through the mirror for the sake of that lovely shattering sound. Note to self, get a new mirror... He skittered on over to his door to exit, and turned to take another look at him home.

He decided that he was not going to call the cleaners after all... the blood stains matched the curtains perfectly.

Ten minutes later he was standing in front of the great golden doors, having picked up a passenger on the way. "That's right, Franky, I'm going to demand employment!" The Roach on his shoulder paused, twitched its little antennae, and replied with a series of clicks. "Yes and no, you will go in with me, and then I will deposit you in a hidden location, so that you may find the galley... After you have had a look at what's on the menu, you will report back to me, and we shall make a decision on whether or not this place is worth our time!" He smiled, a smile that would make a baby cry, and a grown man pee a little, and then ushered the little bug into his shell. "Now make yourself scarce, my friend, I will tell you when the time is right."

Sorted! There! He knocked, three times, and then eyed the golden handles one would use to pull open the heavy doors... He got the urge to taste them... He leaned forward and clamped down on the handle... mmm... sweaty hands, his favorite! He forgot about the idea of someone answering the door, and proceeded to try and lick the handle clean.

There were few types of people who knocked. Polite people. People pretending to be polite. Or people who were not entirely coherent. Lisa was quite adept at dealing with all three types of people, mutant or not.

She was even unruffled to see that once she opened the door, there was a man gnawing at the other golden handle.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Hot dogs? Really? This thing weighs a ton."

Lisa turned, adjusted her glasses and nodded to her boss. Her boss who was currently shoving a crate of spoiled hot dogs across the Sanctuary entryway.

"Come in or stay out, but please don't masticate the door."

"The leafing is quite expensive." And as often as people tried to take a souvenir or a bite, they had to re-leaf it back to full glory far too often.

Lori gave the box a solid shove toward the training room and it screeeeeeched across the tiled floor.

The door opened, and the Roach froze in place, his eyes darting up to the person who had opened the door. He stared for a moment, and then slowly stood, clearing his throat before he spoke in a sophisticate accent.

"Eh, pardon my rudeness, miss; I seem to have moistened your door handle- I apologize. I am Gregory Samson, and I wish to speak to the lady or gentleman in charge of this establishment." He stepped on inside at the blunt invitation, reaching up to straighten his tie as he glanced around the place. He heard an exciting chittering from his shell- something about scrumptiousness in the immediate vicinity, and coughed to cover up the sound. "Excuse me." His eyes landed on the crate, being pushed by a woman who clearly was not physically able to lift it. He walked on up and placed at hand on it, speaking politely. " If I may lend a hand, madame." He waited for her permission to move the crate on his own, as was polite. The feverish clicking in his ear told him that this crate was the source of Frankie's desire; the giant roach fluttered his wings silently under his shell to jostle the little roach and shut him up.

He gave his equivalent of a polite smile to the woman, which was probably pretty scary to look at. The first thought our dear friend Mr. Samson's mind pertained to whether these women were fertile; which was the only real quality a male roach looked for in a mate. He pushed back the thought quickly, and decided not to ask on it; he had to make a good first impression, after all.

He was pretty confident that he would be able to lift the heavy crate, and was already planning to find it later where ever they threw it out to, and gobble up it's contents, which Frankie seemed rather excited about, so it had to be good eats.

He was an odd sort of man. Hatted and twitchy. He sort of looked like a turtle with that big thing on his back and the thickness of his neck. He just didn't have the coloring or skin for it... And were those mandibles of some kind? He seemed more like a... giant walking, talking bug. Gross. His grimace of a buggy smile didn't help one bit.

But this was definitely a mutant. And Sanctuary was for all mutants beautiful or not.

>" If I may lend a hand, madame."

She fully expected him to call her 'guv'nuh' at any moment. "More than one from the looks of it."

Lori took her hands off the crate and gave the bug ample room to do his thing. And here she'd thought she had seen the slimiest men in New York already. Lori smiled despite her feelings and thoughts. No reason to spook the bugman.

"I was headed for the training room if you don't mind." She always enjoyed leaving off the fact that she was the boss when interacting with new mutants. It was always so very enlightening.

Roach hefted up the box with little trouble, looking down at it in his arms and letting out a few curious clicks before turning to the woman who had directed him again.

"Training room? an odd accommodation for a sanctuary to have; Would it be behoove of me to ask you to show me the way?" Of course Gregory was aware that this was no mere hangout for down-on-your-luck mutants. Just a few weeks ago he had seen a cop slain right outside the front door; an axe to the gut, quite a way to go. Roach had wanted to skitter down and eat him right then and there, but his body had been quickly disposed of. It had been the motivation for much laughs, watching the news reports on the missing cop, presumed dead.

While the apparent violence about the place did pique his interest, it also brought about some concerns... If he got a job here, as was his aim, how long would it be before the police decided enough was enough and stormed the place... He would have to put his concern to words later.

"I live right across the street, you know... I see this place from my window, hear the knocks at my door... It was enough to make me wonder just what goes on behind the golden entrance."

"Hey, mutants need a safe place to test their stuff. It's just like a playground indoors." Not like a secret training facility used to cookie cutter out mutant death machines. As lovely as that would be, there was quite enough death around the Sanctuary without Lori encouraging it.

"Hmmm." Across the street, you say? Lori thought back to all the doors she had knocked on personally. No roach men had opened one of hers. "Treat you nice, did they?" Because they had better.

The training room was a sparse slipshod smattering of metal. It was a replica of what they had in the Mansion and could do some really fancy stuff but had none of the Mansion frills. Or so she was told. Lori never touched the tech. The wiring always looked a bit on the fire hazard side anyway and could do without her natural electromagnetic interference.

"Right there is fine." Really anywhere on the expanse of bare floor was fine. "Care to stick around for a little experiment?" She wasn't especially looking forward to it, but the box had spoiled... and she needed to work on her control.

It seemed like a good use of otherwise spoiled resources.

"Ah, yes. Silly of me to think otherwise." He waved about his mandibles curiously as he walked. He saw a particularly empty piece of hallway, and clicked silently a few times, depositing Frankie near a small crack in the wall with an inconspicuous flick of his outer shell. The bug quickly skittered on into the woodworks to go see what was on the menu in the kitchen, and maybe even find some people's hidden stashes.

She asked about his house visitors. "Ahh, you see, I was never inclined to answer the door; sooner or later they must have assumed my house was empty." He recalled that his mother had answered the door for them a few times to use his money to pay some sort of protection; she stopped that, of course, after her untimely and quite scrumptious demise. He recalled eying the forms of people leaving the great golden entrance and heading into his apartments for their rounds.

Mr. Samson eyed the training room as they entered, blinking a few times and chittering his maw in consideration. It was certainly an impressive piece of equipment; at least it looked rather high-techy. He set down the box neatly at his feet, and eyed it for a moment as she asked him to stick around.

"Well, I am certainly not lacking in time; Sure, as long as it is a safe one for myself. I do wonder, though... did I ever get your name?" Roach stepped back from the box, looking about the place with mild interest; if he decided to associate himself with this establishment, perhaps he would give this room a go; he wasn't much of a fighter, but he was rather curious.

"Lori Faust." Lori offered her hand. If ever she could get inside a bug's head, now was the time to try. So what if her hand lingered on his... hand? Ew. She wiped her hand on her pants. Subtle. Maybe he wouldn't notice? She smiled and then turned to... another unpleasant task.

Well, here it was. The moment she'd been putting off. The uncorking.

She raised her hands and crrrrrr-pop! Pop! popop! Four nails shot out of the crate and plinked down at her feet. The side of the crate wasn't too far behind.

And then it hit her.

She smell was hair curling. Multicolored hotdogs spilled out of a plastic lining and washed toward her feet in a sickly sea. She moved just barely out of their way, squatted and reached out toward one.

If she could keep from shocking the hooey out of a moist hotdog, someday she would be able to keep herself from leaking power in the shower. That was the hope anyway.

Sizzle, sizzle, pop.

"Pleasure to meet you."
Roach's little arms started playing thumb wars against each other as he reached out and shook the woman's hand grasping it gently in his hard chitinous appendage. Since he had a central nervous system just like any complex being, her powers might work, though the subtle differences might make it seem odd, like driving a motorcycle when you normally rode a bike. He tilted his head slowly as he watched her wipe her hands on her pants, and repeated the movement with his own hand, wiping his hand on his shell. Perhaps it was some off custom here? A secret hand shake? Surely she wasn't repulsed by his unending sexiness... or... was that it? He was too sexy?! Oh my, what a predicament!

He looked about worriedly, but hit a mental brick wall the second the crate popped open... He took one whif, two wifs, and then tuned, staring at the spoiled hot dogs with wide open eyes... They looked.... irresistible. He wanted to dive on them and gobble them all up! But the woman was here... His eyes slowly moved to her as she leaned down to touch one, and it started cooking. He stood stone still... He was at a loss for words... First off, there was food, and he couldn't eat it. Second off, she was a toaster. A human Toaster... He got the urge to make her stand on his head and wear her like a hat. A toaster woman hat... he would be even sexier. He decided against it. Clearly he was too sexy already.

"Oh my... That is certainly interesting... You would do well at parties." He nodded slowly, and then paused, recalling suddenly why he was here. "Oh, Ms. Faust! could you, per chance, show me to the owner of this establishment? I wish to... get involved."

Ew. This wasn't going very well. Lori tossed one cooked dog over her shoulder. Obviously she hadn't thought ahead about who would be cleaning all this up. She went for another disgusting hotdog. This time she would stop herself from discharging for sure.

Lori narrowed her eyes at it.

> "Oh my... That is certainly interesting... You would do well at parties."

Blink. Do well at parties? Because of this? Lori's focus changed from the already cooking moldy morsel to the invertebrate in front of her. (Did he have a spine because he was once a human? This was something she would likely only find out if someone squished him... or if there was an x-ray kid running around somewhere.)

The smell of burning brought her attention back to the hotdog at hand. She frowned at it and then past it to the roach standing in her training room.

She wobbled the burning rubbery meat left. She wobbled it right. He seemed way too interested in that little sizzle stick. Lori tossed the blackening shell over her shoulder and picked up another.

"How are you looking to get involved, Mister..." Mr. Anthropomorphically Walking Bug. Had he given him her name? These days were all topsy-turvey if she was giving out her real name before she even learned so much as an alias from another.

Something milky started oozing out of the currently cooking hotdog.

((Bugs have the equivalent of a spinal cord, it just isn't encased in bone, nor is it quite the same. I don't see why she couldn't do anything with his that she could do to others, but his might take some getting used to. You can play it any way you want. It's up to you, really ))

She gave him an odd look in response to the party comment, and he let the subject drop there. Clearly she didn't mean for the roasting to be entertaining.

Mr. Samson was in quite a predicament. The scent of the spoiled, moldy hot dogs drifted lazily across his smellers. Coupled with the signature smell of burning, the giant b-movie terror found them quite appealing. This, however, was the least of his worries at the moment.

She asked him his name. He had given it at the door in a volume clearly loud enough for her to register it. In his mind, however, this did not register as a failure on her part, but rather one on his own. He was not appealing enough to her. She obviously had more important things on her mind. That was good for her, but it might be bad news for him.

Worries aside, he would reintroduce himself, showing no signs of these thoughts. "My name is Gregory Samson, Mrs. Faust. Faust... There wouldn't be any relation to the nearby Faust Pharmaceuticals, would there? Yes... Your name rings bells, doesn't it?" Our Mr. Samson had the sudden feeling that he needn't go any further when looking for the person in charge. He dropped the accent, speaking in his normal, deep intellectual tone."While it is true that this place is a beacon of hope for many of the needy of our kind. I am neither hopeless nor am I needy. I want something more, Mrs. Faust, than hope. I want results. I want change, and I don't want to sit and watch it from afar. I want to make things change." He focused on her, the yearning for the now spewing hot dog now shoved violently to the back of his mind as he spoke at a measured pace.

"So rather than merely say I want to get involved, perhaps I should ask you... Have I come to the right place?" Perhaps that would get her interested in him.

((Oh yes! And his normal voice sounds like this-
XD))

((Yeah... she's just not all that experienced with this power and just a little bit afraid to copy random stuff from someone who is so different. What if she thought she was copying the speech part and instead copied the move your arm part? That could get awkward.))

>"My name is Gregory Samson, Mrs. Faust."

Gregory. It seemed such a normal name. Her correction of "That's Ms Faust." seemed to fall on deaf ears. Which was only fair since she had missed the fact that he had introduced himself once already. Stupid hotdogs were distracting. She tossed another over her shoulder and wiped her hand on her pant leg. She was pretty sure the hairs along her spine were standing on end.

>"There wouldn't be any relation to the nearby Faust Pharmaceuticals, would there?"

Ah. Caught again. Lori stood and stretched out her legs. She may never get used to being "important" and would likely less be used to getting recognized. "That would be the very same. I tore that building down and I built it again."

The change in tone and accent were interesting to Lori. She tried to focus on his little pea brain to see if something odd had happened there, but she was no expert. The pistons were firing and there were no rocks rattling around in there from what she could tell.

>"I am neither hopeless nor am I needy." Well, wasn't he a friggin' mutant anomaly. At least it was refreshing for someone to not want a handout.

>" I want results. I want change, and I don't want to sit and watch it from afar. I want to make things change."

"You're in the right place, but change is a bit of a vague term. What are you wanting to change, Gregory?" She had eyes like laser beams focused down to a single point. She was watching him. His facial movements, involuntary expressions and body language. Some things were definitely different about the bug man, but some things were universal to the humanoid face.

Excepting the smell, the hot dogs were all but forgotten here.

He broke the still with a tilt of the head, and a twitch of the antennae, causing his fedora to rock a little on his head. He would be quite hard to read in the traditional sense... perhaps with some time one could gather what one movement might mean, but his blank buggy eyes and chitin face didn't betray human emotions in the least... Mr. Samson did not posses the ability to wince, or wiggle his nose, or even sneer. Instead he clacked his mandibles, twitched his antennae, and hissed(Not at this moment, mind you, but over all).

"Yes, it is rather vague, isn't it?" The giant roach tapped his left mandible in the equivalence of tapping ones chin, and spoke thoughtfully. "In this world there exists those who fear what is different from them. Because it is different, they view it as... lesser. I feel very strongly that said group of beings is very much mistaken... Therefor it is time that they change; that they see that they are the ones who are lesser. I intend to be included in the process of making that specific change happen. Any activities society might see as objectionable, but beneficial to one such as myself, along the way would just be a perk."

He was pitching himself a little, that was true, but in a sense this was part of a job interview in and of itself, and it was the interviewee's job to pitch themselves to their prospective employer... He intended to keep this point in mind when they got to speaking about qualifications as well... Maybe he was buzzing upon his own horn, but he wasn't looking to become a 'grunt' of any sort; and while joining an operation such as this generally did mean doing some foot work to prove ones self trust worthy and competent, showing his intellect early on wouldn't hurt in getting him higher, faster.

"So, are you willing to talk more on the subject here, Ms. Faust, or perhaps, do you have an office that we may go to?"

"You don't want a hot dog?" He had seemed infatuated with them earlier. It was interesting to note that he had the ability to deny the part of himself that so desired spoiled meat. It was also interesting to note that he could be eloquent, capable of misinformation and misdirection as well as compelling.

>"So, are you willing to talk more on the subject here, Ms. Faust, or perhaps, do you have an office that we may go to?"

A tiny sigh from a tiny girl. "If we must." She motioned her hand toward the door. The ocean of spoiled meat? Well, that would e a surprise for the next to use this facility. (No doubt she would hear about it from Lisa.)

Lori's Sanctuary office was even smaller than her Faust Pharmaceutical's office. Once inhabited by Garrett, quite literally if the cot that used to be in there was any indication, it now belonged to the current resident Sanctuary Director.

"Have a seat, Gregory." Lori walked around the side of her desk, but rather than sit in the chair she perched on the side of the desk. If Bug boy could have a change in demeanor so could she. "Here's the bottom line. I need mutants that know how to play well with others. I need to know that if I give you a hoop to jump through, you can find your own way to the other side. I need to know that I don't have to micromanage your time because that will be a waste for both of us. I don't doubt your conviction. You're saying all the right words, but I need to see you walk the walk."

Again she watched as she ticked off her requirements finger by finger. Nervous? Lying? What would Lori give to have a real psychic on hand.

"I'm going to send you on a test run, if you're not opposed." If he was? well, now would be the time for him to find the door.

Not far from the back of his mind, Gregory entertained the thought of sneaking a gobble or two of the tasty hotdog morsels while Lori's back was turned, but her questioning of his desire for them made those thoughts spatter messily on the windshield of his self control. She would be paying attention, and thus a move to gobble would be inadvisable.

"No thankyou, Ms. Faust. I... already ate." It was an emulation of the humor one might show toward the subject if they were, as most people would be, not fond of rotten hot dogs. If he was as good of an actor as he thought, it would not come off as fake.

He followed her to her office, glancing about as they went... He had always wondered what this place would look like on the inside... It was just about what he had expected from a sanctuary for those in need, though... The training room had come as somewhat of as surprise. He wondered what else would surprise him here.

The tiny office certainly made the list; the fact that the owner of a pharmaceutical company was willing to humble herself by squatting in anything less than a fifteen by fifteen office sporting a sunrise view was... acceptable to giant Roach. He watched her take her place, twitching his antennae about every so slightly. He had taken communications classes before, and he knew that it was widely accepted that nonverbal queues where more important than verbal communication in many situations. A big part of nonverbal communication involved body movement; stance. He saw that she chose a less business-like stance, and thus he chose a similar one, placing a hand on the chair across from the desk, and putting the slightest bit of weight on it; not enough to make it slide, but enough to show that he wasn't full of tension, or nervous.

He listened intently as she counted off her hire-ee specifications, and nodded slowly as she finished. "I see... I believe I do meet those requirements quite well, and I accept the burden of proving this to you; after all, why would you buy a product that you were not sure would do what you intended it to do?"
He stood and waited for her to go into detail on this little 'test run' of hers.