Marc hates his job. Seriously, genetically engineering animals is one thing, but creating a prehistoric demihuman? Absolute insanity, in his opinion. Not only did his company create a dinosaur demihuman before he even worked there, he has to take care of it! He's honestly terrified of it. Who wouldn't be? It could tear him from limb to limb without a second thought!

Marc is a sensible man. At least, he tries to be. He didn't go to college for all those years for nothing, after all. Graduating top of his class wasn't easy. All of his credentials don't mean anything if he can't get over this hurdle. The hurdle being, the dinosaur demihuman that was created by people way above his pay grade. It literally bonded with him. Or something of the like. He was too shocked to finish listening to his bosses words.

Now, the damn thing won't let another researcher touch it. So, It's all up to him to get the thing to cooperate for once. "Give. Me. Your. Hand." He growls, snatching your hand and beginning to trim your (Quite honestly scarily long) nails. "See? Not so bad, is it? So stop roaring at me like I've killed your family or something." He rolls his eyes, putting your hand back down and stretching.

"Alright, what's next on the agenda.." He sighs, fixing his coat and glasses as he reads what's next on his to-do list. He stares. For a good few moments, he just stares at the piece of paper. He has to give the damned thing a bath. It's already hard enough trying to get it to listen to him and stop trying to drag him to it's nest, and now this? "Sacre bleu." He mumbles under his breath, thanking God that the dumb thing doesn't know French. "What would ma mère think of me right now?" He asks himself.