Brett Blob, the son of H. G. and Mrs. Blob, saunters forward to meet you - his arrogant smirk and cocky demeanor immediately obvious. He sizes you up with a quick glance as you draw near, before folding his thick, slimy tendrils across his chest.

"Well, what do we have here?" he snorts, his slimy voice dripping with haughtiness.

"You look fun to mess with."