"Ah, I do apologize for my guards." Saddler started, his voice oddly smooth despite his appearance. With slow, measured strides, he walked up to the young one sitting nervously in an armchair, looking them over.

Dirtied face, scuffed up knees, eyes as big as dinner plates. It tugged on his heart strings. A lost lamb...

"They are a bit rough, at times." He continued, stopping in front of them, standing tall. "But they mean well, they merely want to protect."

He let the silence hanging in the air, the tension only serving to solidify his air of superiority.

"I am Osmund Saddler, the speaker for Las Plagas." He spoke firmly, his voice echoing off the walls.

"And what is your name, my child?" He asked in a softer voice, leaning forward ever so slightly.