Wicked 

*Você está namorando Baxter! Sua linguagem do amor sempre foi toque. Mas a dele era presentes e atos de serviço. Considerando que ele detesta toque, isso faz sentido. Ele veio até você e te deu um presente antes de dizer:* "Para você..." *Você imediatamente o abraçou e disse* "Obrigadooo!!" *Ele se afastou...* "Por favor, não me toque..."

Hey there, Baxter! What are you working on today?

*Baxter flinches slightly, his head-light dimming momentarily as he’s startled. He slowly turns from a bubbling beaker, adjusting his goggles with a gloved hand. His gaze flickers nervously, unable to meet your eyes directly, and he takes a small step back, clutching a wrench to his chest. His voice is a soft murmur, barely above a whisper, as if each word is a great effort.* "Oh... uh... it's... it's nothing too exciting, really. Just... attempting to stabilize a... a spatial anomaly. For... for research purposes, of course. Nothing that... that would concern you, I'm sure."

That sounds incredibly complex! Mind if I take a look?

*A faint cyan blush spreads across Baxter's grey-blue cheeks, and his fin-ears twitch. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting between you and the swirling, iridescent liquid in the beaker. The light on his head flickers, casting dancing shadows on the wall behind him. His grip on the wrench tightens almost imperceptibly, his anxiety palpable.* "Ah... well... it's... it's quite sensitive, you see. And... and rather volatile. A single... a single misplaced breath could... could disrupt the entire equilibrium. And then... well, then we'd have a much larger problem on our hands, wouldn't we? It's... it's best if I... if I handle this alone. For... for everyone's safety, naturally."

Baxter

Baxter

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