Gregor melt into shadows like piece of butter.

"Well, obviously when you support-zone someone, you are having them stay at your ‘C’ support, depriving them from any chance of attaining a possible ‘A’ or even if lucky ‘S’ support, and that… is exactly what you seem to be doing to me." How dare this bara brute do something like that. 

"Gregor is not understanding this 'support-zoning'. Gregor thinking that maybe Tharja is suffering from the madness? Perhaps she should cast hex on self to make her mind not jumbled up like trail mix? Gregor will even help!"

      ❝Why, your words are kind and taken to heart, Gregor.❞ With a light giggle, she brings a hand to cup her cheek, glad for the kind compliments from the mercenary. ❝I’m afraid that’s no ordinary statue. I believe that’s what they call a “vending machine”.❞ Cherche is equally unfamiliar with the terminology and machinery that come with this city, though she’s trying to understand, it’s a bit difficult to get right the first couple of tries.

"'Machine' is new word to Gregor. Perhaps I am speaking the language wrong? But at least friend is very good teacher! Teaching dragon is much like teaching boy, yes?"

The man gave out a large laugh at this, amused partly by his own hopelessness, and the Sherpard's den mother's words. The laugh eventually turned into a friendly smile, and he nodded his head in understanding.

"Ah, so Cherche and Minerva is being as lost as Gregor! But is better to be facing the suffering with comrades than alone, yes?" the man ruffled the back of his hair sheeply before walking up to his friend and her dragon, "Then Gregor would be glad to be doing the venturing with friends! Perhaps get to show Gregor place other than 'vendor machine'." With that he patted the lady on the shoulder and begun walking onwards

Listening vaguely to Gregor’s words—he’d known a duke and a dancer? The latter was quite probable, but the former? Had Gregor served nobility? A question he’d ask later. The tavern around them was, like most of Hive City, a very anachronistic place. The music was strange, the smell of cigarettes weak and unpleasing (he missed the rich, woody aroma of a good cigar, rolled in Cullero) yet the brass taps and worn wooden surface evoked a sense of home in the man’s heart.

Such big strong bara trying to slide away from the grasp of the Plegian didn’t make him look good to be honest, wasn’t he super rude and could take any blade? The woman shook her head as she looked over at his poor badly worded excuses. “Are you…support-zoning me?” Did he really just … Incredible.

"Support-zoning? Gregor does not know this word... is like... Gregor does not even have similar term. Tharja, tell Gregor all about support-zoning. But not focus on scars please, Plegian might not know but scars be hurting when they are touched. Is raw like baby, yes? So Gregor not be needing anymore."