"Sorry, salroka," comes a voice from the street. There stands a tattooed dwarf in a leather jacket, a cigarette in one hand and the end of a leash in the other. At the end of said leash is--you guessed it--a brown-spotted bibiru, this one sporting a slightly bum wing. "I've met my pet quota."

He's being a bit of a teasing shit, but the scene's hard not to laugh at. Smirking, he juts his chin out at the bibiru. "Why don't you want the little guy anyway? Seems like he's taken a shine to you."