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Denver had not assumed that the boy understood that a dead animal meant less fun, but it seemed that he did, and simply didn't care. The white dog couldn't help but stare blankly for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Well, if death wasn't a problem, then the Associate had no more answers. Slowly, his shoulders raised in an unsure shrug. What could he say?
Luckily, he didn't have to say anything, and the Arbiter started up again, spouting words that made Denver frown. There was no way in hell he would touch that diseased beast. Scraggly-furred head shook slowly at first, and more fervently as the gray man became persistent. His ivory hands as rose quickly as his brown eyebrows furrowed. His floppy ear bounced with the movement. "No way, ah-ah," he insisted, "I am not touchin' that thing." Pale eyes fixed hard on the green prehistoric creature; he did not like it, and absolutely did not want to put his precious hands anywhere near it. "You can have all the fun you want, but don't count on me t'help you." It wasn't the killing that he minded, but the possibility of disease or injury or mess; none of which he wanted to deal with.
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