"Well, I'm not a Wild person, but nearly all cats can speak using felid basic, at least. It's not always within people's aural range, though— that's why civilized people in Society use common language when in mixed company," This delivered with only a thin veneer of sarcasm, as if she were speaking to someone a little bit slow. For all that she hadn't known what this guy is, Quintet had never doubted his personhood, nor ability to respond intelligently, "I get the feeling that most people here don't meet many kinds of race outside their own; it's all biped apes. Not that there's anything wrong with apes, obviously, but it's a pretty narrow existence."

She gets up and, on impulse, takes a closer look at the helmet, pacing around it and having a sniff. Metal, that's what it smells of; and it's oddly complicated too, not unlike the man himself. Perhaps, being a construct, his mantle is made of the same stuff he is? Does that mean he's naked?

What a strange kind of person.

"So long as you're a person, that's what matters most. We're all human together, in Society."