he meant people all from the start - soup!

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify;"]Soup. How quaint. It wasn't a food source Floris could consume, because apparently, while the squishies were externally fragile, their digestive systems were essentially, "fuck it we'll eat anything," whereas Floris had to be more selective. His process involved gizzard stones, when he got his talons on vegetation. Soup didn't require much chewing, but- to put it simply, he was allergic to much of what these mushy people ate, as were his fellows, though he wouldn't have eaten the soup if he could. He didn't trust any of the bastards from The Pitt, even less so the outwardly kind ones. It wasn't a matter of pride for Floris, but reason. Maybe if the shits swallowed some of it themselves he might be more convinced, except even then they could've concocted an antidote beforehand.

In short, Floris was already tired of it all.

The mutated dragon gave carapaced shoulders a stretch as he approached, standing beside the two Snowbounders. There was a third, but from where Flo was standing, he'd already thrown his lot in with The Pitt. He supposed this meant he himself had thrown his in with Snowbound.

Floris approached the pot of soup, taking the ladle between his teeth and scooping the shit into a bowl at his feet. He shifted his toes beneath it, balancing the dish carefully to walk away with it, though as he passed, the dragon abruptly flung the bowl and its contents toward Yes Man, aiming to strike him in the face with both. "Try not to choke on your own bullshit."