Tarantulas twitches slightly when César reaches for his stomach, watching curiously as he buttons up his shirt for him. Ah, that does make it a little easier to resettle Dawn and sit more comfortable. He listens carefully to the things César has to say, only sighing quietly at the end in what might be wistful, or perhaps even envy.

"The continuity of organics sapients," he says softly. "Do you know what an asset that is to your species? Your individual lifespans are so short, but look at how far you've come in less than a million years! The kind of stagnation, the creative sterility, that plagues Cybertronian society is simply impossible on organic worlds...it can't even find a place to take root."

He sighs again, leaning back slightly in his chair. In his arms, Dawn has stuck a corner of her blanket into her mouth and sucks on it meditatively, staring at the sunbeams on the ceiling with her wide buttery eyes.

"Could I have another glass of water?" Tarantulas finally asks.