Wash has to be one of my favorite character from Firefly, and really nothing beats Dr. Toros with his models… obvious disclaimer, yadda, dying for reviews and all that, et cetera, and do enjoy yourselves.

"'This is a fertile land we have come to…'" the pilot said as his Triceratops walked (more, hopped) across the wood grain of the table towards his new friends. "'We shall call this land… This Land…'"

"Ah, but this is a dangerous land," warned a second man, the self-appointed narrator. "This is a land full of fierce Zoids!"

"Ah, but if we work together, we can take them all, can't we?" asked a Tyrannosaurus Rex in the possession of the first man. "'Yes, I believe so,'" answered the triceratops. "'Oh no! What are you doing?' Muahahaha, mine is an evil laugh! Munch, aaugh! 'Oh no! Curse your sudden yet inevitable betrayal!' Muahaha, ngya ngya ngya—"

" 'Ngya, ngya, ngya'?" asked Dr. Toros.

"It's the sound of him chewing—you just saw him bite his ally's throat out," the pilot answered in a defensive tone.

"Okay, then…" Toros said, turning his attention to his own models. "The Zoids, having achieved their own delicate peace for the time being, see these violent new creatures as a threat. As one, they attack—"

"All right, seriously?" Wash asked. "They see the one bad guy in all of the dinosaurs, and all of them at once are going to attack? And I though all your guys were enemies to start with?"

"No!" Toros said, bringing down his fist on the table, inadvertently beheading his DarkHorn. "Oh no! Your head's gone under the table!"

"Ngya, take this opportunity to attack! Their ranks are broken!" Wash's T-Rex commanded as his plastic dinosaurs rushed the Doctor's half of the table.

"Hold on!" Toros protested. "I'm having a serious issue here! My poor Darkhorn…"

"Well, you instigated a full scale attack and then let your guard down," Wash said, attacking the leg of a Sabre Tiger with his stegosaurus's head, presumably meaning to bite it.

"The attack was pretend, Darkhorn losing his head was in real life!" Dr. Toros said, pulling his Sabre Tiger away from the viscous plastic monster and cradling it next to his injured (and wobbling) DarkHorn.

"Well, that's just the way the game is played," Wash said, reaching out with his Pachycephalosaurus to head-butt a DiBison before it was swiped away into Dr. Toros's arms as well.

"No it's not!"

"Is too! Now, are you going to keep playing or admit that your robot models lost to my dinosaurs?" Wash asked.

"They didn't win! You cheated!" the doctor whined.

"Boys!" two female voices called in chorus: one a bemused warning, the other an annoyed reprimand.

"If you can't play nice, don't play at all!" the doctor's daughter ordered, slamming her empty coffee cup down.

"Or, as we used to say in the Browncoats," a dark woman in her late thirties said in a laid-back tone, "if you can't play nice, shoot under the table."

Wash held up both his hands to show immediately that he had no weapon. Doctor Toros stood up anyway.

"I believe we can call today's match a draw. I need to go fix my models," Dr. Toros said as he started moving his other toys—ahem, models—into their box.

Leena Toros sighed and got up. "Thanks for having us over."

Zoe Wash smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "Always nice to see you. We'll stop by a match if we're ever in the area at the time." Both of the Toros left, and Zoe walked over to her husband.

"You see, this is always what happens," he said as he gathered his dinosaurs. "He comes over, he starts things, and just as they're getting fun—"

"I know, honey, I was there. Why don't we go see if Captain's done getting into trouble with the rich folks, all right?"