Francis: He lost his innocence, Bluebeard, as man has lost his.
Pascal: The horror... so much pain... darkness... Francis... so much darkness... look at me now, and all you see, Francis, is evil. Yet once I was good...
Francis: I swear that whoever murdered Felicity is going to pay for it!, you hear me you bastard I'm going to make you pay!
Blaubart: We'll get you shithead!
Pascal: [types the word "FELIDAE" on the computer] Do you know the meaning of this word, Felidae?
Francis: Could it be a scientific name for all our family divisions, "cats" as they're usually called?
Pascal: Felidae. Evolution has created an astounding number of various creatures. Not one however deserves the respected wonder the genus Felidae has earned.
[shows on the computer a list]
Francis: Wow! What did you combine on this list.
Pascal: Those of us who live in the neighbourhood, name, age, gender, breed, marking. I almost forgot, I need to enter you now as well.
Pascal: Yes it is. Even better if it can help us solve a murder.
Francis: Did you know it all of the dead brothers?
Pascal: Yes! They were all on the prowl after some female in heat.
Francis: I... I have an idea. Find out what breed they were. That may lead us to a new tie-up.
Pascal: Simple enough.
[shows on the computer the murdered cats' type of race]
Pascal: Well, none of them were partically aristocratic examples of Felidae.
Francis: But all the same race, so they were'nt just excited and male. They were all European Shorthairs.
Blaubart: [slides down tunnel] Dammit. I'm getting too old for this bullshit.
Felicitas: The death cries. They're always tomcats. You could tell that they were, excited.
Blaubart: [to Francis] You taking over that shit heap in there? Interesting place. I go in there for a piss occasionally.
Francis: Very impressive, have we come to the house of an art collector or a pimp?
Blaubart: Your guess is as good as mine, I believe the can opener who owns this joint has some sort of job as a scientist or was it a parapsychologist? I don't know.
Francis: [spotting a dead cat with her stomach and throat ripped out] Oh my God...
Kong: Looks like he's run out of steam suddenly, that's what happens to you when you eat too much junk food.
Francis: Yeah I'm out of breath and it looks like I'm not the only one.
[indicating the dead cat]
Kong: What bullshit you talking now?
Kong: Solitaire! Oh Solitaire! What have they done to you? What the hell has that evil bastard done? My lovely, lovely Solitaire!
Francis: Who was she?
Hermann 1: Solitaire was the boss' favorite girl, and chances are those are his family you can see as well.
[pointing out the dead kitten fetuses]
Kong: I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna hamburger him, I'll tear his balls off and stuff them down his throat, what kind of heartless bastard would do this? Who? Who? Tell me!
Kong: Was it you? No, you didn't have the time. Well then who did it? Who was it?
Cult Member: [while looking for Francis] He was here. I can sense him.
Francis: Hey, Bluebeard.
Francis: Sounds to me like you're backtracking a little, aren't ya?
Blaubart: You don't say... and what makes ya think so?
Francis: Well, you told 'em I'm your friend.
Blaubart: [spotting dead cat with his throat torn] It must've been a can opener.
Francis: Pardon? Can opener? I'm sorry, you've lost me.
Blaubart: It must've been a friggin' can opener. Ain't it obvious? He gave our poor little Sascha an extra ventilation hole in the throat.
Francis: Oh, you mean a man. Did you witness it?
Blaubart: Hell no. But only men are brutal enough to do a thing like this. Lousy can openers. The only thing they're good for is opening our dinner cans.
Francis: There's a plate there. Looks like this place was a doctor's office. That would explain the chemical smell.
Blaubart: [enters the room]
Francis: Did you come in here to take a leak? Well you don't piss in here anymore. I live here now and I have my standards.
Francis: Let me guess. This latest victim's also a tom, just like the other 4 stiffs.
Blaubart: Smartass. How the hell did you know that?
Francis: It's a guess, but an educated one.
Blaubart: Anyway this time it's tight-assed Deep Purple that's taken out his last rat. His throat looks exactly though someone decided to test an ice pick to see if it works.
Francis: One question, was he castrated?
Blaubart: Purple had his jewels intact, but, he couldn't get it up anymore.
Francis: Oh boy, it was time to meet the neighborhood scumbags.
Kong: [laughs] Bluebeard! You ugly old furball! I see you've been cruising the gay scene for a change! That cute little thing behind you is a juicy little number!
Francis: The only thing that ties the two stiffs together is sex.
Kong: [to Francis] And as for you cutie pie, you can bet your sweet whiskers, that you and me, just the two of us, got a date. And in the not too distant future, that you won't forget in a hurry. So, until then, sweet thing.
Blaubart: Let me put the ol' thinking cap on.
Francis: Oh you do think do you?
Blaubart: I think non-stop. Surprises you, eh? I even read a book once.
Cult Member: Spread out and surround him.
Pascal: As it shows, The murderer is beginning to make mistakes we may be able to exploit.
Francis: I hope you're right, but I find it hard to imagine that this master of horror could make mistakes.
Pascal: Then perhaps he is sending us a message.
Pascal: Can I offer you both something to eat?
Francis: Thanks, we've eaten already, Pascal.
Blaubart: Shut up, will you asshole? Personally, I can handle another little mouthful or two.
Francis: [talking about Felicity] Her eyes were wide open, as though even with her last breath the one thing she longed desperately for was to see.
Francis: Why weren't the bodies of Sascha, Deep Purple, Solitare... Felicity, down there?
Nhozemphtekh: I'm new around here, that's all you need to know. Your lady is just as she is.
Francis: Your breed is new?
Nhozemphtekh: Not new, no, it's old. Or in simple language, old and new. Or, different. Figure it out for yourself Francis.
Francis: How did you know my name?
Nhozemphtekh: A little bird in a tree told me.
Francis: And what's your name?
Nhozemphtekh: My name matters as little as my breed. It wouldn't anything to you.