[Sam has spent the majority of his life away from the Earth. He hasn't known grass in a long time. So while David seems content to stand about, Sam takes a moment to pull his hands from his pockets, settle them down, and sit on the ground. It's not overly comfortable, but it's dirt and plant life and a planet he once believed he had been born and raised on. It's good enough for him. So he just sits, tucking his ankles under each other and letting his knees rest above the ground, elbows tossed over them as though he hasn't a care in the world.

If David wants to sit, that's fine. Sam's not going to make a big deal of it. From what he's seen, David tends to mimic people out of...well, he can only assume it's because he believes it makes them more comfortable. Like with drinking a beer. But if David wants to stand, Sam's not going to be uncomfortable with it. Sam just likes the ground.

One day, he hopes to be buried under it. Whole and with all the teeth he's got left as in tact as they can be, bald if he gets to be it. But he'd like to meet his end underneath it as opposed to...whatever happened to the bodies of the other clones whenever they got into that pod.]

You mean that Weyland wasn't a perfect, handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed fellow? You think he might have been wanting to look like you? I would never have guessed that, not at all.

[It's sarcastic. The men Sam knows of who look like David got contracts for movies or were models for fashion. One doesn't go out to the grocery store, usually, and see men like David.

Of course, Sam being who and what he is, he never went to the grocery store. Or the movies. Or looked through a fashion magazine. But he knows of them, at least. It's all he has to work with.]