- Joined
- Jul 7, 2008
- Messages
- 1,867
- Reaction score
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- Location
- Puerto Rico
- Website
- ralfast.wordpress.com
Some conversations are best held at a distance:
To be honest I think this is a much better line than the actual quoted text.
Some conversations are best held at a distance:
His jaw clenched, then suddenly he smacked me across the face. Hard.
I fell back against the wall in surprise. “W-what was that for?” It felt like my cheek was on fire.
“For being a complete idiot all the time!” Tom yelled, then turned and rubbed furiously at his eyes.
Was he crying?
“Tom?”
No reply.
Diana is often depicted with one boob bare. Maybe that image should be even more fun for poor Hell.
She also has a darker side and is connected with death. Not to mention what she did to poor Actaion who watched her bathing. Turned him into a stag and had him killed by his own dogs.
Tesian scoffed, but the action made him wince. He moved a stiff arm to rub his bandaged shoulder. “The smith is no coward. He would’ve confronted me face to face, not crept into my tent and skewered me while I slept. Of course now he will want to kill me. His wife’s indiscretions are no longer rumor, but fact.”
“If he needed more “fact” than one look at that baby, he probably is dumb enough to take you head on.”
In my world I made the rules. They didn’t always make sense, but that was my favorite part of being crazy. They didn’t have to.
"Those raids are well led; I'm sure there will be members of the jarl's household present."
"My lord Marshal." Roderic's squire Diancet lowered his high pitched boy's voice to a whisper. "But those are barbarians who may not care about the rules of chivalry."
"They have their own code of honour, Diancet. The bond between a warlord and his handgenginn men is strong. No doubt the jarl will enter into negotiations if I hold some of his men prisoner."
"Like the king did with the rebels of Ystrad Clunaidh? But their lord broke his oath."
"He was betrayed." Roderic could not tell Diancet how the king, in one of his bouts of anger, had killed a man who had surrendered in good faith, and then sworn those present to silence. Roderic had entered the tent only after the Thane of Ystrad Clunaidh lay on the ground with the king's dagger in his chest, else he might have prevented the deed.
"Believe me, it will not happen this time."
Personally..I think ol'Acti got what he deserved for being a peeping tom!
He got back in the car and drove away, and prison lost its last strand of hope that someone would figure me out before it was too late.
He was incontestably certain that he'd upgraded three months ago at Carrie's party in Acomb, when Gill (sobbing, with undertones of bitterness) had been swapped for Sophie (alluring in a strapless aquamarine dress which mysteriously kept her breasts from bobbing even during the dancing interludes they'd enjoyed between breathless sessions of snog).
In the grey evening, the lake shone the colour of molten lead; the mountains merged as darker shadows into the twilight. Resting his arms on the tower parapet, Alastair O'Duibhne inhaled the cool breeze that carried a faint tang of salt. He had missed that smell; missed the high mountains sheltering the cold, dark lake. A week after his frenzied return from Gallicaine, the death and funeral of his father, the inauguration of his brother as tuathach of the clan, this was the first moment he had to himself.
The wind fanned the plaid out behind him and played with his auburn hair, a heritage from the mysterious Merlinus Emrys, their legendary ancestor. The colour had run in the family ever since, it was said, and now it had come to Feradigh O'Duibhne's younger son, not the older. And with it, as only Alastair himself knew now his father was dead, the knowledge of a secret and dangerous power, and a dire responsibility.
You don’t look like a victim. You look like you’d have victims.
Great one, Rosemary!
The light from outside is flooding into the room giving me an idea of the time. By the look of it, its past noon already but it’s hard to tell what day it is. When you live the kind of life I do, time is not measured in days it’s measured in syringes of junk. Jack’s days are measured in bottles of whiskey.
“I’m out. I need to go to the shops, man.” Jack announces like I can’t see the half dozen empty bottles decorating the rotting, hardwood floor.
Forests are not the quiet cathedrals everyone likes to believe. Just because a twig snaps doesn’t mean it’s something sinister. Branches break for lots of reasons. Rabbit in the undergrowth, squirrel mis-judging a branch. Pine cone falling just right. Even Bambi snaps twigs.
A low, guttural howl follows.
Guess this isn’t Bambi.
"You boys run home to mother if you want. I'll find a new band of scum to play nursemaid to. The next time I'm in the dirt, they'll be putting me under it."
She wondered if he thought that the redness in her cheeks was due to the heat. That anxiety made them all the redder, and she smiled at him after he smiled at her.
Bipolar golems are oddly talented at coercion.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jared watched Whisper wash away the blood running from his nose.
The assassin shivered in the warmth of a summer evening. “Nothing.”
“I saw you in the wood. That was not nothing.”
“You’ve never seen a man talk to himself before?”
“You weren’t talking to yourself. What evil is about you?”
“Mind your own demons, Jared. Let me consort with mine.”
No One was a figment of my imagination that came into my life when I needed him. My parents made it clear that I was getting too old to believe in monsters, though they were right there, in my head, so I needed a friend.