“Shane settled his flamethrower more comfortably on his shoulders. “Ladies? After you.”
“Rude,” Claire said.
“I was being polite!”
“Not when you have a flamethrower.”
“You can't go around... licking things that come out of a water treatment plant. That's just... unsanitary.”
“News flash, lady. There are no queens anymore,” Shane said. He loaded shells in a shotgun and snapped it shut, then searched for a place to strap it on that didn’t interfere with the flamethrower. “No queens, no kings, no emperors. Not in America. Only CEOs. Same thing, but not so many crowns.”
“Even bipolar vampires needed sleep from time to time, and he was well past his recommended safe dosage of stress.”
“Her phone rang again. “What?” she snapped as she answered it.
Myrnin, of course. “Are you on your way?”
“Claire, there are things to do.”
“Here, too,” she said. “And I’m staying here, believe me.”
Myrnin was silent for a beat, and then he said, “Bob would be very disappointed in you.”
“Bob the spider?”
“He looks at you like a mother, you know. I’m surprised at your lack of work ethic. Think of the example you set for—”
She hung up on him and turned the phone on vibrate and relaxed in Shane’s arms.”
“That's very rude," Myrnin said. "I haven't brought my fangs our for some time. Not in mixed company, anyway.”
“Shane: "Bro," he said, in an injured tone, "I had to go out with a flamethrower, and you weren't there to see it."
Michael: "Pics or it didn't happen."
Shane: "Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame."
- Black Dawn”
“Shane looked faintly injured. “I make it my business to know everything about silver. And I saw your notes. I study up on everything when it comes to your boss, anyway.” There was a flicker of jealousy about that, but she didn’t have time, or energy, to consider it very much. Not even whether or not she liked it.”
“Hannah: What's your plan?
Claire: Go get him
Hannah: Honey, that is not a plan. That's what we in the military call an objective.”
“Claire watched as Shane hunted around and came up with a small crowbar, which he used to lever open the seals on the top of the barrel. The top was hinged in the middle, Claire realized, and he flipped that part over. "Score," he said, and raised the crowbar in triumph. "Who's your daddy?"
Myrnin stared at him as if he'd gone completely mental. "Excuse me?"
"Figure of speech," Claire said hastily.”
“It’s like disco inferno up in here”
“The rule of the Morrell family was over, and Richard owned a used-car lot and Monica worked at a nail salon, until one day she got run over by a bus. Very sad.”
“Who's your daddy?'
Myrnin stared at him as if he'd gone completely mental. 'Excuse me?”
“It is a natural stronghold for them—they can infest this maze of iron and water like a horde of starving cockroaches, and they’ll be just as hard to anticipate and to kill in such close quarters.”
“Wow,” Shane said. “You really know how to drum up team spirit. Did you print up Team Total Fail jerseys, too?” Myrnin gave him an entirely crazy smile. “Would you be surprised if I had?”
“Is it crazy right now to say I love you?” She didn’t even pause. “Given that I just stabbed you? Seems a little weird, yeah.”
“Myrnin was silent for a beat, and then he said, "Bob would be very disappointed in you.”
“She was starting to feel a little like a hamburger at a dieters’ convention. Nobody was likely to snack on her, but absolutely everybody noticed she was edible.”
“He smiled, and it made his dimples come out. “I think I’m more Batman,” he said. “You know, what with all the bats and nighttime activities. And Batman is much cooler.” “Geek.” His smile widened. “You say the nicest things. Haven’t you heard? Geeks run the world now.” -BLACK DAWN”
“His smile was bright and sweet and hot enough to melt solid steel. "Is this the part where I kiss you?"
"If you like."
"Oh," he said, "I like.”
“What’s her name? Claire, what’s her name?”
“Shane: "Score," he said, and raised the crowbar in triumph. "Who's your daddy?"
- Black Dawn”
“Moi?” He put his hand over his heart and did his best wounded-innocent look. “You must be thinking of some other uncouth jackass. Which makes me jealous, by the way.”
“What was our daughter’s name? I should know that. But I didn’t. I didn’t.
Because she doesn’t exist. Wake up!
“Dad—” I looked back. Frank was gone. There was just the sidewalk, and a gray fog, and the rain, rain beating down on my face, beading up on my skin. “If I
wake up I’m going to lose them. I can lose everything but them. Dad—” I didn’t want this, but I didn’t want to let it go. I couldn’t. I started to walk back to the
house, to Claire, to the baby whose name I hadn’t decided yet, to a future without vampires where I was respected and important and my dad loved me and …
And I knew I couldn’t have that.
Because I’m Shane Collins, and I don’t get those things.
Because that isn’t how my world is.
“As I leafed through the book in front of me and watched the dust swirl in the air, I wondered if maybe there was some evil dormant virus in the pages that would infect me, like the mummy dust that used to kill archaeologists. Death by research. That was not a glorious end.”
“I know, he said. We are into the Bad Idea neighborhood and heading down I Have a Bad Feeling Street. (Shane)”
“It's an illusion, control," Naomi said. "You ought to understand that by now, young Claire. We are never in control of our destinies, even the strongest of us. All we can hope to do is not be too badly damaged by events.”
“Pics or it didn't happen."
"Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame.”
“Eve: Shut up, we have zero time for you and your bullshit dramatics
Monica: Or what, you'll bleed on me, Emo Princess of Freakdomonia?
Claire: Fine. You come with us. If you get in my way, I'll kill you.”
“When giants fought, ants were crushed.”
“Disappeared' is the only way to describe it-it was as if he dissolved into thin air without so much as a whimper. I wouldn't have believed that a human being with a brain, a heart, with arms and legs and the power of speech could have simple vanished like that. There was nothing about him that suggested he would disappear.”
“He stood looking down at her for a moment, then walked to the window and raised it. "Let's let the storm in," he said, and then it was with them, filling the half-dark room with sound and vibration. The rain-chilled air washed over her, cool and fresh on her heated skin. She sighed, the small sound drowned out by the din of thunder and rain.
There by the window, with the dim grey light outlining the bulge and plane of powerful muscle, Wolf removed his wet clothing.”
“I knew exactly what I should have said: Be careful what you give children, for sooner or later you are sure to get it back.”
“By the way, Dallas?"
"That's a lovely tattoo. New?"
Eve clamped her teeth together, strode toward the door with as much dignity as she could manage. "See?" She jabbed a finger into Roarke's chest as they walked down the corridor. "I told you I'd be humiliated by that stupid rosebud."
"You've been drugged, slapped, tied up naked, and nearly killed, but a rose on your butt humiliates you?"
"All that other stuff's the job. The rosebud's personal."
Laughing, he swung his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. "Christ, Lieutenant, I love you.”
“There cannot be any hard and fast rules. But there can be suggestions and useful analogies. The most useful, to my mind, is that of the difference between the English and French judicial systems. In England (and America), the task of the court in criminal cases, which it devolves upon a jury, is to arrive at a verdict of ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’ on the evidence presented by prosecuting and defending counsel in turns. Trials are conflicts and verdicts are decisions; the two sides ‘win’ or ‘lose’. In France, and other countries which observe Roman Law, the task of the court in a criminal case is to arrive at the truth, as far as it can be perceived by human eyes, and the business of establishing the outlines of the truth falls not on a jury, which is strictly asked to enter a judgement, but upon a juge d’instruction. This officer of the court, unknown to English law, is accorded very wide powers of interrogation–of the suspect, his family, his associates–and of investigation–of the circumstances and scene of the crime–at which the suspect is often required to participate in a reconstruction. Only when the juge is satisfied that a crime has indeed occurred and that the suspect is responsible will he allow the case to go forward for prosecution. The character of these two different legal approaches is usually defined as ‘accusatorial’ (English) and ‘inquisitorial’ (French) respectively.”
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