In Other Lands

You will never find me in trouble. You will find me in the library. If you can remember where that is.

Oh no,” Elliot moaned, and sat down heavily on his bunk bed. “This is magic Sparta.

One of the boringly human pair of boys, the obvious leader, was tall and broad-shouldered, with golden hair, as if Nature has said, 'No worries, buddy, I gotcha, no nasty tiring thinking will ever be necessary, also have a crown.

I am not winning any arguments because I know how to hurt someone. How does that prove that you're right? How does being stronger or more vicious prove anything, except that all this talk about honor is stupid? Where's the honor in being better at hurting somebody? Telling me I have to do this is insulting, as if I can't win any other way. As if I can't win in a better way.

Elliot was trying to teach himself trollish via a two-hundred-year-old book by a man who’d had a traumatic break-up with a troll. This meant a lot of commentary along the lines of “This is how trolls say I love you. FOOTNOTE: BUT THEY DON’T MEAN IT!

If you must know, she is the one soul destined for my own, and we are going to be together forever,” he declared loftily. “That’s weird,” Luke told him. “We’re thirteen.

You should wear whatever clothing you feel most comfortable in. Being comfortable in yourself is the best way to be attractive to others.

Violence was like that, Elliot had noticed. One move toward it and all at once everything was allowed: anyone could be hurt, out of a mix of pride and anger and stupid disregard for the fact that you could be hurt as easily as someone else.

Two harpies, one stone,” he added, and then saw the way Serene was looking at him. “A diplomatic stone! A diplomatic stone.

Fourteen wasn't horrible, but it was more complicated, and sometimes that felt like the same thing.

The most annoying thing, perhaps, was that the elven troop were obviously good people and were being kind to them, and yet Elliot felt subtly wrong-footed at every turn. He wondered if this was how Serene felt all the time, and he promised himself to bear it as well as she did.

I do not know if you are not interested, or protecting yourself, but you cannot guard yourself against the whole world. You only succeed in placing a barrier between yourself from the world." He hesitated. "I know that from personal experience.

What's your name?' 'Serene.' 'Serene?' Elliot asked. 'Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle.' Elliot's mouth fell open. 'That is badass.

I'm not saying this to upset you. I'm trying to tell you what you absolutely have to do. What if we were both dead?' asked Luke. Elliot looked at his pudding and was very sad about his life and his choices. How had he wound up here, in a place where all he had was pudding - Elliot would have sold his soul for a chocolate bar - and awful people who at the age of thirteen asked questions like 'What if we were both dead.

Elliot was left to trail behind. As he did, he thought about Luke talking about literary tropes—the fearless hero, the valiant heroine, and where did it all leave him? Sidekick: a horrible indignity, Elliot refused to accept it. And the other idea was some sort of lurking, jealous figure: an Iago, a pathetic pseudo-villain waiting in the wings to plot and bring the hero down. He wasn’t going to plot against Luke, who had dumb daffodil hair and said “tropez,” for God’s sake.

There isn’t any kind of relationship that’s all problem-free delightful unicorns. You can’t have a relationship without issues and prejudices. The way to be equals is if both people agree to be equals, and treat themselves and each other as equals, despite all that.

All over the gray facade of his father's house in scarlet letters he wrote: ELLIOT SCHAFER. He almost added: "was here" but did not, partly because it was a little too cliched vandal for him, and partly because it did not encompass all he wanted to say: was here, is no longer here, is somewhere almost unimaginably different, is all right.

So far magic school was total rubbish.

Keeping everything very cool and professional, I see, Cadet,” remarked Commander Woodsinger as he went by. Elliot did not know why the two most important women in his life had to be deadpan snarkers.

I don’t need you to explain to me the concept of a magical land filled with fantastic creatures that only certain special children can enter. I am acquainted with the last several centuries of popular culture. There are books. And cartoons, for the illiterate.

Magic lands in books had always seemed close to nature, but in a nice way, without all the unpleasant details.

You should want to have gifted students who may excel in both courses, and you should be encouraging students when they show interest in their studies. Do you not want warriors who are brilliant, and diplomats who are brave?

Elliot finished his book in bed and pondered going to get another one. He only had so much time left, and he had so many books to get through.

There had been talk of cutting Luke from Trigon, but then everyone on Luke’s team had wept and had nervous breakdowns at the idea of cutting Luke from Trigon, so nobody talked about it anymore.

It wasn't her fault if Elliot had expressed his feelings wrong. He always did that, as if life were a dance where everybody else knew the moves but Elliot was constantly and fatally out of step.

It’s better this way,” said Elliot. “And if I came back—you’re probably both going to die. I’d be stranded and you’d be dead.” They were soldiers. This way, Elliot would never know if they died. He put the photo down. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “You’re not going to die. I don’t know why I said that.

Age but shows the marks of character being displayed and life being lived.

Books rose to the ceiling, which rose to a point, with ladders that leaned against the walls.

Why is language in the Borderlands so weird? Some of it’s modern, and some of it’s medieval, and I guess that makes sense with the influx of a certain amount of new blood to the training camp every year, but how do some words and phrases transfer, while others don’t? Why do you know the word ‘jerk’ and not the word ‘bisexual’?” “I guess people say the first word more,” said Luke.