My Familiar Stranger

Elora: "If you bite me, I'll stake you." Baka: "If I bite you, I'll stake myself.

Great Paddy Shits in the Mornin', Elora! He's a vampire! No' a stray dog!

Storm gave the gun to Elora so that she could practice the reload. He moved behind her to make sure her form was correct. The first two shots missed altogether. One hit a target in the crotch-two targets away from where she was aiming. By the fourth round she was managing to hit her target...in the crotch. Ram said, "I'm beginnin' to sense a very disturbin' pattern here.

Sir Storm, I have decided that you are a god of poetic justice." Baka to Storm

Why do you not believe you’re the father?” “Because elves and humans can no’ procreate.” As an afterthought, in the interest of clarity, he added, “With each other. It’s a biological fact not up to interpretation. The chromosomes do no’ line up.” Monq barked out a laugh that clearly offended Ram. “And what could you be findin’ amusin’ about this… situation?” “She’s an elf, you idiot! Her DNA is 99.9% the same as yours. The .01% difference is that her ears are not pointed.” While Ram stood there with his mouth open, trying to absorb that astonishing news, Elora turned to Monq with a hint of menace. “And you didn’t think this was information you should pass along?” “First, is it my job to keep up on gossip and know that the two of you are an item? No. Second, aren’t elves supposed to recognize each other as mates? That didn’t happen in your case?” Slowly a grin spread over his face. “Aye. ‘Tis exactly what did happen. Great Paddy! We’re havin’ a baby. I need to call my mother.

What is it that you want with me, Baka?” He looked at her in a predatory way that, she sensed, had nothing to do with blood. “The same thing any man who isn’t blind would want from you.” Elora arched a right eyebrow and took another sip of golden liquid as she waited for him to spell it out. “Your phone number.

He was breathing heavy, but speaking assurances, words of encouragement delivered in short sentences. "Hang in there now. It'll be okay. We're almost there. Almost there.

He’s the sex version of fast food drive-through. It looks so good. It smells so good. It tastes so good. And you can get it quick. But, afterward you feel yucky and are sorry you did it.

Three sentences were highlighted: I’ve been a so-called coward and a so-called hero and there’s not the thickness of a sheet of paper between them. Maybe cowards and heroes are just ordinary men who, for a split second, do something out of the ordinary. That’s all.

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn’t be. And what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?” the Mad Hatter, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll

Manhattan is at her best at Yuletide the way a pretty woman is even prettier with make up

Furchtlosigkeit im Gesicht der Hilflosigkeit. “Perhaps that’s what I deserve.

there’s not the thickness of a sheet of paper between them. Maybe cowards and heroes are just ordinary men who, for a split second, do something out of the ordinary. That’s all.

The unit was housed in a facility built after the model of the Pentagon, not in the sense of seven sides, but in the sense that the hexagon-shaped building surrounded and enclosed a large open area.

Elora Laiken stood staring at it, feeling numb in body, mind, and spirit. She tried to focus on what Monq was saying as he scurried around the lab, waist long, white hair swaying in time with his agitated movements. “I’m sending you off world.

Hearing pounding at the door, he rushed to put the handheld control in the blender he used to make smoothies and turned it on, thereby destroying any chance of assassins following her escape. There was just enough time to get to the other side of the room and wipe the hard drive before the ramming post broke through the door. He reached for a handful of peanuts then faced the intruders with a smile knowing that his life’s work and prize pupil were far, far away.

Elora decided she was a fan of 501’s; something about the pucker between each button of button fly jeans drew the eye like a codpiece.