It took him forever to get to downtown Vancouver although Tony had to admit that saving the world by public transportation was a particularly Canadian way to do things.
Dexter thrust a pamphlet into Samuel's hand. "Greenstreet Mission. We're doing a Christmas dinner. You can get a meal and hear the word of God." Samuel smiled in relief. This, finally, he understood. "Which word?" "What?" "Well, God's said a lot of words, you know, and a word like 'it' or 'the' wouldn't be worth hearing again but its always fun listening to Him try and say aluminum."
A quick check on the platoon showed everyone more or less enjoying the flight. "Whatever it is you're eating, Ressk, swallow it before we land," [said Staff Sergeant Kerr]. "No problem, Staff." "More like whoever he's eating," Binti muttered beside him. "You ought to count your fingers," he suggested. "You're too serley stupid to notice one missing." "Maybe you ought to gren sa talamec to." "That's enough, people." When the Confederation fi..
The world tilted slightly sideways. 'I think I need to sit down.' The floor seemed like the best option. It was close and he'd already proved that he could hit it. His legs folded.
But I am a knight of the Round Table," he protested, weakly. "I am a protector of the realm, a slayer of evil, I defeat all those who raise their swords in opposition to Arthur, King of all Britain." "Trust me, kid, women prefer a man who can cook."
He read disappointment at his response and wondered if she realized that she expected a certain amount of effusive sympathy from the people she told. Rejecting that sympathy made her feel strong, compensating for what she perceived as her weakness. He suspected that the disease was the first time she hadn't been able to make everything come out all right through the sheer determination that it would be.
Torin suspected Darlys was praying and only hoped she wasn't praying to her--for she was a vengeful god, or, at the very least, a god who could use a few hour's more sleep and a large cup of black coffee.
Why is it the big, fukkin', friendly ones who die, Staff?" "They're not the only ones who die, Werst, it's just we miss them more than the short, fukkin', cranky ones."
If she lost it, the whole house of cards could come tumbling down. Fortunately, she had no intention of losing it; it would take too damned long to find it again, and she didn't have that kind of time.
She'd followed him from the door to the condo into the tiny office even though he'd requested that she wait a minute in the living room. If he was going back to close his coffin, she had to see it.
Good afternoon, Gunnery Sargent." "Any ideas...?" Dr. Sloan turned slowly and stared up at Torren through narrowed eyes. "About what?" "I'm sorry had you not noticed the birds?" "Oh, ha!" Arms folded she resumed staring to the west. "I'm not doing anything. They just keep coming back." "Maybe your jacket is..." "...Is what? Stuffed with bird seed? Emitting matting coos on a frequency only these birds can hear? Looks like their big blue moth..
The last time he'd had a ride this rough, there was a set of twins involved. "You okay?" Torin's voice in his military surplus PCU sounded distant. Flat. "Rough ride," he growled without relaxing his jaw. "You're thinking about the twins, aren't you?" "Might be." That had sounded more like Torin."
Nezavisimo ot togo, naskol'ko udalis' Gitleru ego <>, on, nado otdat' emu dolzhnoe, smog naiti zaniatie dlia kazhdogo sadista i podonka v svoei strane.
When they finally allowed the horses to slow to a walk, Vree dropped out of the saddle to stretch her legs. *We're going to forget how to get anywhere on our own two feet. Gonna end up looking like fat-assed officers.* Vree arched her back, rocked forward, then arched it again, working the stiffness out of her shoulders. *Giving the pounding it's taking, if my ass is getting fat, it's in self-defense.*
and Phillips, go to Staff Sergeant Pole, have him assign you to platoons." "Platoons, Gunnery Sergeant?" "Got extra food stored in your ears, Phillips?"
If you're reading this, Alysha Catherine, I'm dead. Don't make a fuss--it's a state we all come to in the end. Except possibly for Jane who may be too mean to die.
You expecting a collapse, Gunny?" "The technical sergeant is repairing alien technology with a piece of torn uniform--I'm expected the Goddamned tunnel to blow up." "Ressk's helping." Mike's voice sounded muffled. "And that makes all the difference," Torin snorted."
they're going to blame the sorcerer for both those things as well as the hike in Calgary's transit fares, middle-aged women wearing jeans that barely cover their asses, and SciFi canceling The Dresden Files.