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As the Church Griffin is a breed of miniature griffin that basically combines the raven with the Maine Coon cat, “acting according to his nature” included playing in the water, mercilessly hunting and killing anything smaller than he was, and generally being a brat.
Lindworms are predatory, and they’ll eat anything they can catch.
The snakes that top the heads of Pliny’s gorgons are venomous, and it never hurts to stay on their good side.
Dee—short for Deanna Lynn Taylor de Rodriguez, a mouthful she thankfully doesn’t insist on in casual conversation, or ever—is a Pliny’s gorgon, which puts her in the middle range of “potentially deadly cryptids with snakes in place of hair.”
Shelby was boisterous, enthusiastic to a fault once she had decided on a course of action, and prone to leaping before she looked.
That was the cue the mice needed to resume their rejoicing, shouting, “HAIL!” and “ALL GLORY TO THE SCIENCE RULES OF SCIENCE!”
If she thought body disposal would take me twenty minutes, she’d clearly never watched me clean a snake cage. I could get rid of an average human body in ten minutes, tops.
“Grandma,” I said sternly. “Please stop threatening my girlfriend.” “I’ll threaten anyone I want to,” said Grandma.
“You’re a hell of a lot cockier than I’m used to you being, you know that?” “That’s because you’re finally seeing me in my element. Work cocktail parties, not so much my thing. Dead bodies? I’m your boy.”
“I woke up and I didn’t know who I was, so I came down here so I could find me.”
“HAIL! HAIL THE RETURN OF THE GOD OF SCALES AND SILENCE!”
(Australia. The only continent designed with a difficulty rating of “ha ha fuck you no.”)
Sometimes I think things would be a lot easier to deal with if I didn’t think so damn much.
“That poor sweet baby,” said Shelby. “It must have been hurting so bad. No wonder it attacked us.” “Marry me,” I said distractedly,
Following a Pliny’s gorgon I barely knew into a cockatrice coop could probably be moved straight to the top of my list of The Dumbest Things I Have Ever Voluntarily Done.
“Fuck off,” she mumbled sleepily. It says something about me that I found that endearing.
“I’m quite serious. I’m going to murder you. I’m going to murder you to death. And then, after I’ve finished doing that, I’m going to kill you again, just to be sure you got the point.”
Artie divides girls into three categories—“terrifying,” “related to me,” and “Sarah.” Near as I can tell, the only category he actually looks at is Sarah.)
