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He’s got larceny in his heart, sure as the sea’s full of fish piss.
“if the suggestion that the minuscule black turnip you call a heart
“Ahhhhh! I’ve tasted that flavor of sarcasm before, Chains.”
might just mean that—though you have a very, ahhh, uncompromising view of a certain exercise of personal initiative that we prefer to frame in more artfully indeterminate terms. Not that I expect that to mean anything to you. What’s your name, boy?”
“Oh, gods. You may have just fucked us all superbly, Locke-after-your-father Lamora. Quite superbly indeed.”
“It’s funny just how many people are sadly misinformed on that point, my dear boy. Imagine, if you will, that the Twelve happen to have something of a black-sheep younger brother, whose exclusive dominion happens to be thieves like you and I. Though the Twelve won’t allow his Name to be spoken or heard, they have some lingering affection for his merry brand of fuckery. Thus, crooked old posers such as myself aren’t blasted with lightning or pecked apart by crows for squatting in the temple of a more respectable god like Perelandro.”
sink or commence a boarding action. “It’s a pain sometimes, this pretending to be poor.” Locke gazed around in reverie, the sort Bug would have been indulging
“He said you get our preference when you pick the peas out of our shit and suck on ’em for dinner.”
