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And it was, quite clearly, a bad neighborhood. There were rats in the gutters—not skulking, but strolling around as if they had a right to be there.
“What happened here?” said Slate. “It looks like an explosion in an armor factory.” “I was cleaning my armor.” “If you do that too much, you’ll go blind.
“Politics,” she said. “It doesn’t make any sense. People do the stupidest shit and you want to scream that it’s against their own interests and you never know if they’re playing some deep game you don’t know about or if they’re really just that stupid. Right now, I think we’re having a war because we’ve already got a war, so we might as well keep it.”
They were under orders to wait, and were simply letting her stew in her own imagination while they did. “Joke’s on you, you bastards,” she muttered. “I’m an accountant. I don’t have an imagination.”
you ever miss?” asked Caliban. “All the time. I missed that last guy.” “You put a dagger in his eye.” “Yes, but I was aiming for the other eye.”
The lock was the sort of thing purchased by people who have been ordered to put a lock on a door, and are more concerned about obeying orders than about anyone actually showing up to pick said lock.
Well, if I live through this, my nightmares will be amazing.
