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And after the battle, she had shown an entirely new affinity for wood. Heh.
“To Macallan. Only reason I stick around this dusty ol’ pile of a mansion is because of Master Temple’s stash,”
You really are Count Sparkula.” He stared at me. “You know, Count Dracula, and Sparkles. I combined the words.” He didn’t react. “It’s funnier when I explain it all out like that,”
Sir Muffle Paws sauntered into the room at that moment, likely having followed us after failing to catch the sprites, and deciding to hunt down the larger, dumber humans as an afternoon snack.
Listen, I looked through the lens thingie and aimed my metal fire-stick.
And you can’t spell Russian without including the letters for vodka.
Yes, walk, drink, and clear my head. Hopefully, it would help me learn things. Like Tyrion Lannister and the famous quote of his. I drink and I know things.
“I prefer the darkness. It lets you see people as they truly are. Takes away disguises. Character is who you are in the dark. Or who you are when no one is watching.”
still don’t understand. The DMV is the epitome of evil. Satan’s Asshole, as I once heard it nicknamed.
Alucard watched with sudden interest, before taking a breath and striding into the sunlight. One of the lions grunted in disbelief, no doubt fearing that a customer had just tried to commit suicide in the lobby. But what they saw instead silenced them completely. Golden rays of light burst free from his suddenly tan skin, like the spines of a porcupine… Alucard was a porcu-shine. Which definitely trumped Count Sparkula. But all jokes aside, Alucard looked stunning. Like a god come down to earth. Apollo himself making a deposit.
I watched, heartbroken at her tone. It had just been a rock. I hadn’t hit him with a truck or anything.
He looked old. Not frail. But hard. Like a weathered oak log. Or like those crazy writer-types.
“Using the word collegiate makes you sound like a douche.” “Yes, it will take me some time to get used to speaking like an uneducated peasant.”
Like hot fire pokers tipped with acid were slowly piercing my brain via my eye sockets.
Where the rest of his skin was bone-white, his neck was a bright blue, like the color those travel commercials use to depict the ocean when selling island vacations to suckers.
I grunted my agreement, idly wondering if it would be considered inappropriate to check my drawers for a backfire.
The other hands moved absently, resting here, scratching there, stroking his snake… Heh.
I might not have patience, but at least I could use a little tact.
I decided it was best for me to mimic his emotions. Whether I thought the topic of decapitation and transplantation humorous or not. It’s a sales tactic called mirroring. It puts people at ease. Mirror their reactions. If they lean forward, you lean forward slightly. If they lean back, you lean back. Establish similarities. Subconscious bonds.
“A Maker is a thinker. A doer. He is not a cook. He rarely needs ingredients to make something be. He simply thinks, and it is.
Sir Muffle Paws dropped down from a perch and leapt up onto his chest, where he began happily purring and clawing his chest like cats do when they are tenderizing their next human meal.
The house literally groaned in reply, as a house is wont to do in the middle of the night when you are asleep, forcing you to imagine a monster creeping about in the darkness.
In case you’re wondering, a true partnership feels an awful lot like your soul being flushed down a toilet.
“White Walkers,” Alucard whispered. “The night is dark, and full of terrors…”
