“That,” said the Reverend Daughter, “is the implication.” “For crying out loud! Then let me dress how I want and give me back my longsword.” “Ten thousand years of tradition, Griddle.” “I don’t have ten thousand years of tradition, bitch,” said Gideon, “I have ten years of two-hander training and a minor allergy to face paint. I’m worth so much less to you with pizza face and a toothpick.” The Reverend Daughter’s fingers locked together, thumbs rotating in languid circles. She did not disagree. “Ten thousand years of tradition,” she said slowly, “dictates that the Ninth House should have been
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Damn
