Marsha > Recent Status Updates

Tyrekh thought there was no reason to trade for what he could take, so he came west across the Black Peaks instead, and took. And took and took. Tam's father had told her some of the things the Sarians did to their own people, horrible things that she did not want to think about. He had told her three years ago, when they thought Tyrekh might come to Argondy and Caithen, because she had asked him.

I snorted into her hug--giving Toby a high five behind her back and nodding at Fielding's formal "This is quite the accomplishment, Rory. I'm happy for you." Prying Merri's arms off me, I responded, "You do not want to go to New York. You'd miss your subway stop every time because you'd be too busy patting stranger's dogs. And you hate cities." Toby opened his mouth and I prepared myself to be reprimanded.

My shift started with me working beside my parents. Mom asked about my day and hummed as she flipped through the unsold Howl-ween costumes. "These'll get marked down tomorrow. Might as well pick one for Byron. What do you think, pirate or pumpkin?" I'd learned long ago that the correct answer was not "Neither," plus there was the strange fact that both Byron and Gatsby liked wearing clothes.

Fielding was already clearing his throat impatiently from the door to the gym and pointing to my cross-country bag. "Do you need me to carry that for you?" "What? No." I shouldered my satchel and picked up the duffel, muttering, "Wish me luck," as I waved good-bye to my friends and marched over to the world's haughtiest chauffeur. He waited at his trunk for me to slide my bags beside his.

Who's ready for their first full week of school?" Toby asked as he poured himself a glass of juice. He poured a second one and slid it across the counter to where I had my head resting on folded arms. "Ummsighgrumble." I hadn't yet reached the stage in my morning where I was using real words or full sentences. My bugbites itched. Why were Mondays so much meaner than other days?"

"I, Myfanwy Alice Thomas, Rook of the Checquy, Hidden Sword of the Crown, First Raven of Scotland, Herald for Eire, and General of Britain's Secret Army, do hereby invoke the presence of Harper Callahan, ward of the Estate, to serve the unknowing populace of the United Kingdom with all his strength and capabilities, that our islands might endure." It was a ridiculous, archaic statement, but it made everything legal.

One of the medical staff immediately grabbed Steffi to discuss the recovery of a child who'd injured his spinnerets on the obstacle course, leaving me to stand awkwardly by myself. The sick children and I regarded each other with a certain amount of wariness. They were there for a variety of things, ranging from sports injuries to having multiple appendices removed to tonsillitis to a bad case of laminitis.

"What the hell was that, Crisp?" yelled Gestalt. The doctor had been brought into the observation room and was standing in front of a group of accusatory executives and an irate Rook. Myfanwy and Ingrid were still seated, but allt he men had risen to their feet, presenting a united front. "You said that you could break anyone, that you could get us all the information we wanted!"

In the West, Muslims can see that Jews are not monsters who are hostile to Islam, who want to be at war with them, destroy their hope, and spread fear, but ordinary people with a shocking history of their own in Europe--the Holocaust. In the West, prosperity and misfortune are not the products of God's will, but of human action. Society can be shaped; you can influence your surroundings.

"How'd you end up with them?" "Not a lot to tell," he says. "After I crossed the Ohio River, I joined some folks headed north along the Mississippi. Families, mostly. The Hoffmans were with them. When it was time to cross, everyone hired passage on a steamboat, but I hardly had any money left." I can sympathize. "So I kept going upstream a few days until I found an old raft, lodged on shore after high water."

"The woman was not gifted in noetics." At Dirk's shrug, Doktor Mesmer said, "Noetics. Having to do with knowledge and canniness. I am trying to say that she had all the perspicacity of a shrub. A bucket. A slab of mutton. I'm told her speech was slow, and her sentences rarely reached a verb. She was good for nothing but carrying rags for the rag man. An itinerant without a real home."

Turning back, Emily was stopped in her tracks by something quite extraordinary. At the other end of the landing there was a light, silvery and white, as if a moonbeam had found its way inside and curled in and around on itself, transforming into an orb. It looked a little like the fool's fire that you'd see sometimes up on the moor: fairylike flames that led the dim-witted and impure of thought to their doom.

"So tell us," Charlotte said, glancing at Emily's bulging cheeks as she took a seat at the table, "how fare you, my friend?" Mattie glanced in the direction of Mrs. Crawley's room and smiled. "Indeed it's a very difficult and trying time for Mr. Chester and the dear children." But her hand trembled as she poured the freshly brewed tea, a single amber drop falling onto the back of her hand.

Inappropriate competitiveness is not an exclusively male trait and neither is swaggering around like a bell-end. But we seem to have made both behaviours sufficiently our own that a woman behaving with equivalent awfulness will have her 'femininity' called into question. There is, of course, nothing wrong with wanting to win if what you're involved in is an actual competition.

There she was now, the perfect daughter, standing by the gate, waiting for Nanjela instead of shouting into the yard like any other relative. Nayendi was wearing a decent skirt suit that had somehow escaped the dust from the road. She had always managed to avoid the dirt, even as a child. Goodness, but Nayendi was pretty now, her skin smooth and reddish like groundnut skin.

MY MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER, Gertrude, was born in the lonely seaside village on the northeast coast of England where most of her family had been born, worked, idled and died since the days when, so it was said, bad girls stole away at night from low parts of the town around Fisherman's Square to lie with the seals under the darkness of Hunt Cliff after sunset.

A biker walked into the restrooms. Peter said hi, cheerfully. without stopping, the newcomer registered the open bag by the sink with toothbrush, razor, and shower gel spread out, and continued into the stall, respectful of a traveler's toilette. Or maybe he'd caught a glimpse of the yellow uniform sleeve sticking out of the trash can, Nate thought. Peter fixed his letter jacket.

Brett agrees that there are parallels, and though he is used to standing outside society's boundaries, he is hesitant to categorize himself. "I'm a Russian Jew hockey ref who speaks Spanish," he jokes. "How many of them are there in this world? I consider myself a part of all those groups. When i'm in each group, I identify with that one. I'm proud of being gay, but I also don't identify with that one."

"Hey," he actually sounded a little concerned now. "Are you okay? You're shaking." I laughed nervously. "No kidding?" "No kidding. What's wrong?" I took a deep breath and said, "Matt, you may not realize it, but you're sending me some seriously mixed signals here. I'm not quite sure how you want me to react." "What do you mean?" And man, that really did sound like genuine confusion in his voice.

My disturbed sleep and uneasy digestion left me dazed and indifferent to my morning's preoccupations. I lost my way several times and wasted three-quarters-of-an-hour wandering through soulless streets, at every turn expecting to step back into my nightmare. At last I found myself back at the Porte Champerret, not the Porte d'Asnieres which I had been heading for. The walk had not warmed me, but I was very weary.

Jodan's eyes gleamed in the parking for lights. "And how do you feel about me?" "Attracted. Confused. Conflicted." "No click?" Jordan asked sadly. "I feel more contented, I know that. Somewhat better...aligned. I'm not sure that I'd recognize a click if I felt it." Their car rolled up to the curb. They climbed into the wide back seat and sat, silent, not touching.

Landry bought a large order of fries and, clutching the fragrant bag, hurried outside and started his return route. He popped the treat into his mouth one at a time, savoring the heat and salt and grease. God, the fries tasted good! Sometimes, back in high school, he used to join a group of cousins and friends at the Dairy Queen, Peril's only fast-food outlet.

Bo glanced at him, then back at tyhe road, but his face radiated compassion. "It would align with what Llewellyn and Blaise told us--that Ottersen passionately denies going after your clients. At least one client agrees. They did seem willing to at least countenanc3e the idea." "I think he's a fucking liar." He hadn't meant for the words to come out that angrily.

"Those ladies are involved in distribution of drugs?" "All it takes is one person ont he inside. They take the delivery and arrange for the merchandise to be put on one of the routes. After that, no one need know, and who would be suspicious of people delivering food to shut-ins?" It made perfect sense to him. Set up a few dummy deliveries to nonexistent shut-ins and you had it covered.

The suspect turned around and stood still. His eyes were as big as saucers. "He's juiced to hell," Red said. "Call an ambulance. The last guy I saw like this didn't make it to the hospital." Aaron was already radioing in as Red slowly approached the man. "Lie down on the ground, so we can help you." Red decided to try quiet first. He put his hand son his hips and made himself look as huge as possible.

Then Sally rang up, as she had promised, to invite me to tea. She lived a long way down the Kurfürstendamm on the last dreary stretch which rises to Halensee. I was shown into g big gloomy half-furnished room by a fat untidy landlady with a pouchy sagging jowl like a toad. There was a broken-down sofa in one corner and a faded picture of an eighteenth-century battle.

I became aware that I had my arm round a girl. Perhaps she had been there all the time. She snuggled against me, while from the other side a boy was amateurishly trying to pick my pocket. I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Why make a scene at the end of such an enjoyable evening? he was welcome to my money. I only had three marks left at the most. The Baron would pay for everything, anyhow.

A servant explains that the water pouring from a fountain in one corner of the room is entirely drinkable. He shows us a nyxian converter that takes in salt water and transforms it into fresh. The technology reminds me of Babel. Finer than anything I had on Earth, and yet the Imago are worried we'll think them poorer for it.

Sherlock's plan for escape from Mycroft's well-meaning but ill-timed clutches had been executed even more quickly than he had conceived of it. In a move purloined from the commedia dell'arte, it had been in one door, out the other. he blamed this impulsivity at least in part on the after-effects of the Vin Mariani, which had made him irritable.

The moment Sherlock closed the door, he sloughed off commiseration like a used cloak. His countenance lifted. All vestiges of sorrow disappeared, for he had neither the time nor the space for it. His mind was thoroughly consumed with questions. The foremost among them being, what had become of the quilted bag? George had seen his brother leave with it in tow; it had been the cause of their quarrel.