Marsha > Recent Status Updates

"Del, love, I don't expect you to understand these things!" He tweaked her nose. "Ladies never really do, not about business. But I would ask you not to be so public about these sorts of conversations. It's not seemly for a woman to discuss money like this--imagine if my associates had heard!" There was a warning edge to his voice, a requirement that she steer back toward placid conversation or dutiful silence.

"Yes, they thought my name on the deeds must have been a mistake. You should have seen Jack giving them what for--I wouldn't want to be on the opposing counsel in a trial, that's for sure!" The laugh was real, this time. "And of course Olson is a bear to deal with at the granary--pretends not to see anything that comes from me unless Jack signs it, too." She shrugged, and Delphine knew she was pretending nonchalance.

Xian stood in the middle of the Broken Bridge and lifted his face to the morning sun.
Fall had arrived--maples turned flaming orange, while pines and cypresses were still evergreen. Lotuses had wilted, Their fallen petals and withered stalks floating in a sea of brown leaves. Wooden fishing boats were moored by the side of the lake, their hulls reflected on the still waters.

She manages to get in on another couple of conversations with Carter as the night goes on, bringing up things she knows he likes: horses, right? Tiramisu? Mostly he liked her. She mentions chasing after chickens once, but it doesn't go anywhere.
She warms up, at least, with the beer, and the green dress is great, and Tia is friendly and kind and asks her a lot of questions about London.

"The spiral has them...we should stay away from them."
"I wonder where we are?"
"D-don't ask me...I said it was useless...it's all around in us, through us..."

The same thing must've happened the last time he fired up the kiln. We just didn't know about it. Only father knew. And he didn't tell us...

"You may stay on with me...on the condition that our first guest be Nurse Lucille. I would like to have her over for tea."
Marni was confused. "For tea?" Then her eyes widened. "Oh! For tea!"
Then she smiled. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Auntie Boo!"
It was a rare and resplendent moment Marni and her aunt shared. What a happy accident to find themselves, for once, in complete agreement!

Scythe Af Klint's gaze seemed to go somewhere else entirely.
"I was never an artist," she said. "I didn't have a stitch of talent—but I was skilled at appreciation. Since I was a child, art moved me like nothing else could. It's nearly impossible to find new art that moves me now, though."
"That's why you're here!" Morty blurted. "You want us to move you. You're searching for the artist who still can."

Morrison was left to wrestle with himself. He hated doing that, because he was a formidable opponent. Should he accept Cirrus's invitation, or should he stay on Earth?
To say he was an indecisive man was an understatement. He might have seemed confident to others, but the truth was he'd never made a decision that he hadn't come to regret on some level--which is why he often let decisions be made for him.

Ayn took a deep breath, suddenly feeling very much alone. In most things, she enjoyed being a party of one, but this was different. What she really felt was a complete lack of allies. Like everyone in the world was an enemy. And maybe they were. She hated the fact that this smug boy could make her feel that way. "You're much more dangerous than he gives you credit for," she told him.

Once Mendoza was gone, Greyson just about collapsed into a chair. It was the first time he had ever stood up to Mendoza like that. But the Toll could not allow himself to be intimidated. It should have felt good to put the curate in his place, but it didn't. Perhaps that was why the Thunderhead had chosen him over all others; while others were corrupted by power, Greyson didn't even like the taste of it.

The Babadook slides forward from the darkness in the kitchen, pursuing her through the house. She locks herself in the bedroom, but it creeps down the chimney, claws stretching slowly down into the fireplace. She crawls toward the door, telling herself it isn't real, but it possesses her, and her pupils dilate.
Downstairs, she kills Bugsy and then sticks two fingers deep in her mouth and slowly pulls out a molar.

"We don't commit murder up here, we're a deeply religious people," replies Summerisle. The men clash over faith. Howie gestures angrily out the window, where, in a nearby circle of standing stones, the schoolgirls leap over a bonfire, naked and joyous. He's incensed over their nudity, but Summerisle pragmatically points out that it's far too dangerous to jump through a fire while clothed.

"Hello, my name is Brightbill!" he shouted over the waves. "And this is my mama! Her name is Roz!"
The last time those otters had seen Roz, they had thought she was some kind of monster. But since then they'd heard that she was remarkably friendly and that she'd even adopted an orphaned gosling. and so the otters smiled at Roz and Brightbill. They they swam straight over and splashed onto the rocks.
"Hello there!"

Our skilled labour force is now the best educated in Britain; the Co-operative movement is popular and expanding; the Glasgow telephone system is being adopted by the General Post Office for extension over the United Kingdom. I know that the money which pays for our confidence and achievement has a dangerous source--huge war-ships built along Clydeside by goverment contract.

Yet I hurried away enraptured by the wonderful adventure of living. If Baxter's scream had been my most terrifying experience this moment was my sweetest. I was already devising phrases for the love-letter I would write when I got to my lodgings. I knew Baxter hoped that a fortnight apart from me would change her mind, but I had no fear of losing her because I knew he would submit her to no unkind pressure.

They changed trains at King's Cross, and then again at London Victoria for the last boat train to Dover. There wasn't much privacy to be hand on the ferry to Calais, but they did their best, securing a quiet spot near a railing. It was outside, but they had a long bench to themselves along the covered walkway, and Sebastian overheard Wesley throwing his title around so the ferryman would keep others away.

Outside was a green park with beautiful views of the cathedral in the last of the day's light. Sebastian pointed to one of the towers, where a sleek gray-and-white bird with a curved yellow beak was perched on a gargoyle. "What is that?"
"Peregrine," said Lord Fine, because he probably could see it better than Sebastian. "Even I'll admit falcons are a worthy sight."
Sebastian smiled. "See? It is good we stopped."

"Forgive me, Kingston. You do look amazing, though. congrats on that," Leo said, shoving off with his feet and floating on his back. Rosemarie loved seeing his no-glasses face. It was like seeing him naked, which she also loved. She'd seen Sparrow half-naked, but never all at once.
She didn't want to think about Sparrow, so she thought about Leo instead.
"Leopold, am I your girlfriend?" Rosemarie asked.

Greyson was not influenced or coerced into a life of service to the Thunderhead. It was his choice. To work for the Authority Interface as a Nimbus agent had been in his heart for years. He never told the Thunderhead, for fear that it might not want him or try to talk him out of it. When he finally submitted his application for the MidMerican Nimbus Academy, the Thunderhead simply said, "It pleases me."

He turns to listen to Albert, Meredith and Bobby's conversation, that gnawing feeling gripping at him more firmly.
"You could stay with her," Albert says, and even James can hear the hesitation in his voice.
"There's no way I'm giving up a carriage ride with Beth and Gwen," Meredith says indignantly. "You ride back with her, then."
"James and I need to be in session on Monday, or I would," Albert says soothingly.

"Come, let me have a look at you," Lady Harrington says, her melodic voice a booming command that bounces around the two-story foyer.
He can hear Albie still snickering as he girds himself and steps forward to submit to Lady Harrington's appraisal.
She takes his hands, much like Meredith did. "You have grown," she says, looking him up and down.
"I suppose," Bobby agrees with a smile.

Bobby can't blame the man for succumbing to his nerves, nor his anxious, slightly rude behavior afterward. He watches Demeroven shift by the tree now, looking as out of place at the garden party as he seemed at the end of the night at D'Vere.
Bobby feels a renewed sense of purpose bubbling up inside him. The chap's rather moody, but Beth and Uncle Dashiell asked him to help.

Instead of converging on each other, most of the knights turned in unison toward the royal stands.
There were two very distinct seconds of confusion; in those seconds, Gwen had thrown herself bodily at her father, half succeeding in knocking him out of his chair.
A moment later, a knife that had been thrown with deadly precision from the arena had struck the wooden post just above the throne.

You arrive at the hospital and park near the ER door; parking is easier to find at night.
Rather than carrying the baby in your arms, you take him in the car seat so that he has a place to sleep while you wait and wait.
You enter the ER, find the reception desk, and check in. If it's a critical emergency (in this case, it's not), they have a nurse triage the NFU right away.

"Nothing about this makes sense."
"It does seem an odd way of choosing a Dark Lord," she says, emptying one bucket and taking up another.
I give a quiet moan as she pours another stream of hot water. I'm sitting in an improvised bath made from a couple of barrels, filled from buckets heated beside the campfire. Tsav's idea, apparently. Droff put it together before I got back from the trial. Best. Minions. Ever.

I wish I knew the history. Not only have I run out of save-scum superpowers this far from the origin, but we're reaching the edge of my mental map of the world. I knew there was a big group called the Redtooths because most of the time the Guild wipes them out a year from now. Other than that, keeping track of every random orc band isn't at the top of my priority list. Definitely flying by the seat of my pants here.

"Just...why'd you change your undershirt?"
"It was sweaty," he says, furrowing his brow at me as though this is the most natural thing in the world.
"Okay, but why dress for dinner? It's just your family."
"I always dress for dinner."
I nod, realizing this is just who he is. We walk downstairs to the dining room. Everyone seems to be in their spots again, minus Elsie, and I sit down in the same spot as last night.

"Bridger?" Pavel asked, fingers knotted. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything else? Another blanket? Snacks? Pizza with pineapple?"
"I'm fine, Pavel. Really. I'm sore and tired, but I know how the pixie salve works, and if you give me another blanket I'm going to drown in fabric."
"All right, then. I, I'm proud of how you handled yourself tonight."
Bridger blushed. "It was nothing."
"No, it was everything."

The night is not over. There are still the placentas to deliver. What an indignity after all that, after bringing two brand-new human beings into the world, to be expected to spare yet more energy to expel not one, but two veined, red-purple masses of sinew and tissue.
Maria treats them as though they are as precious as the twins. "The placentas sustained those babies throughout the pregnancy."