Quotes: Interesting

Little Things (aka Interesting):

“Tom Dill lights up, seemingly oblivious to Barakiel's faint frown. A ghost miracle dances on the end of his lighter, clearly defying their aquatic surroundings. Smoke from the cigarette gets tugged into weird whorls by the water currents all around them.”
– Delacroix

“Then, Blake…is not there, anymore.


And then there he is.”

His hand on the banister revealed the 'What Would Barakiel Do?' wristband and a charm bracelet bearing a few charms: an owl, the combined faces of tragedy/comedy, two swords crossed, a lightning bolt, and a water drop. The last of them had a crack running down it dating back a month.

Upon speaking the last words the creature collapses and the body rots away to a skeleton, only to rise up again with a howl. A howl that should be of pain and anguish, but feels as though it was phoned in by a bored and distant voice actor.

Detectives roll up. They light cigars. They start doing real investigation. You can tell it's real 'cause it's so hard-boiled.
–Hannigan and Flannigan

The detective's brow wrinkles in thought as he puffs at his pipe. This can't be quite right. He's supposed to be framed, not guilty…

"Fuck the police, man," Tom says mildly.

Her skin and hair felt so soft, her face was flawless, she really didn't need the makeup her landlord had given her. "That's new. I've always been hot but this is amazing."

He attaches a quick cell phone pic of him flipping you off.
-Arthur Merrow

"You complete me."

Then, quite unexpectedly, the mannequin says "Sigh." It does not sigh, but says the word.

With a sigh, Canaan followed his brother, or possibly entered him, or walked over him. Either way, they ended up at the same place.

Blake took the monster from me. I don't like that. The monster should have fought back."

The last sounds like Tom. No, don't just sound like Tom, speak for yourself!

That sounds like Tom too.

Her icy voice went from a volume that could be heard in space (and probably cause more than one avalanche in the now arctic-like earth) to very soft and gentle, but deadly.

"And why is it important to you whether I love you or not? You've mentioned it repeatedly. Do you hold it against me if I don't?

"Or will you try to kill me because you're afraid that I actually might?"

"You are quite something aren't you Tom? Pretending you're on my side, acting like I am a part of your family. Suggesting I care about your sickening feelings. You say you love all things? That you will not give up on me. I don't care for your lies! I could see through you even if you weren't made of ice. You think if you can level with me, that I may see your pathetic point, that if you anger me with your suggestions of loyalty, love, that I might be caught off guard.

You want to be the hero?

Too bad. There is nothing here to save."

It watches and smiles that horsey smile.
-The Horse With No Name

He checks back to his watch again. This time he brushes off a fine layer of snowflakes which have spread across it. Society growls under his breath.

The mannequin picked up its head and held it against its neck. There wasn't anything headless to pretend to be at the moment.

"Heads, we forge a new trail. Tails, we follow our current way. The divergence ensures these lost souls live on somewhere at sometime while I may still bear the guilt. And I may rest at ease that there is something in this War that is as unknown and as pure as the Wild whispers."

"But if you know anything of my history, it's that I don't fight to win. I fight to wound. I can be wooed, I can be won; I can be bargained-with or bought. But I cannot be bidden or commanded or coerced. Try at your own peril."

Thus ends the tale of the wayward Cracker God.

"This is your brain we're in after all, even if it's my memory."
-Cora to Tifon

Evelyn had spent much of her time animate standing in art museums and looking at the projects, taking the guises of those who passed and studying as they studied. She had been amazed that people could create these original pieces. But… what if they were like Benjamin and all these things were copies.

In short, Darla is turning into a joke.
Not even a good one, either - more like the one your embarrassing uncle is fond of telling, filled with puns that are groan-worthy, every time the family comes together, during Thanksgiving.

The body of Evelyn swims as a headless fish to the depths of icy atlantis, speeds past prey and predators; guppies are lost or gulped down, but the school swims on.

Somewhere, far away, Toronto becomes aware that the city it pretended to be in so many films is gone.

The guppies do not care.

She blipped away to a beautiful lake in Switzerland, two fishing lines in her hand. One was in the clear blue pond, the other stretched out in a hole in timespace like an icefisher.

It was serene. Majestic. Untouched by even her cruelty. She let out a sigh of relief, listened to the noises of nature, and set about for a good long fish.

This was totally something Darla would do.

"Wow, I'm so cool." she licked her finger sizzles her butt, actual steam pouring out.

My boss killed my dad with like a fishing pole and made me out of its guts. That's a little traumatic but I didn't become a supermassive tool over it.

When you're unsure, keep going at full power!
Eventually, you'll come out the other side, and with any luck the problem will be so confused it won't be able to do anything to you.

He had made it a secret so that nobody could put together that once, in a time he would rather the world forgot, he was no blustering deity drunk on divinity. At one time he was just Blake, a normal man with a normal life.

He could see no way out of this landscape but to follow himself on his daily routine.

That sounded like Hell.
-Old Blake… and Blake

The TV was already talking about flash floods and even a few stories of people being struck by lightning. Word upstairs was that it was going to get worse too. Cops were being pulled in from all over, if it wasn't actually a Katrina level event then someone upstairs was at least freaking out over the small chance it might go that way. Almost made Roy happy to have a dead body to occupy his time.

There was no arguing it was an angel. When you see one, you know.

Roy stood up (and just when did I start to kneel before him?) and tried to look the angel in the eye without flinching.

Evelyn really should apologize to Mockzilla… if it could restore it.

"And here you come riding in on that thing. Wearing that other thing. At least I can stop checking my pulse now because I used to think the only way you'd join this Familia was over my dead body. And he calls me ungrateful!" The Power storms off down the Hall. But he wanders from person to person oddly, making sure he is never by himself.

Evelyn winks at Benjamin.
It is about as awkward a manifestation of the gesture as is possible, like someone shutting and opening a half stuck window.

"So my angel might not have my best interests at heart?" she asked. The strong connection she felt to him made him feel like a father to her. "Don't you trust Barakiel, he made you didn't he?"

"No, Barakiel did not make me. I used to trust him. I killed the second most important thing in my life because he told me to. I was a fool. He trusted me and was fool in turn.
"Do not destroy yourself for his sake."

"I am Thomas Dylan, Dominus Contra, of Locus Barakiel, Atlantis-in-the-Sky." The gaze he directs at the peanut gallery is full of wry self-deprecation. "No stranger to the ways of the Kangar— I mean, Locust Court."

He is every bit as suave as legend makes him out to be. Around the crowd time-space ripples as Society visits everyone else in the crowd. The rift returns to stare at Roy. "I can make time for you. Lead on, sir."

"I like books, detective. You can flip the pages back and forth. Skip to any part you like. But never skip to the end, it ruins the whole thing. And each word, in itself, is insignificant but together they make a powerful whole. Some words stand out all by themselves but they're nothing without context. But do you feel like we're speaking the same language?"

"Honest answer? That's chump talk. Life isn't a game and you ain't playing against god or the devil for points, so why not look at the back of the book? Why not look the answer up on the internet or plant a bag of crack in his footlocker or hell, travel back in time and shoot the guy before he causes you any trouble if you really are some kind of angel or devil or whatever it is you and your friends are? What's having a sense of fair play but padding your own ego when you could be cathing bad guys?" He looks at Tifon's expression. "Ah, who am I kidding? Yeah I never even considered skipping to the end. You got me pegged. Heck back when I was a kid I knocked another kid out cold when he told me the end of Blade Runner. Third dumbest move of my life really. So yeah I suppose I see where your coming from."

A few shelves back, hidden behind some unsold stacks of “I’m Okay. You’re An Empty Shell of Hollow Lies. A self help guide by Dantalion Fisk.” The three detectives take a quick breather.

Blake laughs, pleased with how Loki is acting - it's just so, so…fitting

Somewhere in the city, Canaan's father realized something was up. He looked in his wallet and dug in underneath a slot he hadn't checked in years. Inside was a picture of his son and his girlfriend. He wiped a tear from his eye.

UnBethany looked up once more. Her mask had a crack through it.

"NOOOOOOOO!!" she screamed. "BLAAAAAAAAKE!!"

"I don't like mirrors …" the boy said. "I'm not afraid but … y'know when you hold up a mirror to another mirror and it goes on and on and on … well, there's something in that, something trying to eat me! What if that's the real me you just sent with Bald-Herman and I'm the fake!?

How do I know I'm the really for real Benjamin?"
-Benjamin (?)

"I hear my absent father is quite the womanizer. I imagine he has sired little bastards like me across the Ygg in one form or another. Or do you mean my half-brother Jormungandr, who modern myth so oft puts me in the same litter? Like one giant would give birth to a snake, a wolf and a half-dead woman. PHAW!"

The Mirror was her soul. Whether it always had been or not, it was now. That was true.

And another thing was true.

Nothing would ever be the same. She had come back from destruction, had conquered Nowhere and built her home there. She was Evelyn Adams and she was back!

It was a new day.
-Evelyn (Aincumis)

Satisfied that Bethany has been handled, at least for the moment, Blake starts walking towards the door, as upstairs the arguments from her parents can be heard, as they argue about all the lies that have suddenly been revealed.
"I'm going to be leaving now, and go back to my Family.
What do you want to do?"
He asks the hiccuping little child in his arms, still gently patting her head.

"If you want, you can come with."

The sounds of the workshop did not ring out across the town. They were the soft patter of scissors and the rhythmic crawl of thread on thread. And yet the work was a laborious as at any blacksmith's forge and anvil. From it came a product of simple mortal effort and boundless patience but, as any goods turned to Noble needs, it could be pushed to any level of performance and beyond.

He saw himself there watching the artisan work and wasn't sure from what age he was looking at it from - sleep and out of body experiences and time travel and memories never mix well. Whatever the experience he felt something wrap around him briefly on the other side of consciousness. "Mr. C, what are those things you're always making? Seem like a right awful bit of trouble to me."

"It's called a suit, Tif. Would you like to try one on?"

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