Mel > Recent Status Updates

"He looks like a prince," she continued wistfully.
"Well," said Elliot. "The monarchy are historically inbred."

"You're like me. Nobody will ever love you enough to stay."

And the dad of the year prize goes to...!

"So?" he asked, grinning with what Elliot found to be offensive bashfulness. "What did you think?"
"I do not see the point of this game, but you were excellent," said Serene.
Elliot looked up from his book. "Is it over?" he asked. "Who won?"

Awww, Luke, my poor baby.

"Forcing groups of teenagers to learn how to use deadly force is really weird and disturbing!"

Loving the lampooning of YA magic school tropes.

The Dervish plodded along behind, watching the city, half hoping that a footpad would jump out of an alley so that he could heroically save the day. Sadly, the local footpads appeared to be on holiday.

But at least I’m very pretty trauma. Surely that’s worth something.

A sound like a confused bagpipe came from somewhere behind him.

“Come on. Road doesn’t get shorter by looking at it.”

Wise words, Dog Violet.
As Halla would say, "No use dithering. Roll up your sleeves and get to work."

“Barring any incidents with murderous deer, I suspect we should just keep moving.”

The Dervish heaved an enormous sigh. “I suppose I can either kill them or try to seduce them.”
Edmund gaped at him. “There’s at least seven of them!”
“Killing it is, then.”
“What?”
“I’m good but I’m not that good.”

If it was the local orphans, they had apparently been orphaned for quite some time. Long enough to grow into disreputable-looking adults, anyway.

A distinct lack of mule came running.

"Satan line dancing?" Elliot asked. "Peter, are you drunk?"
"Standing behind you," Myra said in a low, clear voice.

"I don't understand," said Luke.
"I don't know how to express the depths of my surprise," Elliot told him.

The amount of sass on this kid. XD

Why were dead people always so much work? It took ten seconds to kill them, and then you had to spend hours mucking about with corpses afterward.

Really, a man who stepped on books could be guilty of anything.

Anyway, it’s not as if we can exorcise Mornan. Otherwise someone would have tried it by now.

But Fisher had said he was old and he was done and he’d gone back to his little fishing village to live with his daughter.

Perhaps his daughter had had a daughter of her own. Perhaps somewhere still, there was a clan who could put a bolt in a man’s eye from a hundred yards and weep and draw the string back and do it again.

Halla agreed. She was mostly just bemused at how Zale had gone from throwing up in the bushes to coolly plotting murder.

She was even more bemused that she seemed to be going along with it.

“I’ve never killed anyone! You’ve never killed anyone! Sarkis and Brindle did all the killing bits! We stood around and wrung our hands!”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out. People manage to kill each other all the time. How hard can it be?”

Sarkis emerged from the scullery, looking soggy. “I have defeated the dishes.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“The only casualty was some kind of monstrous serving plate with pears on it.”
“Oh, that,” said Halla with relief. “Dare I hope it’s broken past any possible mending?”
Sarkis considered this for a moment, then went back into the scullery. Sounds of breaking crockery drifted through the open door.
“Yes,”

The wooden pews were sturdy rather than elegant, with marks on the legs where either small children or dogs had gnawed on the edges.

“That,” they said, grinning, “was fun.”

Love seeing Zale in his element, and everyone loves a good dressing-down and to see justice served.

She expected the very sensible priest of the very sensible god to agree with her. Sensibly.

Instead, Zale tilted their head, a small smile on their lips. “Perhaps that’s why you like him. It must be very dreary, being needed all the time.”

“Oh god,” Halla heard herself say. “Oh god, you have no idea.”

“I might.”

He spat on the ground and shouted an insult. The man looked baffled.

Wrong language. Right. The magic was good, but he did tend to revert for obscenities, particularly ones that didn’t translate well.

“Your sister screws wolves because the men of your clan have dicks the size of grass blades!”

“A gnole really doesn’t like these Hills.”

“A human isn’t too thrilled with them either,” Halla assured him.

And of course, nobody would have put such ponds on the map, preferably with convenient notes like, “Perfect for body disposal!” or, “Dump unwanted enemies here!”

The Hanged Mother attracts a certain kind of mind, I fear. An unkind one. I have met a few among them who were not so bad, but it is a faith for those value power and punishment.

Dead bodies don’t worry me. It’s the live ones that get you.

“All right,” said the priest a few minutes later, looking pale but resolute. “I’ve prayed.”

Sarkis said, “That sounded more like puking to m—” and then Halla elbowed him in the ribs.