Ms. Smartarse > Recent Status Updates

Miss Potter had marched up to me, and said in her accented Gallacian, "Until next time we meet, young sinner! If you die before me, we'll drink the country dry in your memory."
I bowed very deeply, wished her the best, then pulled Angus aside, and hissed, "You've got to get that phrase book away from her."
"I threw it out days ago," said Angus, sounding both proud and appalled. "She's got a terrifying memory."

I sometimes think the fundamental disconnect with civilians is that they think a war is an event, something neatly bounded on either end by dates. What anyone who's lived through one can tell you is that it's actually a place. You're there and then you leave, but places don't stop existing just because you aren't looking at them.

The silence of the woods was disquieting, but the silence of a horse that feels that he has been deprived of his due tribute is eloquent.

As I tap the WhatsApp icon, I see a blurry photo of a foot or an arm - hard to tell. My first thought: OMG, [the neighbour] is sending me body parts! I'm relieved it's just an arm and not... something else.
Then I realise it's actually from my parents, because underneath it says:
"We now sinned photos."
It worked. I (nearly) sinned.

The worst part is that when you don't [have children], you always feel the need to make up for it. Nobody replies to the inquiry with just "No". Instead a lot of people say stuff like "No, but I do have a puppy, or a kitten, or an evil mother in law". Oddly enough, no one feels the need to explain not having a car with "No, but I do have roller skates".

I actually like being reminded of Christmas, just in small doses and preferably in someone else's space.

Employment contracts be like:
"A man in my position has to be careful. I'm sure you can understand. If you take this commission I will make you rich, but I will also own a part of your mind. The part that pertains to me. That is mine. I do not give you permission to share it with any. If you do, you will suffer greatly before you die."

I wonder what it says about me that I don't (normally) notice the romance unless the UST hits me on the head with a 10 ft pole?

Re-reading for a book club: and I have to say the Romanian translation is very good. Don't think I've said this for quite a while...

Even so, I was hoping it would have some footnotes explaining the various fantasy creatures. Alas... I'll just have to provide a glossary.
Because I have plans, y'all!

"I believe you're afraid of elevators", Mathias said to me.
"Yes, that's right." I remembered now. I was supposed to be suffering of claustrophobia. "But we shouldn't let ourselves be ruled by our fears..." Especially not, when the room is on the damned fifth floor.

“Go on then, sue me, you grumpy old fussbucket,” I said, thinking about what other punchy things Sister Sabine always came out with, and whether I should throw in a forceful “Kiss my pocket” for good measure. After all, this was still my coma‑dream, and I could afford to misbehave a little.

Million to one chances crop up nine times out of ten.

Granny had nothing against fortune-telling provided it was done badly by people with no talent for it. It was a different matter if people who ought to know better did it, though. She considered that the future was a frail enough thing at best, and if people looked at it hard they changed it.

But now I know paradise isn't a place.

We're bound to wake up sometime.

You're sorry to be alive?
You're lonely?
What are you? A toddler?

'I really don't think that is necessary,' [Granny] said sternly. 'Not between us.'
'You do it, Granny', said Esk, 'in the village. I've seen you. And teacups. And cards.'
Granny shifted uneasily. 'Yes, well. It's all according. You just hold their hand and people do their own fortune-telling. But there's no need to go around believing everything.'

'Granny.'
'What?'
'Do you know how wizards like to be buried?'
'Yes!'
'Well, how?'
Granny Weatherwax paused at the bottom of the stairs.
'Reluctantly.'

“Even though you just had a colonoscopy, no one would call you loose in the hips.”
Marlene raised an eyebrow.
I waved it off. “Oh, that was just one of Bengt’s theories. He says you can tell when women aren’t having enough sex… Well, and now I’m wondering whether he might be right. Do I look to you somehow… well…”

Is the herd mentality really this strong?

The enemy in a nutshell...

Sometimes when humans argue with me, they’re right. (Statistically, they would have to be right sometimes, no matter how unlikely that seems.)

Naja said on our team feed, You look nervous.
It doesn’t look nervous, Farai countered sharply, for a human who was looking more nervous than I was.
Are you nervous? Sofi asked.
If we were on Preservation I’d ask for a solicitor. I lied and said, I’m not nervous.
(Emotion check: Nervous.)

I was hoping the hostiles didn’t know anything about Leonide’s plans, or that she had anyone with her in the house. It would be nice if they found her body and marked their mission as completed and submitted an invoice. No, threat assessment did not think the chances of that were very good.

"[The feather] was placed at a particular tale: Beauty and the Beast. Very fucking funny, Witch Owl. More like Reia and the monster. Except she knew her beast wouldn't turn into a handsome man no matter what she did.

Assumptions, beliefs and theories...

Back in high school we used to joke about classrooms smelling like burnt brain. Arisu here is doing an admirable job of demonstrating said burning process.

Things I google in the name of research: women's reproductive organs, long tongue muscle, wolf vs fox skull...

Frankly, the awkward writing style is bothering me way more than impending monster sex:
He was inhuman; that could never be changed. He didn't look human, and although he had obvious humanity inside him, he wasn't truly one within either. He wasn't a human in a monster's body, his mind was too... beastly for that by his growls and grunts, but the bits of humanity she could see were unravelling her.