Wanda Pedersen > Recent Status Updates

I'd been snookered by my lack of experience with adultery and by Blake's meticulous tailoring and by his easy availability, only to learn to my great regret that this man was nothing but a dog-neglecter with poor fondling skills.

This doorman looked tranquil and I admired him for that. He had learned how to transport himself to another place while performing his menial duties with exactitude. Allowing oneself to fly freely away from tedious work is an important skill for the working class. It saves us from alcoholism and early death.

The worst thing humans suffer is homelessness; we must endure this life because of desperate hunger; we endure as migrants with no home.

You go to war with the army you have, I guess. Every Dark Lord starts somewhere.

True to her word, Tsav has provided me clothes, an oversized linen shirt and leather trousers that have recently been cleaned and mended. Who they belonged to before, I have no idea--I'm quite a few dress sizes smaller than even the slimmest of orcs. The important thing is that I have pants again! This is an achievement.

I don't know exactly how they pick the Dark Lord, but a major factor is personal charisma as measured in armed henchpersons; most candidates turn up with armies, and I don't even have pants,

I flipped a negligent hand. "Lady Luce is not worthy to be called an enemy."
Nurse laughed. "Moldy between the legs," she agreed. In a family of poetic Montagues, Nurse knew how to turn an insult.

I exploded with irritation. "Blessed Virgin Mary and the Lord Jesus Himself! Men are numpties and knaves!"

The basilca is my family's church, and as such, I've spent my religious life within its walls. It is a home for me, the place where I was christened, where I took my first communion, where I went to pray to the Virgin Mary for help in taming my temper and finding proper acceptance of a woman's role, and, when that didn't work, imploring God to change men into a whole different gender. FYI, that didn't work either.

Marcellus was Cal's military leader, the second in command after Cal, a scowling, humorless general who demanded exemplary behavior from everyone under his command--and who occasionally imagined that included me.

Gauges spun and rang, inscribed with things that weren't letters or numbers. Ruain consulted them frequently, followed by bits of mysterious arithmetic on a notepad. Osric's respect for the Leyfarer Order increased substantially; all his Order required was a bit of stabbing.

Fairhrim returned from the loo. She was wet about the face and hairline, as though she had put her entire head in the toilet. Osric made a note to tell her about sinks.

Mrs. Parson remained grave. "You're lucky Haelen Fairhrim was with you when Lady Windermere made her move."
"I realize that."
"I took the liberty of burning the body."
"Putting the arson in Parson," Osric said, nodding.

She was snatched bodily out of the corridor and into a tiny, grimy toilet. A gloved hand over her mouth muffled her scream.
In the dimness of the toilet, Aurienne saw that it was Mordaunt.
They were obscenely compressed together.
"Bit of a tighter squeeze than I thought," said Mordaunt.
Aurienne agreed; she'd had less intimate mammograms.

She came to the bust of Pliny the Elder and followed the curve of his cheek with a fingertip. Osric was savagely jealous of Pliny the Elder, who was a harlot.

"Your wife has arrived, sir," said the waiter.
Behind him stood a figure. It was not Osric's wife, given that he did not have one. He did not have a significant other of any kind. He did have a significant irritant, however.

The waiter, satisfied that he had ruined everything, left.

Aurienne was greeted by his motley pack of dogs. Rigor Mortis (Great Dane), Arson (retriever), Perjury and Forgery (border collies), Outraging Public Decency (bulldog; prolific farter), High Treason (borzoi) and Creme Brulee (whippet) all limped to her and collapsed around her feet. Tails flumped at the floor in greeting.

He conceded that he was attracted to her. That was all this was.
As far as conclusions go, it was perfect. It sidestepped the impossibility altogether. He did not love her. He was relieved. He could go back to normal.
He took on extra jobs because whenever he was feeling poorly, a bit of murder sorted him out.

Days passed. Osric moped. He was generally depressed. He cast himself onto several divans in several tragic poses.

When we first met Osric Mordaunt, assassin extraordinaire and occasional dickhead, he is afflicted with seith rot, a disease that erodes his powers and will eventually kill him.

We must look after him. All foreigners and beggars come from Zeus, and any act of kindness is a blessing. So give the stranger food and drink, and wash him down in the river, sheltered from the wind.

Surfing is like that. You are either vigorously cursing or else you are idiotically pleased with yourself.

I disliked Chichester. He had false teeth that clicked when he ate. Many men have been hated for less.

"I have an officer's berth," Wilson said. "I think it's about a third of the size of this stateroom. I can turn around in it, but I can't extend both of my arms out in opposite directions. Hart's is even smaller and he's got a roommate. They're either going to kill each or start sleeping together simply as a defensive maneuver."

"So you read the report," said Rigney to Egan.
"All I do is read reports," Egan said. "Read reports and scare midlevel bureaucrats."

"It's hard out there for an indexer," she says. "Just like bank tellers and grocery store clerks. Going the way of the dodo."
"I didn't know if it's as bad as that," says Clemence.
Dr. Penelope says, "The dodo didn't either."