V jerked back to the present. And for some reason didn't lie. "I'm thinking about my tattoos." "When did you get them?" "Almost three centuries ago." She whistled. "God, you live that long?" "Longer. Assuming I don't get cracked dead in a fight and you fool humans don't blow up the planet, I'll be breathing for another seven hundred years.

She was seriously staring. Which was what you did when you got a gander at a man who is hung like a Louisville Slugger.

Among the problems with shame was that it in fact did not make you shorter or quieter or less visible. You just felt like you were.

good call. A second drag and your next stop's the wastepaper basket - and not to toss your kleenex, true.

Man" Rhage muttered, "someone hit this place with the Hallmark stick." Until it broke.

Phury knelt beside him and stroked his face. "I've only ever had you to live for. If you die I have nothing. I'm utterly lost. And you are needed here." Zsadist tried to reach out, but couldn't lift his arms as Phury stood up. "God, Z, I keep thinking this tragedy of ours is going to be over. But it just keeps going, doesn't it?" Zsadist blacked out to the sound of his twin's boots heading from the room.

All right, then, her first rule for the rest of her days: no more looking outside for definitions. She might not have any clue who she was, but better to be lost and searching than shoved into a social box by someone else.