Unfortunately, beer was only a short-term answer. And head transplants had yet to be approved by the FDA.

The weight of the dead was heavier than the pounds of the body.

Qhuinn: "What is wrong with you, that you care so much about me?" Blay: "What is wrong with you, that you can't see why I would?

When I want you to beg, I'll tell you.

I want to be with you, too,” he said. “I’ll come to your room after dawn.” Qhuinn didn’t want to ask. Had to. “What about Saxton?” “He’s gone on vacation.” Reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally. “For how long?” “Just a couple of days.” Too bad. Any chance of an extension…for like a year or two? Maybe forever? “Okay, it’s a—” Qhuinn stopped himself before he finished that with date. There was no sense kidding himself. Saxton was away. Blay wanted to get laid. And Qhuinn was more than willing to supply the male with what he wanted.

All kings are blind. The good ones see this and use more than their eyes to lead.

Bye-bye, Elan. P.S., Next time you implicate someone falsely, try to pick a pacifist.