What was it with me and organized beatings, anyway?

My eyes widened at the ball of orange fluff squeezing out from under the counter, blinking and stretching. I looked again, not believing. “It’s a cat,” I said, winning the Pulitzer prize for incredible intellect.

Boots and leather jackets were strewn on her bed, and what looked like a new knife set. She’d taken a class last winter and was dying to try them out legally on someone.

It stinks of trains and that chili with the chocolate in it. Ooooh, books!" he exclaimed suddenly, making a beeline for the small library. (Al)

I smell pancakes," Al said as he jauntily smacked Pierce's hat back on the witch's head. "Did the runt make you breakfast?" Al said, leaning over the stove. "Quickest way to a woman's crotch is through her gullet, eh?" he said, leering at Pierce, who was now rinsing out the percolator. "Is it working? I'd be curious to know. I'd buy her a cake or something.

I jerked to a stop at the door to my room. "What's wrong with my boots?" I said, thinking they were the only thing that I was going to keep on. Ah…the only thing from this outfit, not the only thing total.

...Everyone had to eat, but eating people wasn't polite.