Myrnin came in from the back room, carrying a load of books, which he dropped with a loud bang on the floor to glare at the two of them. "Excuse me," he said, "but when did my lab become appropriate for snogging?" "What's snogging?" Shane asked. "Ridiculous displays of inappropriate affection in front of me. Roughly translated. And what are you doing here?

Glad it was you and not me," Shane said, and offered Myrin a hand up. "Any brain damage?" "Since the bullet actually passed through his brain, then yes, idiot boy, there's certainly brain damage," Oliver said. "It will pass. His brain's the least fragile thing about him." "You say the nicest things," Myrin said. He was slurring his words, and he threw an arm around Oliver's neck. "Marry me.

Keys," she repeated, and slowly stepped back. "What do you mean, keys?" "Car keys. As in, give them up. Now." Shane had that look -- hard, and no bullshit. "We don't have time for your drama, Monica. Nobody does.

Knowing Myrnin, there could be anything inside, from a body he'd forgotten about to his dirty laundry.

Sure. Knock yourself out. No, really. Hammer to the head, works every time.” Claire

Take the back door," she said. "Claire, you and your strang friend-" "Eve," they both said simultaneously, and Eve held out her fst for a bump. "Or, you could call me Eve the Great, Mistress of All She Surveys. Eve for short.

Just who are you planning to call? Ghostbusters?