And what are you doing here, Nicholas? Decided to watch me sleep?" "Yes," said Nick, and bowed is head over his sword again. He had tissues, oil, and sandpaper laid out on the windowsill in front of him, and a little stone block he was passing his sword up and down, very carefully. "I came to gaze upon your sleeping face. Only you had the blanket over your head, so I just had to gaze at a lump I thought was your sleeping face, and that turned out to be your shoulder. Which just wasn't as special." ~Nick and Mae

Turns out he does run," Nick drawled. "Given an incentive. And he wouldn't be so out of breath if he hadn't kept shrieking." "That was not a shriek," Jamie said with dignity. "It was a husky masculine cry of terror.

Want me to flex my magic for you, baby?

I'll do a deal with you McFarlane," he said. "You can exist. And you can even have coffee. But if you raise your voice or make any sudden movements, I shall die. And that'll show you." Seb shrugged in return, hiding how pleased he was pretty badly. "Fair enough.

I read The Hunger Games voraciously and was extremely annoyed when interrupted by such inconsequential things as 'Christmas dinner.' (God, Mom, did you not understand Katniss was being pursued by the mutts? You have several children, why does it always have to be about collecting the whole set all the time?)

Foul!" yelled Jamie, who seemed extremely happy not to be the one facing a blade. "Distracting technique! Put your shirt back on right now.

Would it help if I stood around uselessly not knowing what to say?