#these characters...

[nocompassnosign]

wuthering heights high key miserable

[knightcathar]

“Bomb you think?” Murphy said, in that tone people use when they don’t know what else to say.

“Yeah,” I said. “I was grounding some extra energy out when it went off. It must have hexed up the bomb’s timer or receiver. Set it off early.”

“Unless it was intended as a warning shot,” she said.

I grunted. “Whose bomb, you think?”

“I haven’t annoyed anyone new lately,” Murphy said.

“Neither have I.”

“You’ve annoyed a lot more people than me, in toto.”

“In toto?” I said. “Who talks like that? Besides, car bombs aren’t really within... within the, uh...”

“Idiom?” Murphy asked, with what might have been a very slight British accent.

“Idiom!” I declared in my best John Cleese impersonation. “The idiom of the entities I’ve ticked off. And you’re really turning me on with the Monty Python reference.”

“You’re pathetic, Harry.”

-Jim Butcher, White Night

[kateliveblogsthings]

Chapter 21

Oh no

Connie, Armin, and Annie's conversation right here is making me really sad

1) Connie, no.  You're not an idiot, you're a scared kid and that's totally understandable under the circumstances

(I still don't want him to give up on the Scouting Legion, though... Connie's great strength was his interpersonal skill, the way he tried to keep the team together and keep his teammates from falling apart.  If Connie himself is beginning to fall apart that really doesn't bode well. poor boy)

2) Armin is brave and sad and honorable to the last, willing to do his duty to his friends and his people even though he thinks he's likely to die out there.  Poor boy does not belong in a war.  (Are there really still people who don't like Armin?  I don't see how that was ever possible, because he's easily the bravest character in the whole story.)

3) Annie.  Oh, Annie.  Everything just makes me like her more and more.  She's cold, but not cruel, and selfish, but not mean about it.  I've always had a certain respect for characters who are so unhypocritically selfish: they take care of themselves only and expect everyone else to do the same; they don't help anyone, and don't expect anyone to help them; they never make sacrifices for anyone and don't expect or even want anyone else to make sacrifices for them, either.  Live and die by your own actions.  That's how Annie seems to me, and I can't help but respect and appreciate her.  Wow what a good character.

[kateliveblogsthings]

Chapter 4 Part 2

Hagakure is acting wicked suspicious

I mean, everyone's acting pretty suspicious at this point, but really, how has Hagakure managed to stay alive for this long?  He's an idiot and a terrible liar and he can't possibly be the murderer this time around, can he?  Because at this point that would be way too obvious.  Because of how ridiculously suspicious he's acting.

My money's still on Aoi.  I don't want it to be true.  But I think it might be.

[thedarksideoflight89]

When Khubchand, his beloved, blind, bald, incontinent seventeen-year-old mongrel, decided to stage a miserable, long drawn-out death, Estha nursed him through his final ordeal as though his own life somehow depended on it. In the last months of his life, Khubchand, who had the best of intentions but the most unreliable of bladders, would drag himself to the top-hinged dog-flap built into the bottom of the door that led out into the back garden, push his head through it and urinate unsteadily, bright yellowly, inside. Then, with bladder empty and conscience clear, he would look up at Estha with opaque green eyes that stood in his grizzled skull like scummy pools and weave his way back to his damp cushion, leaving wet footprints on the floor. As Khubchand lay dying on his cushion, Estha could see the bedroom window reflected in his smooth, purple balls. And the sky beyond. And once a bird that flew across. To Estha—steeped in the smell of old roses, blooded on memories of a broken man—the fact that something so fragile, so unbearably tender had survived, had been allowed to exist, was a miracle. A bird in flight reflected in an old dog’s balls. It made him smile out loud.

Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

[possiblymojo-blog]

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