For this very special episode of Literateur, I'm just gonna let a book speak for itself. Behold-
Destined for an Early Grave!
(Though one criticism I must needs make: author Jeaniene Frost has an incredibly gratuitous number of vowels in her first name- it's like her parents were trying to use all their Scrabble tiles in one turn when they made that name.)
"When
has he seen your breasts?” Gregor hissed.
"When
a horde of zombies ate most of my arm and all of my bra off,” I snapped.
"A
set of hatchets crisscrossed together over a coat of arms. Yeah, comfy. If you
were Adolf Hitler."
“Then
you remember the dream,” Mencheres stated. “That bodes ill.”
The
fear of that made my reply snappy. “Hey, Walks Like An Egyptian, how about for
once you drop the formal stuff and talk like you live in the twenty-first
century?”
“The
s**t’s gonna splatter, start buggin’, yo,” Mencheres responded instantly.
I
stared at him, then burst out laughing, which was highly inappropriate
considering the very grave warning he’d just conveyed.
“Did
you really think I’d ceased to care? Kitten, I care so much it wrecks me.”
“The
lustful glances thrown his way made me wish he wasn’t such a damned bowl of eye
candy."
“The
sarcastic part of me had an idea. Let Gregor spend some time with me, that’ll
cure him of wanting me in his life. Trouble followed me like a bad smell.”
“Bones,
you must have argued yourself blue in the face.”
“Oh.
Well. A slumber party with Dracula? All things considered, why not? Okay, but I
snore.”
-
Phony McFakename
