Tonight Mood Quotes

I'm in a wild mood tonight. I want to go dance in the foam. I hear the banshees calling.

This seems like some type of romantic mood lighting.” I turn to him. “And I can tell you right now that you’re not getting sex tonight.” He laughs and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Tonight? So you’d consider it some other night? Okay. That works for me.

You know, you really don't have to kill anyone over this. I'll get an annulment. It will be like never happened" His eyes came to her, briefly meeting her gaze before dropping to her mouth. "You'll have to make that a divorce instead" "No you don't understand. An annulment will be much easier to obtain" His gaze locked with hers now. Cassie became slightly breathless with the intensity of his stare. "Not after tonight, it won't." He said in his mesmerizing drawl. "Why?" She barely got the word out. "Because i'm in the mood to play husband" "You're what?" He started toward her. She was too stunned to move, so he was there and reaching for her before she had time to think about running. "We're having a wedding night," he said as he lifted her off her feet.--

You know what? Don’t answer. I don’t care. Tonight, I’m not in the mood to deal with your brand of arrogant bullshit. I am fresh out of fucks to give

Normally if I met a guy who was unemployed and illiterate who hadn't bathed in a couple of weeks, I'd be standing in a puddle with excitement, but I'm sort of in a bad mood tonight, so take this bag and give me the fu**ing paper before I pop your head like a zit. He said, you're a lesbian, aren't you?

We walked to his Harley, and when I wrapped my arms around him, he rested his hand on mine. “I’m glad you were there tonight, Pidge. I’ve never had so much fun at a fight in my life.” I perched my chin on his shoulder and smiled. “That was because you were trying to win our bet.” He angled his neck to face me. “Damn right I was.” There was no amusement in his eyes, he was serious, and he wanted me to see it. My eyebrows shot up. “Is that why you were in such a bad mood today? Because you knew they’d fixed the boilers, and I would be leaving tonight?” Travis didn’t answer; he only smiled as he started his motorcycle. The drive to the apartment was uncharacteristically slow. At every stoplight, Travis would either cover my hands with his, or he would rest his hand on my knee.

You in the mood for a movie tonight?" Kate asked him a couple days later. Matt was working, and she was sitting on her customary bucket taking a break, drinking bottled water, and surreptitiously admiring him from every angle. "I could pick something up on my way over tonight." "Sure." "How about Pride and Prejudice?" "What's that?" he asked warily. It's not one of those movies where they all wear old-fashioned clothes and walk around talking in British accents, is it?" "That's exactly what it is." Matt groaned. "It's romantic! Maybe one of the most romantic stories ever.

I’m not in the mood to go to a kegger tonight, but Garrett informs me that if he has to go, then I have to go, because, and I quote, “best friends suffer together or not at all.” I politely pointed out that we could always pick the “not at all” option, which earned me a dark scowl and a menacing you’re going finger-point.

Are you feeling in the mood? I need your love tonight. I want to hold you tight

I have got into one of my moping moods tonight,’ said my father, after a silence; then quoting Shakespeare, whom, by way of keeping up our English, he used to read aloud, he said: ‘In truth I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me; you say it wearies you; But how I got it – came by it . . . I forget the rest.

Something maternal awakened, perhaps, by the physical contact with such lovely young babies? And tonight was a good night, thus I feel correspondingly tender. There will be other bad nights, but remembering the versatile quicksilver shifting of children's moods, I smile with equanimity and do not cherish grudges, as most of us adults do, letting them fester like a cancer. But I let my emotions run on the same forgiving and transient track.

So you're the reason Qhuinn was in such a bad mood tonight." "It's got nothing to do with me. Qhuinn is usually in a bad mood." "People going in the wrong direction will get like that. Round pegs just dont fit in square holes.

There was a mood of magic and frenzy to the room. Crystalline swirls of sugar and flour still lingered in the air like kite tails- the smell of hope, the kind of smell that brought people home. Tonight it was the comfort of browning butter and the excitement of lemon zest.

I seem to only have one mood tonight, and apparently that mood is horny.

and the books she brought are full of Guy and she is in no mood for his bullshit tonight, not after dealing with Étretat.

I find I'm in the mood to focus on things other than myself tonight. Sucking Robert Off was a great distraction, and from my experience, our princess mixes very well with something French.

Yes- I must own it- I am bright-tonight: cheerful and more than cheerful- so much so that I am almost sad again with the sense that all of it passing away. And sometimes, when I am excessively hopeful and blithe , a trouble is looming in the distance: so that I often get to look upon gloom in me with content, and to fear a happy mood. Still this maybe be absurd- I feel that it is absurd. Perhaps my day is dawning at last

I’m not dressed for the piano bar, but I won’t go upstairs to get clothes. He is expecting me to stay and to apologize and cook dinner and tiptoe around his mood, but instead I’m gonna go buy a new dress and shoes for tonight, then get to the restaurant by six and treat myself to a long, slow dinner with appetizers, pasta, and dessert. And wine. Then I’ll play vintage jazz in front of a nice group of folks who actually appreciate me. That’s what I’ll do instead.

Anyway,” the agent said abruptly. “I just . . . wanted you to know that I’m sorry for everything. I want to help you and the rest of the Order in any way I can, so if there is anything you need, you know where I am.” “Chase,” Dante said as the male turned to leave the room. “Apology accepted, man. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I haven’t been fair to you either. Despite our differences, know that I respect you. The Agency lost a good one the day they cut you loose.” Chase’s smile was crooked as he acknowledged the praise with a short nod. Dante cleared his throat. “And about that offer of help . . .” “Name it.” “Tess was walking a dog when the Rogues attacked her tonight. Ugly little mutt, not good for much more than a foot-warmer, but it’s special to her. Actually, it was a gift from me, more or less. Anyway, the dog was running loose on its leash when I saw it a block or so away from Ben Sullivan’s place.” “You want me to go retrieve a wayward canine, is that where this is heading?” “Well, you did say anything, didn’t you?” “So I did.” Chase chuckled. “All right. I will.” Dante dug his keys to his Porsche out of his pocket and tossed them to the other vampire. As Chase turned to be on his way again, Dante added, “The little beast answers to the name Harvard, by the way.” “Harvard,” Chase drawled, shaking his head and throwing a smirk in Dante’s direction. “I don’t suppose that’s a coincidence.” Dante shrugged. “Good to see that Ivy League pedigree of yours comes in handy for something.” “Jesus Christ, warrior. You really were busting my ass since the minute I came on board, weren’t you?” “Hey, by all comparisons, I was kind. Do yourself a favor and don’t look too closely at Niko’s shooting target, unless you’re very secure about your manhood.” “Assholes,” Chase muttered, but there was only humor in his tone. “Sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few with your mutt. Anything else you’re gonna hit me up for now that I opened my big yap about wanting to get square with you?” “Actually, there might be something else,” Dante replied, his thoughts going sober when he considered Tess and any kind of future that might be deserving of her. “But we can talk about that when you get back, yeah?” Chase nodded, catching on to the turn in mood. “Yeah. Sure we can.

There.You're officially Canadian. Try not to abuse your new power." "Whatever.I'm totally going out tonight." "Good." He slows down. "You should." We're both standing still. He's so close to me.His gaze is locked on mine, and my heart pounds painfully in my chest. I step back and look away. Toph. I like Toph,not St. Clair. Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this? St. Clair is taken. "Did you paint these?" I'm desperate to change the mood. "These above your bed?" I glance back,and he's still staring at me. He bites his thumbnail before replying. His voice is odd. "No.My mum did." "Really? Wow,they're good. Really, really...good." "Anna..." "Is this here in Paris?" "No,it's the street I grew up on. In London." "Oh." "Anna..." "Hmm?" I stand with my back to him, trying to examine the paintings. They really are great. I just can't seem to focus. Of course it's not Paris. I should've known- "That guy.Sideburns.You like him?" My back squirms. "You've asked me that before." "What I meant was," he says, flustered. "Your feelings haven't changed? Since you've been here?" It takes a moment to consider the question. "It's not a matter of how I feel," I say at last. "I'm interested,but...I don't know if he's still interested in me." St. Clair edges closer. "Does he still call?" "Yeah.I mean,not often. But yes." "Right.Right,well," he says, blinking. "There's your answer." I look away. "I should go.I'm sure you have plans with Ellie." "Yes.I mean,no. I mean, I don't know. If you aren't doing any-" I open his door. "So I'll see you later. Thank you for the Canadian citizenship." I tap the patch on my bag. St. Clair looks strangely hurt. "No problem. Happy to be of service." I take the stairs two at a time to my floor. What just happened? One minute we were fine,and the next it was like I couldn't leave fast enough. I need to get out of here.I need to leave the dorm. Maybe I'm not a brave American,but I think I can be a brave Canadian.I grab the Pariscope from inside my room and jog downstairs. I'm going to see Paris.Alone.

Thank you for the improvements you made... the lock and hinges... and the lion's-head knocker. I like it very much." Ethan's voice was soft. "Did you like the violets?" She hesitated before shaking her head. "No?" he asked, more softly still. "Why not?" "They reminded me that I might never see you again." "After tonight, you probably won't." "You say that every time we meet. However, you keep popping up like a jack-in-the-box, which has made me increasingly skeptical." Garrett paused before adding in an abashed tone, "And hopeful." His gaze caressed her face. "Garrett Gibson... as long as I'm on this earth, I'll want to be wherever you are." She couldn't help smiling ruefully. "You're the only one who does. I've been in a foul mood for the past two weeks. I've offended nearly everyone I know, and frightened off one or two of my patients." His voice was dark velvet. "You needed me there to sweeten your temper." Garrett couldn't bring herself to look at him as she admitted huskily, "Yes.

They had a nice,if not private, reunion before Rupert joined them. He didn't exactly ruin it, but if he insisted on enacting their pretense tonight, even for her mother,it surely would. Unfortunately, he entered the room wearing a horribly bright lime-green dinner jacket that had his mother immediately scowling at him. So even after that kiss upstairs, he'd decided on an evening of humorously baiting his mother again. Bad timing, with her own mother there, or maybe not.At least it kept Rebecca's own mood light for the moment, since she knew why he did it. Nor did Julie hold her tongue, remarking in disgust, "I see your taste is still beyond flamboyant. You're a bloody peacock, Rue." He actually looked behind him as he replied, "I thought I had my feathers tucked away nicely.

There was more small talk, more laughing, sidelong glances, more of the unspoken physical friction that makes each new conquest so delightful. In the air was the strong smell of masculinity which creates the ideal medium for me to exist in. There was something in Emile tonight, a touch of seriousness, a chemical magnetism, that met my mood the way two pieces of a child's puzzle fit together.

The honky-tonk bartender, who doubled as bouncer, waiter, and cashier, was in no mood to compromise. Mercy was not in him. He came out around the open end of the long counter, waddled threatening across the floor in a sullen, red-faced fury and began to shake the inanimate figure lying across the table with its head bedded on its arms. "Hey, you! Do your sleeping in the gutter!" If you gave these bums an inch; they took a yard. And this one was a particularly glaring example of the genus bar-fly. He was in here all the time like this, inhaling smoke and then doing a sunset across the table. He'd been in here since four this afternoon. The boss and he, who were partners in the joint - the bartender called it jernt - would have been the last ones to claim they were running a Rainbow Room, but at least they were trying to give the place a little class, keep it above the level of a Bowery smoke-house; they even paid a guy to pound the piano and a canary to warble three times a week. And then bums like this had to show up and give the place a bad look! He shook the recumbent figure again, more roughly than the first time. Shook him so violently that the whole reedy table under him rattled and threatened to collapse. "Come on, clear out, I said! Pay me for what you had and get outa here!" ("I'm Dangerous Tonight")

I’m not dressed for the piano bar, but I won’t go upstairs to get clothes. He is expecting me to stay and to apologize and cook dinner and tiptoe around his mood, but instead I’m gonna go buy a new dress and shoes for tonight, then get to the restaurant by six and treat myself to a long, slow dinner with appetizers, pasta, and dessert. And wine. Then I’ll play vintage jazz in front of a nice group of folks who actually appreciate me. That’s what I’ll do instead. Fuck him.

The mood is on me to-night only becuase I have listened to several hours of intelligent conversation and I am not a very brilliant person. Sometimes here on Pequod Island and back again on Beacon Street, I have the most curious delusion that our world may be a little narrow. I cannot avoid the impression that something has gone out of it (what, I do not know), and that our little world moves in an orbit of its own, a gain one of those confounded circles, or possibly an ellipse. Do you suppose that it moves without any relation to anything else? That it is broken off from some greater planet like the moon? We talk of life, we talk of art, but do we actually know anything about either? Have any of us really lived? Sometimes I am not entirely sure; sometimes I am afraid that we are all amazing people, placed in an ancestral mould. There is no spring, there is no force. Of course you know better than this, you who plunge every day in the operating room of the Massachusetts General, into life itself. Come up here and tell me I am wrong.

You in the mood for a movie tonight?" Kate asked him a couple days later. Matt was working, and she was sitting on her customary bucket taking a break, drinking bottled water, and surreptitiously admiring him from every angle. "I could pick something up on my way over tonight." "Sure." "How about Pride and Prejudice?" "What's that?" he asked warily. "It's not one of those movies where they all wear old-fashioned clothes and walk around talking in British accents, is it?" "That's exactly what it is." Matt groaned. "It's romantic! Maybe one of the most romantic stories ever.

In the same vein, Rupert knew that he'd found his own ideal match,too. He just couldn't imagine how he was going to convince her of it. But that wasn't what he was thinking about on the ride home. Unable to take his eyes off of his wife,he said, "There's something about riding in a coach with you that drives me crazy." Rebecca's dark blue eyes flared, but she didn't protest when he moved across to her seat and gathered her into his arms. Catching his wife off guard did have its advantages, which was fortunate, because she really did inflame his passions without even trying. One heady taste of her and most of his control was gone. "Could it be because we nearly made love in this coach before?" he said against her lips. "Or could it be because I suspect you were sitting here earlier tonight thinking of me with my breeches off?" Rebecca gasped but he just thrust his tongue deeply inside her until she no longer seemed to feel like upbraiding him for that teasing remark. He loved teasing her. It was too bad she was rarely in a mood for it. Unfortunately,she didn't let his remark go unanswered, though they were nearly home before she pulled away from his arms to say breathlessly, "I was doing nothing of the sort.

Lady Cameron,” he said, playing his role with elan as he nodded toward Ian. “You recall our friend Lord Thornton, Marquess of Kensington, I hope?” The radiant smile Elizabeth bestowed on Ian was not at all what the dowager had insisted ought to be “polite but impartial.” It wasn’t quite like any smile she’d ever given him. “Of course I remember you, my lord,” Elizabeth said to Ian, graciously offering him her hand. “I believe this waltz is mine,” he said for the benefit of Elizabeth’s avidly interested admirers. He waited until they were near the dancers, then he tried to sound more pleasant. “You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight.” “I am,” she said idly, but when she looked up at his face she saw the coolness in his eyes; with her new understanding of her own feelings, she understood his more easily. A soft, knowing smile touched her lips as the musicians struck up a waltz; it stayed in her heart as Ian’s arm slid around her waist, and his left hand closed around her fingers, engulfing them. Overhead a hundred thousand candles burned in crystal chandeliers, but Elizabeth was back in a moonlit arbor long ago. Then as now, Ian moved to the music with effortless ease. That lovely waltz had begun something that had ended wrong, terribly wrong. Now, as she danced in his arms, she could make this waltz end much differently, and she knew it; the knowledge filled her with pride and a twinge of nervousness. She waited, expecting him to say something tender, as he had the last time. “Belhaven’s been devouring you with his eyes all night,” Ian said instead. “So have half the men in this ballroom. For a country that prides itself on its delicate manners, they sure as hell don’t extend to admiring beautiful women.” That, Elizabeth thought with a startled inner smile, was not the opening she’d been waiting for. With his current mood, Elizabeth realized, she was going to have to make her own opening. Lifting her eyes to his enigmatic golden ones, she said quietly, “Ian, have you ever wanted something very badly-something that was within your grasp-and yet you were afraid to reach out for it?” Surprised by her grave question and her use of his name, Ian tried to ignore the jealousy that had been eating at him all night. “No,” he said, scrupulously keeping the curtness from his voice as he gazed down at her alluring face. “Why do you ask? Is there something you want?” Her gaze fell from his, and she nodded at his frilled white shirtfront. “What is it you want?” “You.” Ian’s breath froze in his chest, and he stared down at her lustrous hair. “What did you just say?” She raised her eyes to his. “I said I want you, only I’m afraid that I-“ Ian’s heart slammed into his chest, and his fingers dug reflexively into her back, starting to pull her to him. “Elizabeth,” he said in a strained voice, glancing a little wildly at their avidly curious audience and resisting the impossible impulse to take her out onto the balcony, “why in God’s name would you say a thing like that to me when we’re in the middle of a damned dance floor in a crowded ballroom?” Her radiant smile widened. “I thought it seemed like exactly the right place,” she told him, watching his eyes darken with desire. “Because it’s safer?” Ian asked in disbelief, meaning safer from his ardent reaction. “No, because this is how it all began two years ago. We were in the arbor, and a waltz was playing,” she reminded him needlessly. “And you came up behind me and said, ‘Dance with me, Elizabeth.’ And-and I did,” she said, her voice trailing off at the odd expression darkening his eyes. “Remember?” she added shakily when he said absolutely nothing. His gaze held hers, and his voice was tender and rough. “Love me, Elizabeth.” Elizabeth felt a tremor run through her entire body, but she looked at him without flinching. “I do.

They’ll also have an extensive amount of makeup work to tackle during the midterm break—and no, that option is not available to you, so don’t ask and don’t test my patience. I can become very creative with my punishments if you force me to.” “See, but now you’ve got me curious,” Keefe told him. “Uh-uh,” Ro jumped in. “I have to suffer through this stuff with you.” “You do,” Magnate Leto agreed. “And I found an entire room filled with recordings of speeches from the Ancient Councillors that I think you’ll find particularly enjoyable.” Ro grabbed Keefe’s arm and hauled him toward the door. “We’re going to your session, and you’re acing that test and taking lots of notes or I will hang a banner in the middle of this campus—and we both know what I will have that banner say!” “Bo and Ro 4 Eva?” Keefe guessed, because he clearly had a death wish. “That’s it!” Ro picked him up, hefting him over her shoulder and trudging toward the door. “We’ll be back after study hall.” “You’ll be back tomorrow,” Magnate Leto corrected. “Lord Cassius is expecting you both to be home immediately after school—and I wouldn’t recommend disobeying.” “Why not?” Sophie asked. “He was in . . . a mood.” “Goody! Raise your hand if you’re jealous of my life!” Keefe said, twisting in Ro’s grasp to survey the room. “No takers?” “Don’t worry,” Ro told him, patting his back as she carried him into the hall. “I’ll sneak your dad some amoebas tonight.

Dear Familiar Place, I am lost. I wonder who lives behind my eyes. I guess a lost little child who never grew up. However, I was forced to grow up, but I never had a chance to experience the sweet and playful side of life. I notice that at the moment, it is only me sitting on you—usually, I would have to share you with two or three people. After I leave, you will not be marked until a lonely broken soul will claim you. Just for tonight, they will have something to claim as their own. I wonder who will claim you tonight? I thank you for keeping me warm the best way you could. I am sure you are one of everyone’s best friends. I bet you have a lot of stories to tell. I am looking at the clouds and wondering how long the cloud will last in my life. I’ve had so many cloudy days; sadly, I forget how the sun looks and feels. My eyes are sensitive to the daylight, but they are immune to the darkness with just the right kind of light from the stars. During the day, my mood is cloudy, uncertain, blurred, depressing, and there is so much fog I can’t see the sun, nor do I have a head's up that the rain is coming. I wish just one day my mood could at least be fair skies. I’ll accept cool and fair skies. I mean, at least for once, could my life be fair instead of constantly feeling anxiety and my soul tied in two knots or more? I retraced my thoughts and noticed the wind was blowing. I smile slightly because the leaves are playing with each other as the breeze shows them some unconditional love. I wonder what unconditional love is? In my world, unconditional love is blowing dandelions in the daytime and hugging the stars during the night. I guess that’s all the love I need. Wishing for brighter days.

August 18, 2006 It was so nice to talk to you tonight. I always wind up in a better mood after talking to you. Somehow you always manage to brighten my life even when in a hell hole like this. You are the greatest woman ever, and I will never understand how I got so lucky to have been blessed with you. I appreciate all you do. You are the strongest person I know, and I admire you, and respect you. I am always extremely proud of you. I know with all that has happened with Marc and Biggles, you have gone out of your way to try to make everyone feel better. Even though I know that is your worst nightmare. I don’t know many people who could be there, and put themselves through the pain just to make someone you don’t even know more comfortable. You are an angel sent by God. Now you have given me two more angels. Remember Satan was once an angel of God, so Bubba is an angel, but just which side is sometimes debatable. Just joking. I know he can be very trying sometimes, and you have kept your cool way better than I ever could have. Our kids are so lucky to have you as their mother. So am I. I cannot wait to get back into your arms. Talking about it tonight felt so good. Knowing that this whole thing is coming to an end. I dream about the day I step off that plane to see you. Hope you have no plans for the rest of your life, because you’re gonna be a little busy. I miss you so much!!! I loved talking to Bubba tonight. I love hearing him tell me he loves me, but I also don’t want to force him to say it. I know inside that he loves me. He just gets a little busy with everything going on around him. I can’t wait to play with him and chase him around the house. I was also thinking, all this time I’ve been wanting to talk to Bubba because he can talk back to me, but I want Angel to hear my voice, too. I want her to be a little familiar with me if at least my voice. Anyway, I love you with all my heart, and can’t wait to see you again. I am gonna smother you like crazy. You’ll be begging me to go on another deployment so you can get a little break. Too bad. You’re stuck with me now. I love you, sexy! XOXOXOXOXOXOOX

A box sat on top of Jade’s pillows, wrapped in green paper with a white bow. He frowned slightly. Who would’ve left a gift on Jade’s bed? “You have a present.” “What?” Jade turned her head when he gestured toward the box. Confusion filled her eyes. She sat up and reached for the box. “I don’t understand.” Zach sat by her again and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Maybe there’s a card.” After searching beneath the large white bow, Jade pulled out a small envelope. Zach looked over her shoulder as she withdrew the card and read it aloud. “‘To Mom and Zach. Have fun tonight. Bre.’” Zach chuckled, both at Breanna’s card and at Jade’s blush. “Your daughter has quite a sense of humor.” “My daughter deserves to be spanked.” She lifted the box onto her lap. “I’m afraid to open it.” “Would you like me to? It’s addressed to both of us.” “I’m even more afraid for you to open it.” “Go ahead. It can’t be that bad.” “You don’t know my daughter.” Untying the bow, Jade raised the lid and pulled apart the bright green tissue paper. Several sex toys lay in the box. She gasped. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe she did this!” She started to push the tissue paper back over the contents, but Zach held her hand to stop her. “Wait. Let’s see what she bought.” “I am going to kill her, after I beat her.” Chuckling, Zach dug through the box, lifting the different items as he came to them. “Cock ring. Chocolate body paint. Stay-hard gel.” He looked into Jade’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ll need that tonight.” Her cheeks turned a deep pink. He dropped a kiss on her lips before beginning to explore again. “Anal beads. Ben-Wa balls. Fur-lined handcuffs. Nipple clamps. Lemon-flavored nipple cream.” His gaze dipped to her breasts. “Interesting.” She huffed out a breath. “Can we close the box now?” “Not yet. I like it when you blush.” Zach grinned when Jade scowled at him. “This is completely spoiling the mood.” “I won’t have any problem getting hard again.” “Zach!” Ignoring her outraged tone, he continued to sift through the items. “Lifelike dildo.” He held it up to eye level. “Close, but not quite as big as I am.” Jade covered her eyes with one hand. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered. “Butt plug. Wait, I’m wrong. It’s a vibrating butt plug. Very interesting. I hope you have batteries. Never mind. Breanna included several packages.” “Okay, that’s enough.” Jade tried to jerk the box out of his reach, but Zach held on to the side. “There’re only a couple more items. We might as well see what they are.” “I don’t care what they are.” “You might care about one of them.” Zach held up a large box of condoms. “Oh.” He turned the box in his hand. “I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’ll be able to use one hundred of these tonight.” “One hundred?” “All different types, sizes, and colors.” Jade laughed. “Oh, Bre.” She pushed her hair behind one ear. “What’s the last thing?” “Cherry-flavored lubricant. It looks like she thought of everything.” “You must think my daughter is crazy.” “I think your daughter loves you very much and wants you to be happy.” “That’s true. But we won’t use all this…stuff.” “Who says we won’t?

You do that a great deal, don’t you?” He swallowed the rest of his wine. “What?” “Close up into yourself whenever someone tries to peer into your soul. Make a joke of it.” “If you came out here to lecture me,” he snapped, “don’t bother. Gran has perfected that talent. You can’t possibly compete.” “I only want to understand.” “I want to be consumed by a star, but we don’t all get what we want.” “What?” “Never mind.” Turning for the nearest door into the house, he started to stalk off, but she caught his arm. “Why are you so angry at your grandmother?” Maria asked. “I told you-she’s trying to ruin the lives of me and my siblings.” “By requiring you to marry so you can have children? I thought all lords and ladies were expected to do that. And the five of you are certainly old enough.” Her tone turned teasing. “Some of you are beyond being old enough.” “Watch it, minx,” he clipped out. “I’m not in the mood for having my nose tweaked tonight.” “Because of your grandmother, you mean. It’s not just her demand that has you angry, is it? It goes back longer than that.” Oliver glared at her. “Why do you care? Has she got you fighting her battles for her now?” “Hardly. She just informed me that I was, and I quote, ‘exactly the sort of woman who would not meet my requirements of a wife.’” A smile touched his lips at her accurate mimicking of Gran at her most haughty. “I told you she would think that.” “Yes,” she said dryly. “You both excel at insulting people.” “One of my many talents.” “There you go again. Making a joke to avoid talking about what makes you uncomfortable.” “And what is that?” “What did your grandmother do, besides giving you an ultimatum about marriage, that has you at daggers drawn?” Blast it all, would she not leave off? “How do you know she did anything? Perhaps I’m just contrary.” “You are. But that’s not what has you so angry at her.” “If you plan to spend the next two weeks asking ridiculous questions that have no answers, then I will pay you to return to London.” She smiled. “No, you won’t. You need me.” “True. But since I’m paying for the service you’re providing, I get some say in how it’s rendered. Bedeviling me with questions isn’t part of our bargain.” “You haven’t paid me anything yet,” she said lightly, “so I should think there’s some leeway in the terms. Especially since I’ve been working hard all evening furthering your cause. I just finished telling your grandmother that I have ‘feelings’ for you, and that I know you have ‘feelings’ for me.” “You didn’t choke on that lie?” he quipped. “I do have feelings for you-probably not the sort she meant, though apparently she believed me. But she was suspicious. She’s more astute than you give her credit for. First she accused us of acting a farce, and then, when I denied that, she accused me of thinking to marry you so I could gain a fortune from her down the line.” “And what did you say to that?” “I told her she could keep her precious fortune.” “Did you, indeed? I would have given my right arm to see that.” Maria was proving to be an endless source of amazement. No one ever stood up to Gran-except this American chit, with her naïve beliefs in justice and right and morality. It amazed him that she’d done it, considering how he’d treated her. No one, not even his siblings, had ever defended him with so little reason. It stirred something that had long lain dead inside him. His conscience? No, that wasn’t dead; it was nonexistent.

Hey, Lily,” Todd says, placing a napkin in front of her. “Do you know what you’re in the mood for tonight?

He held up a bottle of wine. ‘Tonight, we celebrate!’ I sighed. ‘I don’t think I’m in the mood.’ He held up the bottle again. ‘Tonight, we drown our sorrows!’ ‘In fact, I think I might be in a lot of trouble.’ He held up the bottle again. ‘Tonight, we formulate our battle plan and drink to success!’ I gave up and put my key in the door. ‘Actually, I don’t have a problem with any of that. Come on in.

Did I interrupt something? A sordid little tryst, perhaps?” “You must be joking.” Cass was in no mood for humor. Besides, the closest she’d ever been to a tryst was when he’d fallen on top of her in the street earlier that day. “Always. Sadly, you don’t seem like the type of girl who would be up for a midnight…encounter.” Falco’s eyes drifted downward. “Too bad.” Cass realized her cloak had fallen open, exposing the white nightgown she wore underneath. She pulled the velvet fabric tight around her body. Then the shrubbery rippled once more with unfamiliar movement. Cass’s heart froze. “We should get out of here,” she said. “It’s not safe.” “Not safe?” Falco raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because it’s dark and you might accidentally trip over your own two feet? I feel quite safe. In fact, I was just settling in to do some reading.” Cass furrowed her brow. “Reading?” Falco wagged her journal in front of her. “This is yours, I presume.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Let’s find out exactly what you’ve been doing, shall we?” “Give it back!” Cass reached for the journal, but Falco easily dodged her. He opened the leather-bound book to a random page and cleared his throat. Clutching a hand to his chest, he pretended to read aloud in a high-pitched voice. “Oh, how I love the way his fingers explore my soft flesh. The way his eyes see into my very soul.” This time, Cass managed to snatch the book out of his hands. “That is not what it says.” “I guess that means you won’t be keeping me warm tonight?” Falco quirked an eyebrow. Before she could muster up a response, he laughed. “Then again, the accommodations probably wouldn’t meet your standards. You’ve probably never slept on anything but the finest satins, have you?” Cass hoped the darkness camouflaged her scarlet cheeks. Who was this boy to talk to her the way he did? “Is that why you’re here? Looking for a date?” Cass gestured toward a row of pointed headstones. “I do believe you’re in luck. I see some ladies who won’t be able to refuse you.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could rethink them. “Funny. And correct. Sort of. I was actually just looking for a place to get a little rest.” For a second, the smile dropped from his face, and an expression passed across it that Cass couldn’t identify. “Sleep in a graveyard?” Cass frowned. “You can’t be serious.

You stand watch,” he said. “I’ll make sure no walking dead girls have invaded your little friend’s tomb.” Falco moved through the open doorway, humming to himself. His cheerful mood had returned. “Look, someone even left me a lantern. I might have to avail myself of these lodgings the next time I need a place to stay. Oh, and even a trinket. I think propriety dictates that it is I who should be buying gifts for you at this stage in our--” Then his voice cut off. A second later, Falco practically exploded out of the tomb, blue eyes burning in the moonlight. “Tell me what you saw tonight,” he demanded. “Tell me everything.

An early frost was in the air tonight. Wind whipped outside the cabin’s basement windows, the last tendrils of late summer disappearing as fall took root. The dismal turn of the weather was a match for Lou’s mood.

Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!” he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous belly. “I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We’re having a little party, just a few rising stars, I’ve got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin — I don’t know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries — and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too.” Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him. “I can’t come, Professor,” said Harry at once. “I’ve got a detention with Professor Snape.” “Oh dear!” said Slughorn, his face falling comically. “Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I’ll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I’ll see you both later!” He bustled away out of the Hall. “He’s got no chance of persuading Snape,” said Harry, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. “This detention’s already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won’t do it for anyone else.” “Oh, I wish you could come, I don’t want to go on my own!” said Hermione anxiously; Harry knew that she was thinking about McLaggen. “I doubt you’ll be alone, Ginny’ll probably be invited,” snapped Ron, who did not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn. After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner by now, but they managed to find a free table and sat down; Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned

It’s too bad, I think he said he was in the mood to eat something Mexican tonight.” My smile matched hers.

My right hand was locked so tightly in a fist, it was starting to shake. My gaze was riveted to two people on the dancefloor, and it was taking every ounce of willpower I had to remain standing there in favour of destroying the man touching Darcy Vega. Seth Capella’s hands were roaming all over her as they danced like there was no one else here but them. They were staring at each other, exchanging flirtatious smiles and their mouths were getting all too close all too many times. Through the thump of the music and clamour of voices, it was difficult to focus on the words that passed between them, but I managed to catch a couple of sentences. “Fuck being enemies, I wanna be your friend tonight,” Seth purred in her ear, his fingers twisting into the blue ends of her hair and making me spit a snarl. Darcy laughed, clearly drunk as her fingers slid down his arm while his other hand dropped onto her ass, drawing her even closer and squeezing hard. No. “What kind of friends act like this?” she laughed again and he nuzzled the side of her head, a carnal look entering his eyes that made my canines sharpen. All rational thought was exiting my mind until I was nothing but an animal about to attack. I knew in that second I was going to do it. I was going to shoot over there, tear Seth Capella off of her and make him bleed for touching her like that. She was my gir- Source. “The best of friends,” he answered with a wolfish grin and I took a step forward, but suddenly Darius was there with a scowl the size of a Dragon’s tail, blocking my line of sight. “Well?” he demanded irritably like I’d just punched him in the cock. “Well what?” I sniped back and he frowned. “Oh right, yeah. We need to go hunting.” I gritted my teeth, crushing them to dust in my mouth as I forced my feet to move towards the exit, refusing to let myself look back. Darius walked stiffly at my side, seeming as pissed off as I did to be leaving and judging by how hard he’d been grinding himself against Tory Vega, I had to wonder if she was the reason. I glanced at my friend and caught him looking back. “What?” he snapped and I looked away again. “Nothing,” I grunted. “I’m just in the mood to kill something.” “Same. Let’s find the fucking Nymph and make it suffer.” His eyes turned to reptilian slits and a group of guys in our way scarpered aside as they saw us coming. I uncurled my still clenched right hand, my knuckles white as I flexed them and brought magic to my fingertips. Is she gonna go home with him? Is she gonna fuck him? She can’t. He’s a fucking Heir. The worst fucking Heir. The urge to go back was rising in me and I had to force my legs to keep moving away from that nightclub. There was a Nymph out here somewhere, that was my priority. Not whether or not Darcy Vega chose to fuck an Heir. My heart thumped a painful tune in my chest, continuing its plea with me to go back. To stop her from making the most stupid decision of her life. She was too good for that Wolf asshole. Too sweet. He didn’t deserve to get his hands on her flesh. I pictured her pinned beneath him and stopped dead in the street. (Orion POV)

Darling?” she remarked. “When have I ever been that?” “Are you stating an objection?” “I…No.” Heavens he was in the strangest of moods tonight. “It’s new, that’s all. Normally, I’m your whore, or your mistress, or Miss Rushdale.” “Or my nightingale.” “Only if you’re feeling poetic.” “Then obviously you’ve found a way to inveigle your way into my heart and I’m growing soft and foolish as a result.” “What heart?” She crossed her arms. “Vaughan, if this is a plan to drive me away by being nice, it won’t work.” His smile dazzled her as it stretched wide his lips and lit the centres of his eyes. “It’s not a ploy.

I may not approve of what Jace was about to do to you tonight, but I can assure you I’m not much better. I may sound like Prince Charming to girls like you, but I don’t have a noble bone in my body. And trust me, princess, I don’t save. I destroy. And I revel in the chaos.” “What if I don’t want someone noble? What if I don’t want to be saved?” What if I want you. “Don’t tempt me, love. I’m not in the mood to be gentle. And after the situation I just pulled you from, you’re not in a state to handle what I want to do to you.” “You know what your problem is, Caden Ashford? You consistently underestimate me. I’m tougher than you think. Or hadn’t you noticed in the week you’ve spent trying to get me to give in to your demands? How did that work out for you?” “You know what your problem is, Kara Caine? You never know when to shut the fuck up.

Are you finished with your little meeting?” Audrey asked, setting down her magazine and smiling up at her brother. The way she’d said “little meeting” left Lucien with no doubt they were having fun at their expense, or perhaps it was her biting her bottom lip to prevent her laughter that gave her away. Regardless, Cedric’s sisters had challenged the men and they were in no mood to play games. Especially Cedric. “You.” Cedric pointed to Audrey. “Bed, now!” His accusing finger then swept towards Emily. “Since when do you embroider? I distinctly recall you telling me once that such a thing was a complete and utter waste of time.” “Considering your rather callous behavior tonight in leaving us out of your decisions, I decided to renew the rather useless habit,” Emily replied as though speaking of the weather. She politely held up the embroidery hoop, which was festooned with flowers around a simple phrase every single man in the room could read, Never Challenge a Woman. Lucien could only imagine how she must have embroidered that in so short a time. “We left you out of it because this matter doesn’t concern any of you ladies. Besides, it is a delicate and dangerous situation,” Cedric said. “Hmm,” Emily responded, the feminine sound came out strangely condescending. “Perhaps we ladies are keeping you out of a dangerous situation and haven’t bothered to inform you of our intentions. If you insist on keeping us in the dark, we will persist in our efforts to keep all of you alive regardless of your belief that we are incapable females.

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An unusually large, rare, golden wolf trotted out of the timberline, circled the area warily, and sat down on its haunches only feet from Jacques. It watched him steadily with its strange golden eyes, completely unafraid. It seemed not to be affected by the fire, the lightning, or the Carpathian male. Jacques watched the animal equally intently, certain he was facing more than a wolf. The creature did not make an attempt to use the common mental path to communicate. It simply watched him, taking in the bizarre scene, the golden eyes never wavering. A humorless smile curved Jacques’ hard mouth. “If you are looking for action tonight, I am too tired to oblige you, and far too hungry.” The wolf’s shape contorted, stretched, shimmered in the smoke of the fire, and soon a large, heavily muscled man was facing Jacques. His long, shaggy mane of hair was blond, his eyes golden, his body perfectly balanced. “You are Jacques, brother to Mikhail. I heard you were dead.” “That is the story going around,” Jacques assented warily. “You have no memory of me? I am Julian, brother to Aidan. I have been away these last long years. The far-off mountains, the places without people, are my home.” “The last I heard, you were fighting wars in distant lands.” “When the mood is upon me, I fight where it is needed,” Julian agreed. “I see you do also. The vampire lies dead, and you are pale beyond imagination.” Jacques’ smile was grim. “Do not allow my color to fool you.” “I am no vampire yet, and if ever I fear turning, I will go to Aidan, and he will destroy me if I cannot do so myself. If you wish to take blood, then I offer it freely. The healer knows me; you can ask him if I am a reliable resource.” There was the slightest of smiles, a self-mocking humor. “What are you doing in these parts?” Jacques asked suspiciously. “I was traveling through, on my way to the United States, when I heard the butchers were back, and I thought I would make myself useful to our people for a change.” Jacques found himself admiring Julian’s answers. This was a man not in the least worried about anyone’s opinion or impression of him. He was self-contained, at ease with himself. It didn’t bother him at all that Jacques was suspicious, that he was firing questions at him. Healer, hear me. I have need of blood, and this one before me, Julian, the golden twin, has said you will vouch for him. No one can vouch for one such as Julian. He is a loner, a law unto himself, but his blood is untainted. If Julian turns, it will be Aidan or I who hunts him, no others. Avail yourself of what he offers. “Did he give me a good recommendation?” Julian’s smile was frankly sardonic. “The healer never gives good recommendation. You are not his favorite, but he agrees there would be no harm.” Julian laughed softly, put his wrist to his mouth and bit, then casually reached out to offer his life-giving fluid to Jacques. “I am too much like him, a loner, one who studies too much. I dabble in things better left alone. I fear Gregori has given up on me.” He didn’t sound worried about it.

She’ll be a wife worthy of you, Darcy lad,” he said. “A wife worthy of dwelling in Ackergill Keep one day.” Darcy released her wrist and in the next second, she was surrounded by Steafan’s suffocating arms. The man planted a wet kiss on her cheek. If she hadn’t been frozen with shock, she might have tried to shove him away. It was probably good that she didn’t, since Darcy’s stunned gaze proved Steafan in an affectionate mood was an exceedingly rare thing. “Welcome to the Keith, lass,” Steafan said. “I’m glad I didna have to put you in stocks tonight.

Tonight, I’d made so much money that I would make it to my goal in no time, but I couldn’t even really celebrate because I was in a fucked up mood.

Have you been crying?” She glanced away. “I’m sorry. I had one of those days.” He put his thumb and forefinger on her chin and pulled her eyes back to his. “What’s up?” he asked softly. “Need to talk about it?” “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I know you don’t want to—” “It’s okay. What made you cry? Homesick? Lonesome?” She took a deep breath. “It was a year ago today. Snuck up on me, I guess.” “Ah,” he said. He put his big arms around her. “That would make some tears, I guess. I’m sorry, Marcie. I’m sure it still hurts sometimes.” “That’s just it—it doesn’t exactly hurt. It’s just that I feel so useless.” She leaned against him. “Sometimes I feel all alone. I have lots of people in my life and can still feel so alone without Bobby.” She laughed softly. “And God knows, he wasn’t much company.” He tightened his embrace. “I think I understand.” Yeah, she thought, he might. Here was a guy who was around people regularly, yet completely unconnected to them. She pulled away and asked, “Why did you do this?” “I thought I could clean up a little and take you somewhere.” “Wait. You didn’t think I needed you to do this for me, did you? Because of Erin?” He laughed, and she could actually see the emotion on his face, given the absence of wild beard. “Actually, if you’d asked me to, I probably wouldn’t have. You really think you can match me for stubborn? Probably not. I kept the beard because of the scar,” he said, leaning his left cheek toward her. “That, and maybe a bit of attitude of who cares?” She gently fingered the beard apart to reveal a barely noticeable scar. “It’s hardly there at all. Ian, it’s only a thin line. You don’t have to cover it. You’re not disfigured.” She smiled at him. “You’re handsome.” “Memories from the scar, probably. Anyway, tonight is the truckers’ Christmas parade. A bunch of eighteen-wheelers in the area dress up their rigs and parade down the freeway. I see it every year—fantastic. You think you’re up to it? With it being that anniversary?” “Maybe it’s a good idea,” she said. “Getting out, changing the mood.” “We’ll eat out and—” “What’s all this?” she asked, looking at the bags and boxes. “Snow’s forecast. It’s just what you do up here. Be ready. But this time I got some different things, in case you’re sick of stew. And I never do this—but you’re a girl, so I bought some fresh greens. And fresh eggs. Just enough to last a couple of days. No fridge; and they’ll freeze if we leave ’em in the shed.” “Ian, what about the bathroom? What will we do about the bathroom if there’s a heavy snow?” He laughed at her. “No problem. We’ll tromp out there fine—but I’ll shovel a path. And I’ll plow out to the road, but it’s slow going and if the snow keeps coming, it’s going to be even slower.” “Wow. Is it safe to leave tonight? For the parade? Will we get back in?” “We don’t have blizzards, Marcie. Snow falls slow, but steady. Now, I’m thinking bath day. How about you?” She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him with a glare. “All right, be very careful here. I’ve had my bath. And a hair wash. I’m wearing makeup, Ian. Jesus. You wanna try to clean me up?” His eyes grew large for a moment. Then he said. “Bath day for me, I meant. I knew. You look great.” His thumb ran along her cheek under one eye. “Just a couple of tear marks, but you can take care of that. Let me put this stuff away and get my water ready. You have something to read? Or are you looking for the thrill of your life?” “I have something to read,” she said. And, she thought, at the end of the day, they all turn out to be just men. *

We should at least stay for the sunset,” Mike suggested. “There’s nothing like a Pacific sunset. Would you like that?” “I would. Do you think I should call Jack? Let him know?” Mike shrugged. “I don’t know what kind of arrangement you two have. Would he be worried if you’re not home before dark?” Remembering her brother’s dark mood in the morning, the way he’d tried to warn her off Mike, she almost said that Jack would be especially worried tonight. But instead she said, “As a courtesy, I’ll give him a call. I’m really having too much fun to go back yet.” He touched her cheek with the back of a knuckle. “Are you, Brie?” he asked softly. “You don’t have to ask.” She smiled. “There’s

Preacher went upstairs to put Christopher to bed. Christopher was running around the room bare-assed, dodging his jammies; the kid loved being naked. Preacher grabbed him up, swung him around as he giggled and stood him on the bed. “Enough,” he said. “You’re going to bed.” “Read to me,” Christopher said, bouncing. “Your mommy is going to read tonight. Ten minutes. And then lights-out.” Preacher got him in the pajamas and gave Paige a little slap on the rump. “I’ll see you downstairs in ten.” “Okay,” she said, a little surprised by his apparent playful mood. Preacher,

The Armadillo A big fiesta was announced on Lake Titicaca, and the armadillo, who was a very superior creature, wanted to dazzle everybody. Long beforehand, he set to weaving a cloak of such elegance that it would knock all eyes out. The fox noticed him at work. “Are you in a bad mood?” “Don’t distract me. I’m busy.” “What’s that for?” The armadillo explained. “Ah,” said the fox, savoring the words, “for the fiesta tonight?” “What do you mean, tonight?” The armadillo’s heart sank. He had never been more sure of his time calculations. “And me with my cloak only half finished!” While the fox took off with a smothered laugh, the armadillo finished the cloak in a hurry. As time was flying, he had to use coarser threads, and the weave ended up too big. For this reason the armadillo’s shell is tight-warped around the neck and very open at the back. (174)

That's enough serious talk for tonight. Someone's going to notice we're gone and you'll get flustered. I'll think it's sweet that after all this time you still get embarrassed over sneaking away, and then I'll have to work you back in here to have my way with you again, thereby proving I am still a young man in this old man's body!" "Come on, birthday boy. You're clearly in a mood tonight." Kane chuckled, hoping to hide the apprehension about Avery's political future still lurking in his thoughts.

Good evening.” He gazed down at her lying in her hammock and realized she had already changed into her bedclothes. Well, well, well… “Is there room for two in that hammock?” he asked, still not quite sure of his welcome. “I don’t know, but let’s try it, and if we end up on the ground, we’ll know there isn’t.” Not exactly a rousing cheer, but the boys had said she was in a mood today. Val hopped around, pulling off his boots and stockings, and surveyed the challenge before him. “You roll up that way and hold to the edge, and I’ll climb aboard.” The hammock dipped significantly, and it took some nimbleness on Val’s part, but he was soon ensconced wonderfully close to Ellen, the hammock pitching them together by design. “We need a rope,” Val murmured into Ellen’s ear, “attached to one of the trees, so I can set this thing to swinging for you.” “There’s a breeze tonight.” She turned so her cheek rested on Val’s arm. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.” “Why wouldn’t I?” Val nuzzled her hair, loving the scent and softness of it. “Because the boys are still making a racket at the pond?” “I hoped it was our boys and not those other rotten little brats. You shoo them away, and they’re like flies. They just come buzzing back.” “Are they truly rotten?” He worked an arm under her neck, drawing her closer. “I was a boy once. I hesitate to think all regarded me as an insect merely on the strength of my puerile status.” “You were a good boy.” Ellen’s voice held the first hint of a smile.

You Set The Pace Because of the woman she was, our friend in Proverbs 31 had a home that exuded a good atmosphere, making it a place people wanted to frequent. Every home has an atmosphere. Maybe you don’t know what the atmosphere of your home is, but there are some who do – the people who frequent it. How would you describe the atmosphere in your home? Pick an adjective: Warm, peaceful, loving, cheerful, united? How about anxious, bitter, contentious, or frustrated? It is the woman in each home who creates the atmosphere. She is like the hub of the wheel around which the home revolves. Have you ever noticed how quickly your husband and children pick up your moods? When you’re grumpy, your husband seems to come home grumpy, too, and your children pick up that mood the second they come in from school. Then you wonder what is the matter with them! Try it tonight. An experiment in terror. Be a real first-class Oscar the Grouch at dinnertime, and see how long it takes the others to follow suit. Better yet, be the woman God wants you to be, and see how fast they respond positively!

I’m not bad enough for you,” James said with a soft chuckle. Luke’s thing for bad boys was well-documented. Luke groaned. “I don’t pick them on purpose. It just happens.” “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” James pulled his phone out and shot a quick text to Ryan. You can’t be taking a leak for an hour. If you think you’re being subtle, you’re not. Ryan returned to their secluded corner in the pub five minutes later and actually had the nerve to look displeased when he saw how far apart James and Luke were sitting. Taking one look at his face, Luke started laughing. “You were at the pub across the road, weren’t you?” Ryan didn’t even crack a smile. James had noticed that his mood was getting worse with the continued failure of his matchmaking efforts. James wasn’t sure what to think of it: he still tried not to be too obvious about his feelings in order to make Ryan more comfortable, but Ryan’s mood seemed to be darkening regardless of that. James had even tried to pretend to be enamored with the previous guy Ryan had pushed at him, but Ryan had seen through his bullshit immediately and they had a big, ugly fight. It looked like they were going to have another one tonight. Sighing, James decided they had better get somewhere private first. He made their excuses while Ryan remained silent and stony-faced by his side. They left the pub in silence.

Blake didn’t say a word to me as I slid into the passenger seat of his car, and he continued to stay silent as we drove to one of the Starbucks near campus. The only acknowledgment he made of my presence was to put his hand high up on my thigh again and hold tight. Too tight. And not much changed once we were finally in the shop. Conversation didn’t happen, his hand was back on my thigh, and we had four different stare-downs. I only won one of those. At least he let me order my own coffee. That was honestly the only good part of this morning. I was barely able to hold in my sigh of relief when my phone chimed. “Who is that?” Blake’s eyebrows were pulled down, and he seemed more than a little annoyed. Only checking the text preview on the lock screen, I shrugged. “Oh, it’s just a friend, he wants to get a study group together tonight.” I started to put my phone back in my purse when his hand shot out and grabbed on to my arm, effectively keeping it suspended above my purse. “Well, it’s rude to keep him waiting. Aren’t you going to answer him?” He looked like he was struggling to keep himself in check. I tried to pull my arm back and he finally released it. Sheesh, what was his problem? It was just a text. “Sure, I guess.” “Just let him know you can’t go.” “Excuse me?” He leaned forward and his eyes narrowed. “I’d prefer that you study with Candice.” Now I was getting mad. He didn’t own me, he definitely wasn’t my boyfriend, and this was Aaron. The same gay guy that Blake didn’t like “looking at me.” “And since when do you get to decide who I hang out with? Look, maybe I’ve been giving you the wrong impression over the last few days, but we aren’t together. You have no say in what I do.” Like a switch had been flipped, his face went back to its usual smooth, sexy expression. “You’re right. Actually I think it’s a good idea for you to study with some other people besides Candice; I’m sure you wouldn’t get anywhere with her.” Wait. What? The sudden change in his mood made me almost feel dizzy. It was like I had my own personal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde sitting next to me. When I could finally get my mouth to stop opening and shutting like a fish, I shook my head and exhaled roughly. “Speaking of, I really need to get back to campus.” I stood to leave without giving him the chance to say no. Without another word, Blake followed me out to the car. We didn’t say anything on the drive back but he put his hand on my thigh again. Was I imagining how tight he was holding it? When we arrived at the dorm, he parked in one of the spaces rather than letting me out in front. I grabbed the handle to open the door and he pushed down on my thigh, gripping it tighter. I turned to look at him and was surprised to see he still looked light and easygoing. “I’ll get the door for you. Wait here for just a second.” Crap, I hope he isn’t going to walk me to my room. I bet Candice still has Eric in there with the door locked. As soon as he released me, my thigh throbbed from the relief of the pressure he’d put on it and I almost wished I was wearing shorts so I could look at the damage I was making myself believe he’d done. The passenger door opened and I stepped out without looking up at him. We walked without saying anything and I made sure to put some distance between us. I was relieved when he began to slow down as we reached the main entrance of the dorm. “Well, thanks for the coff—” He caught me around the waist, pushed me up against the wall, and kissed me roughly, interrupting my good-bye. Before I had time to realize what was happening and push him away, his body left mine and he started backing up toward his car. “I’ll see you later.” He winked, then turned away from me. I have no idea what my face looked like; I couldn’t even pin down an emotion. I was disgusted, annoyed, confused, and pissed.

Since he planned on sleeping in anyway, Myron started drinking. He was not what one would call a great drinker—he held his liquor about as well as a fourteen-year-old girl—but tonight, at this wonderful albeit bizarre celebration, he felt in the mood to imbibe. So did Win, though it took far more to get him buzzed. Cognac was mother’s milk to Win. He rarely showed the effects, at least on the outside. Tonight

Honey Honey, won’t you take me home tonight? Honey, won’t you take me home tonight? Honey, won’t you take me home tonight? The night is warm and the starts are bright Take my hand, baby, hold me tight Every move gonna feel so right See the moon smiling through the night I feel so good and my mood is right Oh, honey, won’t you take me home tonight? Honey, won’t you take me home tonight? Feels so right Feels so right Honey, won’t you take me home tonight? Feels so right Feels so right Listen to the wind whistling through Surely ain’t nothin’ that we can’t do Surely ain’t nothin’ that we can’t do

Saving Lives and Protecting Rights in Translation It is said that life and death are under the power of language. —Hélène Cixous, French author and philosopher Lifeline The phone rings, jolting me to attention. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night. I didn’t want to work the late shift, but the need for my work never sleeps. Most of the calls I get at this late hour are from emergency dispatchers for police, fire, and ambulance. They often consist of misdials, hang-ups, and other nonemergencies. I’ve been working since early this morning, and I’m just not in the mood tonight to hear someone complain about a neighbor’s television being turned up too loud. But someone has got to take the call. I pick up before it rings a second time. “Interpreter three nine four zero speaking, how may I help you?” The dispatcher wastes no time with pleasantries. “Find out what’s wrong,” he barks in English. He didn’t ask me to confirm the address, so I assume he must already have police officers headed to the scene. I ask the Spanish speaker how we can help. I wait for a response. Silence. I ask the question again. No answer, but I can hear that there’s someone on the line. We wait, but we don’t hear any response. It’s probably just another child playing with the phone, accidentally dialing 911. I imagine the little guy looking curiously at the phone and pressing the buttons, then staring at it as a voice comes out of the other end. This happens all the time. I turn up the volume on my headset, just in case it might help me pick up the scolding words of a parent in the background. Then suddenly, I hear a timid female voice speaking so quietly that I can barely make out the words. “Me va a matar,” she whispers.

Saving Lives and Protecting Rights in Translation It is said that life and death are under the power of language. —Hélène Cixous, French author and philosopher Lifeline The phone rings, jolting me to attention. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night. I didn’t want to work the late shift, but the need for my work never sleeps. Most of the calls I get at this late hour are from emergency dispatchers for police, fire, and ambulance. They often consist of misdials, hang-ups, and other nonemergencies. I’ve been working since early this morning, and I’m just not in the mood tonight to hear someone complain about a neighbor’s television being turned up too loud. But someone has got to take the call. I pick up before it rings a second time. “Interpreter three nine four zero speaking, how may I help you?” The dispatcher wastes no time with pleasantries. “Find out what’s wrong,” he barks in English. He didn’t ask me to confirm the address, so I assume he must already have police officers headed to the scene. I ask the Spanish speaker how we can help. I wait for a response. Silence. I ask the question again. No answer, but I can hear that there’s someone on the line. We wait, but we don’t hear any response. It’s probably just another child playing with the phone, accidentally dialing 911. I imagine the little guy looking curiously at the phone and pressing the buttons, then staring at it as a voice comes out of the other end. This happens all the time. I turn up the volume on my headset, just in case it might help me pick up the scolding words of a parent in the background. Then suddenly, I hear a timid female voice speaking so quietly that I can barely make out the words. “Me va a matar,” she whispers. The tiny hairs on my arm stand up on end. I swiftly render her words into English: “He’s going to kill me.” Not missing a beat, the dispatcher asks, “Where is he now?” “Outside. I saw him through the window,” I state, after listening to the Spanish version. I’m trying to stay calm and focused, but the fear in the caller’s voice is not only contagious, but essential to the meaning I have to convey. For what seems like an eternity (but is probably just a few seconds), I hear only the beeps of the recorded line and the dispatcher clicking away at his keyboard. I feel impatient. He’s most likely looking to see how far the nearest police officer is from the scene. “Interpreter, find out where she is.

She and Becky had been on their hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor when he'd come in with an ear-to-ear grin, his skin glowing and his hair damp, unruly, and deliciously tousled. With him around, getting any work done had been impossible. He'd been munching an apple, prowling the kitchen like a restless cat, and driving Juliet insane with his playful feints to her face, to the wall, to the leg of a chair. "Would you stop?" she'd finally cried, looking up at him and laughing as she'd swatted him away. "Can't," he'd said and, winking at Becky, leaned down and kissed Juliet fully on the lips. He'd tasted of sweet apples and sunshine, and she'd felt a rush of desire for him that had made her wish Becky was anywhere but in their kitchen. "What's got you in such a good mood?" she'd managed after he finally broke the kiss and straightened up, leaving her breathless and flushed, her hand to her suddenly pounding heart. "Oh, nothing."  Another playful feint to her shoulder. "Nothing at all, dearest!" "The way you're acting, one might think you were going to the fight tonight." His eyebrows had risen, and then he'd laughed, loudly. "Well, maybe I am," he'd said, cheerfully; then, saluting her with his apple, he'd swung back out the door. Juliet had watched him as he crossed the lawn and headed toward the manor house, his stride cocky and giving him the appearance of owning the world. When she'd turned back to Becky, the other girl was simply sitting back on her heels and shaking her head in amusement. "Men!  They just never grow up, do they?" "Do you know, Becky ... I hope that one never does. He can make me laugh when all I want to do is cry. He can make me see the good in a situation when all I see is the bad. He knows when life should be taken seriously — and when it shouldn't. He's delightful and funny and clever — and not afraid to make a total cake of himself."  She had smiled and given a little sigh. "No, I never want him to grow up ... not if it means seeing him change into something other than what he currently is." Becky

Oh, we are in an angsty mood tonight!” “True, true. And what good does it do? Maybe ‘we’ think too much, in between bouts of not thinking enough.” “I think you’ve just written out the recipe for being human.

You’re in a rare good mood.” “Having two women and one man offer a spot in their beds tonight will do that to a person.

I don’t think I can be quiet enough. And I’m not really in the mood to have more underwear shoved inside my mouth.” “Are you out of excuses yet? Because I have the perfect gag for you tonight.

I had to be curt on the phone. There are ears all around me. No matter what happens in public—no matter what—don’t doubt that I love you and care about your welfare . . . as much as I am able.” Not good. “And you’re telling me this because you’re going to do something bad to me in public,” I said, sadly unsurprised. “I hope it won’t come to that,” he said, and he put his arms around me. In happier times, I’d found that being close to Eric in the summer was very pleasant because his body temp was so low, but I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy the sensation just at the moment. “I have to go,” he said. “I had only an hour when I wouldn’t be missed. I was angry when you saved Sam. But I can’t just dismiss you as if I didn’t care. And I can’t leave you unprotected tonight. My guard will be here if you consent.

When I heard the ear-piercing scream tonight, I figured someone in the Fourth was having a nightmare of the impending-danger variety. Then I realized the shrieks weren’t coming from the barracks but from inside the bathhouse. For our safety, nobody is supposed to be in the baths after eleven, because there are no lifeguards on duty. Janice says the real reason the doors are locked is to thwart romantically inclined legionnaires from getting up to shenanigans in there. That thwarting can be thwarted, though, if you know about the secret entrance to the main pool. Which everybody does, although not many people use it, because you have to swim underwater through a narrow concrete pipe, then squeeze through a small mesh gate that leads into the pool. You’d better hope you’re an underwater-breathing descendent of Neptune if you get stuck in there. Apparently, a girl and a boy from the First Cohort thought the risk was worth it, because they sneaked in via the not-so-secret entrance tonight. I’m thinking their lovey-dovey mood evaporated when they surfaced, though. Because dead rats. Hundreds of them. Floating in the pool. Blocking the hot-springs water supply. Clogging the drains. Even hanging from the basket for used towels. I can’t imagine anything more totally, completely, scream-inducingly disgusting. And mysterious, too, because no one can explain how so many rats got in there so quickly. The filtration system is shut off when the baths close, so they weren’t pumped in with the water. And the lifeguard swears the place was clean when he locked up at eleven. The couple sneaked in around eleven fifteen. Could someone have broken in and distributed all those rats in just fifteen minutes? Didn’t seem likely.

Annabeth knit her eyebrows. “We’ll have to talk to Tantalus, get approval for a quest. He’ll say no.” “Not if we tell him tonight at the campfire in front of everybody. The whole camp will hear. They’ll pressure him. He won’t be able to refuse.” “Maybe.” A little bit of hope crept into Annabeth’s voice. “We’d better get these dishes done. Hand me the lava spray gun, will you?” That night at the campfire, Apollo’s cabin led the sing-along. They tried to get everybody’s spirits up, but it wasn’t easy after that afternoon’s bird attack. We all sat around a semicircle of stone steps, singing halfheartedly and watching the bonfire blaze while the Apollo guys strummed their guitars and picked their lyres. We did all the standard camp numbers: “Down by the Aegean,” “I Am My Own Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandpa,” “This Land is Minos’s Land.” The bonfire was enchanted, so the louder you sang, the higher it rose, changing color and heat with the mood of the crowd. On a good night, I’d seen it twenty feet high, bright purple, and so hot the whole front row’s marshmallows burst into the flames. Tonight, the fire was only five feet high, barely warm, and the flames were the color of lint. Dionysus left early. After suffering through a few songs, he muttered something about how even pinochle with Chiron had been more exciting than this. Then he gave Tantalus a distasteful look and headed back toward the Big House. When the last song was over, Tantalus said, “Well, that was lovely!” He came forward with a toasted marshmallow on a stick and tried to pluck it off, real casual-like. But before he could touch it, the marshmallow flew off the stick. Tantalus made a wild grab, but the marshmallow committed suicide, diving into the flames. Tantalus turned back toward us, smiling coldly. “Now then! Some announcements about tomorrow’s schedule.” “Sir,” I said. Tantalus’s

I’ve got a lot of stress to work off tonight. I hope you’re in the mood for pain, baby girl.

I need to put as much space between us as possible because I seem to only have one mood tonight, and apparently that mood is horny. Or, more particular, horny for my best friend. A dangerous combination.

At eighteen, Lady Joanna ben Luke had a talent for being invisible. The night of the Coronation Ball, she applied herself to the task and blended into the yellow and gold wallpaper like a chameleon. Invisibility, unfortunately, did nothing to ease her physical discomfort. She surmised the seventh ring of Hell was not much hotter than the Palace ballroom tonight. Her brown eyes widened with dread as she felt a slow rivulet of sweat run down the inside of her arm. A covert glance confirmed it, wet armpits. Great, just great. Even if they dried, which was unlikely in this heat, silk stained. She resigned herself to keeping her arms plastered to her sides for the rest of the night, which did nothing to improve her mood or ease the pain from the corset stays. Those medieval torture devices were supposed to make her appear trim. Instead, they dug painfully into her soft belly and forced her ample bosom so high she was afraid one of the straining gold buttons was going to launch and put someone’s eye out. She couldn’t even take a deep breath, trussed up and sweating like a pale chicken ten minutes into the roasting cycle.

Just before the girls arrive, I decide to stop being such a sook and try to put myself in a better mood. I want to have a good time tonight.

Love and feelings But then, Mahreen does something very unexpected. She holds Hope’s hand and slowly brings her closer to the rose. As both sit on the floor looking at the red rose, she asks Saabir to hold her finger and make her feel the velvety surface of the rose petals and kiss her. Then Mahreen leaves them alone in the moment, in the presence of the most fragrant, very still and the most beautiful red rose.   Saabir kisses her. Hope takes a deep breath, and now she can smell Saabir with traces of rose scent. This uplifts her mood and enlivens her senses. She holds Saabir’s neck with her right hand and begins to smell it. As she kisses him again, and again, and again; she cries and finally tears emerge from her eyes; and she falls unconscious in Saabir’s arms- Tonight Hope experienced the virgin feelings of a quintessential human being capable of experiencing and expressing emotions. Tonight Hope may have fallen unconscious, but she shall wake up as a conscious, sensitive, and an emotionally enriched woman. A true Hope!

They Loved in 2075 Saabir kisses her. Hope takes a deep breath, and now she can smell Saabir with traces of rose scent. This uplifts her mood and enlivens her senses. She holds Saabir’s neck with her right hand and begins to smell it. As she kisses him again, and again, and again; she cries and finally tears emerge from her eyes; and she falls unconscious in Saabir’s arms- Tonight Hope experienced the virgin feelings of a quintessential human being capable of experiencing and expressing emotions. Tonight Hope may have fallen unconscious, but she shall wake up as a conscious, sensitive, and an emotionally enriched woman. A true Hope!

dressed, went down to the bar, ordered champagne, and caught a whiff of a familiar scent. He turned, looked at her, and seemed to be seeing her for the first time. Because on the previous occasion, however often she had lain naked in his arms, she had been an appendage of Erika. Tonight she stood alone, and he realized that she was actually the more lovely of the two women, with her soft yellow hair floating past her shoulders, her crisply handsome features, her slender, long-legged body so entrancingly crowned by the surprisingly large bust, so perfectly delineated by the décolletage of her pale-blue evening gown. ‘It is me,’ she said. ‘Oh, please forgive me. I had forgotten how beautiful you are.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You forgot what I looked like, in three weeks? But that was a very nice thing to say.’ ‘Drink?’ ‘If it’s from that bottle, yes, please.’ She sipped appreciatively. ‘I had not expected to see you again so soon.’ ‘But you remembered what I look like.’ ‘Oh, yes. I remember every part of you. Or do you not like direct women?’ ‘I like you,’ he said. ‘Shall we dine?’ They ordered. ‘And have you come all the way to Berlin just to see me?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry, but the answer is no. I came to collect this.’ He touched his Cross. ‘Oh, good lord!’ she said. ‘And I never noticed. The fact is, almost every officer in town nowadays has one of those …’ She paused, her mouth making an O. ‘I have done it again. Would you like to beat me?’ ‘I find that a most attractive idea. But it can keep until after dinner.’ He tasted the wine, nodded. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I suspect the reason so many officers in Berlin sport Iron Crosses is that the men who do not have them are doing the actual fighting. Except that we are not doing any fighting right now, are we? There is no one left to fight.’ ‘There is still the English.’ ‘Ah, yes. The English. But they are hiding behind their water wall.’ ‘They come out from time to time.’ He suddenly felt an intense dislike for this gorgeous creature, who knew so little about anything beyond the narrow limits of her sexual morality. ‘But I did not invite you here to discuss the war. I would like you to spend the night.’ ‘Just like that?’ ‘Isn’t that what you do? Or do you only do it with your girlfriends, and any company they may happen to accumulate?’ She gazed at him for several seconds. ‘In normal circumstances, I would slap your face and throw this glass of wine into it. But I think that in the mood you are in, you might hit me back, and I do not wish there to be a scene. Why do you not tell me why you are in this mood? You should be on top of the world. You have just been decorated – was it by the Fuehrer himself?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, then, you have been honoured above most men. I assume he shook your hand?’ ‘Yes. Have you ever met him?’ ‘Sadly, no.’ ‘Well, maybe the whole thing made me too introspective. I apologize for what I said just now.’ She shrugged, delightfully, and finished her meal. ‘I understand your mood. Erika has often spoken of you.’ He frowned. ‘Regarding what?’ ‘Regarding everything.’ ‘Shit! I beg your pardon. But she really is a … well …’ ‘What you just said.’ ‘It’s her I ought to beat.’ Heidi drank the last of her wine. ‘But I am the one who is here.’ By the time he had locked the bedroom door she had already stepped out of her gown. She wore only

I believe Lady Freddy could use your assistance to finish dressing for tonight’s card party. She muttered dire imprecations should she be outshone by a Mrs. Flynn. One fears for her health when such moods overtake her.” The professor’s references to her ladyship’s décolletage were a marvel of delicacy. Milly hurried past him up the stairs. “Summer is coming, Professor. We can hope for a mild evening.” “A wiser bet than hoping her ladyship might learn a bit of decorum. My thanks, Miss Danforth.

An unusually large, rare, golden wolf trotted out of the timberline, circled the area warily, and sat down on its haunches only feet from Jacques. It watched him steadily with its strange golden eyes, completely unafraid. It seemed not to be affected by the fire, the lightning, or the Carpathian male. Jacques watched the animal equally intently, certain he was facing more than a wolf. The creature did not make an attempt to use the common mental path to communicate. It simply watched him, taking in the bizarre scene, the golden eyes never wavering. A humorless smile curved Jacques’ hard mouth. “If you are looking for action tonight, I am too tired to oblige you, and far too hungry.” The wolf’s shape contorted, stretched, shimmered in the smoke of the fire, and soon a large, heavily muscled man was facing Jacques. His long, shaggy mane of hair was blond, his eyes golden, his body perfectly balanced. “You are Jacques, brother to Mikhail. I heard you were dead.” “That is the story going around,” Jacques assented warily. “You have no memory of me? I am Julian, brother to Aidan. I have been away these last long years. The far-off mountains, the places without people, are my home.” “The last I heard, you were fighting wars in distant lands.” “When the mood is upon me, I fight where it is needed,” Julian agreed. “I see you do also. The vampire lies dead, and you are pale beyond imagination.” Jacques’ smile was grim. “Do not allow my color to fool you.” “I am no vampire yet, and if ever I fear turning, I will go to Aidan, and he will destroy me if I cannot do so myself. If you wish to take blood, then I offer it freely. The healer knows me; you can ask him if I am a reliable resource.” There was the slightest of smiles, a self-mocking humor. “What are you doing in these parts?” Jacques asked suspiciously. “I was traveling through, on my back to the United States, when I heard the butchers were back, and I thought I would make myself useful to our people for a change.

To gauge his mood, we would ask whether his hands were “in or out of the bag”—meaning his prayer bag. If they were in it, he was in spiritual mode and incommunicado; if they were out, there was a chance of talking to him.

her.     “I was cold,” Michelle drawled, fully equipped with a Georgian drip. “And I wanted to hear the radio.”     In no mood for a fight, Benny said nothing. His face tightened.     “Do you want me to drive you home or not?” Michelle asked.     “Yes, please drive me home, rookie.” Benny relaxed as he decided it wouldn’t have mattered if she had honked the horn to the beat of the radio songs while flashing the high beams on and off. The guy he was looking for didn’t show. Nobody was out in this rain.     “Do you want to go to your house or the boat?”     “The boat.”     The beat of the windshield wipers hypnotized Benny. The rain frizzled in his ears. He snapped out of it as they rode over the speed bump that accompanied the thirteen mile an hour sign at the entrance of the marina. “Do you want me to come in tonight?” Michelle asked.     “Not tonight, I’m beat,” Benny answered. Jesus Christ, I only slept with you once. It was a mistake. Can’t we just forget it?     Once home, Benny’s eyes found the clock on the microwave as he dropped his umbrella and shoes inside the door. His pupils narrowed in surprise as he realized it was past two o’clock in the morning. The

Skippy, you little fool, you are off on another of your senseless and retrograde journeys. Come back here, to the points. Here is where the paths divided. See the man back there. He is wearing a white hood. His shoes are brown. He has a nice smile, but nobody sees it. Nobody sees it because his face is always in the dark. But he is a nice man. He is the pointsman. He is called that because he throws the lever that changes the points. And we go to Happyville, instead of to Pain City. Or "Der Lied-Stadt," that's what the Germans call it. There is a mean poem about the Lied-Stadt, by a German man named Mr. Rilke. But we will not read it, because WE are going to Happyville. The pointsman has made sure we'll go there. He hardly has to work at all. The lever is very smooth, and easy to push. Even you could push it, Skippy. If you knew where it was. But look what a lot of work he has done, with just one little push. He has sent us all the way to Happyville, instead of to Pain City. That is because he knows just where the points and the lever are. He is the only kind of man who puts in very little work and makes big things happen, all over the world. He could have sent you on the right trip back there, Skippy. You can have YOUR fantasy if you want, you probably don't deserve anything better, but Mister Information tonight is in a kind mood. He will show you Happyville. He will begin by reminding you of the 1937 Ford. Why is that dacoit-faced auto still on the roads? You said "the War," just as you rattled over the points onto the wrong track. The War WAS the set of points. Eh? Yesyes, Skippy, the truth is that the War is keeping things alive. THINGS. The Ford is only one of them. The Germans-and-Japs story was only one, rather surrealistic version of the real War. The real War is always there. The dying tapers off now and then, but the War is still killing lots and lots of people. Only right now it is killing them in more subtle ways. Often in ways that are too complicated, even for us, at this level, to trace. But the right people are dying, just as they do when armies fight. The ones who stand up, in Basic, in the middle of the machine-gun pattern. The ones who do not have faith in their Sergeants. The ones who slip and show a moment's weakness to the Enemy. These are the ones the War cannot use, and so they die. The right ones survive. The others, it's said, even KNOW they have a short life expectancy. But they persist in acting the way they do. Nobody knows why. Wouldn't it be nice if we could eliminate them completely? Then no one would have to be killed in the War. That would be fun, wouldn't it, Skippy?

The role of neurotransmitters is to facilitate the communication between neurons throughout the brain, via synapses, the small gaps that separate these cells. Neuro-transmitters are actually a group of brain chemicals that act as a catalyst for all kinds of mental and physical tasks that affect everything from your current mood to how well you’ll sleep tonight, to whether you’re motivated to go to the gym today