whats that, girl who isn't a robot but pretended to be one for sympathy in earlier episodes?
click me
click me
Hi, I'm Bec.
i live for
drinking, going out, partying it up, playing button-mashing video games, my rats! my roommate sara, my boyfriend sean, cleary days and windy nights, cuddling under the covers, comedies, laughing til you want to pee, meeting new people, talking, working hard for the money, personal jokes, lame-ass jokes, playing the hostess, getting high on e! which is sad but true, caffiene! kissing, hugging, loving, chilling out doing nothing. listening to awesome music that makes me want to dance dance dance, smiling, not stressing about anything whatsoever (thanks for that tip babe ), anime! drawing, discovering new things about people.
not so much for
waking up way too early, days going wrong, owning a killer bike, being bitched at behind your back, feeling grumpy, being in pain, not having enough money for the week, stressing about things that are coming up, assholes.
haha. so. about me, eh?
some interesting facts you might like to know. or not know. but i'll tell you anyway! :D
i don't vomit. i've been terrified of it since i was 9. so i just don't.
i am OCD. mess up my shit and i will mess you up.
i am almost the complete opposite of my bf, except for our childishness.
since i went on a diet i can't handle greasy take away or booze as well as i used to.
i secretly wish i was popular b=
i have two rats and if you let me i will talk nonstop about them. or just talk nonstop anyway.
i am a secret romantic.
if you pet me, i will love you forever.
if you make me laugh, i will love you forever.
i love the gym. it makes me feel superior to you.
i own 7 gaming consoles. do i play them? oh, you know, occasionally.
a piece of string walks into a bar. the bartender says, "sorry, we don't serve string here."
the string walks outside, musses up his hair and walks back. the bartenter says, "hey, aren't you that piece of string from before?"
the string replies, "no, i'm a frayed knot."
:D:D
'Either way, it means less exposure to danger and less work for you in the long run. Constructive cowardice. Very crafty. I approve.' His voice turned wistful. 'I hear that they have some of the best strip clubs in the world in Dallas, Harry.'
I gave Bob a hard look. 'If you're not going to help me, at least don't distract me.'
'Oh,' Bob said. 'Check.' The romance I'd put back on the shelf quivered for a second and then flipped over and opened to the first page. The skull turned toward the book, the orange light from its eyes falling over the pages.
I went through one old text. Then two. Then three. Hell's bells, I knew I'd seen or read something in one of these.
'Rip her dress off!' Bob shouted.
Bob the skull takes paperback romances very seriously. The next page turned so quickly that he tore the paper a little. Bob is even harder on books than I am.
'That's what I'm talking about!' Bob hollered as more pages turned.
'They couldn't have been satyrs,' I mumbled out loud, trying to draw my thoughts into order. My nose hurt like hell and my neck hurt like someplace in the same zip code. That kind of pain wears you down fast, even when you're a wizard who learned his basics while being violently bombarded with baseballs. 'Satyrs have human faces. These things didn't.'
'Weregoats?' Bob suggested. He flipped another page and kept reading. Bob is a spirit of intellect, and he multitasks better than, well, pretty much anybody. 'Or maybe goatweres.'
I stopped for a moment and gave the skull an exasperated look. 'I can't believe I just heard that word.'
'What?' Bob asked brightly. 'Weregoats?'
'Weregoats. I'm fairly sure I could have led a perfectly rich and satisfying life even if I hadn't heard that word or enjoyed the mental images it conjures.'
Bob chortled. 'Stars and stones, you're easy, Harry.'
'Weregoats,' I muttered, and went back to reading. After finishing the fifth book , I went back for another armload. Bob shouted at his book, cheering during what were apparently the love scenes and heckling most of the rest, as if the characters had all been live performers on a stage.
Which would probably tell me something important about Bob, if I were an astute sort of person. After all, Bob himself was, essentially, a spiritual creature created from the energy of thought. The characters within a book were, from a certain point of view, identical on some fundamental level - there weren't any images of them, no physical tangibility whatsoever. They were pictures in the reader's head, constructs of imagination and ideas, given shape by the writer's work and skill and the reader's imagination. Parents, of a sort.
Did Bob, as he read his books and imagined their events, regard those constructed beings as... siblings, of some sort? Peers? Children? Could a being like Bob develop some kind of acquired taste for a family? It was entirely possible. It might explain his constant fascination with fictional subject matter dealing with the origins of a mortal family.
Then again, he might regard the characters in the same way some men do those inflatable sex dolls. I was pretty sure I didn't want to know.
Good thing I'm not astute.
I found our attackers on the eighth book, about halfway through, complete with notes and sketches.
'Holy crap,' I muttered, sitting up straight.
'Find 'em?' Bob asked.
'Yeah,' I said, and held up the book so he could see the sketch. It was a better match for our goatish attackers than most police sketches of perpetrators. 'If the book is right, I just got jumped by the gruffs.'
Bob's romance novel dropped to the surface of the shelf. He made a choking sound. 'Um. Did you say gruffs?'
I scowled at him and he began to giggle. The skull rattled against the shelf.
'Gruffs?' He tittered.
'What?' I said, offended.
'As in "The Three Billy Goats Gruff"?' The skull howled with laughter. 'You just got your ass handed to you by a nursery tale?'
'I wouldn't say they handed me my ass,' I said.
Bob was nearly strangling on his laughter, and given that he had no lungs it seemed gratuitous somehow. 'That's because you can't see yourself,' he choked out. 'Your nose is all swollen up and you've got two black eyes. You look like a raccoon. Holding a dislocated ass.'
'You didn't see these things in action,' I said. 'They were strong, and pretty smart. And there were four of them.'
'Just like the Four Horsemen!' he said. 'Only with petting zoos!'
I scowled some more. 'Fine, fine,' I said. 'I'm glad I can amuse you.'
'Oh, absolutely,' Bob said, his voice bubbling with mirth. '"Help me, help me! It's the Billy Goats Gruff!"'
Taken from Small Favour, the 10th and latest novel of The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher.
