Pain’s gaze darted from Marco to his father as she stepped away, wishing that instead of flying, Alan the Archer had asked his gods for instant teleportation.
The others could believe that she was that way because she lost her parents so early, but Peter knew better. She was strong, confident, and never broken.
He had a semicircle tattoo with an indecent word on the back of his head, suggesting all people around him to leave him alone – in a much more impolite manner.
I’m not mean to everybody. I’m only mean to people whose intellectual level is awfully lower than mine.
Skull touched Pain’s cheek and got up, his shadow stretching across the room. He walked out without a glance at Chad, his coat dragging like a heavy broken wing.
All that mattered was that she returned to him, all of her – the good, the bad, and the ugly. No matter how long he had to sit here and wait, while the world kept turning without him.
Is there a club for bitchiness management, like Alcoholics Anonymous? Because, seriously, I think you should visit it.
Everyone fell silent as they took in his blood-splattered form, his heavy coat hanging askew as he dragged some poor bastard into the office, blood smearing on the floor, teeth clacking on the threshold, and feet tied with a rope that Phoenix’s scarred fingers gripped like a vise.
If he just had the decency to die silently yesterday, not squeal like a girl, I’d be free right now. Probably even doing some real job,” she sneered.
Have you met your sister? She’s like Yonce on steroids, and I was sixteen, by the way.
Everything had changed, and maybe she couldn’t keep up with it, but she still was good at making people regret they had ever crossed her way.
Because otherwise you would have to let them in, let them change your life, and it’s scary and unpredictable and unsafe – at least, that’s what we all think.