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...Tunstell was not what one could describe as call subtle. His flaming red hair bobbed up with each pointed and articulated footstep as though he were some cloaked Gothic villain creeping across a stage.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Though
Villain
Footstep
Describe
Cloaked
Subtle
Articulated
Red
Flaming
Across
Creeping
Hair
Gothic
Stage
Footsteps
Call
Pointed
Bobbed

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One should do what one is best at on as large a scale as possible.
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Alexia blinked stupidly at the Beta from around the earl’s upper arm. Her heart was doing crazy things, and she still could not locate her kneecaps. She took a deep breath and put some serious attention into tracking them down.
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The important question is, what will your wear for a wedding dress, Alexia? You look horrible in white.
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Please, Lord Maccon, use one of the cups. My delicate sensibilities.” The earl actually snorted. “My dear Miss Tarabotti, if you possessed any such things, you certainly have never shown them to me.
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Biffy didn't like enigmas - they were out of fashion.
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What do you want? Sophronia was moved to exasperation. Me? Stockings and breeches to come back in fashion. I do miss seeing a man's calves.
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My petal. Westminster’s toy had tea issues. Thank Biffy and Lyall. Toodle pip. A.
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I love him so very much. As Romeo did Jugurtha, as Pyramid did Thirsty, as- Oh, please, no need to elaborate further, interjected Alexia, wincing. But what would my family SAY to such a union? They would say that yours hats had leaked into your head, muttered Alexia, unheard under her breath.
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...you have been fraternizing with warewolves overmuch! Military men can be terribly bad for one's verbal concatenation!
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Lyall had spent centuries nibbling about the great layered cake that was polite society while Lord Akeldama acted the part of the frosting on its top.
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My father, she admitted, was of Italian extraction. Unfortunately, not an affliction that can be cured. She paused. Though he did die.
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Lord Maccon looked up. “Grovel, you say?” Lyall did not glance away from the latest vampire report he was perusing. “Grovel, my lord.
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I do not giggle without purpose. Lady Linette says you should never misapply a giggle.
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He...boasted an unassuming mustache, which was perched atop his upper lip cautiously, as though it were slightly embarrassed to be there and would like to slide away and become a sideburn or something more fashionable.
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I'd rather be loyal than right.
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She moved with such purpose it was as though she walked with exclamation marks.
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He is clearly bookish. I did not follow a single word of their conversation at dinner last night, not one jot of it. He must be bookish.
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What’s that?” she asked the girl, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, that? That’s just Pillover.” “And what’s a pillover, when it’s at home?” “My little brother.” “Ah, I commiserate. I have several of my own. Dashed inconvenient, brothers.
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