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But I don't want to be a vampire drone.' Sophronia winced. 'They'll suck my blood and make me wear only the very latest fashions.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Make
Fashions
Suck
Drones
Latest
Vampire
Wear
Fashion
Winced
Blood
Drone

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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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Hello, princess,” said Lord Maccon to the vampire. “Got yourself into quite a pickle this time, didn't you?” Lord Akeldama looked him up and down. “My sweet young naked boy, you are hardly one to talk. Not that I mind, of course.
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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.
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No one ever explained the octopuses.
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A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.
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The ill-informed masses included her own family among their ranks, a family that specialized in being both inconvenient and asinine.
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Ivy waved her wet handkerchief, as much as to say 'words cannot possibly articulate my profound distress'. Then, because Ivy never settled for meaningful gestures when verbal embellishments could compound the effect, she said, Words cannot possibly articulate my profound distress.
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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 have I done thins time? he paused to ask before continuing with his oral expedition about her body: her husband, the intrepid explorer.
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Sophronia was minding her own business and running late to luncheon, as was her custom. She'd let to learn the advantage of punctuality. As she told Sister Mattie the third time she was late to household potions and poisons, nothing interesting happened until after an event commenced.
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Ah, Lady Maccon, how lovely. I did wonder when you would track us down.” “I was unavoidably delayed by husbands and Ivys,” explained Alexia. “These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.
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Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn? Laddy Maccon sighed. Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed.
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It's no good choosing your first husband from a school for evil geniuses. Much too difficult to kill.
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Classic author moment, Oh dear, did I kill that character or not?
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I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.
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She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial. “Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side. “Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?” “Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.
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Really, Channing,” remonstrated Alexia, “did you have to eat the man’s dog? I am convinced you will experience terrible indigestion.
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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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How ghastly for her, people actually thinking, with their brains, and right next door. Oh, the travesty of it all.
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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.
Gail Carriger