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Etiquette? What kind of etiquette was there in someone trying to murder me?

Jennifer Estep

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Jennifer Estep
Age: 25
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Author
Writer
Trying
Kind
Etiquette
Murder
Someone

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I know that maniacal twinkle in your eye. You're up to something Gwen, he said.
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What was it with people always trying to kill me in the library? Nickamedes so needed to put up warning signs. Danger: Working here could be hazardous to your health.
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Jasmine smirke at the weapon in my hand. That little toothpick won't save you, Gypsy. Touthpick? Vic muttered in an indignant voice. “Did she just call me a bleeding toothpick? Kill her! Kill her now!
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You're mine, Not his. Mine. Only mine. Always mine.
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What did you expect? That he'd send you flowers and write you bad poetry? That dead Nemean prowler is pretty much as close to a stuffed animal as you're ever going to get from a Spartan like Logan Quinn.
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Have I ever told you how scary it is that you think of heels in terms of their possible shiv potential?
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They’d played “Sweet Home, Alabama” so many times I wanted to crash the party, kill the radio, and knife whoever was selecting the music.
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Killing people was far easier than making polite chitchat.
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No matter what happens, I'll always come back to you. Promise? I asked in a shaky voice. Logan's eyes burned with icy determination. Promise.
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And I was stuck here at Warrior Freaks R Us.
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She doesn't even know how to kill things properlike? What kind of girl have you given me to, goddess? Vic protested, fixing his eye on Nike once more. Nike let out a laugh. Vic is a little bloodthirsty. You'll get used to it.
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Are you OK? I asked. I think so. Logan stared at me, and a smile pulled up his lips. But maybe you should give me mouth-to-mouth, just to make sure.
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There's nothing I can do that's going to drive you away, is there? I murmured. Owen flashed me a sly grin. Finally figuring that out, are you? I nodded. His grin deepened. Well, it sure took you long enough.
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Don't you agree, fuzzball?
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Well, what did you have for lunch?” I snapped. “Surely that’s not top secret superhero information.” “Steak with mashed potatoes and a side salad,” Striker replied. “And a piece of chocolate cheesecake for dessert.” I gave up on conversation after that. I was too jealous of the cheesecake to continue.
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The two men stared at each other. Assumptions were made, judgments rendered, dicks measured.
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I eat haughty, arrogant, manipulative, self-important bitches like you for breakfast, sugar. And then I go back for seconds.
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