“For a moment she could have sworn she was standing in one of those history-comes-alive museums--the kind that feature animatronic robots, the narration stylings of James Earl Jones, and the sort of exhibits that invade children's nightmares for years to come. But instead of a cyborgish John Wilkes Booth discharging his deadly bullet into the back of a plastic Lincoln's head, a very real version of the assassin was engaged in a furious arm-wrestling match with Elvis Presley.Lincoln was watching the tussle, amused. "Come on, John," he said. "You can do better than that.""He's all talk," Elvis whispered back."Silence!" roared Booth. "I'm trying to concentrate!"Lincoln rolled his eyes.”

“She wished, as almost all kids wish at one point or another, that she could turn into a pterodactyl and fly away and never come back.”

“A crash of cymbals exploded in her ear. She opened her eyes to behold Driggs clanging them vigorously, a mischievous grin on his face and a large bruise surrounding his eye."I hope, for the sake of your fertility, you're wearing a cup," she warned through clenched teeth.""Come on," he said, jumping onto to the mattress. "It's time for work."Lex moaned. "How are you so awake already?""If you recall, I eat a lot of chocolate.”

“What?" he asked."Nothing. Your bony hands of death amuse me, that's all.""Wait until yours look the same," he said, preparing to scythe."Wait - what?" She batted the sapphire blade out of his hands. "What do you mean? Is that why everyone around here has such creepy fingers?""Yeah." He bent down to pick up his scythe. "I don't know why it happens, though. Probably the same weird reason our hair goes all wonky.""What?" she barked, knocking his scythe to the ground once more."Stop that!""What happens to our hair?"He gestured to the disaster atop his head. "You think I want to look like a drunken hedgehog all the time? It's from hanging out in the ether so much. It messes with your follicles or something. Doesn't happen to everyone, but I can assure you that Ferbus's wasn't always the color of a prison jumpsuit, Zara wasn't born Silvylocks, and Mort's been rocking the electrocution look for years. Look, yours has gotten straighter already."Lex ran a hand through her hair. It had lost some of its poofyness. There had been so many other circuses of insanity to deal with that she hadn't even noticed. It was calm, manageable, even - she shuddered to think it - sleek and shiny."Oh my God," she said in disgust. "I'm a shampoo commercial.”

“Elysia!" Driggs interrupted. "Slow the hell down."She grinned at Lex. "Sorry. I talk a lot when I get excited.""That's okay," Lex said with an impish nod. "We all have our flaws. Driggs here loves Titanic.""Really??"Driggs folded his arms and studied the girls. "I can already see the ramifications of an alliance between you two. And they are troublesome.”

“Hey there cutie," he said. "What's your name?"Lex rolled her eyes and turned toward the window. "Kill me.""Kimmy? I'm Steve," he went on undeterred."Cram it, Steve”

“And as much as I'd love to continue exploring the existential implications of Damning roadkill, the truth is" - he plunged his hands into his hair until it stuck up even more than usual - "you've been back here in my presence for two agonising hours now, and if we don't properly make out soon, I'm going to hurl myself off the roof."Lex blinked.Then Driggs smushed his lips to hers so quickly that she had to grab the gutter to keep from falling.”