“Wow, Cross. I think you missed your calling. Screw demon hunting: you should clearly be writing Hallmark cards.”

“You’d better. Otherwise Stryker and I will feast on your innards, bathe in your blood and I will use your eyes as earrings. (Zephyra)You know, with imagery like that, you should write for Hallmark. (Jericho)”

“Does Hallmark make a “Sorry I tried to drink your blood and touched you in a vaguely inappropriate manner” card? I settled for “How much do you remember?”

“Miss Fields," said a servant, stepping into the room and closing the door, "There is a visitor for you. Are you in?"Clare blinked. "Yes, obviously.""Ah. Miss Fields, I should advise -- you may be in without being 'in', if you prefer," he said, offering her a tray. There was a calling card on it; Arthur Conan Doyle, Edinburgh.”

“I’ll abide by my word, but you will never win me back! Believe me, in two weeks I will slice open your throat, drink from your blood, and then pierce your heart and laugh while your body explodes into dust. (Zephyra)Beautiful imagery. You should write for Hallmark. (Stryker)”

“It's just... wow, I'm happy for you. I think this is great. Its love- the real kind you make sacrifices for. The kind where you scream 'screw it' to everyone else. That's envy-worthy.”