“Sometimes I feel better around you. I kind of like your face' -Nick”

“They carried on sniping in the front seat, and Mae turned back to Jamie."You doing okay?" she murmured."Yes," said Jamie, a bit too earnestly. "I love you, Mae. Your hair is the color of flamingos! And I love Nick as well." He gazed soulfully in Nick's direction. "Sometimes when you are not being psychotic, you are quite funny. And you!" He regarded Seb for a long moment. "No, I still don't like you," he decided. "Maybe I need another drink.""I don't think so," Nick said.”

“I can smite you " Nick grumbled. "Anytime I like.”

“And what are you doing here, Nicholas? Decided to watch me sleep?" "Yes," said Nick, and bowed is head over his sword again. He had tissues, oil, and sandpaper laid out on the windowsill in front of him, and a little stone block he was passing his sword up and down, very carefully. "I came to gaze upon your sleeping face. Only you had the blanket over your head, so I just had to gaze at a lump I thought was your sleeping face, and that turned out to be your shoulder. Which just wasn't as special." ~Nick and Mae”

“Sometmes when you pull knives on people, they get this impression that you're going to hurt them, and then they're completely terrified. Crazy, I know!""Okay," said Nick. He turned to Jamie & popped his left wrist sheath again. "Look."Jamie backed up. "Which part of 'completely terrified' did you translate as 'show us your knives, Nick'? Don't show me your knives, Nick. I have no interest in your knives."Nick rolled his eyes. "This is a quillon dagger. That's a knife with a sword handle. I like it because it has a good grip for stabbing.""Why do you say these things?" Jamie inquired piteously. "Is it to make me sad?""I didn't have you cornered," Nick went on. "You could've run. And this dagger doesn't have an even weight distribution; it's absolute rubbish for throwing. If I had any intention of hurting you, I'd have used a knife I could throw."Jamie blinked. "I will remember those words always. I may try to forget them, but I sense that I won't be able to.”

“And what are your interests and hobbies, Nicholas?" Annabel asked faintly, sounding like a cross between a television interviewer and a hostage. Nick considered this for a minute, and then said "I like swords." Annabel leaned over her plate and asked, her voice changing "You fence?" "Not exactly," Nick drawled. "I'm more freestyle.”

“All he said was, "Here, have your dinfast. Then we can start packing." "Dinfast," Nick repeated. "Dinner and breakfast!" Alan said triumphantly. "Like brunch." Nick subjected him to a long, judgemental stare. "There's something very wrong with you," he said at last. "I thought you should know.”