“What would he imagine next? Little hairy beasties tap-dancing on his sofa, or other fey creatures sneaking up on him in the shower?’ (Syn)”

“(He took a drink of the juice and cursed.)What is this shit? Poison? (Syn)You can’t live on alcohol. (Nykyrian)Wanna bet? (Syn)Wanna die? Drink it and quit bitching. (Nykyrian)You know, you’re a little hairy to be my mother. (Syn)”

“I would rather look the Devil in his eyes, than for him to sneak up on me.”

“I ached for him, my stomach twisting painfully. He looked so desolate standing there alone facing a mad queen and several thousand angry fey. His voice was flat and resigned, as if he'd been pushed into a corner and had given up, not caring what happened next.”

“(Nykyrian spun about at the sound, his blaster leveling at the body in the doorway.)Whoa. Friend! (He tapped his chest twice.) Really good guy. ‘Member me? (Syn)”

“He was a super shiny boy and I liked the shape of him. Under the blanket. In the shower. I liked his shadow on the street and his imprint on the sofa. I hated the smell of hair gel on his head, but I loved it on the pillow. I love the smell of losing someone.”