“My car has wyvern giblets on the inside and fairy douche on the outside, I deserve the big shower!”

“Did I just see you two getting into another tussle outside?”“No...we...were...rehearsing a play,” “Really? What‟s it called?” “Fight Club...”

“Freakin’ fairies, you’re too damn small!”“Dude, you’re a faecist.”“A what?”“A fae-racist, you’re a faecist.”“That’s not even a real word!”“Patten pending,”

“These little discoveries about my blood are coming about as hard and fast as a racehorse kicking me in the nuts and I‟m really starting to get sick of it. I got messed up blood, whoopdedoo! Why don‟t you dump some in a fuel tank and see if it‟ll run a car or maybe give it to a power company and see if they can make a new type of energy from it, I don‟t give a crap! It‟s in me, it ain‟t going anywhere and neither are the vamps that wanna chug it. This is just a slightly different scientific way of saying „I‟m screwed‟”

“So, what's the story?""No story. Just a nightmare.”“Meaning?”“Meaning, heavy compression lines in his cartilage, severe bruising on his kidneys, liver and lower intestines. Fracture marks on his collar bone, tibia, radius, humerus, scapular, femur and every single one of his ribs have been broken. Don't even get me started on the concussive damage to his skull and brain tissue. Twenty-three percent of this boys body is scared for life. And yet, every organ is functioning normally and his neurological activity is above average. He's eighteen years old and he weights about two bills but remove the scar tissue and he'd weigh about a buck-ten. All in all, I say he lived inside a hydraulic car press, went through the Napoleonic wars and was on board the Hindenburg when it went down in flame and yet he's okay...this boy just refuses to die.”

“Apart from my mangled face and the thirty percent scar tissue that covers my body I'm gorgeous!”

“Well, what do you want me to do? Head butt my way through a few inches of steel?!” she snarled.“Well, that would certainly earn you a cookie!”