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"You look about as homeless as I do."

(Laudomia, 2nd gen)

The middle-aged woman with green visor-like glasses blinked at Marmalade.

Then, a split second later - she screamed.

A blood-curling scream that people would expect in a theater where someone was airing a terrific horror flick, or when standing face to face with a Lovecraftian horror. A scream of pure, unadulterated fright that presently turned in a shrill cry-for-help: "DANILO!!!"

For Laudomia had just fished out her communicator from the purse and was frantically dialing an ID with her perfectly manicured nails. She began yelling in even before the Danilo at the other end could reply. "Quick, open up your hairdresser's salon, this is a LIFE OR DEATH emergency! AN EMERGENCY I TELL YOU! I've never seen something more hideous!" She threw another look at Marmalade's hair and let out a sound of absolute horror before wailing in the phone: "NOW, you hear me?! There's not a second to waste!"

She closed the comm with a snap and reached out to grab Marmalade's wrist. "Honey, don't worry! We'll _save_ you some way or other! In the name of Coco Chanel, your poor hair!" She looked absolutely distraught as she gave a reassuring pat to her shoulder, gently but firmly guiding her toward the hairdresser's salon she spoke of. "Thanks goodness you ran into me, you poor thing! Seriously, how long has you been so awfully neglected? Your poor hair!"

Had she been the religious sort she'd have probably made some sort of deiety-invoking gesture. But Laudomia's religion was fashion, so she drew her pretty fan from the purse and fanned herself VIGOROUSLY.

"It's an absolute crime, and to think you don't have an ugly visage after all... you just need some high quality makeup... and lots of beauty masks... and two weeks straight at the beauty farm.... but FIRST we must absolutely do something about that hair!" She flashed Marmalade a tremulous smile, like a person who was lying through their teeth to an ill friend. "We can make you look decent, sweetheart! Trust me!"

"Euch. You know, I'm all for trying to acquire those rare and coveted garments like my, dare I say, wonderful cloak, but somehow your outfit looks like you're both trying far too hard, and yet haven't tried hard enough. Honestly, very impressive to strike such an impossible combination! Have to give you a bit of applause, except I don't think I will waste the effort. Would much rather turn my eyesight to anything less painful and sparkly. Real shine comes from those beautiful gems, like the ones in my crown. But not all of us can afford such a distinguish luxary, hm? And what is with that awful looking green thing on your face? I think I could ask one of the guards to spare their helmet, if you're so desperate to cover yourself up. I would not let any tailor I respected within feet of someone with such horrendous ideas of fashion, less they become infected with this 'artistic' perspective. Stick to something you're good at, which clearly isn't this! Nor does it seem to be marriages either..."

"Listen, you egotistical wannabe. If I had to choose between putting my life in your hands or that of Dollar-Tree King Arthur, I'd choose the knock-off, if only because he's at least an actual knight," the old man spat.

"Still not picking up on my extremely subtle cues?" he remarked. "Well. Let me put it in a way your lacking 'veil' sense can nuance. One day, you're going to get caught in a right mess, and you're not even going to be good enough to slash your way out. Get your act together."

((I'm so sorry! I like your work... ;u;))

"Did someone spit in your wheaties or something? You're such a grouch!" Chimed the woman as she looked at the aging man.

"You really know how to spread yourself out on toast."

"Spoken as if you're really any better" Derane sneered, taking a slow step to circle Monica, eyeing her the way a vulture would a dying prey trying to crawl away from its talons. "It's so typical of your species.... arrogant, self-centered, pathethic, weak human beings", somehow, the word human came out as the biggest insult of all. As if it personally offended her. "Entitled apes thinking the world's yours to command, to shape. When in truth? You're walking targets, never to be found at the top of the food chain - 'less you cheat your way there. Pathethic. Helpless. Mortal." Her grin widened, became darker, even more cut-throat. "And the last part, darling, is what I love about your species."

"Are you always this scary? No wonder people run from you." Chimed the woman. Albeit, she half hid around the corner, ready to flee if the strange woman's fury was turned toward her in any way. Marmalade wasn't about to get anywhere near them as she had seen that dark grin and shuddered, heartbeat raced with adrenaline, ready to run at the first sign of violence. If the woman turned toward her? Yep, the redhead was gone in a flash baby!

“How does one insult tasty morning toast spread?
Only if they are spread thin.”

"And how does one spread themselves thin?" She gives the girl next to her a mere side glance before she delivered her retort. "When they quite literally spread themselves out and never close for business." She gave a sickly sweet smile as she sauntered off into any other direction than where she currently was.

He shook his head and crossed his arms. He loved Sadie, considered her an amazing friend, but when hypocrisy was afoot he wasn't one to stay quiet. "That's rich coming from the woman who had two lovers at the same time, and managed to pick up a mate on top of that."

“You really are the dog that’ll hump the legs of female guests when they walk through the door”

As he leans against the wall, smoking cigarette

"Romeo, no luck finding your Juliet?" Aerin asked nonchalantly, twirling her dagger between her fingers. "Don’t worry. Sooner or later, you’ll find her buried somewhere, waiting for you to join her."

"Maybe if you didn't kill so many, you might have a shot at romance yourself, instead of just reading it in books. Or did you kill your own significant other already?" Said the huntress quietly, voice just audible enough for the other to hear.

“You must really be a lightweight since a ‘Draft’ blew you into oblivion.”

You are the definition of a dog water journalist.

You want change, have the junk to do it yourself

“Spoken like a true wannabe who tries way too hard to accomplish little. You better drink some more dog-water.”