Anyone want to play again? (Page 2 of 3)

I went back and checked, and I think you must be! You might want to check with the person who wrote those rules though.

She could hear them coming. The commotion outside in the Boulevard de Clichy spoke of gendarmerie en’ mass. The lolling song of the accordion truncates; the shouts, a crunch of hobnail on cobble, the whistles. They were coming.

L'ange de la mort. The Paris Poisoner. She didn’t regret it. Filberte the Brute? Oh, it'd been so easy to kill him; a pleasure. Why she hadn’t done it five years earlier and saved everyone from the hell he inflicted, she didn’t know. Arsenic or cyanide; a drop or two, a splash. So simple.

With Filberte in the ground and everyone happy, his henchmen Lucien and Jérémy, well, they had to join him. Keep the merry little band together. Bridgette Le Roux, that evil vindictive bitch; another pleasure. Those in the sanatorium, the patients; prisoners of their own minds, they deserved it too. It was their prize and they deserved the release, the freedom. The peace.

No, she didn’t regret it. Not one bit. L'ange de la mort? The true angel of death was cyanide laced absinthe. L'ange de la mort was not her, it was in the glass upon the table in front of her.

She’d never listen to the hiss of its fall nor feel the blade of La Bécane lay its kiss upon her neck. No, not her. The moment they come through that door she’d raise her glass and drink a toast to the bastards.

A toast to them all.

Sorry Tom, but I think it might be corra pulling strings and punching buttons. 

I thought it might be something like that. It happens occasionally.

~Tom

Now that sounds like a good game too. We should do one like that, it'd be a fun challenge.
I love these little games.

A hearty glass of absinthe, she mused, was better employed to remove the taste of a man than to preclude one.

She knew that after this moment, she would never be as tall, nor as fine, nor as elegant, but it had become too much.

That's why War & Peace is a sentence long.

The scruffy cockalorum has nothing to say now: I'm five months gone, but where are the breasts he promised?

So this is speed-dating...

That is one damn big swamp cooler out there, next to the window-hanging A/C. Oh, and there's a naked house elf fixing to commit suicide by jumping off the shelf over the door, and a halfling (or one-thirdling) beating a tennis ball with a riding crop. And is the housemaid barefoot? Man, those are some ugly people!

p.s. My apologies for fan-ficking Harry Potter and the Ring Trilogy.