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The Troop

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Nick Cutter

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“Glawen alighted, removed his luggage from the bin while Maxen sat drumming his fingers on the wheel. Glawen paid the standard fee, which Maxen accepted with raised eyebrows. “And the gratuity?” Glawen slowly turned to stare into the driver’s compartment. “Did you help me load my luggage?” “No, but -” “Did you help me unload it?” “By the same token -” “Did you not tell me that I was inbred and eccentric, and probably weak-minded?” “That was a joke.” “Now can you guess the location of your gratuity?” “Yes. Nowhere.” “Quite right.” “Hoity-toity!” murmured Maxen, and drove quickly away, elbows stylishly high.”

“The taxis in New York are a total nightmare. I don’t know how anybody tolerates them, and I am not complaining about the eviscerated seats, the shitty shock absorbers, the suicidal left-hand turns, but rather the common faith of all those Malaysian Sikhs, Bengali Hindus, Harlem Muslims, Lebanese Christians, Coney Island Russians, Brooklyn Jews, Buddhists, Zarathustrians—who knows what?—all of them with the rock-solid conviction that if you honk your bloody horn the sea will part before you. You can say it is not my business to comment. I am a hick, born in a butcher’s shop in Bacchus Marsh, but fuck them, really. Shut the fuck up.”

“MirkerLurker: I thought the characters were the reason anyone read Monstrous Sea. rainmaker: You mean like, shipping? MirkerLurker: No, not shipping - shipping's great, and I do it all the time, but I mean... the characters themselves. The struggles they have to go through, and when you really love them, how much they affect you. When the characters are good, they make you care about everything else. That's why I draw them. It probably sounds dumb, but they're like real people to me. And this will probably sound worse, but sometimes I like them better than real people. I can empathize with characters. Real people are harder.”

“A nurse’s aid threw the contents of a patient’s water glass out a window, the mass of water hitting the ground dislodging a pebble which rolled across the angled pavement and fell with a click on a stone culvert in the ditch below, startling a squirrel having at some sort of nut right there on the concrete pipe, causing the squirrel to run up the nearest tree, in doing which it disturbed a slender brittle branch and surprised a few nervous morning birds, of of which, preparatory to flight released a black-and-white glob of droppings, which glob fell neatly on the windshield of the tiny car of one Lenore Beadsman, just as she pulled into a parking space. Lenore got out of the car while birds flew away, making sounds.”

“Before they even reached the front door, it opened and a small, silver-gray terrier came bounding out. He stopped a few yards away from Merritt and growled. "Hello, Wallace," she said with a faint smile, and stood still as he came to her. The terrier circled around her, sniffing at her skirts. In a moment he gazed up at her with bright eyes and a wagging tail, and let her pet him. "What a handsome boy you are," she exclaimed, smoothing his fur.”

“She watched with amusement as Wallace paced restlessly around the overloaded settee, obviously trying to calculate how he too could sit there. "Wallace," Keir said dryly, "I dinna know where you think you'll find a blessed inch of empty space." The terrier persisted, however, hopping up near their feet and painstakingly crawling over their bodies. "Wallace will come to London with us, of course," Merritt said, reaching out swiftly to steady the dog as he wobbled.”