Ролевые игры в Беларуси

...было бы неплохо понять, чего хочет народ

Penny: You're the one who was killed by a toilet seat.
George: God, will anyone ever let that go?

George: That's very Zen of you, you must smoke pot.

George: You really care how it's going with me?
Rube: Sure. You make my face look like this and concerned words come out.

George: Death is kind of like sex in high school. If you knew how many times you missed having it, you'd be paralyzed.

Rube: The thing is what, Mason?
Mason: You know that thing, ok, you're good at that thing, that, you can, you're better at, um, just, you know, you know, talking.
Rube: Well said.

Just because it's a mild night doesn't mean that dark forces aren't abroad. They're abroad all the time. They're everywhere. They always are. That's the whole point.

Two of them lurked in the ruined graveyard. Two shadowy figures, one hunched and squat, the other lean and menacing, both of them Olympic‑grade lurkers. If Bruce Springsteen had ever recorded "Born to Lurk," these two would have been on the album cover. They had been lurking in the fog for an hour now, but they had been pacing themselves and could lurk for the rest of the night if necessary, with still enough sullen menace left for a final burst of lurking around dawn.

"You don't want to ask after the health of anyone, if you're a funeral director. They think maybe you're scouting for business."

"Coroner's a political appointment here," said Ibis. "His job is to kick the corpse. If it doesn't kick back, he signs the death certificate."

"Hey," said Shadow. "Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are." The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes.
"Say ‘Nevermore,’ " said Shadow.
"Fuck you," said the raven. It said nothing else as they went through the woodland together.

Барахолка, подраздел Общих вопросов. Модератор: ЗЛО

Вокруг меня - сплошное шапито;
я в нем живу. Но я боюсь - наружу.
Сон разума рождает черт-те что,
но если он проснется - будет хуже.