Summary Of A Short Story: Cole Passed Away

(because she was dead) to calling the Officer a “grump faced, blowed up, baboon assed bastard”

“You care about this one?” She looked surprised. None of the others would have gotten me rebel against her. I would always kill for her, with no hesitation.

She started to smile. "No, I was trying to be funny. I'd be dead without your help and since you're an Inheritor, I know you're trustworthy."

“Oh yeah about that, thanks for helping me and everything but I thought about it and I think I want all of this to be mine and only mine, and I would keep you alive but I don’t want any suspects!” Juan said laughing.

“You sound like you were expecting to have me killed,” Chandler the Fair muttered in a sarcastic tone.

Make yourselves at home. I'll cook something for us all," he said as he stepped inside. The apartment was nice. Lots of brick and open masonry, with roughly hewn timber rafters and open piping in the roof. His furniture seemed brand new, even though it was nearly four years old. The only area of the house that seemed to be dusted properly was the kitchen, or some might see it more of a distillery. Four large glass containers held varying liquids in shades from light yellow to pink to an odd sort of green. At the top were all things varying from pine needles to berry mixes. Each had a spout and a mug next to

"Get a hold of yourself Eva," she ordered herself," you can't just be losing control of yourself over a cute guy, even if he is a hero."

“You pushed her, kicked her, and tore her hair because it was nicer than yours. You were an absolute terror to her and oddly only I ever seemed to notice…”

She was the absent-minded drunk, especially around those who she trusted, her hard shell stripped back to reveal a glimpse of the wide-eyed child she might have once been. “th’ boy can’t understand the… power of this drink.” It was a conversation they’d had many times before, this was their ritual, peppered with insults, complaints and praises to the booze and a terrible hangover the next morning. Some rangers painted, others did Tai Chi, Artemis Ryland got drunk with her LOCCENT officer. Enough

Laughter bubbled out of her as she pushed him away, just in time for two pints of mead to be slammed onto the table by a tall, lanky woman with unkempt black braids pinned haphazardly to the top of her head. “You must be the stowaway.” She greeted Evangeline sliding a pint toward her, half of it spilled on the table. She slid Trevor’s to him as he tried to conceal his laughter.

" Ah...Looks like we don't have a traveling section any more." Cole examined charred remains of a few bookshelves and the piles of ashes that were travel guilds. Since that huge fight in here yesterday, most of the tenant have no step a foot in here. Cole however want to do a head count of the cost and damaged to the hotel. He wanted to talk with the people first but he to let people come to him and not the other way around.

Laughter bubbled out of her as she pushed him away, just in time for two pints of mead to be slammed onto the table by a tall, lanky woman with unkempt black braids pinned haphazardly to the top of her head. “You must be the stowaway.” She greeted Evangeline sliding a pint toward her, half of it spilling on the table. She slid Trevor’s to him as he tried to conceal his laughter.

William took the bottle and raised it to his lips. The threaded top of the Evian bottle glistened with peach-flavored lip gloss. William slurped from the bottle; the sweet nectar of peaches flowed with the refreshingly cool water across his tongue and down his throat. He drank as though he had just marched across Death Valley without a canteen, his tongue working violently at the bottle, desperately chasing the sweet nectar that once adorned the woman’s lips. The water disappeared from the bottle in three gigantic swigs. William lowered the bottle and exhaled.

Sir Percival swallowed the last gulp of his fourth (large) tankard of spiced Frankish wine. He blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his head, hoping such actions would clear his fuzzy vision and his straighten-out his muddy thinking: they didn't. Camelot's largest and strongest knight wasn't much of a drinker, but he'd been known to enjoy a flagon or two of ale now and again. And due to his considerable size, on a typical day, he imbibed without worrying about intoxication. However, this wine was potent, like nothing he'd ever consumed.

Then Andrei spoke, breaking the silence, “You're probably wondering why we took you here. Well we're going to feed you to the wolves and make your murder look like an accident. We are going to kill you just like we killed you brother.“