Thornton Gray stared in disbelief as his blood started pouring from his stomach. Why, ho why had he trusted Jessica Considine?
He put one knee to the ground and found it not only damp from his own blood, but also soft and warm to the touch. Nice as it seemed, Thornton’s acute senses, racing through the complex yet incredibly tidy maze of his synapses, soon realised it was because the floor was made of carpet.
Thornton clenched its teeth: he was allergic to acarids.
This was the worst day of his life.
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La femme à la robe rouge AKA la femme au pistolet AKA la femme à l’éventail..
Thornton Gray aurait du se méfier ;)
Bloody Hell… He deserved it…
Nice one mate!
@Tom: Oui hein? Un cliché ambulant, perché sur un 1m50 de jambes et ce pauvre Thornton Gray qui ne voit rien venir.
@Funky: Indeed, he did deserve it, foul as he was. Et merci ^^
Il y a quelque chose d’un peu plus sûr qu’une errance et d’un peu moins définitif qu’une certitude, dans ce blog. Et j’aime bien. Du coup, je crois que je reviendrai.
(au passage, jolie pureté de ligne)
Oula! Magnifique!
This one is fuckin’ Ace!
Great job!
Hey, well, thanks a lot :D