Wrath: What the hell are you supposed to ask?Rhage: I know! Who do you like the most? It's me right?Come on, you know it is. Come oooooonnnnn-Butch: If its you,, I'll kill myself.V: No, that just means she's blind.Rhage: It has to be me.V: She said she didn't like you at first.Rhage: Ah, but I won her over, which is more than anyone else can say about you, hot stuff.J.R.: I don't like anyone the bestWrath: Right answer.Rhage: She's just sparing all of you feelings. (grins, becoming impossibly handsome) She's so polite.J.R.: Next question?Rhage: Why do you like me the best?
Love, he realized, was like the daggers he made in his forge: When you first got one it was shiny and new and the blade glinted bright in the light. Holding it against your palm, you were full of optimism for what it would be like in the field, and you couldn't wait to try it out. Except those first couple of nights out were usually awkward as you got used to it and it got used to you.Over time, the steel lost its brand-new gleam, and the hilt became stained, and maybe you nicked the shit out of the thing a couple of times. What you got in return, however, saved your life: Once the pair of you were well acquainted, it became such a part of you that it was an extension of your own arm. It protected you and gave you a means to protect your brothers; it provided you with the confidnece and the power to face whatever came out of the night; and wherever you went, it stayed with you, right over your heart, always there when you needed it.You had to keep the blade up, however. And rewrap the hilt from time to time. And double-check the weight.Funny...all of that was when it came to weapons. Why hadn't it dawned on him that matings were the same?(From the thoughts of Vishous)