It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains. Never was the truth more plain than during the recent attacks at Netherfield Park, in which a household of eighteen was slaughted and consumed by the horde of the living dead.
"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you
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"Would it have been less cliche to say Eat, Pray, Love?" She chuckled then scrunched her nose. "I have a hard time thinking of Romeo and Juliet as a romance. When I was a teenager maybe because I felt so grown up just like they did but as I got older the story just became sad for me. They were just kids. Romeo was what? Fifteen? What could they really know about love? Everything is so intense at that age. If they just had a little patience no one would have had to die. I definitely like Twelfth Night better. Viola loved him because she knew him. He let her see the man under the title and posturing. Knowing her as a friend and brother, he didn't worry about putting on a front. I'd love to say that things have changed but guys are still like that. It's about being cool or macho or edgy. It's like you have to peel back all these layers before you can even figure out if you like the guy inside."
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He could understand why she wanted a, kindle did she call it? He'd never really had more than borrowed library books, but he wasn't completely out of synch with things, an eReader would likely have been a God send. "I kinda get pissed off with some writers and how they portray that whole true love and things."
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Angel had to stop herself before she opened up a whole new can of worms with her abandonment issues.
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St John had his own abandonment issues, self worth and the whole 'Daddy never cared' thing, not to mention the mother he never even met beyond having been born, he was sure. So he could always understand, even if he wouldn't vocalise it. Ever.
"I'd rather believe that there was more than just one person. Maybe a handful, that could do that for you. Y'know?" And really, the conversation was straying into the dangerously open direction.
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She sighed. "I guess I'm just looking for a guarantee. Like if maybe we we're destined to be together then I don't have to wonder where I stand or if it's one sided. I'd just know."
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"Yeah, well, life is fucked up."
He was making a point in keeping himself from ranting, she likely didn't need to hear his views on God and he really didn't want to just blow up at her. Things were calm, he was behaving like Sykes wanted and none of his lighters had been confiscated over the last week. Losing his cool with Angel -who was pretty nice and sweet all things considered, was not going to win any brownie points.
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"I think life is what we make it." Her voice grew softer. She knew he probably thought she was a flake or immature or maybe just stupid. And maybe she should have just nodded in quiet agreement but she couldn't. Horrible, terrible things had a way of happening. People used you. People died. People even just decided you weren't worth loving anymore. But love was real. Hope was real. And good things did happen if you kept your eyes and heart open to it.
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"Sure, I guess." He was closing up because really the conversation was definitely swaying somewhere close to something he really wasn't about to go into. The whole subject matter was starting to bother him and while he'd have been completely happy talking about literature -even movies or plays, he wasn't so good when things got as far as beliefs and then 'life'.
She might believe in hope and love and keeping your heart open, but St John had shaken off those things when he was still in his early teens.
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Besides, being a pessimist in this group was practically the standard. Angel was odd in her optimism. It took work and a healthy dose of denial in a lot of cases just to hold on to it after everything they saw and did. She was diligent in her pursuit to find the good and hope for the best making most people on this team either take her less seriously as a team mate or resent her childish endeavors.
"So you never told me what your favorite romantic story was?"
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Frowning slightly, trying to think of which romance he'd call his favourite, St John got just a little self-conscious, "Probably 'Ramona' or 'Rebecca'. Not exactly typical but, I guess they just stuck out." Ramona had been his pillow when he'd slept in the library one winter. When insomnia struck he'd given up and read it. Instead of sending him to sleep he spent three days finishing it.
"Rebecca might not be a romance novel so much as a tragic horror slash suspense slash mystery with romance as an undertone, but," he shrugged lightly. He liked it either way.
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Maybe that's what I like. I like the soft quiet kind of love but as a person that's been quiet most of my life, what I really want is passion. Something loud and rash with all the potential to burn up."
Angel chuckled and shook her head. "Oh well, it's not any more bizarre than your views on love. You only like if someone is going crazy or getting shot."
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But her want for passion and fire and all that romance, yeah, he could see the allure of it. He just didn't believe it ever lasted. Just like an actual flame; the oxygen ran out eventually, the flame flickered and died. You couldn't sustain and inferno indefinitely.
"Not only, I like Jane Eyre and Emma just as much, but I guess I just believe more in the tumultuous affairs of things."
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"Oh I love Emma. Such a great story but another one that most guys don't get into. You are just one surprise after another."
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"I'm a conundrum." As far as literature went, St John's tastes were very much in the classical set; he liked the tone of those novels, he liked the sense they all carried. Even if they were seen as 'chic lit'. "Emma is a pretty good depiction of the heroine not having a clue at all. And most of the time you kind of want to shake her, but in the end," he shrugged lightly, "well, it's Austen. Happy endings and weddings are her thing."
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"You really are!" She laughed. "She was clueless but we get to see her grow up. Even at her most bratty and least likable you still want to like her so when she redeems herself you can't help but hope things will work out for her. You want her to get the guy. You want that wedding and happy ending. She had to work for it."
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"You ever noticed how that happens with Austen? You tend to hate something about the story until near the end and then you're so invested in it that you really get pissed off if things don't go how you'd like." He'd discovered that while reading Mansfield Park, and frankly he'd never been so annoyed at a book before in his life. "I think I knew someone like Emma. Once. But I can't really remember."
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