Royal summoned mourners. They came from the village, from the neighboring hills and, wailing like dogs at midnight, laid siege to the house. Old women beat their heads against the walls, moaning men prostrated themselves: it was the art of sorrow, and those who best mimicked grief were much admired. After the funeral everyone went away, satisfied that they'd done a good job.
I would be happy to take credit for all of the wonderful experiences I describe in my novels, but my life isn't quite that rich. Unfortunately we authors are sometimes forced to use other people's lives, too.' 'Sounds rather beastly, ' the journalist laughed. 'Or maybe writers are like vultures. Some people feel we journalists are.' He mimicked a bird of prey and grinned.
Pasi Ilmari Je¤e¤skele¤inen
Poison." he said, deadpan. "That's an unusual name to give your child. You must love her very much." She's a treasure." Bram agreed, blithely ignoing the sarcasm. .... Then went a few dozen feet in silence, until they were out of eaarshor of the gaurd. She's a treasure." Poison mimicked, and Bram burst out laughing.
Poison." he said, deadpan. "That's an unusual name to give your child. You must love her very much." She's a treasure." Bram agreed, blithely ignoing the sarcasm... Then went a few dozen feet in silence, until they were out of eaarshor of the gaurd. She's a treasure." Poison mimicked, and Bram burst out laughing.
He ran his hand from my wrist up to the crook of my elbow and then to my shoulder. 'When I was a little kid, my dad would come to my room at night to say a prayer with me. He used to say, 'Lord, We know there's a little girl out there who's meant for Henry. Please protect her and raise her up right.'' His voice changed to something slower and more country when he mimicked his dad. He smiled at the memory, and then he put his mouth near my ear and whispered. 'You were that little girl.
Laura Anderson Kurk
The wide stare stared itself out for one while; the Sun went down in a red, green, golden glory; the stars came out in the heavens, and the fire-flies mimicked them in the lower air, as men may feebly imitate the goodness of a better order of beings; the long dusty roads and the interminable plains were in repose-and so deep a hush was on the sea, that it scarcely whispered of the time when it shall give up its dead.
My granda always told me that fall's the time to root up something you don't want coming back to trouble you.' Kote mimicked the quaver of an old man's voice. 'Things are too full of life in the spring months. In the summer, they're too strong and won't let go. Autumn...' He looked around at the changing leaves on the trees. 'Autumn's the time. In autumn everything is tired and ready to die.
Ghastly," continued Marvin, "it all is. Absolutely ghastly. Just don't even talk about it. Look at this door," he said, stepping through it. The irony circuits cut in to his voice modulator as he mimicked the style of the sales brochure. " 'All the doors in his spaceship have a cheerful and sunny disposition. It is their pleasure to open for you, and their satisfaction to close again with the knowledge of a job well done.' " As the door closed behind them it became apparent that it did indeed have a satisfied sighlike quality to it. "Hummmmmmmyummmmmmmah!" it said.
Surgeons are a singular brotherhood, Adam. To us, people aren't sacred beings crafted in the Almighty's image, no, people are joints of meat; diseased, leathery meat, yes, but meat ready for the skewer and the spit." He mimicked my usual voice, very well. "'But why me, Henry, are we not friends?' Well, Adam, even friends are made out of meat.
The hide was being flayed off the still living body of the Revolution so that a new age could slip in to it; as for the red bloody meat, the steaming innards - they were being thrown onto the scrapheap. The new age needed only the hide of the Revolution - and this was being flayed off people who were still alive. Those who slipped into it spoke the language of the Revolution and mimicked it's gestures, but their brains, lungs, livers and eyes were utterly different.
What are you doing?' Egnatious asked, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Gabriella do a flip. Firen mimicked Gabriella and turned to Egnatious. 'Fun times. Go with it.' She didn't even crack a smile, though her body language said she was laughing on the inside. Instead of following their act, Egnatious simply dove for an outcrop just as it began moving away. He nearly lost his balance, but Firen caught his flailing arms. 'Are you having a seizure or something?' she jested, displaying a rare vein of humor. Egnatious sent her a queasy glare.
His action of joining them, which would have been rude in a restaurant that was not moving at three hundred kilometers an hour, was perfectly acceptable on a train, which mimicked the entirely random joinings of life but revealed their true nature by making them last only hours or days, rather than years and decades. People on a train form an alliance, as if the world that surrounded the parallel rails were hostile and and they refugees from it. The dining car, humming and rocking gently in the night, annihilated past and future and made all associations outside of itself seem vaguely unreal. So they welcomed him at their table, for he was one of them, a traveler, not one of those wraiths through whose night-lit cities they passed.
That evening I sat across from Jeremy Bulloch and Jacob at the dinner table. I watched as Jeremy, who seemed to speak Jacob's silent language fluently, drummed his fingers up and down on the edge of the table, as if playing a piano. A delighted Jacob mimicked the actor's actions. My throat filled with tears. I met Ben's eyes across the table, where he sat straight with pride next to his son. He was enjoying the show just as much as I was. Jacob was in his element, interacting with an actor from his favorite movie. The other men at the table were part of the set: Mike, the owner of the comic book store, who had made the entire thing possible, and the Mandalorin Mercs, new friends of the little boy who had become one of their own, a comrade in distress.
Mary Potter Kenyon
He fashioned an empire of sorts, bereft of cities yet plagued with the endless dramas of society, its pathetic victories and inevitable failures. The community of enslaved Imass thrived in this quagmire of pettiness. They even managed to convince themselves that they possessed freedom, a will of their own that could shape destiny. They elected champions. They tore down their champions once failure draped its shroud over them. They ran in endless circles and called it growth, emergence, knowledge. While over them all, a presence invisible to their eyes, Raest flexed his will. His greatest joy came when his slaves proclaimed him god - though they knew him not - and constructed temples to serve him and organized priesthoods whose activities mimicked Raest's tyranny with such cosmic irony that the Jaghut could only shake his head.
Frank treated customers with the contempt Rosy had only seen before at airport passport control. Even then, she'd never heard an immigration official refer to anybody as baldy. 'Hey, baldy, ' Frank had said and whistled to call a customer back as though he were down in the paddock with an unruly herd. 'You forgot your juice.' Frank held up the bottle of Tropicana orange juice. And when... baldy came back, Frank slapped the bottle into his hand as though passing him the baton in a relay race, then waved the man aside-'Go!'-and pointed at the next customer. 'What do you want?' Frank said. 'Cheese? Again? That's three cheese you'll have had in a row. Are you eating right?' The customer stammered. 'Eh-but-eh-but-eh-but, ' Frank mimicked. 'Never mind. But think up a different filling next time. And not cheese and tomato.' He shook his head and made up the roll.
It's hard to describe the feeling. And I knew from Horus's memory that this kind of union was very rare-like the one time when the coin doesn't land heads or tails, but stands on it's edge, perfectly balanced. He did not control me. I did not use him for power. We acted as one. Our voices spoke in harmony. "Now." And the magic bonds that held us shattered. My combat avatar formed around me, lifting me off the floor and encasing me with golden energy. I stepped forward and raised my sword. The falcon warrior mimicked the movement, perfectly attuned to my wishes. Set turned and regarded me with cold eyes. "So, Horus, " he said. "You managed to find the pedals of your little bike, eh? That does not mean you can ride." "I am Carter Kane, " I said. "Blood of the Pharaohs, Eye of Horus. And now, Set-brother, uncle, traitor-I'm going to crush you like a gnat.
Southern speak is music.' Alessandra flipped a hand through the air, splashing water onto those lickable abs. 'It's country music and you know how I feel about that.' 'Be careful, my emo-tastic girl. You're filling my head with all kinds of torturous country music thoughts.' She mimicked his accent. 'Just saying ya have lousy taste in music, s'all.' Amped up chords screeched through the tiled room and Sabin's hands shot over his ears. 'This from a woman who enjoys some idiot screaming like rooster in the hen house.' 'What? Jack is a genius, ' she teased as if her cowboy was insane to be irritated by the staccato strains of Icky Thump. 'Just keep on inspiring me, Alessandra, and see where it lands you.' The devil that flashed in Sabin's eyes told her she'd just made a huge mistake. Torturous country music thoughts. What the hell is that? Whatever it was, she wasn't going to like it.