Walter: That wasn't her toe.
Dude: Whose toe was it then, Walter?
Walter: How the fuck should I know? I do know that nothing about it indicates—
Dude: The nail polish, Walter.
Walter: Fine, Dude. As if it's impossible to get some nail polish, apply it to someone else's toe—
Dude: Someone else's? Where the fuck are they gonna—
Walter: You want a toe? I can get you a toe, believe me. There are ways, Dude. You don't wanna know about it, believe me.I'll get you a toe by this afternoon— with nail polish. These fucking amateurs! They send us a toe, we're supposed to shit our-selves with fear. Jesus Christ. My point is—
Dude: They're gonna kill her, Walter, then they're gonna kill me!
Walter: Well that's just, that's the stress talking, Dude. So far we have what looks to me like a series of victimless crimes.
Dude: What about the toe?
Mr Dan der Grimnebulin,
Khepri cannot make sounds, but I judge by the chymicals she was exuding and the trembling of those useless bugger legs that Lin found the removal of these useless wings a deeply unpleasant appearance. I don't doubt that her lower body would also have been fighting us had we not strapped the bug bitch in a chair.
—Mr Motley, Perdido Street Station
"Poor Jeremiah, he was such an accommodating footman. Always used to bring in the morning post. I never expected to find him in the post."
— His Amused Lordship, Fallen London
"I remember the time I was kidnapped and they sent a piece of my finger to my father. He said he wanted more proof."
