мой день рожденияAnother translations: into Russian. |
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It’s My Birthday, Too | ||
"Hey, Miyagi-san," my apprentice said. Her jeans still dripped with purple-brown mucus. "You think the dry cleaners can get this out?" | - Привет, Мияги-сан, - сказала моя ученица. С её штанов всё ещё капала фиолетово-коричневая слизь. - Вы думаете, в химчистке смогут это вывести? | |
I threw my car keys down on my kitchen counter, leaned my slimed, rune-carved wooden staff next to them, and said, "The last time I took something stained by a slime golem to a cleaner, the owner burned his place down the next day and tried to collect on the insurance." | ||
Molly, my apprentice, was just barely out of her teens, and it was impossible not to notice what great legs she had when she stripped out of her trendily mangled jeans. She wrinkled her nose as she tossed them into the kitchen trash can. "Have I told you how much I love the wizard business, Harry?" | ||
"Neither of us is in the hospital, kid. This was a good day at work." I took my mantled leather duster off. It was generously covered in splatters of the sticky, smelly mucus as well. I toted it over to the fireplace in my basement apartment, which I keep going during the winter. Given that I have to live without the benefits of electricity, it’s necessary. I made sure the fire was burning strongly and tossed the coat in. | ||
"Hey!" Molly said. "Not the coat!" | ||
"Relax," I told her. "The spells on it should protect it. They’ll bake the slime hard and I’ll chisel it off tomorrow." | ||
"Oh, good. I like the coat." The girl subsided as she tossed her secondhand combat boots and socks into my trash after her ruined jeans. She was tall for a woman and built like a schoolboy’s fantasy of the Scandinavian exchange student. Her hair was shoulder length and the color of white gold, except for the tips, which had been dyed in a blend of blue, red, and purple. She’d lost a couple of the piercings she’d previously worn on her face, and was now down to only one eyebrow, one nostril, her tongue, and her lower lip. She went over to the throw rug in the middle of my living room floor, hauled it to one side, and opened the trapdoor leading down to my lab in the subbasement. She lit a candle in the fire, wrinkling her nose at the stink from the greasy smoke coming up from my coat, and padded down the stepladder stairs into the lab. |
