Nothing. I don't sleep unless I absolutely have to, and by then I don't have the energy to dream.

No, I'm not. Superstition isn't worth the waste of my time.

I don't cook. I live off of Donna's cooking, fast food or room service.

Some more ammunition would be nice. It comes with a Keep Honking, I'm Reloading sticker if you buy enough that it's delivered in an eighteen wheeler.

...you would stop asking such deep questions. Or if hunting vampires and lycanthropes was perfectly legal again, so I could have my sick kicks without having to kill the witnesses, too.

Murder, Anita, violence, blood, watching Anita kill people, horror movies, watching anyone kill someone/something...you get the point.

...okay, now I've said once before that I don't feel anger. This applies to being "blue" as well. I am Death, I don't have emotions. But I suppose I can act it well enough, which usually get's me laid. So you do the math.

Sometimes I miss my humanity, and I regret not making a break for it when I had the chance to save it.

I don't have a temper. I have calm, and I have acting. Ted has a temper, he loses it over his family. But I don't.

Scratch that, you ARE a picky thing. My greatest fear is that I haven't done enough to protect Donna and her children from the real me, and that I'll get them killed someday. Now, if you repeat that, I'll have to kill you. May even do it if you don't, all depends on how slow business is.

...you're starting to become a picky thing, you know that? What song describes me best? I wouldn't know, I really don't listen to music much unless Peter or Becca leave the radio on. Even if I did, this depends on who we're talking about. Ted is a good old boy, he'd probably have something like the Dukes of Hazzard theme or Hank Williams Jr's A Country Boy Can Survive, because he's corny like that. I don't think there's a song in existance that could describe the real me.

To me, love is a well cared for gun and something to shoot it at, preferably something not human. Or do you mean the kind of love between human beings? Have it your way then.

As I've said before, the part of me that lives as Ted Forrester is engaged. My fiancée has two children from a previous marriage, and I care for both of them like they were my own flesh and blood. I know Donna loves me, and some part of me really does care for her, but in my profession I can't afford to love her back. If an irate client or someone from my past discovers that I'm close to these people, they'll be put in considerable danger.

I already came close to losing Peter and Becca once, nearly got myself killed getting them back. Would I do it again? Put myself in the line of fire to save them? Absolutely, but I don't want that to happen. Being so attached to these people has changed me; made me realize that I miss the part of me that's dead, that somewhere I'm still human that needs other humans.

And I wouldn't trade that feeling for the world.

My family was Van Cleef and the rest of his terrorists in training. He was like a father to all of us, so long as we didn't do anything too stupid. Making us train through broken bones, infections and bullet wounds might have been extreme, but he's the only father most of us ever knew.

Family is there to give a child the strength and confidence to suceed in life. You might not think so, but that's what Van Cleef did for his Junior Terrorists. One of us will thank him in person before killing him. The rest...well, whoever get's to kill him will channel the rest of us.

This all depends on who's asking.


To most, I'm a simple good ol' boy known as Theodore Forrester. Ted lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, he's engaged, a bounty hunter and generally a very nice person. But that's not the real me, I try to keep it so that no one knows the person who hides himself behind black Wrangler's and a Southern drawl.
To the rest of the world, I'm either the high-dollar assassin Edward or the psychopathic end to their lives. I only hunt the preternatural, things like vampires and lycanthropes, now that humans have become too easy for me. Leave them for the cheap, local hitmen; you call Edward when you want the fanged or furry done in the right way. Having the 100k minimum price helps as well.
Anita Blake, on the other hand, knows more about me than any one person in the world. She's more or less my pupil, the person I give guns and flamethrowers to when she needs them. I can always afford to buy her new toys, though I doubt she thinks many of them are new. My greatest desire is to hunt her down--no vampire marks, no quasi-lycanthropy, none of that--to see which of us is better at the game.

My little secret? I might not win drawing down on her, and that pleases me to no end. That means I've done something right.