Chertenok3D: переводы

→Bliss

→Bliss shivered. She had gotten used to being alone, and had forgotten that the Visitor could pop in at any time.

→But these people, this self-satisfied group of elites who had barely even blinked at the news of the massacre, these people called themselves vampires?

→“Exactly. Just like the members of the Conclave, they will be easy enough to overcome when the time comes.”

→Bliss walked toward the backstage area of the tent, swiping a canape from a tray and a glass of champagne from one of the buffet tables. Henri was right: this was an easy gig. It wasn’t a real fashion show, merely a presentation to wealthy clients in the name of charity. Whereas a real fashion show was a chaotic commotion of energy and anxiety, attended by hundreds of editors, retailers, celebrities, and covered by hundreds of media outlets around the world, the Balthazar Verdugo show on Muffie Carter’s estate was more like a glorified trunk show, with models. It was so odd to be back in the real world, to be walking on damp grass (sinking in her heels, really), munching on appetizers, and looking out at the Carters’ amazing ocean view, an unbroken line of blue stretching over the horizon, and to find out that in some parts of the world, even their world, the world of the Committee and the Coven, there were some who remained indifferent and downright disinterested in what had happened in Rio.

→“You’ll find the rest of the models in the back. I think we’re running late as usual,” Muffie said cheerfully.

→Balthazar shook Bliss’s hand with a limp handshake and passed her on to Muffie with a wan smile.

→Afterward she put on one of the fluffy Turkish robes her stepmother had stocked for the house, and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she asked the cook to make her lunch. She ate a cheeseburger, rare, the juices running out and mixing with the French mustard in a way that always made her happy she was a carnivore.

→She pushed the empty plate away and ran her hand through her hair. She would have to make an appointment at the salon as soon as possible. The Visitor wanted her to keep up appearances, didn’t he? Keeping up appearances was something that came naturally to Forsyth Llewellyn’s daughter.

→When your father was a senator from New York, scrutiny was impossible to avoid.

→Mimi

→I don’t need luck, I have you, she wanted to say, but she knew Oliver would think it was cheesy. Instead, she accepted the flower and tucked it into her sari with a smile.

→“I found it in the garden earlier,” he said, showing her the crushed fourleaf clover. “For luck.”

→There. Urrrgh! Her hand jerked away, moving like a marionette, like a puppet on strings. But she’d done it. Her hand awkwardly brushed her hair, moved it away from her eyes.

→Move. Your. Hand! She could feel her bangs in her face. The Visitor had not bothered with haircuts, or manicures either. Bliss was annoyed. All that work to look cute gone down the drain. Her hair was wild and untamed, rough to the touch. She had to do something about it.

→She’d nailed it.

→Too bad Duchesne didn’t have a squad. Bliss had tried to start one, but no one was interested. Snobs! They didn’t know what they were missing. The feeling of the night of a big game. The anticipation of the crowd. The thrill of running out on the field, pom-poms bouncing, the roar from the stands, the jealousy and the admiration. On Fridays, cheerleaders were allowed to wear their uniforms to class. It was akin to wearing a crown. The scorpion.

→Because Jordan Llewellyn was only pretending to be a child. Jordan was the Watcher, Pistis Sophia, Elder of Elders, a soul born with its eyes open, that is, with the full command and understanding of all its memories.

→“Just because we’re Venators doesn’t mean we don’t make mistakes. And it’s one thing to be incompetent, but it’s another thing to be deceived. We weren’t looking for it, that’s why we missed it.”

→“You think?” Mimi replied, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “You should know. You are one.”