Honorverse favorite passages

Amaroq wrote:I guess that means that everyone thought I was a dude?

Amaroq wrote:

roseandheather wrote:
HOLY SHIT THERE'S ANOTHER GIRL ON THIS FORUM???

(I mean, there's also NortonIDaughter, my fellow Haven fangirl, but she hasn't been around for ages. )

Yes, it is just two flowers smushed together - derived from "English Roses & Scottish Heather".

My real name may or may not be botanical.

I guess that means that everyone thought I was a dude?

Amaroq wrote:

roseandheather wrote:
HOLY SHIT THERE'S ANOTHER GIRL ON THIS FORUM???

(I mean, there's also NortonIDaughter, my fellow Haven fangirl, but she hasn't been around for ages. )

Yes, it is just two flowers smushed together - derived from "English Roses & Scottish Heather".

My real name may or may not be botanical.

I guess that means that everyone thought I was a dude?

roseandheather wrote:Thank you!
And whatever makes you think my screen name has anything to do with my real name?
My great-grandmother was a Scott (as in, name and ethnicity), but I'm American born and bred - and a motley of German, English, and Irish, plus a quarter French on my mom's side.

Amaroq wrote:I wasn't certain if your name was just two types of flower/plants mushed together or made some reference to your name. It caught my attention because my name actually is Heather. Lol.

roseandheather wrote:HOLY SHIT THERE'S ANOTHER GIRL ON THIS FORUM???
(I mean, there's also NortonIDaughter, my fellow Haven fangirl, but she hasn't been around for ages. )
Yes, it is just two flowers smushed together - derived from "English Roses & Scottish Heather".
My real name may or may not be botanical.

Amaroq wrote:I guess that means that everyone thought I was a dude?

MaxxQ wrote:There's also Northstar, although she has been here rather infrequently lately, or if she has been here, she hasn't been posting much.

roseandheather wrote:Honestly, I never really thought about it. I just kind of assume everyone on this forum is male unless explicitly told otherwise.
...we can has moar Michelle quotes nao?

drothgery wrote:

Amaroq wrote:I guess that means that everyone thought I was a dude?

You can't fool us. Everyone knows there are no women on the internet

Amaroq wrote:

roseandheather wrote:
HOLY SHIT THERE'S ANOTHER GIRL ON THIS FORUM???

(I mean, there's also NortonIDaughter, my fellow Haven fangirl, but she hasn't been around for ages. )

Yes, it is just two flowers smushed together - derived from "English Roses & Scottish Heather".

My real name may or may not be botanical.

I guess that means that everyone thought I was a dude?

Honor Harrington rose and faced the door of her cell as it opened, and the right side of her face was almost as expressionless as the dead left side.

It wasn't easy to keep it that way. Timmons had taken great pleasure in informing her that the next time her cell was opened would be for her trip to the hangman. That would have been enough to make maintaining her composure difficult even without the flashes of emotion she'd begun receiving from Nimitz. They were too far apart, their link stretched too thin, for her to tell exactly what the 'cat was feeling, but there was a sense of . . . movement, and sharper flashes of pain, as if the movement hurt him. At first she'd been certain he was being transported to the planet to die with her as Ransom had promised, yet she'd become steadily less positive, for a flush of excitement and a strange, fierce determination seemed to have wrapped itself about all of his other emotions. She had no idea what might have caused it. For that matter, it might all be nothing more than a delusion on her part, inspired by her own fear and half-starved weakness. But whatever else was happening, she would meet Timmons and his ghouls without flinching.

The door lock clacked, and she braced herself as it swung open. And then—

"My Lady! Lady Harrington!"

Honor staggered, her good eye flaring wide, as Andrew LaFollet shouted her name. Her personal armsman stood in the open doorway, face haggard and his normally immaculate uniform ragged, and he cradled a flechette gun in his arms.

Not possible, her brain told her calmly. This is not possible. It has to be a hallucination.
But it wasn't, and she stumbled forward as he freed one hand from the gun and held it out to her. Her working eye misted, making it hard to see, but his hand was warm and firm as it closed on her too-thin fingers. He squeezed hard, and Honor dragged in a deep, shuddery breath and put her arms around him, hugging him fiercely.

"We're here to get you out, My Lady," he said into her shoulder, and she nodded and made herself release him. She stood back, blinking to clear her vision, and saw his face change as he took in her own appearance. The brightly colored jumpsuit seemed two sizes too big for her wasted body, and his gray eyes went harder than steel as he took in the dead side of her face. He opened his mouth, but she shook her head.

"No time, Andrew," she told him huskily. "No time. Later."

He gazed at her for a fraction of a second longer, and then shook himself like a dog shedding water from its coat.

"Yes, My Lady," he said, and nodded to someone else. Whoever it was was to her left, and Honor turned quickly, then inhaled in fresh surprise as Andreas Venizelos stepped to her side and fastened a gun belt around her waist. He looked up from his work to meet her eyes with a tense, strained smile, and she touched his shoulder for a moment, then drew the pulser and checked it quickly.

"This way, My Lady," LaFollet said urgently, and she turned to follow him . . . then stopped. Four bodies lay on the deck, all oozing blood from multiple flechette hits. She recognized two guards whose names she'd never bothered to learn, and Timmons . . . and Robert Whitman.

"Bob," she whispered. She started to go to her knees beside him, but LaFollet gripped her upper arm and shook his head fiercely.

"There's no time, My Lady!" If Honor had known him even a little less well, she would have hated him in that moment, for the words came out brusque and harsh, devoid of any emotion. But she did know him, and she recognized the matching anguish behind that mask of nonfeeling as he tugged on her arm again. "We've got to get moving, My Lady. They got the alarm out before Bob killed them."

roseandheather wrote:

cthia wrote:Yea, good luck with your studies. I know that there's an appropriate Scottish saying fer it. Something like "'keeping your nose to the grindstone." Been meaning to ask. Are you Scottish, since Rose is a common Scottish surname?

Thank you!

And whatever makes you think my screen name has anything to do with my real name?

cthia wrote:

Amaroq wrote:I guess that means that everyone thought I was a dude?

No, not everyone. I certainly didn't. There was something about your posts. The intimacy, I think. However, your screen name is masculine Native American. I thought you were Native American as am I. Of course, Amaroq could have been the leader of the pack of Inuit wolves. It's also Arabic. Incidentally, I know a French Amaroqa, female.

cthia wrote:You did! You led me on, as some women are fond of doing.

Early on in our posting ... relationship, I inquired if you were the rose or the heather in the relationship, so when I naturally shortened it I wouldn't offend. You told me you were known as rose in your posting circles. Albeit that isn't concrete admittance on your part, the erroneous supposition is already inherent on mine. See?

Of course women are notorious for giving fake names and digits. So I've heard..

I just assumed that heather was your gf. You kept saying that all should have known that you were 'bi' from the hints. I simply intuited that your moniker 'roseandheather' was the headliner. Doh! Men's minds are mostly molded mince meat from the gutter.

"I'm sorry," [Montoya] repeated, and she shook her head on the pillow.

"Why?" she asked gently. "For saving my life—again?"

"He did that, My Lady," another voice said, and Honor gasped. She tried to sit up, but her right hand still held Montoya's, and she hissed in sudden pain as she tried to rise on the left hand she no longer had and the bandaged stump pressed into the firm softness on which she lay.

Montoya started to stand, his face distressed, but someone else's arms reached out to support her. Nimitz spilled from her chest, lying beside her, and she pulled her right hand from Montoya's. Her arm went out, and the pain still rippling through her meant nothing at all as she hugged Andrew LaFollet with all the fierce strength in her wasted frame.