J.D. Robb
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- Posty: 11887
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: Hellfire
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- Posty: 2284
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
przez Roma » 18 maja 2008, o 23:00
Co ty słodkie... Wyglad po tatusiu charakterek po mamusi. Albo odwrotnie 
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- Posty: 2254
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: From Dragonworld
- Ulubiona autorka/autor: Linda Howard (niezmiennie)
przez Smoczyca » 18 maja 2008, o 23:34
Sama nie wiem, co gorsze... Ale w sumie... Gorzej byłoby, gdyby Peabody, pozostającej w zwiazku z McNab 'em urodziło się coś roarkowatego. Albo jeszcze gorzej... Jakby powstała taka mieszanka Eve i McNaba? Zajeocznie kolorowy blondyn(ka)-morderca?!
- Posty: 3729
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przez Madlenita » 20 maja 2008, o 00:06
A jak to Brian ujął-oczywiście będą związani z przestępstwami, ale z której strony...
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- Posty: 45389
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: Czytam, więc jestem.
- Ulubiona autorka/autor: N.R./JD.Robb/Krentz/Quick/Castle/L.Kleypas/Ch.Dodd
przez Lilia ❀ » 10 lipca 2008, o 14:07
<span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal">Parody in Death</span>
The year is 2058. The city is New York. Lt. Ivy Duluth is a cop. A damn good cop. An excellent cop. Hell, cops just don 's great! I absolutely loved it. A complete hoot."
http://www.likesbooks.com/ppp2001b.html#parodydeath
<span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal">Epilogue in Death (parody)</span>
December 31, 2099 – New Roarke City, Earth
Roarke gazed at his reflection in the holomirror over the fireplace in his study, wrapping the thick NuWool scarf he held in his hand around his neck - twice. Zipping the front of his black ski parka, he pulled a pair of thin InsulaGloves from one of the pockets and tugged them on. He took a moment to finger-comb his long silver hair, then unclipped the MicroKnit cap from the belt of the parka and yanked it on over his head.
There, warm at last.
Next to the holomirror, a flute of champagne sparkled pale and golden in the late afternoon light. Raising the glass to his lips, he let his attention drift to the framed holoportrait of himself and Eve taken on their wedding day over forty years ago. One sip, and he smiled into his own eyes, pleased at the full-bodied flavor of the exquisite ’80 Chateau de Roarkeschild. While there were many many many many many ventures both on-planet and off that bore his name, the vineyards on Tibia and Fibula left him feeling proud right down to the bones.
Somewhere upstairs, the sound of crockery crashing against a wall caught his attention. He winced, stared for a moment at his reflection in the mirror, then tossed back the champagne, downing the remainder in one gulp.
Behind him, a voice, deep and droll, murmured slowly, “She rises.”
In the holomirror, Roarke’s eyes shifted to meet Summerset’s. “I didn’t hear you come in, old friend.”
“It’s this RoarKo ChairE8 5000,” the butler stated, opening his arms as if to embrace the lighter-than-air conveyance in which he sat. “I simply cannot fathom how people used to transport their arthritic limbs about in devices that had wheels on them. Barbaric, and utterly impractical.”
Desperate to avoid the stomping noises coming from upstairs, Roarke lifted his voice above the cacophony. “I began working on the design just before your one hundred and thirtieth birthday last year. Happy to see it fits your needs.” Turning away from the mantel, he flicked a nervous glance at the ceiling. Barely able to keep the tremble from his tone, he went on, “I-I trust you have the air temp set at forty-five?”
Summerset gave a sharp nod. “Indeed I have, sir. It is my fondest wish, after all, to live to see one hundred and thirty-one.”
Overhead, the sound of footsteps thundering across the floor increased, reducing both men to apprehensive silence. Something else hit a wall and broke. On the other side of the study, the windows rattled as a woman began shouting at the top of her lungs.
Roarke eyed his champagne flute, wishing like hell it were full again. “H-Have any of the children arrived yet?”
The butler’s eyes still following the thuds and bumps above them, he whispered, “Your younger son beamed down from Phalanges early this morning.”
“He’s knuckled down to his studies, I trust?”
“Indeed, sir. And your daughter arrived earlier from Philtrum II.”
“She didn’t give you any lip, did she? So much like her mother she is.”
“No, sir.”
Roarke arched a brow. “And my eldest son. What of him?”
“He sent word that he and his family will be late,” Summerset said. “Though I’m told he hasn’t yet completed his research, the Interplanetary Commission is demanding his findings nonetheless. Apparently the binary blue moons of Scrotum VII are cooling more rapidly than anticipated, so he is offering his dictum today in the hopes of fulfilling their desires.”
“But will a premature explanation satisfy them?”
Summerset shrugged. “He promised he’d try to come later.”
A noise outside the study caught both men’s attention. Quickly turning his floating conveyance toward the opposite end of the room, Summerset whooshed toward the door at the far end.
“If there will be nothing else, sir, I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Coward!” Roarke accused.
“Indeed, sir!” the butler shouted over his shoulder as the door closed firmly behind him, leaving Roarke to face her alone.
A moment later, Eve stomped into the study wearing nothing but a navy blue NRCPD t-shirt and cut-offs. Fingers curling into fists at her sides, her damp, steel gray hair hanging limply over her ears, she yelled, “Is it hotter than shit in here, or is it just me?”
Glaring at Roarke as though waiting for a logical answer, she wiped her sweaty brow with the towel she clutched in her hand.
“Lieutenant,” Roarke soothed as he huddled deeper into his parka. “If it’s too warm for you, I’d be happy to ship in an iceberg from---”
“Don’t get smart with me!” she snapped, then tugged at the neck of her t-shirt. “Hell. Why can’t that damned butler of yours keep this place at a comfortable temperature!”
“But darling Eve---”
“Don’t you darling Eve me!” She stopped abruptly. A puzzled expression crossed her face. Lifting her gaze, she looked around the study. “I know I came into this room for a reason,” she said softly under her breath. “Let’s see. I . . . I was upstairs, and then I came downstairs to get . . . to get . . . something . . .”
Without warning, she burst into tears and flung herself into Roarke’s arms. “I’m sorry!” she squeaked. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I just . . .” Looking up into his eyes, she sniffed. “My feet are hot! My skin is crawling! My heart is racing---”
“I see then that I haven’t lost my touch---”
“Don’t try and get out of this with charm, pal,” she barked, then shoved herself out of his arms. Placing her open palm against her forehead, she whimpered, “Are the kids here yet? Where are the kids? Are they hiding from me? They’re hiding from me, aren’t they? I’m bad. I’m a bad parent. I never should have reproduced. I should have stuck with solving the varied and heinous crimes that plague this city, and left motherhood to Mavis and Peabody and Nadine and all my other really feminine friends who have the maternal instincts I so obviously lack!”
“Look, Eve darling,” Roarke cajoled. “Why don’t we just go upstairs and have a tumble. You know how that always---”
“A tumble!” she screamed. “A tumble? Is that all you ever think about, Tommy Testosterone? Is that your solution to everything? Never mind that I suddenly have the sex-drive of a wooden spoon, or that my vagi-woo-woo is about as moist as a Martian desert! Oh, and my brain. My frickin’ brain functions about as well as a . . . a . . . a something. I forget. What was I going to say? Something about memory something?” She blinked up at him, bewilderment plain to see in the milky brown depths of her eyes. “Are the kids here yet? Did I ask you that already?”
Wiping the frost from his upper lip, Roarke tugged his gloves on more snugly, then approached his wife and put his arms around her.
“Relax, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “You’re retired from law enforcement now and don’t have to remember anything if you don’t want to. Aye, two of the children are about, and the other will hopefully arrive later. In your illustrious career, you solved some of the most disgusting, violent, foul, repugnant, vulgar, icky, yucky crimes of the century, made a name for yourself, bore three beautiful children, are the grandmother of two, live in any number of mansions, can afford to travel to any galaxy you wish on a moment’s notice, and are married to the hottest old man this side of the Crab Nebula.”
Her head came up. “You have crabs?”
“The hearing’s going too, is it?” When she cocked her head and blinked, he shouted, “Crab Nebula!”
“Well you don’t have to yell at me!” she yelled at him. “I’m not deaf!” When she began to cry again, Roarke placed his open palm against the back of Eve’s head and eased it down to his shoulder, turning her face gently away so she wouldn’t suffocate in the thickness of his parka.
“Look, there’s a lovely retirement community on Jupiter that I think you’d really---”
“My boobs sag,” she interrupted with a sorrowful whimper.
“I don’t care.”
“My butt sags, too.”
“Not to me, it doesn’t.”
“I’ve turned into a bitch.”
“Not true, Lieutenant. You’ve always been a bitch.”
“Really?” she said, lifting her head to search his eyes. Stomping her bare foot, she snarled, “Oh, you’re just saying that to make me feel better!”
“I’m not. It’s true. Ask anyone.”
She clung to him. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Roarke.” Tears trickled from her eyes down her face. She wiped them away and raised her head. “How come men don’t turn into a whole other person when they hit middle age?”
“God is obviously a man, darling Eve.”
She sniffed. “Thank you for putting up with me all these years, Roarke.”
“It’s occasionally been a pleasure, Lieutenant.”
“Roarke,” she said quietly. “Roarke . . .”
He arched a brow. “Something?”
She nodded. “We’ve been married for forty years, had three children together and been through any number incidents that would have killed, or at the very least maimed for life, lesser fictional characters.”
“Too true.”
Inhaling a deep breath, she said, “So don’t you think it’s about time you told me your first name?”
“We’ve been over this,” he warned. “Besides, why do you assume Roarke is my last name?”
“Because our children are named Roy Roarke, Rory Roarke, and Dora Roarke, Roarke!” She glared at him, mopped bits of sweat from her neck, then tossed the damp towel at his feet like a gauntlet. “What is your first name? Tell me now, or I swear, I’ll let my over-heated hormones loose, what there are left of them, and . . .”
“Joe.”
“. . . I swear to God that if you don’t . . .” Her breath caught. “Joe?” Her lashes fluttered as she absorbed what he’d just said. “Your name is Joe? Joe Roarke?”
“What?” he growled. “I suppose you were expecting something illustrious? Something the likes of Derek or Erik or Brad or Dylan or Reinhold or Cosmo? A name befitting my station in life, my zephamegamuchogigantokatrillions of dollars, my ownership of every building in every city on every planet in the galaxy?”
She shrugged. “Well, yeah, actually. Not too sure about Reinhold, though.” Sliding her arms around him, she laughed somewhat maniacally. “No matter, no matter, no matter.” Heaving a sigh, she said, “So, Joe, it’s almost the new century. We’ve had forty good years together so far. You gonna stick around for the next forty?”
He considered the possibilities. “Aye. If Ms. Robb continues placing our lives at hazard, involving us in interplanetary travel and daily bouts of wild monkey sex, I’m willing to sign on to go the distance.”
Eve tilted her head. “Even if it means doing it in a RoarKo ChairE8 5000?”
He winked at her. “Aye. Say, do you suppose Ms. Robb has any plans for us in our Golden Years?”
“You mean like Pensioned Off In Death?”
He narrowed one eye. “How about Dotage In Death, or maybe Senile In Death.”
“Well, after Menopause In Death, I suppose it would naturally follow.”
Roarke’s mouth flattened. “As long as there’s no Shriveled or Wilted In Death, if you get my meaning, I’ll be content.”
“There’s always Levitra In Death, sweetheart.”
Removing his gloves, Roarke caressed his wife’s damp cheek, then leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her arctic red nose. “Always the problem solver, eh, Lieutenant?” he observed softly. “Through the hot flashes, fits of temper, shouting, weeping, mood swings, and then when you went into menopause, there’s never been a woman so fine a match for me as you.”
“Nor you for me,” she sniffled. “Promise me, Joe, no matter the title, no matter what perverted kinds of hell Ms. Robb puts us through day after day, year after year, decade after decade, and on and on and on, bestseller after bestseller after bestseller, no matter how old and tired we get---“
“Come to the point here, would you, Lieutenant?”
“Okay, it’s that no matter what, you and I will be together until The End . . . and beyond.”
Roarke nodded. “Even so far as In Death In Death, darling Eve, count me in. Now,” he said, tilting up her chin to gaze deeply into her eyes. “How about that tumble . . .”
http://www.likesbooks.com/epilogueparody.html
The year is 2058. The city is New York. Lt. Ivy Duluth is a cop. A damn good cop. An excellent cop. Hell, cops just don 's great! I absolutely loved it. A complete hoot."
http://www.likesbooks.com/ppp2001b.html#parodydeath
<span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: normal">Epilogue in Death (parody)</span>
December 31, 2099 – New Roarke City, Earth
Roarke gazed at his reflection in the holomirror over the fireplace in his study, wrapping the thick NuWool scarf he held in his hand around his neck - twice. Zipping the front of his black ski parka, he pulled a pair of thin InsulaGloves from one of the pockets and tugged them on. He took a moment to finger-comb his long silver hair, then unclipped the MicroKnit cap from the belt of the parka and yanked it on over his head.
There, warm at last.
Next to the holomirror, a flute of champagne sparkled pale and golden in the late afternoon light. Raising the glass to his lips, he let his attention drift to the framed holoportrait of himself and Eve taken on their wedding day over forty years ago. One sip, and he smiled into his own eyes, pleased at the full-bodied flavor of the exquisite ’80 Chateau de Roarkeschild. While there were many many many many many ventures both on-planet and off that bore his name, the vineyards on Tibia and Fibula left him feeling proud right down to the bones.
Somewhere upstairs, the sound of crockery crashing against a wall caught his attention. He winced, stared for a moment at his reflection in the mirror, then tossed back the champagne, downing the remainder in one gulp.
Behind him, a voice, deep and droll, murmured slowly, “She rises.”
In the holomirror, Roarke’s eyes shifted to meet Summerset’s. “I didn’t hear you come in, old friend.”
“It’s this RoarKo ChairE8 5000,” the butler stated, opening his arms as if to embrace the lighter-than-air conveyance in which he sat. “I simply cannot fathom how people used to transport their arthritic limbs about in devices that had wheels on them. Barbaric, and utterly impractical.”
Desperate to avoid the stomping noises coming from upstairs, Roarke lifted his voice above the cacophony. “I began working on the design just before your one hundred and thirtieth birthday last year. Happy to see it fits your needs.” Turning away from the mantel, he flicked a nervous glance at the ceiling. Barely able to keep the tremble from his tone, he went on, “I-I trust you have the air temp set at forty-five?”
Summerset gave a sharp nod. “Indeed I have, sir. It is my fondest wish, after all, to live to see one hundred and thirty-one.”
Overhead, the sound of footsteps thundering across the floor increased, reducing both men to apprehensive silence. Something else hit a wall and broke. On the other side of the study, the windows rattled as a woman began shouting at the top of her lungs.
Roarke eyed his champagne flute, wishing like hell it were full again. “H-Have any of the children arrived yet?”
The butler’s eyes still following the thuds and bumps above them, he whispered, “Your younger son beamed down from Phalanges early this morning.”
“He’s knuckled down to his studies, I trust?”
“Indeed, sir. And your daughter arrived earlier from Philtrum II.”
“She didn’t give you any lip, did she? So much like her mother she is.”
“No, sir.”
Roarke arched a brow. “And my eldest son. What of him?”
“He sent word that he and his family will be late,” Summerset said. “Though I’m told he hasn’t yet completed his research, the Interplanetary Commission is demanding his findings nonetheless. Apparently the binary blue moons of Scrotum VII are cooling more rapidly than anticipated, so he is offering his dictum today in the hopes of fulfilling their desires.”
“But will a premature explanation satisfy them?”
Summerset shrugged. “He promised he’d try to come later.”
A noise outside the study caught both men’s attention. Quickly turning his floating conveyance toward the opposite end of the room, Summerset whooshed toward the door at the far end.
“If there will be nothing else, sir, I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Coward!” Roarke accused.
“Indeed, sir!” the butler shouted over his shoulder as the door closed firmly behind him, leaving Roarke to face her alone.
A moment later, Eve stomped into the study wearing nothing but a navy blue NRCPD t-shirt and cut-offs. Fingers curling into fists at her sides, her damp, steel gray hair hanging limply over her ears, she yelled, “Is it hotter than shit in here, or is it just me?”
Glaring at Roarke as though waiting for a logical answer, she wiped her sweaty brow with the towel she clutched in her hand.
“Lieutenant,” Roarke soothed as he huddled deeper into his parka. “If it’s too warm for you, I’d be happy to ship in an iceberg from---”
“Don’t get smart with me!” she snapped, then tugged at the neck of her t-shirt. “Hell. Why can’t that damned butler of yours keep this place at a comfortable temperature!”
“But darling Eve---”
“Don’t you darling Eve me!” She stopped abruptly. A puzzled expression crossed her face. Lifting her gaze, she looked around the study. “I know I came into this room for a reason,” she said softly under her breath. “Let’s see. I . . . I was upstairs, and then I came downstairs to get . . . to get . . . something . . .”
Without warning, she burst into tears and flung herself into Roarke’s arms. “I’m sorry!” she squeaked. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I just . . .” Looking up into his eyes, she sniffed. “My feet are hot! My skin is crawling! My heart is racing---”
“I see then that I haven’t lost my touch---”
“Don’t try and get out of this with charm, pal,” she barked, then shoved herself out of his arms. Placing her open palm against her forehead, she whimpered, “Are the kids here yet? Where are the kids? Are they hiding from me? They’re hiding from me, aren’t they? I’m bad. I’m a bad parent. I never should have reproduced. I should have stuck with solving the varied and heinous crimes that plague this city, and left motherhood to Mavis and Peabody and Nadine and all my other really feminine friends who have the maternal instincts I so obviously lack!”
“Look, Eve darling,” Roarke cajoled. “Why don’t we just go upstairs and have a tumble. You know how that always---”
“A tumble!” she screamed. “A tumble? Is that all you ever think about, Tommy Testosterone? Is that your solution to everything? Never mind that I suddenly have the sex-drive of a wooden spoon, or that my vagi-woo-woo is about as moist as a Martian desert! Oh, and my brain. My frickin’ brain functions about as well as a . . . a . . . a something. I forget. What was I going to say? Something about memory something?” She blinked up at him, bewilderment plain to see in the milky brown depths of her eyes. “Are the kids here yet? Did I ask you that already?”
Wiping the frost from his upper lip, Roarke tugged his gloves on more snugly, then approached his wife and put his arms around her.
“Relax, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “You’re retired from law enforcement now and don’t have to remember anything if you don’t want to. Aye, two of the children are about, and the other will hopefully arrive later. In your illustrious career, you solved some of the most disgusting, violent, foul, repugnant, vulgar, icky, yucky crimes of the century, made a name for yourself, bore three beautiful children, are the grandmother of two, live in any number of mansions, can afford to travel to any galaxy you wish on a moment’s notice, and are married to the hottest old man this side of the Crab Nebula.”
Her head came up. “You have crabs?”
“The hearing’s going too, is it?” When she cocked her head and blinked, he shouted, “Crab Nebula!”
“Well you don’t have to yell at me!” she yelled at him. “I’m not deaf!” When she began to cry again, Roarke placed his open palm against the back of Eve’s head and eased it down to his shoulder, turning her face gently away so she wouldn’t suffocate in the thickness of his parka.
“Look, there’s a lovely retirement community on Jupiter that I think you’d really---”
“My boobs sag,” she interrupted with a sorrowful whimper.
“I don’t care.”
“My butt sags, too.”
“Not to me, it doesn’t.”
“I’ve turned into a bitch.”
“Not true, Lieutenant. You’ve always been a bitch.”
“Really?” she said, lifting her head to search his eyes. Stomping her bare foot, she snarled, “Oh, you’re just saying that to make me feel better!”
“I’m not. It’s true. Ask anyone.”
She clung to him. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Roarke.” Tears trickled from her eyes down her face. She wiped them away and raised her head. “How come men don’t turn into a whole other person when they hit middle age?”
“God is obviously a man, darling Eve.”
She sniffed. “Thank you for putting up with me all these years, Roarke.”
“It’s occasionally been a pleasure, Lieutenant.”
“Roarke,” she said quietly. “Roarke . . .”
He arched a brow. “Something?”
She nodded. “We’ve been married for forty years, had three children together and been through any number incidents that would have killed, or at the very least maimed for life, lesser fictional characters.”
“Too true.”
Inhaling a deep breath, she said, “So don’t you think it’s about time you told me your first name?”
“We’ve been over this,” he warned. “Besides, why do you assume Roarke is my last name?”
“Because our children are named Roy Roarke, Rory Roarke, and Dora Roarke, Roarke!” She glared at him, mopped bits of sweat from her neck, then tossed the damp towel at his feet like a gauntlet. “What is your first name? Tell me now, or I swear, I’ll let my over-heated hormones loose, what there are left of them, and . . .”
“Joe.”
“. . . I swear to God that if you don’t . . .” Her breath caught. “Joe?” Her lashes fluttered as she absorbed what he’d just said. “Your name is Joe? Joe Roarke?”
“What?” he growled. “I suppose you were expecting something illustrious? Something the likes of Derek or Erik or Brad or Dylan or Reinhold or Cosmo? A name befitting my station in life, my zephamegamuchogigantokatrillions of dollars, my ownership of every building in every city on every planet in the galaxy?”
She shrugged. “Well, yeah, actually. Not too sure about Reinhold, though.” Sliding her arms around him, she laughed somewhat maniacally. “No matter, no matter, no matter.” Heaving a sigh, she said, “So, Joe, it’s almost the new century. We’ve had forty good years together so far. You gonna stick around for the next forty?”
He considered the possibilities. “Aye. If Ms. Robb continues placing our lives at hazard, involving us in interplanetary travel and daily bouts of wild monkey sex, I’m willing to sign on to go the distance.”
Eve tilted her head. “Even if it means doing it in a RoarKo ChairE8 5000?”
He winked at her. “Aye. Say, do you suppose Ms. Robb has any plans for us in our Golden Years?”
“You mean like Pensioned Off In Death?”
He narrowed one eye. “How about Dotage In Death, or maybe Senile In Death.”
“Well, after Menopause In Death, I suppose it would naturally follow.”
Roarke’s mouth flattened. “As long as there’s no Shriveled or Wilted In Death, if you get my meaning, I’ll be content.”
“There’s always Levitra In Death, sweetheart.”
Removing his gloves, Roarke caressed his wife’s damp cheek, then leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her arctic red nose. “Always the problem solver, eh, Lieutenant?” he observed softly. “Through the hot flashes, fits of temper, shouting, weeping, mood swings, and then when you went into menopause, there’s never been a woman so fine a match for me as you.”
“Nor you for me,” she sniffled. “Promise me, Joe, no matter the title, no matter what perverted kinds of hell Ms. Robb puts us through day after day, year after year, decade after decade, and on and on and on, bestseller after bestseller after bestseller, no matter how old and tired we get---“
“Come to the point here, would you, Lieutenant?”
“Okay, it’s that no matter what, you and I will be together until The End . . . and beyond.”
Roarke nodded. “Even so far as In Death In Death, darling Eve, count me in. Now,” he said, tilting up her chin to gaze deeply into her eyes. “How about that tumble . . .”
http://www.likesbooks.com/epilogueparody.html
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- Posty: 6429
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Posty: 3729
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: Piotrków Tryb./Dogewa
przez Madlenita » 10 lipca 2008, o 16:44
A w internecie są już kolejne zapowiedzi Robb, już na 2009 rok... Chyba Promises in death i jakieś opowiadanie na 2008, listopad zdaje się...
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- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: Czytam, więc jestem.
- Ulubiona autorka/autor: N.R./JD.Robb/Krentz/Quick/Castle/L.Kleypas/Ch.Dodd
przez Lilia ❀ » 29 lipca 2008, o 14:31
czyli na razie nie zmienią okładek. ale dziwi mnie, ze to czytelnicy chcieli zmiany formatu 
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- Posty: 31458
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
przez pinksss » 29 lipca 2008, o 14:56
pieprzenie, nie było żadnych sond i mają gdzieś czytelników, jak nic chodzi o cenę za grafikę albo inny myk finansowy. czytelnicy, phi!
drugi HQ
drugi HQ
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- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: i keep moving to be stable
- Ulubiona autorka/autor: Shelly Laurenston, Anne Stuart
przez Fringilla » 29 lipca 2008, o 16:23
jak się daje 3 beznadziejne wzory do wyboru... i każe wybierać 
to masz efekty 
to masz efekty - Posty: 3729
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: Piotrków Tryb./Dogewa
przez Madlenita » 7 sierpnia 2008, o 17:02
Te ostanie okładki to żywcem zjechane wzory z tych orgilalnych, przynajmniej takie mam podejrzenia. Brakowało im pomysłów na okładki i tyle. A format? Faktycznie, większość ksiązek ma właśnie taki, w końcu poszli po rozum do głowy....
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- Posty: 45389
- Dołączył(a): 17 grudnia 2010, o 11:14
- Lokalizacja: Czytam, więc jestem.
- Ulubiona autorka/autor: N.R./JD.Robb/Krentz/Quick/Castle/L.Kleypas/Ch.Dodd
przez Lilia ❀ » 9 sierpnia 2008, o 17:20
okładki wydań amerykańskich. mniej więcej trzymają się formatu
obecny nasz format pokrywa się ze zmianą ich formatu, więc jest szansa, ze wydawnictwo ma narzucone takie okładki, albo chcą ciągnąć format amerykański
obecny nasz format pokrywa się ze zmianą ich formatu, więc jest szansa, ze wydawnictwo ma narzucone takie okładki, albo chcą ciągnąć format amerykański
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przez Liberty » 9 sierpnia 2008, o 20:13
Zmiana formatu w trakcie serii to głupota. Nikt nie lubi pstrokacizny na półce. U nas zmieniali, zmieniali i przestałam kupować po czwartej takiej zmianie 
( byłam bardzo ciepliwa, inni nie są)
( byłam bardzo ciepliwa, inni nie są)-
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przez eve » 23 października 2008, o 21:12
Dla zainteresowanych Eve Dallas zwłaszcza Roarke 'a- Keane Reeves .I co o tym myślicie? 
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przez moni » 23 października 2008, o 21:13
uuuuuuuuu
ale szczerze mówiąc mi on nie pasuje do tej roli, mimo iż jestem wielką fanką
ale szczerze mówiąc mi on nie pasuje do tej roli, mimo iż jestem wielką fanką
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przez Lilia ❀ » 23 października 2008, o 21:15
już o tym słyszałyśmy z rok temu. informacje niepotwierdzone.
a Keanu Roarke 'iem??? on dla mnie wygląda jak chłopiec, a nie mężczyzna. MĘŻCZYZNA
a Keanu Roarke 'iem??? on dla mnie wygląda jak chłopiec, a nie mężczyzna. MĘŻCZYZNA
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przez moni » 23 października 2008, o 21:17
eeee Lilia, teraz się postarzał i trochę mu się przytyło... 9 lat temu by się nadawał
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przez Lilia ❀ » 23 października 2008, o 21:27
Roarke nigdy nie był zapuszczony. w takiej wersji w życiu nie daliby roli Keanu. fuj
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przez olly3 » 23 października 2008, o 21:41
Keanu jest za delikatny, to już wolę jako Roarke 'a tego, co grał w serialu "Rzym" Marka Antoniusza.
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przez Madlenita » 23 października 2008, o 23:01
Jak dla mnie robienie filmu z tej serii to błąd, barzdiej by się nadawało na serial 1 książka około 3-4 odcinki...
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