How not to look for guys

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“And for starters, the feathers go up your nose. Besides, whoever heard of metal chickens in the first place?”
Cathy looked over the rim of her coffee cup at the girl across her. Delicate form. Elfish features. Fantastic fashion sense.
“Greg told me,” she said, putting down the cup, “that they are part of a sculpture he did for the college. He said that the chair actually liked them.”
“I don’t think otherwise,” the girl said. “Just because he says that does not mean that happened.”
Knowingly smiling, Cathy pulled out a photo of Greg. Leonine mane of red hair. Muscles heavily placed all over.
“Nice guy,” the girl said, looking at the photo. “Probably a beast in bed.”
“Quince!” Cindy gasped in shock. “Robert will kill you if he heard that!”
Stabbing a fry with her fork, Quince dabbed it into the ketchup. “Terrible, I know,” she smirked.
“Until death do they part, and all that jazz,” Cindy clarified. “Viciously jealous of vamps, Robert is.”
Wondrously amazed, Quince looked at the photo again. Xenomancy was always her best talent.
“You know,” she said, putting the fork down, “I think I’ll look elsewhere for a boyfriend.”
“Zeal has been a fault of yours, darling,” Cindy finished.

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