The misfortune to be born when I was, where I was. That was a piece of bad luck.

Mother Mary of Anabolic Grace, we got Teras incoming?” He levels angry blue eyes on me. “You’re a hex, lady, dark luck, powerful bad juju, ken?”
“Only to people who try to kidnap me,” I tell him sweetly, and March snorts, so I feel obliged to add, “Or rescue me…” And then Dina makes a pfft sound. “Or who travel with me…” My gaze sweeps around the darkened interior, trying to find an ally, but nobody will hold my eyes more than two seconds, it seems. “Fine, frag you all, I’m dark juju, bad luck, and you’re all doomed.

When ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles, but in showers.

But bad luck makes good stories.

Our failure to bag the man-eater up to that date was not due to our having done anything we should not have done, or left undone anything we should have done.It could only be attributed to sheer bad luck.

I pray. I go to mass. I even remember to respect my elders and help little old ladies across the street. What the hell did I do to deserve this?