In death, the thug had been promoted to messenger.
Jesus: How could you figure all that out from a stick figure...did you draw that in blood?
Axel: Riku's blood.
Axel: Riku's blood.
The red letters smelt faintly of iron, making it clear what the "ink" was.
—Baccano!! 1933 - The Slash
Abraham Lincoln learned to write by making marks of coal on the back of a shovel. He wrote the Gettysburg Address on a train, on the back of an envelope. He had a pathological fear of normal paper.
— Dave Barry, "Birthday Celebration"
"I can never find a pen...Told those kids not to move the pen away from the telephone. God damn kids. Why don't I just kill them, too..."
— Preamble to the funniest suicide note ever, George Carlin
L: You can be incredibly creepy when you want to be.
Light: Creepy?
L: You question whether writing a message to someone in another's blood upon the floor is creepy?
Light: I suppose you have a point there L, but it was the only writing material I knew the man would have readily available.
Light: Creepy?
L: You question whether writing a message to someone in another's blood upon the floor is creepy?
Light: I suppose you have a point there L, but it was the only writing material I knew the man would have readily available.
*Bob pokes his finger to write "SEE YOU SOON BART" in blood. He then whips out a sheet of paper and starts writing with his bloody finger.*
Bob: *Narrating aloud* Dear "Life in these United States", a funny thing happened to me...uh...*[faints]*
Snake: Use a pen, Sideshow Bob!
Bob: *Narrating aloud* Dear "Life in these United States", a funny thing happened to me...uh...*[faints]*
Snake: Use a pen, Sideshow Bob!
Aziz: (looking at a pile of corpses) Man, we really need to get a marker board or something. This is gettin out of hand.
Ah, good old Subject 16. He repainted my room you know... with his blood.
— Desmond Miles, Assassin's Creed II
The Nostalgia Critic: Yeah, that was a weird request in [Ma-Ti's] will.
Film Brain: Which you wrote.
Critic: He would have wanted it that way.
Film Brain: After his death.
Critic: As I had to.
Film Brain: In his blood.
Critic: Well, if you'd had a pen...
Film Brain: Which you wrote.
Critic: He would have wanted it that way.
Film Brain: After his death.
Critic: As I had to.
Film Brain: In his blood.
Critic: Well, if you'd had a pen...
"I've never seen something written in blood before... It really was her final message... It's as if she wrote it with life itself."
— Makoto Naegi, Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
"The killer, who was suspiciously gray and naked, broke in and stabbed her, but was too stupid to realize that she was writing his goddamn name in her own blood."
Oh, you might be wondering about the color change! My pen ran out of ink yesterday. But I can still write. There seems to be red ink dripping from my right hand now. But it hurts.
Graffiti in photo: Please refrain from indiscriminately attacking civilians in Hellion’s territory. Thank you.
Viper: Okay? So he...?
Imp: Did exactly what I told him to do. Kill the rat guy, and make a message out of him so people don’t follow his example. Interesting font wouldn’t you say?
Viper: [looks closer at photo] Oh ew!
Imp: Yeah. I’m actually kinda impressed at how straight the lines are. He used every part of the buffalo.
Viper: Okay? So he...?
Imp: Did exactly what I told him to do. Kill the rat guy, and make a message out of him so people don’t follow his example. Interesting font wouldn’t you say?
Viper: [looks closer at photo] Oh ew!
Imp: Yeah. I’m actually kinda impressed at how straight the lines are. He used every part of the buffalo.
— Super Minion, on Tofu's handiwork.
"A tiny drop of blood! Blood makes a quite extraordinary ink!"
—Mephisto, Faust
Her face went ashen.
She reached for the envelope with a trembling hand, taking quick note of the Chinese postmark, and tore it open before she could think twice about it.
The letter was brief of necessity — written, she knew from personal experience, with the author's own blood. Her eyes took in the kanji; the meticulously painted characters, once bright, gleaming red as the brush swept across the pale parchment, now rust brown.
She reached for the envelope with a trembling hand, taking quick note of the Chinese postmark, and tore it open before she could think twice about it.
The letter was brief of necessity — written, she knew from personal experience, with the author's own blood. Her eyes took in the kanji; the meticulously painted characters, once bright, gleaming red as the brush swept across the pale parchment, now rust brown.
Ernie: "You see, I used all the chocolate pudding to write the list. Mmm, this is the most delicious shopping list I ever wrote!"
Bert: "He's improving; the last time, he used spaghetti sauce."
Interviewer: Let's start from the beginning. How did you escape from that cell?
Jesse Fox: Piece of cake. I just had to write a note.
Interviewer: A note? Where did you get the paper from?
Jesse: I used toilet paper.
Interviewer: I see. And how did you find a pen?
Jesse: A pen? I was in a dirty grimy cell, not in an office. I wrote the note with a rusty wire, using my own blood as ink.
Jesse Fox: Piece of cake. I just had to write a note.
Interviewer: A note? Where did you get the paper from?
Jesse: I used toilet paper.
Interviewer: I see. And how did you find a pen?
Jesse: A pen? I was in a dirty grimy cell, not in an office. I wrote the note with a rusty wire, using my own blood as ink.
— UnMetal
Some words are spelt correctly only when the proper ink is used.
— A Red Secret, Cultist Simulator
