#i know a lot of large black corvids look the same

[borninwinter81]

You ever get the feeling that sometimes the universe thinks the time is right for a specific project?

Earlier this week, heavily inspired both by @rattusrattus3 and their collage box youtube tutorial, and the gorgeous corvid boxes posted by @korva-the-raven, I decided to make something similar myself. THE DAY AFTER that decision was made I found this wooden chocolate box in a charity shop for £1.99. It could not be more perfect for purpose.

I had been thinking the collage part would be difficult as I "don't really keep interesting bits of paper." As it turns out, the hell I don't.

That same evening I found this stash in my old art folder. I thought all I had in there were a couple of greetings cards.

Of particular use were the William Blake and Exploring the Gothic art exhibition guides. These are both really high quality prints and contain some gorgeous artwork. Thankfully I have a paper guillotine so I could cut out the pictures really neatly.

This is what I ended up with. I could make several boxes just from these!

Korva's boxes have individual compartments made out of matchboxes which are also decorated. I don't have any matchboxes, but then I recalled that I know how to make an origami box - I had a friend in school who was Japanese and her mother taught me. So, what if I was able to find some nice paper and make small boxes to go inside? Again, the universe provided...

These are from a pad of scrapbooking paper, 24 double sided sheets, 30x30cm (12x12 inches) for £4. Very thick and high quality and excellent for making sturdy boxes that are fit for this purpose. I didn't love all of it but these designs are beautiful, and I will have more than enough for this project and tons left for the future 😁

I thought to save it looking too "busy" I would just use one plain colour and one floral. Since the internal boxes need to be quite small I thought a smaller print would work best, and paired that with a plain purple. I used the guillotine again to cut the paper into squares that were the right size (after a trial run with some cartridge paper to make sure they would fit) and...

This box is super easy to do, probably why I still remember how to make it after being taught at the age of 5! Here's a tutorial.

Meanwhile the outer box got a couple of coats of black acrylic paint.

Then it was time to decide how to arrange my collage pieces. I quickly came up with this for the inside (Edgar Allan Poe themed, the large picture is an illustration to "The Raven" which is super appropriate for a corvid box, and the small one in the top right has lines from the poem "Lenore"). I'm still unsure about whether I will also do the base as its going to be covered most of the time anyway. I may just line it with more of the floral paper.

The outside was harder, but I've gone with some anatomical drawings, plus a couple of space-fillers which look pretty.

The edges are a little narrow so I'm not going to collage those for now, but I might see if any of the charms from my shiny things box would look good glued onto the sides instead.

Unfortunately I can't finish it just yet, as the only thing I haven't been able to get is modge podge - every shop I went into said "we used to have that but don't stock it anymore". So I ordered some online and I should have it within a few days.

Then all I'll need to do is decide how I want to fill it, I have lots of items to choose from 😁

Huge thanks to those who inspired this, it has been a project that I've absolutely loved, and I'm going to be on the lookout for more nice boxes so I can make another, I still have plenty of supplies!

[laur-rants]

Anon: Okay but WHO ARE YOU?? WHY ANONYMOUS. I’m so glad your prompt so long ago was made into a fantastic fic. I want to know who you are, or if the author is on tumblr so I can tag them in all the Eyes Turned Skyward doodles.

Other than that, you guys are welcome! Crows are just really easy to draw; they have Basic Bird Body Plan #1 so there isnt a lot to worry about, lmao. Makes for great warm up practice sketching as well!

[aqua2fana]

Gotham Rogues Daemon Headcanons no one asked for

Because I haven’t seen anyone do this yet

Sorry this is sooooo long

Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin): An Adelie Penguin named Ottoline. The name Ottoline sounds very upperclass and means prosperity, riches, and wealth. Okay, so obviously giving Oswald a penguin sounds like a lazy pick but I actually can’t think of anything that suits him more. Penguin was born with defects that made him look different from everyone else, he would have been ridiculed throughout his childhood and people probably wouldn’t expect him to be capable of much. Yet, he built a criminal empire in Gotham city. Penguins are loud, awkward, ungraceful and flightless but they are also highly specialized to not just survive but thrive in an extremely inhospitable environment. Also despite being built like a bowling pin, penguins are still some of the best dressed birds out there which is something I feel like Oswald does to compensate for the defects others would shame him for. Penguins are durable bastards who wear tuxedos and since daemons settle in the teen years I think Penguins persona would have been built around his daemons settling as he fully embraced the symbolism behind it.

Edward Nygma (Riddler): A Fennec Fox named Ataro. The name Ataro means puzzle or upside down and also sounds like the word Atari which is the name of a game console and also comes from the Japanese word for checkmate. Foxes are sly, cunning, charming, and intelligent tricksters. Which is exactly what Riddler is. I thought a Fennec Fox would be more suitable because they are small and social with these enormous ears and I just thought that was right. I know Riddler works alone most of the time but I also think he’s capable of being gossipy and Fennecs strike me as foxes incapable of keeping a secret which is a very riddler trait because he leaves riddles that often lead to his capture.

Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow): A Raven named Malvolia. Malvolia is the feminine version of Malvolio and it literally means “ill will”. A Raven not a Crow. Corvids are very intelligent birds that are also regarded death omens and are present in horror stories and myths around the world. They are very resourceful and also often portrayed as trickster spirits in fables. What else could crane be? I specify that Mal is a Raven because I honestly like the idea of Jon having this large corvid that can make sounds like a garbage disposal that people mistake for a crow.

Selina Kyle (Catwoman): A Black Devon Rex Cat named Rakesh. Selina is a name relating to the moon so I decided to give her daemon a name relating to the moon as well. Rakesh means “lord of the full moon”. Selina is playful, sneaky and narcissistic but too aloof to have a wild cat as a daemon which is why I decided Rakesh would be domestic. I wanted something that looked a lot like a Sphinx cat because they are very playful and like a lot of attention but I also wanted the breed I picked to have fur because I think Selina is somewhat vain and her daemon would reflect that. The Devon Rex has a personality and temperament similar to Sphinx cats but they also have a very short and wavy coat and I always think of Selina as the type to have a pixie cut so it just seemed fitting. Of course he would be a black cat.

Pamela Isley (Poison Ivy): A Tarantula Hawk Wasp named Viridius. Viridius is a name that derives from the Roman word veridis meaning Green. Viridius is also thought to be the name of a pagan god of ancient Roman Britain that in modern day times is called the Green Man. I imagine people with wasp daemons to be protective, defensive, hardworking and with high standards for themselves and others. Wasps are very protective and defensive of their hive in the same way Ivy is of her plants, wasps are devoted to their cause and have a vicious sting. I also assume they would have something slightly seductive about them because of the beauty stereotype of having a “wasp waist”. Tarantula Hawks have beautiful iridescent blue bodies and orange wings, they are non aggressive unless you mess with them first and have one of the worst stings of the animal kingdom with excruciating pain lasting up to 5 minutes. Daemons are just physical representations of the human soul so I don’t think typical sexual dimorphism is always the rule which is why I think that despite being male Veridius would have a stinger.

Harleen Quinzel (Harley Quinn): A Sparrow named Lysander. Lysander means “liberator” which in light of the progression of Harley’s character I found fitting. I also chose it because it sounds like it could be the name of a male love interest in a romance novel. Sparrows are songbirds that don’t look like much and are probably pretty common but they are also very empathetic and known for taking care of babies that aren’t their own as well as being very devoted to their loved ones. Harley is someone who studied to be a therapist out of a genuine desire to help others and was even capable of empathizing with the joker. She is also someone who is clearly driven by an obsessive love and devotion to the people she cares for. I also think that Harley is often underestimated and her having a sparrow would reflect that perfectly.

Joker: An Albino White Rat named Hilaria. Hilaria is a name of Greek origin that means cheerful. The name is derived from the same Latin root word as the English word hilarious. It was too good to pass up. Originally, I was going to give Joker a viper of some kind or maybe a spitting cobra as a reference to his acid spitting flower pin in the cartoons but daemons settle in adolescence and I think the joker was a very different person before his chemical bath. I think the original joker would have been intelligent and resourceful but also more meek and easily peer pressured. A prey animal as opposed to a snake. I think Hilaria would be an albino rat as a reference to lab rats and as a reference to the red eyes one of his cartoon designs had. Joker is unpredictable so I think it’s fitting that his daemon would be a prey animal when everyone is expecting a predator. Also, when rats are happy they do this thing where their eyes pop out a little like they’re a squeaky toy which is just perfect. Hilaria would be a particularly vicious rat though.

Jervis Tetch (Mad Hatter): A Jerboa named Darlene. Darlene means “darling” but in some sources the meaning is also “innocent child,” I also like the way it reminds me of the word Darjeeling which is a kind of tea. Intelligent but delusional and a bit of a coward a small rodent would fit him perfectly and the mad hatter was known for associating with the dormouse. However, I wanted something like a mouse but more whimsical, more fantasy like, so a Jerboa it was.

Harvey Dent (Two Face): A Black Backed Jackal named Eurydice. Eurydice was the tree nymph that married the famous musician Orpheus in Greek mythology. She died and her husband tried to rescue her from the underworld but looked back at the last second condemning her to remain a ghost. Her name means “wide justice”. Wild dogs are rebellious, loyal, protective and capable hunters all of which are traits I think Harvey exhibited while he was a DA. I picked a Jackal because of their association with Anubis which is the Egyptian god of the dead who presided over the embalming process and placed the heart of the deceased on one side of the scale and a feather on the other so that they could be judged by Osiris. This is similar to what a DA does before a judge. I picked the black backed jackal to follow the duality theme he has going on which I thought should definitely be reflected in his soul since he has DID.

Victor Fries (Mr.Freeze): A Polar Bear named Idonea. Idonea is a Norse name that means “again,” “to love,” and “to renew nature”. It is also the name a Norse goddess associated with eternal youth. Freeze is driven first and foremost by a need to cure and save his wife but he is also vengeful. Bears are known for being large, protective, vengeful and effective hunters. Polar bears are even known for hunting humans on occasion and are one the most massive land predators on earth. I think Polar bears would be slightly more domineering than other bears which I think is also fitting for Freeze. There’s also the fact that a polar bear matches his aesthetic to a t.

Eduardo Dorrance (Bane): A Jaguar named Tvora. Tvora literally means “to break,” or “to fracture”. I think people who settled with wild cats would be strong willed, driven, passionate, and powerful individuals. Jaguars are one of the strongest hunters in the world and they kill their prey by sinking their teeth directly into their targets skull. This method of killing is quick, brutal, and efficient in a way that I think translates well into Banes execution of his plans. Growing up in prison made it more likely for him to settle as something large.

Waylon Jones (Killer Croc): A Nile Crocodile named Jessamine. Jessamine means jasmine flower. Jasmine is known for its soothing properties and considering Crocs past I felt like his daemon should have a very non threatening southern belle kind of name. I also just like the idea of calling an enormous crocodile Jess. Another very obvious lazy looking pick but I think the crocodile symbolizes Waylon very well. In most of his stories he is portrayed as a sympathetic character mocked for a rare defect that makes him look like a crocodile, he is someone who can actually be very kind but is treated as a monster and behaves like one because of his cruel treatment. However, in some stories Croc is actually a very patient, cold and calculating gang leader. I think a crocodile is a median between both of these because while crocodiles can be aggressive and of course very patient and while people with reptile daemons are stereotypically cold, crocodiles are also just large lizards who want to be left alone and prefer not to have to fight anyone because they would rather be asleep, crocodiles just crave warmth. I think the symbolism of Waylon having a fuck off huge Nile crocodile with a name as sweet sounding as Jessamine is just perfect.

Victor Zsasz (Zsasz): A Warthog named Boudica. Boudica means victory and is the name of a 1st century Celtic warrior queen of the Icendi tribe who rebelled against the Romans. Okay, so I know Zsasz is a serial killer and everyone would probably expect a very aggressive animal but Zsasz doesn’t kill for malicious and wrathful reasons. Zsasz was a rich and sociable dude who gambled all his money away and adopted a depressive idea of nihilism where he thinks he needs to save everyone from the meaninglessness of life by killing them. This is someone who has the delusion he is helping people. Which is why I think he would settle as something naturally non aggressive but scary looking. Pigs are smart, stubborn, and don’t care what you think of them. Warthogs in particular are rather amiable and hardy herbivores that just look scary due to their long tusks. I think this is fitting because it’s symbolic of the way people would mistake Zsasz’s violence as intentionally malicious and sadistic but Zsasz truly believes he is being benevolent and merciful to the people he kills.

FYI: if anyone wants to use these for anything feel free

[goldenchocobo]

This was a long time coming. Wall Market Daemons!

I’ve put Johnny here with them, since Wall-market is where you interact with him the most.

I started with Andrea, then found that Sam also had a bird, and felt compelled to complete the trio with birds- so Madam M has a Widowbird.

I may have over-sized Andrea’s Daemon, since I couldn’t find anyone interacting with one or a bird that was near something familiar for scale. Wikipedia has them at 33cm; but as someone who can’t really imagine sizes unless it’s given visually- I did my best to estimate his size.

I’m not entirely sure how many there’s left to do- and what characters to include. I still have some written down- such as Chadly, Marle and Mayor Domino, but I don’t know who else to include and to what extent the characters were involved in the story. It’s just something I’ll have to think about.

As par usual- more information of their Daemons under the Keep Reading

Chocobo Sam

Daemon: Blue Jay Daemon Name: Sole Looks: A slightly drab blue, old looking bird.

Sole is a skeptical bird who is slow to trust, and even slower to give any answers to anyone. She likes to stay in her own lane- so to speak.

Symbology: Blue jays are part of the corvid family- the same family as crows and ravens, making blue jays smart and resourceful. Blue Jays don’t live in communal roosts like other corvids, and thus only trust a select few, being soft to some, but harsh to most. Her name means ‘sun’

--

Andrea

Daemon: Western Parotia Daemon Name: Ademaro Looks: A mostly black and unassuming bird until he dances and shows his true colours and skills.

Equally as hard working as Andrea himself, Ademaro helps push Andrea to perfection, and often gets overly excited when they both plan their choreography together.

Symbology: Parotias are birds of paradise that are famous for their unique dances. However, the Western Parotia takes it a step further by practicing multiple dances day and night, and making sure their lek (stage) is tidy and their feathers primed and pruned for a magnificent performance. Ademaro is an Italian version of the Germanic name, Audamar, which means ‘Wealth and fame’.

--

Madam M

Daemon: Jackson’s Widowbird Daemon Name: Ritsu Looks: an almost entirely black bird, save for the gold shoulder feathers and grey beak

He doesn’t talk much, but his eyes are always judging others and their abilities. He tends to stay perched on Madam M’s hand, but flutters around her when she’s agitated.

Symbology: Widowbirds of Africa are exotic-looking with their long, fanning tail that drapes after them like a cloak. The Jackson’s Widowbird is a small species that competes fiercely with its rivals, with their tails splayed out in a fan-like shape. Ritsu means a lot of things, I’ve chosen Ritsu for it’s meaning of ‘Law’, as Madam M is strict and no-nonsense.

--

Corneo

Daemon: Common Toad Daemon Name: Rhiannon Looks: A dirty brown toad with a bright light yellow belly.

Her and Corneo are one of the same, as she cares little for anything but wealth and pleasure, putting others down and treading on them if that’s what it takes to get what she wants.

Symbology: Toads are usually portrayed as gross and slimy. They are also self-serving and care little for others, only taking note of other toads to fight them or breed. Rhiannon is an old Celtic name that means ‘Queen’ or ‘Royalty’.

--

Leslie

Daemon: Long-legged Buzzard Daemon Name: Holly Looks: An unassuming drab-brown bird with yellow legs and beak with golden eyes.

While she may have a serious and mean look to her, she simply doesn’t open up to anyone. However she does have an air of forlorn around her.

Symbology: Long-Legged buzzards are birds of opportunity- if they see one, they will take it, even if it’s for the long term. They’re also dedicated creatures, sticking to one thing until it’s seen through. Not to say they are self-serving, but they are ample negotiators, having to sometimes work in pairs or groups to hunt for prey. Lesie’s name is derived from the Scottish Gaelic for ‘Holly Garden’ (lois Cruilann)

--

Johnny

Daemon: Chihuahua Daemon Name: Echo Looks: A smooth-coated pale cream dog with large eyes.

Echo has a penchant for talking ears off of other Daemons, as well as constantly chittering to Johnny. If something startles or annoys her, she will also often yap at it all the while hiding behind Johnny’s legs.

Symbology: While their barks all chihuahuas have, it’s a loud and annoying one and could get them into trouble if they bark up the wrong tree. They don’t mean any ill-will, though and are just looking out for themselves or the very few they like and trust. Echo is one of the Greek nymphs cursed by Hera to only repeat what others said to her. She loved a Greek man, Narcissus, but her love was not returned and so she despaired.

[crimeronan]

no supernatural au concept i haven’t been able to stop thinking about since considering ronan and opal were once the same age

the lynch family has a reputation.  partly it’s because they’re fucking weird, but let’s be real -- every rural town has its share of characters.  weird farmers are par for the course.  if the lynch family just kept to themselves at the barns, no one would know they existed.  however niall lynch is a swaggering larger-than-life storybook hero who loves attention and scandal, so: the lynch family has a reputation

by and large, the household is made up of known entities.  niall, the irishman who never shuts the fuck up.  aurora, the quiet beautiful wife with the bizarrely gorgeous beadwork at craft fairs. declan, the eldest son who’s got one foot in DC and won’t ever look back when he gets there.  matthew, the youngest boy with the enthusiasm and adoration and intellectual prowess of a golden retriever puppy

however.  the lynch twins are largely folkloric

it’s not just that they never seem to appear in public.  it’s that there are a dozen decade-old stories told by knitting folks on their porches that cannot POSSIBLY all be true, including:

the lynch twins set fire to the post office

the lynch twins stole four pallets of soda from the back of a truck unloading at the henrietta general store and drank all the evidence

the lynch twins lured a man into the woods and stabbed him in the leg

the lynch twins helped the local vet’s office coordinate 30 TNR procedures because they’ve befriended a colony of feral cats

the lynch twins trained a rotating cast of corvids to shit on the mayor when he leaves his office every evening

the lynch twins were banned from three local churches after incidents involving a statue of mary, stained glass worth several thousand dollars, and the preacher’s microphone respectively

adam doesn’t give much of a shit about local gossip but has gleaned quite a bit of it when being deferential and polite to middle-aged women at the dollar store.  it takes him a month of attending aglionby to put together that ronan and declan are siblings (they look unbelievably alike, but their body language and speech are SO different) and another week after that to realize ronan’s one-half of the unidentified lynch family variables

“isn’t there another one of him?” adam blurts

declan looks up and blinks, nonplussed rather than smooth for once in his life.  “excuse me?”

adam’s eating lunch and has ended up at a table with declan not because of friendliness, but because declan’s taking a break from his roving cast of intransient social interactions to work on college apps and adam’s getting a head start on homework.  neither is here to make friends.  adam nods across the room at ronan, who appears to be constructing a fully landscaped mountain sculpture out of french fries

declan says “god, i wish” as ronan upends a bottle of ketchup over the fries and causes a volcanic eruption that obliterates everything in the lunch table’s path

that tells adam absolutely nothing but also he doesn’t really care.  later, when he and gansey are friends, and he’s no closer to understanding ronan but much more actively annoyed by him, he asks gansey the same thing

“oh, his sister!” gansey says, and beams.  this at least explains why she doesn’t go to aglionby.  “she’s great.  she’s taught me a lot about what plants want to kill you”

adam can’t decide what to make of this.  once upon a time he’d think that the affection of someone like gansey predisposed the mysterious lynch sister toward being like declan, but it turns out gansey reserves that ebullient expression for losers like him and ronan and noah alone, so.  more data necessary

it’s important to note that this isn’t like, occupying a huge part of adam’s mind.  it’s just idle querying because he likes knowing things.  to that end, he asks ronan once if he’d ever met ronan’s sister when adam attended the public junior high.  they’d be in the same grade, right??

ronan gets weird and evasive with some response about how she homeschools with his mom, and adam’s like okay, some religious cult thing with the women running the farm. whatever. not my issue

adam and ronan get slowly closer over time, etcetc, you know how it goes.  eventually adam's invited to the barns.  his first few visits are normal.  suspiciously normal.  aurora is loving and gentle in a way that makes adam skittish - probably more due to his own issues than any Actual malevolence, but who knows - and there is zero mention or sign of a girl living there

it doesn’t Really bother adam, but it kind of bothers him.  less because he’s dying to meet her and more because equations that don’t add up make him nervous.  his running list of theories include 1) she doesn’t exist 2) she’s dead 3) she’s at some elite boarding school for girls in connecticut 4) she’s an emancipated minor 5) she’s not an emancipated minor but has run away anyway 6) she’s a fugitive from justice 7) she’s in prison 8) she’s dead but, like, worse this time

adam carefully and subtly raises his concerns to ronan by asking, “so is your sister being tortured in your attic or what?”

ronan, reasonably, is like, “the fuck?”

adam’s like, “look, all i’m saying is that when a twin goes missing in a story and no one seems to care, something sinister’s afoot.  that’s all i’m saying here.”

ronan’s like, “say the word ‘afoot’ again.  you sound like gansey.  come on”

he takes adam out for a walk in the woods, which seems like a pretty murdery way to respond.  adam, uncomfortably aware of that rumor about luring people to the woods and stabbing them in the leg, is like okay i’m about to die here.  i’ve uncovered a lifetime movie plot and now i’m gonna be buried in unmarked barrel #457.  what a way to go

this is pretty much confirmed when he gets attacked

he hits the ground before he’s really registered anything beyond a surprise impact.  it drives the breath out of his lungs. he flips onto his back right away.  ronan’s got half a foot of height on him and stupidly long legs so a sprinting escape doesn’t seem viable.  he’s gonna have to rely on the old-fashioned power of fingernails and kicking

he has time to see a pair of blown-pupil eyes WAY too close to his face before the weight disappears from him.  the culprit is a girl, late teens, with hair that’s probably blonder when the matted dirt is washed out of it.  “for fuck’s fucking sake,” ronan is saying, hauling her to her feet and blessedly away from adam’s vulnerable internal organs, “why. WHY.”

“holy shit.”  adam sits up, clutching his chest.  he can feel every bone in his body.  “god. god. god”

the girl is almost as tall as ronan.  she’s dressed in some kind of baggy coverall-ish getup that might once have been an army parachute.  she is not wearing any shoes.  there’s some blood on her face from a recently-opened scab, and also a black speck on one cheek that adam thinks is a smashed fly

“you didn’t jump gansey!” ronan is saying, extremely exasperated.  “why!”

“i didn’t have my hammock yet when gansey first came,” she says.  she does not sound remotely sorry

adam looks up and discovers that there is in fact a hammock stretched between the trees.  it’s one of those heavy-duty camping numbers with thick canvas and a full insect net.  it’s also thirty feet in the air.  there are branches on the way down, but they are very precariously spaced.  adam does not want to know how she parkoured to leap onto his shoulders

“when you snap someone’s neck,” ronan says, “i’m not helping you hide the body”

“who says i haven’t already?”

“the fuck? and you didn’t ask me to help hide the body?”

she darts a few feet away and pulls herself into a tree.  adam watches with slight fascination as she shimmies out along a long branch until it dips under her weight.  as he gets to his feet, trying to piece together his wilted dignity, she rides her makeshift nature elevator down until she’s staring into his eyes again.  hugging the branch like a snake.  absolutely no consideration for how normal human beings behave. it’s almost marvelous

“sufficiently free of my attic, parrish?” ronan asks

“uh, yeah. yep”

“so this is opal,” ronan says

opal flips over so she’s hanging from the branch like a sloth.  then hooks her legs around it and reaches down until her palms are flat on the ground.  cartwheels out of the tree like a particularly feral acrobat.  adam jerks back to avoid being smacked by a faceful of twigs at the whipcrack slingshot of the branch bouncing back

opal pulls a pocketknife from one of the folds in the DIY parachute sewing machine tick protection onepiece from hell.  adam eyes her warily

“opal, this is parrish. or adam. whichever. don’t stab him”

“god,” adam says again

opal beams.  she opens the pocketknife, but all she does is start cleaning bits of plaque from between her teeth with the tip, which is somehow so much worse than stabbing.  adam looks at ronan and finds him pinching the bridge of his nose.  it occurs to adam that this is the only time he’s EVER seen ronan express any sense of embarrassment in any social situation.  ronan has no sense of propriety.  adam didn’t know he was capable of feeling embarrassed

he immediately likes opal just for that.

“yes,” opal says, unconcerned, answering a question no one’s actually asked.  “ronan is the normal one”

[shadowjack12345]

Old Dogs

I promise I’m working on the (long overdue) next part of Three’s Company, but I needed to get this idea out before I carried on with it.

The old man watched the world go by from his preferred spot in the park. They had replaced his favourite bench years ago, the one in which he'd carved his name all when he was young, and the smooth, artificial surface was impervious to something as mundane as a penknife. He watched as the people milled around - some things never changed - in an array of hues and races he would never have considered possible. At this point, Earth was a full participant in wider interstellar politics, meaning humans spread out into the universe, and the universe came to Earth. Blue, red, pink, purple, orange. Aliens were so common here now that no-one paid them much mind, and no-one gave a second thought to a green-skinned old man on a park bench.

The air shuddered. His pointed ears twitched, still more sensitive than most even when dulled by time. Some things never changed. Villains still plotted. Heroes still fought to stop them. He turned his left hand up and the device around his wrist projected an image of the local news above his palm. This was a new guy who had already started to make a name for himself: Carnus. And he was a Red user, with skin to match - he had animal powers, which was especially irritating. Still, the local Titans were there already, and he let a little pride inflate his chest

.

There was the current Kid Flash. And the new Wonder Boy. And the newest Robin, a girl this time. Ah. And there was the man's Grandson, Crow. He watched as the boy enveloped himself in wings of black energy before charging at their enemy. It was an old, familiar dance, and he waited for the familiar ending. But it didn't happen that way. To the man's clear distress, Carnus quickly and savagely tore into the Titans and batted them aside, shifting into one form after another, all carnivores.

"Oh sprak," a young woman said as she plopped down on the bench beside him, staring at the same footage in her own hand. "The Titans are getting scorched! They need backup or something," she muttered. This was a terrible idea. It was an objectively terrible idea. It couldn't possibly end well.

"They need backup," the man said to himself.

"You say something?" said the young woman, still watching. She looked around when no answer came. "Hello?" She heard the beat of feathered wings.

"The much-vaunted Titans. Ha!" Carnus spat. "You're no match for the power of the Red, and I am its champion, Carnus!" He stood, laughing, gloating over his fallen enemies. Only when his own died down did he realise someone was laughing along with him. He turned and saw a withered, green old man, his fingers on the pulse in Crow's neck.

"You think you're the champion of the Red?" the man asked, pushing himself to his feet with both hands on his cane. "Now that's funny."

"Foolish old man," Carnus growled before shifting into a panther and lunging forward. The old man, to Carnus' amazement, shrank into a hummingbird and darted aside while Carnus' jaws clamped around the cane. The bird flew above him and morphed into a hippo, which crashed down on Carnus. The hippo became a bird again which hopped away and shifted into a tired old man, hands on his knees as he breathed heavily. Carnus took his human shape.

"You're a Red user... You're the Changeling!" he snarled.

"Took you long enough," Changeling chuckled.

"You are old and weak and stupid," Carnus barked.

"Hey! I am two of those things at most," Changeling griped.

"Enough! Your time is over. Your death will signal the beginning of my time, the time of Carnus!"

"You, uh...  you really like your name, huh," Changeling drawled.

"Show me your power! Show the world you are no match for Carnus!" With that Carnus shifted and grew. And grew. And grew. He took the form of some alien creature, a biped with thick, grasping arms that stood as tall as most of the buildings around them. Changeling sighed.

"If you were my student, I'd remind you that power or strength isn't the key to victory unless it's wielded with equal skill,"

"I am no student!" Carnus thundered, the creature's voice booming.

"No. But I can still teach you something." Suddenly, Changeling started to shift. And grow. Green poured out of him, it spilled into the sky above and grew so its shadow encompassed the entire city. Then it kept growing.

Aboard the Justice League satellite, alarms blared and beeped as the fight in Jump City raged on. The woman on watch, semi-retired in her mid to late fifties, was known as Corvid, and she watched in open-mouthed horror as a creature appeared and grew so large as to block her view of the entire City, only to keep growing.

"What is it?" she heard. The current Batman was next to her, and his voice made Corvid jump.

"I'll try and find out," she said. She closed her eyes and let her empathic senses reach toward the creature, trying to sense its motive, where it had come from, how it... "Oh. Oh no," she said, her voice trembling.

"Corvid? What is it?" Batman asked. His eyes widened a little when Corvid turned to face him with very uncharacteristic tears in her eyes.

"It's my father."

The Carnus creature looked up at his foe, some sort of massive insectoid creature, with a long, segmented body that seemed to reach the clouds. Multiple legs were folded under its belly, and great, transparent wings rested along its back. It blotted out the sun. With a low, distant, indecipherable rumble, electric arcs coruscated across the giants eyes, and a jagged bolt of lightning cracked the sky, striking Carnus in the chest. With a cry, he fell backward and shrank back down to himself, smoking and defeated. The giant blurred and shifted, and its entire form poured itself into the shape of an exhausted old man who stood just in front of the injured Carnus. When the shift was complete, he fell to his knees and winced at the pain.

"The Red is a power that can't belong to someone like you. The world can't afford it," he gasped. Carnus looked up, shaking his head weakly.

"You... you wouldn't kill me," he said, without much certainty.

"No, I wouldn't. But I can't let you keep it," Changeling said. Carnus tried to sit up but barely moved.

"You can't do that," he whimpered. "No one can, not even the Red's champion." Changeling smirked.

"Want to see a trick my wife taught me?" he said. He shuffled a little closer and clamped his hands on either side of Carnus' head, leaning down to stare into his eyes.

"Please..." Carnus whimpered. Changeling looked regretful, but didn't remove his hands. His eyes started to glow and Carnus squirmed feebly.

"Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos." Carnus' body was suffused with red light and Changeling released him, sitting back as the light coalesced above them. When the flow from Carnus stopped, Changeling raised his hands and the energy rushed into him. There was a lot, Carnus' connection to the Red had been strong and profound, but to be honest, compared to the vast energies the Red had poured into him over the years, Changeling barely felt the difference. He leaned to one side, his hand on the ground. He leaned a little more and let his body lie down. The sound of Carnus crying sounded muffled. He blinked up at the sky  as dark shapes appeared in it, too blurry for him to identify...

Garfield Logan woke up in bed. Not his own. Last he remembered, his wasn't surrounded by so much medical equipment. And his head felt like a bass drum after a concert.

"That was very dangerous, you know," he heard. His heart swelled and he grinned. Corvid. Rachel.

"Hey, pumpkin," he said. Corvid sighed but failed to hide her own smile. Crow was stood behind her. "Hey, pumpkin junior." He waved.

"Hi grandpa," he said shyly. "Um. Thanks. For saving me and my friends."

"You're welcome, kid. Now unless there's something medical stopping you, you better give me a hug," Changeling laughed. With another, less shy, smile, Crow stepped closer and leaned down to hug his grandfather, who hugged him back. "Oh, that's a good one. Good thing I'm already in a hospital bed seeing as you probably just cracked all my ribs." Crow shook his head and laughed. Even at 17 years old, he couldn't resist his grandpa's dumb jokes.

"I uh, I healed you up best I could," Crow said. Changeling looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You got your healing working? That's great!" he cheered. Crow flushed a little under the praise.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. Anyway, you'll be sore for a while but you didn't actually have any injuries apart from some scrapes on your knees. You were mainly just worn out. Sorry I couldn't do more."

"You did plenty. Thanks. Your friends all okay?" Changeling asked.

"Yeah. I healed them too, a little. It still takes it outta me," Crow admitted.

"You'll get used to it. You'll do fine," Changeling assured him. Crow opened his mouth to speak again but Corvid spoke first.

"Crow, would you please give us a moment?" she said.

"Uh, oh, guess who's in trouble," Changeling stage-whispered. Crow snickered for a moment before seeing his mother's face and leaving quickly. "What's up, pumpkin?"

"You know you aren't supposed to use your powers any more. The doctor said-"

"I know, pumpkin. I know. I decided it was worth the risk," Changeling interrupted. Corvid shook her head.

"If Mom was still here-"

"If your Mom was still here, she would have beaten me to it and you know it," he laughed. Corvid let herself smile.

"Yeah. Yes, I suppose you're right," she admitted. "Thank you. Thank you for saving my son."

"Any time," Changleling answered, more seriously but still smiling. Corvid pushed some of his thin hair back from his forehead.

"Still a hero, huh? Mom would be proud," she said.

"Thanks, honey," Changeling said.

"I'll let you rest for now," Corvid said, stepping away. "Maybe... maybe you could spend some time with some of our recruits. We have a few Red users, and it seems like you still have new tricks to show off."

"I think I'd like that," he said quietly. When Corvid had left, he looked up toward the ceiling but didn't see it. "Sorry, Rae. I'm gonna keep you waiting a little longer - I think this old guy still has a little story left in him."

­END

[thecrimsondeck]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: RWBY Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi Characters: Qrow Branwen, Clover Ebi, Weiss Schnee Additional Tags: fairgameweek2020 Summary:

Professor Qrow Branwen had a crow imprint on him many years ago. Things didn't change much after that, until he met Professor Clover Ebi who had a kingfisher imprint on him. Some months later after the pair meet and become close, Callie, the crow, brings Qrow a feather.

------

In this world, birds would imprint on humans and assist them in finding their soulmates, in turn they would often find their own mates in the process. The humans would get markings of a feather their bird has which is how they learn when the bird imprints. How they understood when they found the soulmate of their human was unknown but it worked. The birds find their human’s soulmate in many different ways but sometimes they take longer then others.

Qrow Branwen was one of these cases. A crow had imprinted on him, the crow spent most of her time comforting him and being with him so he wasn’t alone that she hadn’t gotten much chance to be out and about. He had been through a lot in his life and the crow was a welcome addition to his life. He was a teacher and it was nice to have company to grade papers with.

Clover Ebi was another one of these cases. He had a kingfisher and the kingfisher had a bit of separation anxiety so she never got the chance to leave her human’s side. She herself only found her human because she got caught in some fishing net but luckily Clover found her and nursed her back to health. Recently he was hired as a teacher at the local academy of his new town he moved to. He’d met some cool teachers already and one he really liked but he was still adjusting to his move.

There was a loud croak from the closed window of the messy office. Professor Qrow Branwen jolted a bit at the sudden croak as realization came across his face. He forgot to open the window for his crow. In moments he was on his feet and opening the window. A large crow hopped in, she was much larger then normal with beady red eyes and a feather crest. In her beak there was a feather, it was small and a unique shade of blue. “Callie, what’s this?” Qrow asks as he takes the feather, it was quite small. The crow squawks and jumps, flapping her wings with excitement. “Wait, is this… Callie, did you find them?” She nods as she calms herself. It was odd for a bird to find a person with a different species of bird. “Are you sure?” She croaks, seeming offended. He took a moment to think, he thought he’d seen this feather before. It was someone on staff but he couldn’t place his finger on who.

“Morning, Qrow, I brought coffee,” a cheerful voice greets as they walked past the open door to their office. It was Clover Ebi, a semi new professor here but one Qrow had gotten quite close to in recent months. His thoughts were derailed by the sound of his voice and he spun on his heel, heading for the doorway. He stops as Clover pops out of his office holding a coffee cup from the place the pair often got their coffee from.

“Thank you,” he says with a small nod as he brings it to his lips. He needed this, he didn’t get much sleep last night, especially with Callie gone all night. Zephyr, Clover’s kingfisher, popped her head out of Clover’s chest pocket which brought a small smile to Qrow’s lips. “She’s gotten much less shy around me, huh?”

“She really has,” Clover muses as his eyes stay trained on Qrow, he was hopelessly in love with him but terrified to admit it. He ripped himself from his thoughts as Zephyr fully removed herself from the pocket and flew into the room. “She actually found my soulmate today. She brought me a black feather.”

“That’s funny, Callie did the same. It’s going to take some time to figure out which bird the feather belongs to but I guess I’m excited,” he says with a dry chuckle. Clover has been a main support in Qrow’s life lately and he had to admit there were feelings there. It was kind of painful to hear about the feather but then again he was a step closer to finding his own soulmate. Before he could ask more about the feather there was the sound of someone clearing their throat, it was Weiss Schnee.

“Professor Ebi, may I speak with you?” She asks. The professor nods and he flashes Qrow a smile before the two disappear into the office. He sighs and slumps against the doorframe as he looks into his office and finds Zephyr sitting on Callie’s back. He chuckles lightly as he leans forward a bit before pushing off the door frame and walking back to his chair. The little kingfisher stayed with him most of that day but when she left to go to her human’s office or classroom, Callie went with her. It was odd but Qrow thought nothing of it till his walk home.

Qrow walked with his hands in his pockets, Callie was soaring above him with just the wind carrying her, occasionally she’d flap her wings to keep her on course but otherwise just relaxed and enjoyed being in the air. He felt at peace as the sun set in the distance. He glanced up at his bird and smiled as she looked back down at him. He wondered what it felt like, to be above it all, what was it like to fly? He let his thoughts travel down that road until he realized that he was messing with the small blue feather. He pulled it out of his pocket and studied it a bit. He’s seen this feather before, or at least the color before. He was nearly home by now but he slowed his pace so he could continue to think. Realization hit, a kingfisher. He stopped in his tracks and Callie began to circle, a small questioning croak coming from her.

“Callie, is this Zephyr’s?” He asks looking up at his corvid. She lets out a loud caw as she circles and Qrow’s eyes widen. Of course, of course it was the person right in front of him, but what if Clover didn’t like him like that? What if he was disgusted to know Qrow was his soulmate? What if it wasn’t actually Zephyr’s? Just what if? Talons dug into his right shoulder and he was broken free of those thoughts as Callie stood on his shoulder and tapped her beak to his forehead. He dug through his mind for the address, he had spent the night a few times during finals week since Clover lives closer to campus while Qrow does not as well as a few other times when there were late nights spent at the school and Clover didn’t like the idea of Qrow walking so far when it was dark, or when they graded papers together. His crow took flight and Qrow ran after her.

It felt like hours before Qrow found himself in front of the apartment door. It was a dark green, it was a nice color that matched with the white walls of the hall and fitting for the man who lived in this apartment. Nerves overtook him as Callie sat on his shoulder impatiently. She kept him grounded, she also kept him from running since she had a habit of nipping his ear or hair when he did something he shouldn’t. He apparently took too long because the crow leaned forward and tapped on the door with her large beak.

The dark green door swings open and the familiar figure of Clover Ebi becomes visible, his normal friendly smile on his face. He was in grey sweatpants and a green tank top, his hair seemingly fresh from the shower yet perfectly styled, other then a few out of place strands here and there. “Qrow? Come on in,” he says moving out of the way and opening the door fully. Qrow gives a nervous smile as he walks in. Callie takes flight, loud croaks escaping her but she pauses to listen. A sharp call responds and she takes off down the hall. “Those two have really gotten close.” Qrow nods as he fidgets with the blue feather. “Something on your mind?”

“Y-yeah, you could say that,” Qrow says, it was an understatement to say he was nervous. He avoided eye contact as much as he could despite how he normally loved to stare into the other professor’s eyes.  

“Then let’s chat, come sit down,” Clover says, placing a hand on the others lower back and guiding him more into the familiar apartment and to the couch. The pair sit down, their knees touching as Clover sits facing Qrow with his left elbow resting on the back with his cheek against his fist. Qrow was sitting in the corner, tilted slightly towards Clover, with his hands still fidgeting with the feather as he stared at it. “This is a safe place, Qrow, you can share as much as you want but I really am worried about you right now.” His free hand was resting on the knee pressed with Qrow’s, he was tempted to rest it on the other’s knee but he didn’t want to push it with the physical contact.

“T-this,” he pauses to clear his throat, “is the feather Callie brought me this morning. I thought you might find it familiar.” He holds it out to the other who takes it carefully. He spins it slowly in front of his eyes and studies it.

“This is for sure a kingfisher feather,” he says, failing to hide the excitement and curiosity in his voice. The corners of Qrow’s mouth twitched upwards but he still had doubts.

“Is it Zephyr’s?” He manages to ask. Clover shrugs and whistles. The small bird flew into the room and was on her human’s thigh in seconds while the massive corvid landed carefully on her human’s head, which got a laugh from Clover. Qrow couldn’t hide the smile that blossomed when he heard the beautiful noise that was the other professor’s laugh.

“Hey, is this yours?” He asks holding the feather in front of the small kingfisher who seemed more interested in Callie. She looks at it, tilting her head before hopping forward and taking it. Clover stared at her in silence as Callie dropped down onto his other thigh and the two nuzzled beaks. He lifts his turquoise eyes to the beautiful crimson of the other’s. They both were speechless for a moment at the clear answer they were given. ”Hey, I guess I can ask you out on that date now.”

“You wanted to ask me out on a date?” Qrow asks, he could feel the heat rising to his face as he held eye contact.

“Y-yeah, nothing too fancy, just a simple before work coffee date at our coffee place,” he replies rubbing the back of his neck, his own face was quite flushed. “So will you join me tomorrow morning for coffee?”

“Of course,” Qrow replies smiling. He had met his soulmate and it turned out to be the man he hoped it would be. It seemed Qrow Branwen’s luck was finally changing.

[miss-writes-a-lot]

Fair Game Babies: The One Where Raven Turns Into a Bird And Shouts At Another Kid

(Decided to write a fair game baby fic with my little guys. This one is where Briar meets Raven in the woods.)

Fandom: RWBY

Ship: Fair game/ Qrow x Clover

Summary: the young Branwen twin Briar encounters a strange woman in the woods of Patch who mocks her family. A screaming match ensues.

WARNINGS: Violence (most against a child.), some threatening of a child, mild cursing, and overall, it sucks.

--------

Briar was prone to getting lost. A lot.

Whether it was in a supermarket, or a school field trip three cities over, if she wasn't holding onto someone's hand, she most likely bound to get lost.

Patch was really the only exception. It was a small island and she pretty much knew everyone there, so the chances she would get lost somewhere unreachable would be slim when she was out exploring.

On this particular visit to her cousin's house, she went out exploring in woods behind their house-something she had done a million times both with her brother and on her own.

She was using a random stick that she had found to poke around at the various mushrooms she discovered growing on the sides of trees.

"Come on, do something! Explode, turn me into a zombie, anything!" She mumbled, whacking this one particular blue mushroom with a weird spotted pattern.

"Is this really it?"

Briar whipped around at the sudden voice of a woman. She searched the trees, but no one was there.

"H-hello...?"

"I really can't believe that this is it..."

Up above, a corvid landed on a branch on the same tree that Briar was stood under. Briar was still lost. "A....bird?"

"I'm not surprised that my brother would raise such a weakling."

She jumped back in surprised. The bird was talking!

"W-who are you?!"

"Look at you. You're just like your father. A scared, weak, blind little kid that will eat from whatever hand will feed it." The bird snarled.

"How do...how do know my dad? Why are you saying such mean things about him...?" She asked, her cluelessness shining through.

The bird scoffed, "Are you that stupid?! Has that idiot really made you so soft?! Open your eyes, kid! Your father is a failure! He's a traitor!"

Briar balled her fists, feeling her blood boil. "S-stop it..."

"He married a fool. He married a soldier who blindly followed orders and look where it got them. He had two kids that can't tell their own heads from FUCKING holes in the ground!"

She shook her head, covering her ears. "N-no! You're a liar! You don't know my dads! They're the best! And you have no right to talk about them like that! You don't even know my dads! Or my brother!"

"Believe me kid, I know a lot more about Qrow than you ever will!"

Briar picked up the stick and threw it at the bird, knocking her out of the tree. "YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A NO GOOD GRIMM!"

"AND YOU'RE WEAK!" The bird shouted, know a full grown woman with long black hair and burning red eyes. She looked exactly like Yang. Now she was really scared. She was horrified. She could feel her hands tremble as she caught a glimpse of the large sword she was brandishing.

"Look at you...You're scared!"

"Yeah, because I'm ten and you're some crazy old bird lady thing! I don't even know you or how you know my dad!"

The stranger gritted her teeth. "Isn't it obvious? He's my brother."

Oh. Shit.

This was her. This was the aunt that her dad and papa never talked about. The one that first left uncle Tiyang. This was her, leader of Branwen tribe. Raven Branwen.

"You...You're her? My dad's sister?"

Raven nodded. "That's right."

"Why are you here? To kill me? Torture me? Or are you just here to keep telling me how terrible my dad is? Because if that's the case, just get out of here! I don't want to hear it!"

"Briar, your father is sheltering you. When you grow up, they are just going to keep lying to you!"

"They're not lying! You're lying!"

"ENOUGH WITH YOUR CHILDISH CRAP! Your fathers are nothing but traitorsa and liars! They know nothing of strength!"

Briar scoffed. "This coming from the woman who left her husband and daughter for a bunch of dumbasses! You're not strong! You're the coward you're saying I am!"

Raven stepped forward, opening her mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted by Clover's voice.

"Briar! Time to come inside!"

Briar glanced back at Raven, scowling at her. "My dad is a hero. He doesn't run away. Even when times get tough, he fights. He's amazing. You're nothing but a wannabe."

"Briar!"

"Coming!"

Briar turned to walk away but she barely took a few steps away before she felt Raven's hand pull her by the hair while the other clamped her mouth shut. Briar kicked and screamed, flailing around as Raven dragged her back.

'Papa can't hear me. She's gonna hurt me of I don't do anything! But I haven't unlocked my semblance yet...what do I do?!'

Raven grabbed her shirt and pulled her up to her face. "Keep your mouth shut and maybe I won't hurt you too bad." She snarled.

Briar growled, when a plan came into her head. She kicked off one of her shoes and flung it into a nearby bush to draw Clover's attention to their direction. She then wiggled her arm out of Raven's grasp and elbowed her hard in the face. She dropped Briar and stumbled back in pain. For a moment, Briar was proud that she made a grown woman bleed.

But there was no time for that. She took off running, never looking back to see if Raven was chasing her. She only stopped when she collided with Clover's chest.

"Briar? What-?"

"Papa! Papa! She-she had me! She was trying to hurt me-!" Briar cried.

"What?! Who had you?" He questioned, panicked.

"Ra-her! Ra-I-" she tried to get the words out but it seemed that she was both in shock and exhausted from running.

"Easy honey, easy. Breathe. I'm gonna take you inside, okay?"

She nodded as Clover picked her up and carried her back inside. Reed immediately ran up with a smile on his face, which soon disappeared after seeing how distressed his twin was.

Qrow came up to them, taking Briar from Clover's arms. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know. Someone in the woods attacked her or something. I'm going back to check."

"Be careful."

Clover went out with Kingfisher in hand as Qrow moved Briar to the couch.

"C'mere, sweetheart. Let's calm down."

"Daddy...y-you're a good guy..." Briar murmured.

"What?"

"Y-you're a good guy...you're the best dad ever. I like the way you fight, the way you read us bedtime stories and tell us about your missions. You're the best. I love you-"

"Bri, sweetie. Calm down...."

Briar hugged her father tightly, never wanting to let him go.

Raven was a liar. She was a big fat liar. And worse, she was a stalker.

She had been watching them. All of them.

Why was she watching them?

What did she want with them?

What did she want with her?

[A/N: apologies to everyone who was either triggered by this fic or found the way I portrayed Raven offensive or terrible. I'm not totally happy with it either and I might rewrite this but I want your feedback on what I can do much better or different. Have a nice day/afternoon/night.]

[empathicstars]

Nothing More Important

  It’d been a long, grueling, impossible fifty hours. Longer and more grueling and more impossible, believably, than Neoma’d expected it to be. After all, how difficult was it to find a singular officer in a world where identification was required for everything one did?

  Apparently, difficult. She’d been awake and running around the base since 2100 hours on, uh... --... how many days ago was it? One, two? It was hard to keep track. All Neoma could remember any longer was the pounding of her feet on pavement, of the crisp air that felt drier and drier the longer she was out in it, of the feeling of brick beneath her fingers and metal against her arms as she climbed and scaled the impressive base in search. The teams by her side had switched off five separate times, and more than once someone had attempted to relieve her.

  But she’d made a promise. She told them she’d bring her back.

  And she would.

  Doctors marveled at how she was passing each examination they ran on her in attempts to force her to take her leave. She didn’t seem to be tired, and any scrapes or bruises were beyond minor. What she’d told Jim just before he drifted to sleep was true: she didn’t get sore. But that didn’t mean that spending fifty hours wide awake, soothing every officer she came into contact with, and walking the length of one of the Federation’s biggest bases multiple times over was enjoyable or restful for her. ( That didn’t mean that part of her wasn’t still shaking from an encounter with a limp body in a river, that her disagreements with all of those close to her wasn’t burning a coldness somewhere hard in the back of her throat. )

  Ah, Jim… Fuck. When he learned about this disaster, she was sure he’d staunchly refuse to ever sleep again. And after all her hard work. Ancestors. It felt like all of her effort with everyone was coming up to nothing, now. Encouraging Reg out of his shell, building and mending a relationship with John, her friendship with Luci, Jim… ancestors, she was tired.

  Part of her wondered, briefly, if she could convince Spock to keep all of this on the down low from him -- especially now that it was over. But she didn’t have to know him very well at all to know that that wasn’t an option.

  But at least it was over. At least it wasn’t like waking up on Corvid.

  At least this was a nightmare that would end.

  After checking every Federation and non-Federation ship, the Institute, all of Yorktown… after climbing every building, sliding under every tree, dipping herself deep into water and barging in through every library… Neoma had decided, on a whim, to check for Liana on incoming ships, and was rather floored when it worked. An Aella -- not Liana -- Moore was on a non-Federation supply ship, heading back to Yorktown, and Neoma was going to be there when she docked. It only took a few calls to the captain of that ship to put together the pieces. Liana’d beamed on from a civilian transporter, rather than a Starfleet-specific one -- a transporter that dealt with such a large volume of use that it had no choice but to delete profiles of those who passed through it -- to his ship. She’d been on the base and had been trying to find another ship to lead her elsewhere. It was only a half a day, it seemed, before she’d buckled internally, admitted to him that she’d snuck aboard his ship before shields went up, and requested to take the next return trip with him. He’d agreed, and now she was less than twenty minutes from docking.

  And so, here Neoma stood. Waiting for her. In a bustle of laughing, chattering people, moving swiftly and gleefully throughout a shuttle bay. Her pole collapsed at the magnetic belt on her side, her arms crossed, her hair pulled back into a fishtail braid that she thought maybe looked alright whenever she’d done it. She tugged at the tie to let it free from its mess, let her hair fall around her, catch briefly in the wind.

  For a moment, it was almost too easy to believe that Liana wouldn’t show up, after all. That the information had been a farce. That she’d reported Liana’s recovery prematurely, and she’d have to resume activities again. That this was a break, and not the end.

  But relief touched some distant part of her when she spotted a thin figure walking through the crowds. Dressed in a long white dress, a single book clutched to her chest, as though it’d protect her from the reality she was about to face. Ancestors, Liana looked about as shitty as Neoma felt. Black hollows beneath her eyes, pale, paper-thin skin, body bent in on itself. She stared at the floor with the same guilty expression Meeth wore when he knew he’d done something wrong.

  The same expression her girls had had…

  Neoma breathed out. Released the fifty hours that’d passed -- released the memory of Amila and Naith pouting -- and focused on the start of this hour, focused on the face of this girl.  

  The security officer reached out, palm up, and waited until the kid’d walked to her side to drape her arm around her shoulders. She felt Liana stiffen beneath the contact of the half-hug, but Neoma still leaned forward to distribute a kiss in her hair.

  “Welcome back, Liana.”

  Liana’s head tilted up so painfully slowly -- and when their eyes met, everything in the kid’s face was open, childish, shocked. She was round, and gentle, and small, and… Ancestors, she looked like she was about eleven years old. “H… i.”

  Neoma squeezed her with one arm. “You really gave us a fright, you know.”

  “I… I did?”

  The confusion would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Maybe still would’ve been if Neoma hadn’t spent the better part of these past few days fighting that fright.

  She smiled, instead of answering -- tapped her with her thumb and began leading her away from the ships. “Where were you off to?” Conversational. Light.

 Liana stared back down, once again. Felt a little bit closer to Neoma than she had moments before. “I don’t…” Nearly choked. “I do not know. Just… away. As far away as possible.”

  “Well,” with humor in her teeth, “you know, if you want to go far away, the Enterprise is a great place to do it.”

  Liana’s lips flattened, and she ducked her head further, but it somehow read almost as a small smile might.

  They walked for a bit in silence, and, wow -- how good silence could sound. How good walking could feel! But what sounded even better, y’know, was conversation. Especially conversation that mattered. So…

  “I hear you don’t want to be a Betazoid. You don’t want to be an empath. That right?”

  She jolted, as though something horrific had been found out. “Y… yes.”

  “Why not?”

  The sounds of the crowd from the bay were beginning to disperse. It made her pause sound even louder. “I… I want to be normal. I want to be… like everyone else.”

  Ha. “You are like everyone else.”

  “No.” Her voice was dark, steady, so suddenly it was surprising. It was too much like the Aella Neoma’d met one time in a communications bay. “I am apart from them, and they from me.”

  “Apart?” Neoma’d never been fantastic at clamping at her humor -- and now was no exception. A hard laugh, rough and grainy and loud erupted from her.

  “W-- what is so funny?” Ah, there she was, again -- the petulant child annoyed with the humor she didn’t understand. ( So much like Amila. So much it burned. ) “That is not funny.”  

  “Ha… you really have no idea, huh?”

  “Of course I do not. That -- that is why I asked.”

  “No, no… I meant…” Okay. Stop smiling. Serious Neoma time. “Everyone’s been in a frenzy looking for you. Spock, Reg, John. Casper. ’Ve had to tie almost all of them back from going out to look for you.”

  “What? No -- no, you are -- you are lying.”

  “What’s the point in lying, Liana? Already got you here.”

  She paused. Perhaps, Neoma supposed, to consider that maybe it was true. “R… really?”

  “Really really. Do you know how many times I had to wrangle Spock into submission?”

  “The -- the commander?”

  “Unless there’s two of ‘em.”

  “But -- no! W… why would he…? No. He… he must be like this with everyone.”

  Neoma was able to temper her amusement back to a chuckle, this time. “Nah. He told me you two were close.”

  “What?” She was watching her, now.

  “Yup. He gave me a lot of invaluable information about where to look for you, too. I don’t think any of them’s gotten a lick of sleep since your disappearing act.”

  “I… oh, I…” Her shock fell into something else. Something small and sad, plain enough for even Neoma to get. “I did not mean to worry them. I did not know they would realize my absence. I -- I just wanted… to be free.”

  Free, huh? Neoma sighed -- probably came out more like a huff. Either way, the noise was low, rueful. She didn’t get it. Ties were the best part of life. Hadn’t she just said something like that in the comms a few days ago? Having a spot to call your own, and a sky you knew… that was precious. But…

  “Well, my girls wanted to see the stars. They wanted to be free so, so bad. But you don’t have to run away to see the stars. You’re… already in Starfleet.”

  “But I…” A frustrated breath from her. “I do not want to be.”

  “Why not?”

  “I… I do not like it! It is scary, and dangerous. I do not want to live on a ship. I… I do not want to be what she was.”

  “Ancestors, kid.” It came out before she could stop it. That she was so vehemently said. “She who?”

  Liana’s voice fell low, quiet and stripped and now anything but the acid she’d once tasted. “Aella.”

  Oh. Fuck. Well, okay. “Why are you separating them?”

  “What?”

  “You and her. Who you were and who you are. You’re the same people.”

  “N-- no! No!”

  Another one? Really? “Sorry, but… yeah.” Neoma recognized the wiggling -- like an animal wanting to be put down -- and so she stopped, turned to face her. Wherever they were now, it was quieter. Less clattering, less people. Neoma pressed both her palms into Liana’s shoulders, watched her shrink, slightly. “Listen to me.” She waited until her gaze lifted, even if was only minute at first. “I used to live beneath a volcano. I’d sleep with a burlap sack over my face, and wake to watch the guar. I hadn’t been ten miles from where I lived. I hated fighting. I just wanted to watch my guar in peace. Fabric like this…” She rubbed at Liana’s shoulders. “I’d never even seen it before. It was a whole different world. And now look at me. I’m a security officer out in space. Lightyears away from where I raised those guar. On ground that isn’t really ground. On a planet that’s not really a planet. Using technology, every day, when the most expensive thing I used to own was… I don’t know. Maybe my staff. And if you’d asked me then where I’d be now… I’d never see it. I’d never see this.”

  “Then how did you get here?” By now, Liana was staring at her. Her eyes were large, glassy, fixed. Neoma felt the weight of her attention keyed into every single word. “Why are you here?”

  “Things changed. Lot of things changed. And I got new perspective. And... I guess that’s what happened to you, too. No, you don’t know why you’d want to live on a ship, or be in Starfleet. No, it doesn’t make sense to you. But you don’t remember the perspective that made you want to be here. So of course you’re confused. Of course you’re lost. But what… what if you could rediscover that perspective? What if you could learn more about yourself?”

  The eyes staring back at her were brimming with tears, now. She opened her mouth twice -- two false-starts -- before she found her voice.

  “I… I am scared something would happen to me. To who I am. John tells me he has a Haliaan waiting to heal me… but I do not believe it will heal me. I believe it will kill me.”

  “Kill you?”

  “Who I am…” Her palm raised from her side, and she stared at it, pressed fingertips against it. “I will be gone. Another person will take her place.”

  “No. Hey, look at me. No. Same person. Just new perspective. Okay? And it’s not gonna be like a…” She lifted a hand, only for as long as it took her to snap. “... you know? You may get the perspective and decide… hey. I still want to go to the Institute. I still want to leave Starfleet. And then you can. But then you’ll know, too. And something like sensing someone’s emotions won’t set you off so much that you disappear.”

  Eyelashes fluttered, and a tear fell to Liana’s cheek. Neoma moved to wipe at it with the back of her hand. The kid’s eyes shuddered closed from the contact.

  “I’m not gonna make you stay in Starfleet, okay? It’s your life. But… if you’re going to leave, I’m gonna make you say goodbye.”

  It was supposed to sound almost jesting, that last sentence, but… Liana wasn’t opening her eyes. Wasn’t relaxing again. Fuck. Neoma’d not fucked up, had she?

  Neoma was grasping at new words to throw Liana’s way when she spoke again, in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the nothing around them.

  “They… really missed me? They really… worried about me?”

  “Really, really.”

  Liana’s lips thinned, and she stared down at her hand again. Edged a foot a bit against the ground. “Then… then I should at least try. For them.” Tentatively… “After all… there… is nothing more important than family, yes?”

  When Neoma laughed this time, she felt it -- felt the joy, the relief, the end of a nightmare. And this time, when she pulled Liana into a hug, she felt a warmth in her belly that would’ve made it nearly impossible not to.

  “That’s exactly right, kiddo.”

[neomacaught]

Nothing More Important

   It’d been a long, grueling, impossible fifty hours. Longer and more grueling and more impossible, believably, than Neoma’d expected it to be. After all, how difficult was it to find a singular officer in a world where identification was required for everything one did?

   Apparently, difficult. She’d been awake and running around the base since 2100 hours on, uh... --... how many days ago was it? One, two? It was hard to keep track. All Neoma could remember any longer was the pounding of her feet on pavement, of the crisp air that felt drier and drier the longer she was out in it, of the feeling of brick beneath her fingers and metal against her arms as she climbed and scaled the impressive base in search. The teams by her side had switched off five separate times, and more than once someone had attempted to relieve her. 

   But she’d made a promise. She told them she’d bring her back.

   And she would.

   Doctors marveled at how she was passing each examination they ran on her in attempts to force her to take her leave. She didn’t seem to be tired, and any scrapes or bruises were beyond minor. What she’d told Jim just before he drifted to sleep was true: she didn’t get sore. But that didn’t mean that spending fifty hours wide awake, soothing every officer she came into contact with, and walking the length of one of the Federation’s biggest bases multiple times over was enjoyable or restful for her. ( That didn’t mean that part of her wasn’t still shaking from an encounter with a limp body in a river, that her disagreements with all of those close to her wasn’t burning a coldness somewhere hard in the back of her throat. ) 

   Ah, Jim… Fuck. When he learned about this disaster, she was sure he’d staunchly refuse to ever sleep again. And after all her hard work. Ancestors. It felt like all of her effort with everyone was coming up to nothing, now. Encouraging Reg out of his shell, building and mending a relationship with John, her friendship with Luci, Jim… ancestors, she was tired.

   Part of her wondered, briefly, if she could convince Spock to keep all of this on the down low from him -- especially now that it was over. But she didn’t have to know him very well at all to know that that wasn’t an option. 

   But at least it was over. At least it wasn’t like waking up on Corvid. 

   At least this was a nightmare that would end.

   After checking every Federation and non-Federation ship, the Institute, all of Yorktown… after climbing every building, sliding under every tree, dipping herself deep into water and barging in through every library… Neoma had decided, on a whim, to check for Liana on incoming ships, and was rather floored when it worked. An Aella -- not Liana -- Moore was on a non-Federation supply ship, heading back to Yorktown, and Neoma was going to be there when she docked. It only took a few calls to the captain of that ship to put together the pieces. Liana’d beamed on from a civilian transporter, rather than a Starfleet-specific one -- a transporter that dealt with such a large volume of use that it had no choice but to delete profiles of those who passed through it -- to his ship. She’d been on the base and had been trying to find another ship to lead her elsewhere. It was only a half a day, it seemed, before she’d buckled internally, admitted to him that she’d snuck aboard his ship before shields went up, and requested to take the next return trip with him. He’d agreed, and now she was less than twenty minutes from docking. 

   And so, here Neoma stood. Waiting for her. In a bustle of laughing, chattering people, moving swiftly and gleefully throughout a shuttle bay. Her pole collapsed at the magnetic belt on her side, her arms crossed, her hair pulled back into a fishtail braid that she thought maybe looked alright whenever she’d done it. She tugged at the tie to let it free from its mess, let her hair fall around her, catch briefly in the wind. 

   For a moment, it was almost too easy to believe that Liana wouldn’t show up, after all. That the information had been a farce. That she’d reported Liana’s recovery prematurely, and she’d have to resume activities again. That this was a break, and not the end. 

   But relief touched some distant part of her when she spotted a thin figure walking through the crowds. Dressed in a long white dress, a single book clutched to her chest, as though it’d protect her from the reality she was about to face. Ancestors, Liana looked about as shitty as Neoma felt. Black hollows beneath her eyes, pale, paper-thin skin, body bent in on itself. She stared at the floor with the same guilty expression Meeth wore when he knew he’d done something wrong.

   The same expression her girls had had… 

   Neoma breathed out. Released the fifty hours that’d passed -- released the memory of Amila and Naith pouting -- and focused on the start of this hour, focused on the face of this girl.  

   The security officer reached out, palm up, and waited until the kid’d walked to her side to drape her arm around her shoulders. She felt Liana stiffen beneath the contact of the half-hug, but Neoma still leaned forward to distribute a kiss in her hair. 

   “Welcome back, Liana.” 

   Liana’s head tilted up so painfully slowly -- and when their eyes met, everything in the kid’s face was open, childish, shocked. She was round, and gentle, and small, and… Ancestors, she looked like she was about eleven years old. “H… i.” 

   Neoma squeezed her with one arm. “You really gave us a fright, you know.” 

   “I… I did?” 

   The confusion would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Maybe still would’ve been if Neoma hadn’t spent the better part of these past few days fighting that fright. 

   She smiled, instead of answering -- tapped her with her thumb and began leading her away from the ships. “Where were you off to?” Conversational. Light. 

  Liana stared back down, once again. Felt a little bit closer to Neoma than she had moments before. “I don’t…” Nearly choked. “I do not know. Just… away. As far away as possible.” 

   “Well,” with humor in her teeth, “you know, if you want to go far away, the Enterprise is a great place to do it.” 

   Liana’s lips flattened, and she ducked her head further, but it somehow read almost as a small smile might. 

   They walked for a bit in silence, and, wow -- how good silence could sound. How good walking could feel! But what sounded even better, y’know, was conversation. Especially conversation that mattered. So… 

   “I hear you don’t want to be a Betazoid. You don’t want to be an empath. That right?” 

   She jolted, as though something horrific had been found out. “Y… yes.” 

   “Why not?” 

   The sounds of the crowd from the bay were beginning to disperse. It made her pause sound even louder. “I… I want to be normal. I want to be… like everyone else.” 

   Ha. “You are like everyone else.” 

   “No.” Her voice was dark, steady, so suddenly it was surprising. It was too much like the Aella Neoma’d met one time in a communications bay. “I am apart from them, and they from me.” 

   “Apart?” Neoma’d never been fantastic at clamping at her humor -- and now was no exception. A hard laugh, rough and grainy and loud erupted from her.

   “W-- what is so funny?” Ah, there she was, again -- the petulant child annoyed with the humor she didn’t understand. ( So much like Amila. So much it burned. ) “That is not funny.”  

   “Ha… you really have no idea, huh?” 

   “Of course I do not. That -- that is why I asked.” 

   “No, no… I meant…” Okay. Stop smiling. Serious Neoma time. “Everyone’s been in a frenzy looking for you. Spock, Reg, John. Casper. ’Ve had to tie almost all of them back from going out to look for you.” 

   “What? No -- no, you are -- you are lying.” 

   “What’s the point in lying, Liana? Already got you here.” 

   She paused. Perhaps, Neoma supposed, to consider that maybe it was true. “R… really?” 

   “Really really. Do you know how many times I had to wrangle Spock into submission?” 

   “The -- the commander?” 

   “Unless there’s two of ‘em.” 

   “But -- no! W… why would he…? No. He… he must be like this with everyone.” 

   Neoma was able to temper her amusement back to a chuckle, this time. “Nah. He told me you two were close.” 

   “What?” She was watching her, now.

   “Yup. He gave me a lot of invaluable information about where to look for you, too. I don’t think any of them’s gotten a lick of sleep since your disappearing act.” 

   “I… oh, I…” Her shock fell into something else. Something small and sad, plain enough for even Neoma to get. “I did not mean to worry them. I did not know they would realize my absence. I -- I just wanted… to be free.” 

   Free, huh? Neoma sighed -- probably came out more like a huff. Either way, the noise was low, rueful. She didn’t get it. Ties were the best part of life. Hadn’t she just said something like that in the comms a few days ago? Having a spot to call your own, and a sky you knew… that was precious. But… 

   “Well, my girls wanted to see the stars. They wanted to be free so, so bad. But you don’t have to run away to see the stars. You’re… already in Starfleet.” 

   “But I…” A frustrated breath from her. “I do not want to be.” 

   “Why not?” 

   “I… I do not like it! It is scary, and dangerous. I do not want to live on a ship. I… I do not want to be what she was.” 

   “Ancestors, kid.” It came out before she could stop it. That she was so vehemently said. “She who?” 

   Liana’s voice fell low, quiet and stripped and now anything but the acid she’d once tasted. “Aella.”

   Oh. Fuck. Well, okay. “Why are you separating them?” 

   “What?” 

   “You and her. Who you were and who you are. You’re the same people.” 

   “N-- no! No!” 

   Another one? Really? “Sorry, but… yeah.” Neoma recognized the wiggling -- like an animal wanting to be put down -- and so she stopped, turned to face her. Wherever they were now, it was quieter. Less clattering, less people. Neoma pressed both her palms into Liana’s shoulders, watched her shrink, slightly. “Listen to me.” She waited until her gaze lifted, even if was only minute at first. “I used to live beneath a volcano. I’d sleep with a burlap sack over my face, and wake to watch the guar. I hadn’t been ten miles from where I lived. I hated fighting. I just wanted to watch my guar in peace. Fabric like this…” She rubbed at Liana’s shoulders. “I’d never even seen it before. It was a whole different world. And now look at me. I’m a security officer out in space. Lightyears away from where I raised those guar. On ground that isn’t really ground. On a planet that’s not really a planet. Using technology, every day, when the most expensive thing I used to own was… I don’t know. Maybe my staff. And if you’d asked me then where I’d be now… I’d never see it. I’d never see this.” 

   “Then how did you get here?” By now, Liana was staring at her. Her eyes were large, glassy, fixed. Neoma felt the weight of her attention keyed into every single word. “Why are you here?” 

   “Things changed. Lot of things changed. And I got new perspective. And... I guess that’s what happened to you, too. No, you don’t know why you’d want to live on a ship, or be in Starfleet. No, it doesn’t make sense to you. But you don’t remember the perspective that made you want to be here. So of course you’re confused. Of course you’re lost. But what… what if you could rediscover that perspective? What if you could learn more about yourself?” 

   The eyes staring back at her were brimming with tears, now. She opened her mouth twice -- two false-starts -- before she found her voice.

   “I… I am scared something would happen to me. To who I am. John tells me he has a Haliaan waiting to heal me… but I do not believe it will heal me. I believe it will kill me.” 

   “Kill you?” 

   “Who I am…” Her palm raised from her side, and she stared at it, pressed fingertips against it. “I will be gone. Another person will take her place.” 

   “No. Hey, look at me. No. Same person. Just new perspective. Okay? And it’s not gonna be like a…” She lifted a hand, only for as long as it took her to snap. “... you know? You may get the perspective and decide… hey. I still want to go to the Institute. I still want to leave Starfleet. And then you can. But then you’ll know, too. And something like sensing someone’s emotions won’t set you off so much that you disappear.” 

   Eyelashes fluttered, and a tear fell to Liana’s cheek. Neoma moved to wipe at it with the back of her hand. The kid’s eyes shuddered closed from the contact. 

   “I’m not gonna make you stay in Starfleet, okay? It’s your life. But… if you’re going to leave, I’m gonna make you say goodbye.” 

   It was supposed to sound almost jesting, that last sentence, but… Liana wasn’t opening her eyes. Wasn’t relaxing again. Fuck. Neoma’d not fucked up, had she?

   Neoma was grasping at new words to throw Liana’s way when she spoke again, in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the nothing around them. 

   “They… really missed me? They really… worried about me?” 

   “Really, really.” 

   Liana’s lips thinned, and she stared down at her hand again. Edged a foot a bit against the ground. “Then… then I should at least try. For them.” Tentatively… “After all… there… is nothing more important than family, yes?” 

   When Neoma laughed this time, she felt it -- felt the joy, the relief, the end of a nightmare. And this time, when she pulled Liana into a hug, she felt a warmth in her belly that would’ve made it nearly impossible not to. 

   “That’s exactly right, kiddo.” 

[zehypocriticaloath]

Birds of a feather, pt. 2

[Pt. 1]

The blizzard had come. As it was said to have. The thickly falling curtain of snow in the early morning hours had only picked up in its intensity and volume by middle day. And by the next day, it was a complete and utter white out. The temperatures plummeted and, as estimated, the complex machinery making up the Respawn machine all but iced over, becoming a large, useless hunk of cold gears, solidified oil and stalled computer circuitry. 

There wasn’t much that could be done for those residing on the aptly-named base called Coldfront. High up in the mountainous alpine region, all they could do was wait out the blizzard and hope that, in a few days to, quite possibly, a week, the roads would be cleared so they could get to town. That’d be the only way they’d be able to restock their supplies. Shipments from MannCo were bound to be snowbound  at this point.

An exhausted sigh came from the bleary eyed doctor. He was already on his second mug of coffee, and he could finally recognize the subtle sensation of becoming alive.  He had stayed up far too late last night. He had been far too engrossed in his little project of experimental madness, he hadn’t realized that by the time he was done, and the results could finally be penned down, it was nearly four in the morning.

Never would he regret the lack of sleep. After all, he had sacrificed sleep in the name of science. And that, of course, would always  be an exceptionally noble and worthy cause in his mind.

His unkindness squawked about in their excitement. Aldous, despite being sleep deprived, had laid out a few of their favorite toys and puzzles. Snowy ‘off days’ meant that the ravens had an extra long play period. The clustered cloud of corvids occupied themselves, much to the doctor’s relief.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like  his unkindness, or that he was annoyed  with them. In all actuality, he considered himself to be a father.  A father... with four rambunctious, rebellious, and highly intelligent children under his wing. This late in the game he could never have children. And, if by some miracle he did  have kids (never happening), he doubted his ability at being a good father. At least, with the ravens, he could still have that feeling that he was doing something right in taking care of them, raising them all from tiny, abandoned hatchlings to the sleek, smart, and sassy adults that they were now. They could be his children, and he was their father, not  owner. 

But today... he just didn’t want to be  a father. He was far too exhausted, and his coffee was working, albeit slowly, taking its sweet time in waking him up. He was a little late on taking his medication and, as a result, was having a hard time being patient, letting it do its thing. 

His mind drifted across the various events of yesterday. During his morning smoke break he had fed the various members of the corvidae class that lived outside, on the base’s grounds. He had befriended them all, though the process of gaining their trust had been a long and winding one. Now, however, all his efforts paid off. Any time he stepped outside, they greeted him like an old friend. Anytime he fought in a skirmish, they recognized him (even with his mask, cowl and hat on), and they often flew high above him (safely out of harm’s way), just to watch over him and, he liked to think, silently cheer him on.

He was slowly beginning to realize it, but he had become an integral part of their big family.

Taking another sip of his coffee, he willed the conflict in his mind to quiet down. He glanced over at the book on his desk. It was shoved off to the corner. Ah, yes. The reference guide from yesterday.

Faintly hearing an excited shriek coming from one of his ravens (they must have completed a puzzle and was currently celebrating), he pulled the book close to him. He had a bigger, more extensive version of the same book, and he often transcribed all of the notes he took into that  one. But this one was a well worn, well thumbed through edition that he rather enjoyed. It came with a lot of memories. 

Idly flipping through until he got to the corvidae page, he admired how many beautiful birds graced the pages of that section. The corvidae were, in his opinion, far superior birds than the rest. While some birds, all around the world, basked in the fame and adoration showered upon them for their colorful plumage, or unique patterns, or lovely tittering song-calls... Aldous knew that the vanity of those birds didn’t matter. Were they as smart as a corvid? Were they as resourceful as a corvid? Could they survive like one? Communicate like one? Did they have personalities? Unique personalities, like ravens? Or crows? And did they forge long lasting familial bonds?

Of course  they couldn’t. They were lacking. 

Aldous knew his sap-hearted brother would bring up the fact that his  mourning doves mated  for life, and that they had strong, familial  bonds, too... but who really paid attention to his blathering on about those overgrown rats with wings? Not he, for starters. Turtle doves could never  be the superior ones.

Flipping another page, he lingered on the realistic image of the alpine chough. That was the bird he came across yesterday. He had done some research on the bird, and he had to admire its tenacity. For being a crow, it really was a brave little thing. It made its nests often on cliffsides, and displayed a sense of audacity that even Aldous had to admire. And it was loyal. According to his research, the bird, like his brother’s precious mourning doves, mated for life.  Monogamy, he recalled reading. Yes, that was the word. Monogamy.

He gently passed his thumb over the date he had penned in, next to the tiny drawn body of the chough. He recalled the memory of that brazen little bird hopping towards him, hoping to get some food. While the other ravens and crows were whirling about, high in the sky, in a display of aerobatic greeting, that little bird had been the only one to approach him first. It knew what it wanted in life, and it wasn’t about to waste any more time and dawdle about. It wanted it, and it wanted it right then.

Rebellious bravery. He admired that trait, too. 

“Rrrrk.” 

Pulled from his thoughts, Aldous was startled. He jolted a little in his chair before looking over at the grand, stately raven that perched on his desk. Well... it perched on the human skull residing on his desk. Rapustin’s bony cranium had always been the favored perch of his eldest raven, Poe. The raven was at least putting it to good use. After all, Rapustin was no longer using it. Correct? How could the dead  use their own skull anymore? No more thinking to be had. No more need for bones. No more cage for the floating, squishy brain matter. And, of course, before Rapustin’s scheduled execution (the reasoning was still a mystery to Aldous), the lumbering man had written in his will--- or whatever  it was that he had written this request-- that he receive the skull in order to ‘put it to good use’.

After all, what could be a more honorable throne for a raven? Nothing, Aldous thought. A human skull was perfect.

Too bad Rasputin didn’t leave him his brain  to study.

“Tsk. Silly boy.” Aldous gently pushed aside the reference guide, pinning his raven with an inquisitive stare. “Did you already solve the puzzles I put out?”

“Wuh, wuh.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Aldous audibly spoke aloud his amusement with an impressed, “all  of them?”

“Yes.” 

“Heh!” Pulling open the top drawer of his desk, he pushed aside a gun case and a bag of candies before locating another  type of bag. This one did not hold candy. It held treats of another kind. 

Pulling out the small sack, he rummaged through it before he selected what looked to be a medley mix of what he fed the corvids outside. “Such a clever child you are!”

Giving his ravens their daily treats were, by far, the best  part of the day. And as he watched Poe gobble his little reward up (right out of his hand, too), he glanced back at the reference guide. 

The alpine chough was on his mind. 

“...Poe.” Once the raven was done greedily gobbling up his reward, the doctor reached over and picked up the reference guide once more. He flipped a page so he could be back on the one with the chough on it. Showing it to the great, sleek black bird, he watched as Poe studied the picture. “What do you think of this bird?” Tapping the drawing of the chough, he watched as Poe’s throat feathers fluffed out. “It stayed with me yesterday.”

Poe took a moment to scrutinize the page. This meant that he rubbed his beak against it, and even attempted to nibble the page (resulting in a light, but stern, chiding from his human). After a moment the raven looked up at Aldous, letting out a funny sounding warble. 

“Mmm. I take that as you are indifferent  on the matter.” Closing the reference guide once more, he took a long, thoughtful sip of his coffee. His mind was quieter now, and he could think a bit more clearly. “The bird made me think and... I wanted to ask you something. I know you don’t really understand me--”

“Understand. Understand.” 

“--heh. Funny. You are very  funny.” Letting a short pause settle between his words, he picked up his train of thought with a well aimed, but hesitant, “fine, you understand me. I, ah... I had a thought  yesterday.” Aldous set down his mug and, instead, lifted his hand towards the raven’s beak. Poe reciprocated the action by gently rubbing his beak against his owner’s hand, letting out comforting noises from deep within its throat. “Am I not just a caretaker to you? Am I something different? Something more?”

The other ravens, by now, had lost interest in the toys and puzzles. They were now clamoring for any space on the doctor’s desk. If they couldn’t get a place on the desk, or books, or even the back of Aldous’s chair, they tried to settle in anywhere close. They were attention hogs at the most. Childish in this way, and in every way possible. But they were enjoyable  this way. They were... amusing  in the way that they were still very much like humans.

Or humans were like ravens. It was hard to tell at this point who was like who.

“Am I,” he continued, “a part of your group? Your unkindness? I ask this of all of you--”

“Ass.”

Aldous sighed heavily. “Even you, Roderick. You have all  taken care of me. Or looked after me in your own way. You have kept me company, made sure I’m not alone. You’ve entertained me, made me laugh.” He looked at each raven, each member of his unkindness. “There are... humans  that help me, too. Who look after me and who check up on me. My brother, and  my friends. Those close to me who care.” 

The unkindness quietly listened to him. Beady black eyes blinked up at him, their sleek, glossy bodies relaxed at the soothing sound of his comforting, familiar voice. 

“I never used to let anyone in. I used to keep a wall up. I kept people away. I frightened people off before they could get to know me better. And I made sure people hesitated or thought twice about visiting me. I enjoyed being alone because it was safe."

He couldn’t get hurt anymore. He honestly knew what some people thought of him. And, in some way, he admitted they had a right in thinking so. He had done some horrible things in his past, and he knew he had to stand up and take all the blame. No more running away. But then again, a lot of it was... unfair. Unfairly judged against him. And he’d rather not befriend someone if they were going to think of him as a dangerous monster.  He wasn’t. It was the stigma of what he had. He was sick, but that didn’t  make him a monster.

So he scared people away. He built up a wall. He flourished under the rumors and the made up names, all spoken against him, behind his back. He used it as a weapon and a shield, turning it all around and using it against everyone he could.

By keeping people away, he couldn’t get to know someone. It saved him the pain of finding out the disgusting, filthy truth of it all; that some people were no good in his life. He didn’t trust humans. He didn’t trust humanity. And he sure as hell  didn’t trust people, or society, as a whole.  He’d seen what a group of people could do to others. Sheep in a herd, lead blind by a shepherd who only lead them astray. 

He witnessed far too much pain wrought on one another, on innocent people, by humans. Humans were often far more dangerous than any creature of the wild. 

Aldous lapsed into silence, vaguely comforted only by the clicking and popping sounds his unkindness was omitting. He had half expected some sort of reply (even if were a mimicry of words he had used in the past). But, no. Silence. He figured as much. The ravens didn’t understand him. How could they? As fantastic as corvids were, they were still... only birds. Only birds, and nothing more. They didn’t hold the vast complexity of a vocabulary, or display a wide array of emotions. Not like what they  had. What humans  had. 

His ravens knew more than most, but that is because he spent time-- hours upon hours, days upon days, weeks upon weeks-- teaching them words both in English and Deutsche. Sure, the words were considered to be mere mimicry of things he had spoken. He didn’t care. He wanted them to know  the meaning  behind certain things, to understand  what he was getting at. He wanted them to know the names behind colors, and objects and certain concepts.

He wanted company, even when he longed to be alone.

“...Feh. Forget I said anything.” Going to retract his hand from Poe, he was surprised when the elder raven made a fuss. He watched as the raven stepped out with its foot, stepping onto his hand. “What is it now? No. No more treats. You’ve had en--”

It was then... that Aldous heard the eldest raven say something that he never dreamt he’d hear coming from him.

There were many times Aldous referred to himself as such a word, but only  in the company of his ravens. Never did he speak such a thing, or idea, around his teammates and fellow coworkers. He never spoke of it aloud to his brother, or even Alexei. They had no clue he referred to himself as such.

His heart stilled for a beat or two. His chest tightened.

“What... did you--”

The eldest raven-- the leader of the unkindness-- proudly moved up Aldous’s arm until he was perched on the man’s skinny shoulder. From there the raven lovingly rubbed the side of his beak against his cheek, feeling the slight stubble of a sleep-deprived night, and a rushed, discordant morning. 

This human was like a raven to them. Perhaps his wings weren’t as glossy, and they were a bit dull, maybe gray. Perhaps he couldn’t fly, and he was, forever, stuck to the limitations of the ground. And perhaps he was scarred and scary to most. Perhaps he was a little sick, too; a little too skinny, and a little too frail. But to them, he was--

“Father,” croaked the raven, once more.

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[51] Glitch in the System - Amp it Up [Pt. 1]

Yep, we got another two-parter for you! Thanks to @corvid-aeon for letting us borrow their dogs for this.

By E.

A short visit happens.

The mission was one by the books: intercept critical data, disrupt defenses, eradicate prime targets, and get out. In reality it was a bit beneath their skill sets, but sometimes even international hackers and the world’s best sniper needed to take a break from hack-proof firewalls and high profile targets.

“Another hack and whack to write home about,” Sombra announced with satisfaction as she sealed the electronic doors behind them. It was an added measure of security largely unneeded - anyone immediately mindful of their presence had been silenced the moment awareness of their infiltration had dawned.

“Do not call it that,” Widow replied as they walked unhurriedly through the dark, winding streets to their makeshift rendezvous.

“Would you prefer splice and dice?”

The sniper let out a groan of annoyance, but Sombra could see her trying to hide her smile. “You took care of arrangements?” Widow asked as they paused alongside a stack of metal crates hovering in an alley, deftly dismantling the Widow’s Kiss and setting it into her case. She treated it with all the care one might afford a precious glass vase without sacrificing an ounce of speed in the process. After a decade of service, the Kiss didn’t have a single scratch on it. Sombra had checked.

“Yup,” Sombra replied, nodding a bit too readily and smiling a bit too wide.

Widow snapped the case shut and stood, looking down at her. “Are you certain about that?” she asked, fingers curled around the handle, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Sí cielito,” Sombra answered. “Prime accommodations with a view of the city.”

“I see,” Widow replied, eying her warily. Hefting the case into her other hand, she nodded at Sombra. “Then lead the way.”

Their journey from the rendezvous point to their evening’s accommodations took them through the gamut of public transportation. Sombra loved it, hanging over the railing of the lift train that took them out of the city proper and up into the cliffside houses that dotted the mountains as Widow stood back uncomfortably. The lift wasn’t particularly crowded, but it wasn’t empty, either. A child of about five ran by her, his mother angrily in tow as he galloped between the rows of bright green and yellow seats.

“Not a fan of heights?” Sombra asked when Widow shook her head at joining her along the railing.

“Is that a serious question?” the sniper replied, and Sombra laughed.

“Come here,” she said, reaching out to pull Widow from the pole she was clutching to her side. “You don’t have to enjoy it or anything, don’t worry.” She grinned up at Widow as the wind whipped her hair into her face, wrapping an arm around the taller woman’s waist.

Widow looked down as the landscape plodded along beneath them; a city of ants and colorful toy houses as viewed from the skies above.

“So small from up here,” Widow mused, pressed against Sombra’s side. “And yet not far enough to miss a shot.”

“Only you could make that sound romantic,” Sombra replied in amusement. The lift train slid to a halt, and the conductor announced their stop.

“That’s us,” Sombra said, grabbing for Widowmaker’s hand to join in the small exodus of patrons likewise exiting the train. “Shouldn’t be too far from where we’re staying.”

“And where are we staying again?” Widow asked.

“You’ll see,” Sombra replied evasively.

They walked along the steep cobbled streets, hand in hand, until they approached a home that somehow stood out despite being identical to the rest of the white-walled buildings around it. It was not lavish or particularly impressive, but it was certainly well cared for. There was a small garden along the side from which a variety of flowers were growing, and the yard was manicured and well-kempt, if a bit kitschy. A trail of flat red granite led to the front door, floating orbs lining the path to light the way as the sunlight began to wane in the sky.

It was that aspect, perhaps; the careful upkeep and obvious devotion that went into the building that set it apart from the rest. It was not as though the other homes were poorly maintained so much as none quite shone with the same amount of care. It was almost as if it glowed from the inside out.

Sombra walked up the path and knocked.

“This does not look like a Talon establishment,” Widow replied, eyes scanning the surroundings from where they stood on the front step, sandwiched between a spinning rainbow pinwheel and a cheery red birdhouse.

“It’s not,” Sombra said, shrugging casually. “In fact, how about we just, you know - stop using the word ‘Talon’ all together for the day?”

Widow, her suspicion already obviously aroused, narrowed her eyes. “Sombra,” she said, the timber of her voice dropping a note below ‘threatening’ and rapidly nearing ‘murderous.’ “Whose house is this?”

As though in answer to her question, the door clicked and opened a moment later as the occupant stepped out to greet them with a wide and genuine smile.

“Oh hey!” Lúcio said, stepping back to hold the door for them. “Come on in!”

At first, Widowmaker did not move, her jaw agape as Lúcio stood there waiting for them to enter.

Sombra pushed past her, elbowing the assassin as she slipped by. “Stop being weird,” she whispered. Widowmaker frowned and said nothing to reply, but regained her composure almost immediately and followed Sombra into the house.

“Welcome to my humble Rio abode. Can I take anything for you?” Lúcio asked, holding out his arms. Sombra handed him her bag of supplies without any hesitation; Widowmaker was a bit less forthcoming with her own possessions. “Is that a rifle case?” Lúcio asked he took Sombra’s bag and looked to Widow, eyeing the extremely-obvious rifle case Widow was carrying.

She paused for a brief moment. “No,” she eventually replied, deadpan as ever. Lúcio looked at Sombra; Sombra shrugged in return.

“Cool,” he replied with a smile as they all ignored the obvious lie. Making no additional attempt to take it, he gestured for them to follow. “Let me give you the grand tour!”

Lúcio’s home was comfortable, lived in, and far less ostentatious than it had any right to be for someone of his renown and fame. At this point, though, Sombra wasn’t surprised - the man lived a life of authenticity in all aspects of his reality, and while for anyone else Sombra might think it was put on for show, with Lúcio, it just seemed genuine through and through.

Still, though - he could have splurged on some better tech.

“You can stay in here tonight,” Lúcio said, pausing at a doorway as they walked down the hall. “I haven’t used my guest room for anything but an office in a while, so sorry if it’s a bit of a mess.”

“You haven’t seen Sofia’s room,” Widow commented drily as they walked in and set their belongings on the bed. She only stumbled slightly over Sombra’s name, catching the ‘m’ between her teeth in such a manner that only Sombra caught the slip.

“Totally have,” he laughed.

Widow canted her head curiously at Sombra.

“What?” she asked, shrugging. “Video chats.”

Sombra heard the galloping feet before Widowmaker, and turned to see what must have been a dog but what looked more like a giant dog-shaped horse come careening into the bedroom. It slid to a stop at Widowmaker’s feet and before either woman could react, leaped to put its huge front paws on the woman’s shoulders.

Widowmaker stared at the dog, her golden eyes no match for its soft brown ones. As gentle as could be, the lanky black and tan animal pressed its snout forward and gave her a single, soft kiss on the nose.

“You have a horse,” she said, clearly uncertain how to react and obviously uncomfortable with the proximity of the animal.

“Ah, sorry,” Lúcio said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “Come on Danu, get down.” The dog looked over at him and complied far more readily than Sombra would have expected considering the enthusiasm which which it had entered the room.

“Well trained,” she commented. “Good girl.” Leaning down, she put out her hand, and Danu trotted over to sniff her. Sombra scratched her ears. They were soft and floppy, and reminded her of one of her favorite mongrel pups from her childhood life on the streets. Danu whined softly and licked her hand.

“Gotta be,” Lúcio replied, watching the dog as she wagged her tail. “She comes on tour with me a lot. Can’t have her chewing up the machines, right?”

Danu panted in response, one ear flipping backwards as she turned her head excitedly between Lúcio and the newcomers.

“She’s adorable,” Sombra said, smiling as Danu pressed her head against her hand for more attention. “Kind of a novelty. I’m used to cats.”

“Smaller. Less trouble.” Widow frowned, considering her words. “Easier to clean up after, at least.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t exactly position Toulouse as the pinnacle of good cat behavior. Yesterday he peed in your sock drawer.”

Widow turned slowly to regard Sombra starkly. “What?”

“Guess I forgot to tell you,” she said sheepishly, shrugging. “Wanna show me the rest of the house?” Sombra asked, quickly skirting Widow’s response and scurrying from the room.

Lúcio shrugged helplessly at Widowmaker who only sighed, and they commenced their tour of the superstar’s abode. It was definitely large, but didn’t feel excessive, and he clearly cared about his space. He showed them his studio last, and then took them downstairs into the finished basement where it appeared he’d stored the majority of his more impressive tech.

Much better, Sombra thought to herself, placing her hands on her hips and looking around appraisingly.

“You wanna play a game?” Lúcio asked, gesturing at his collection of systems spanning the walls and underneath the enormous holo-projector on the wall.

“Absolutely. It’s been forever since I had a chance to play anything,” Sombra agreed readily. “You’ve got a pretty good collection here.”

“Single player, multi, MMO?” He looked around and laughed. “I even got some classic board games. You ever play Candy Land?”

The two of them spent the next fifteen minutes perusing Lúcio’s collection, eventually settling on an old co-op shooter they could play casually without too much need for attention. Danu followed them around from shelf to shelf, wagging her tail in casual anticipation of them finally deciding and sitting down. Widow reclined herself on the couch, curled up with a book and a blanket, looking soft and comfortable in a way Sombra had never seen her before. She smiled and filed the memory away for later, not knowing the next time it might happen.

“Does she always stay near you?” Sombra asked, biting back a cheer of triumph as she obliterated Lúcio’s virtual mech.

“Yeah, ever since she was a pup,” Lúcio replied, leaning down to pat Danu on the nose. She kept snoozing, head resting on his foot as he relaxed. “She and her sister Tita were strays in the favela. I couldn’t just let them starve - they were too friendly, and friendly dogs don’t usually end up in good places.” He straightened and picked up his controller as the next match loaded. “My sister took Tita and I took Danu. We still have play dates down in the city so they can see each other.”

“We got Toulouse off the streets too,” Sombra replied, smiling at the dog and her owner. “Strange how important they become to us, isn’t it?”

They stayed up gaming and talking for a long time, sharing stories of their youth, tales of rebel acts, and their mutual appreciation for games of skill. Sombra eagerly told of the time Widowmaker won her a stuffed spider at a street faire in Paris, much to the other woman’s chagrin. She could see her smiling over her book, though, despite her complaints.

When it was time for bed, Widow laid down on Sombra’s chest, her head against her heart and one hand pressed against her collarbone. They were still for a long while, neither sleeping but neither talking either, until Sombra saw Widow’s golden eyes flicker upwards.

“We are having a sleepover,” she said, voice soft and even with no hint of mockery, “at your friend’s house.”

“My best friend, if you want to get really grade school about it.” Sombra reached up and brushed Widow’s hair back from her eyes where it had wafted into her face in the odd, almost sentient way it often moved. “Mostly because there aren’t a whole lot of other contenders for the title.”

She felt Widowmaker smile against her skin. “It is an odd feeling, this,” she said. “Normal in a way I never would have expected to find comfort in.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Sombra agreed, looking around at the guest room they were in. It wasn’t lavish like Talon’s typical arrangements, or decrepit and musty like their last minute desperate overnight grabs when time was of the essence and pickings were slim. It was just a cozy, lived-in room with dark green curtains hanging over the windows, a cluttered desk in the corner, and dim lights floating off in the corners timed to go out as the evening waned. It was, as Widow said, perfectly normal.

“Yes,” Widowmaker replied. “It is very nice.” She closed her eyes, breathing slowly in time with Sombra’s own rising chest.

Smiling, Sombra followed suit.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

[sussex-nature-lover]

Monday 28th December 2020

The Local Bird List - Parts 1 & 2

I was so disappointed to lose all the typing I’d done with my bird list and then I got side-tracked with the new birds we saw on Saturday. So I’m giving it another go and I’m making up my own categories.

MOST RELIABLE BACK GARDEN REGULARS

We’re guaranteed to see these birds every day at the moment, good numbers of them and multiple times throughout the day. I’m including notes from my own thoughts rather than anything technical.

♦ bold type indicates an outside link not affiliated to this blog

Robin

We have a good population of Robins in and around the gardens, back and front and both sides and from the woods. I’m aware of several nests and yes, they have before now used the open fronted box we have opposite the door in our front porch, with successful fledgings. They’ve nested in the side shrubbery adjacent to our neighbours and on one occasion one made a nest in a tall chest height planter that I hadn’t got around to sorting out. I’d got as far as half filling it with waste rubble and then it was out of bounds - not that I minded.

Blackbird

There are several pairs and for years Blackbird was my (very) early wake up call. Our bedroom is at the back of the house with lawn directly below the window and the woods beyond. The sound really carries and low and behold the birds who sing loudest always choose to pitch up right below the window. What I love about Blackbird, apart from their physical appearance, is how they rummage through the fallen leaves, they’re so determined and I also love to watch how the young follow a parent, it always reminds me of a game of Grandmother’s Footsteps.

Robin and Blackbird are members of the Four ‘Nightsingers’ Group along with Song Thrush and Nightingale, which are on the later lists.

Starling

Absolutely beautiful birds, particularly when the sun catches their feathers and the light plays on them. They look bejewelled - so snazzy that our collective name for them is the Peaky Blinders after the TV series and the gang members’ style and fashion sense. I really love the juvenile plumage - they often look like they’re wearing waistcoats. Starlings usually arrive as a mob and behave in the same unruly and raucous manner, devastating both the fat ball supply and the water bath. They have a ‘Club House’ just behind the decking in one of the shaped bushes.

Chaffinch

Not a bird that makes a huge impression to be honest, but when you look at them properly, very pretty. The females seem to have sweet faces and the males’ colouring is more intricate than you first appreciate. They’d declined in our garden, but still seem to be breeding. Some of the males this year have, at times, had such a deep colouring I kept hoping they were Bullfinch - sadly not.

House Sparrow

I think the males often look quite fierce, it’s something to do with the colouring around the eyes, much like the male Chaffinch, who I always regard as looking quite stern. The females have a much softer appearance and feather patterns, almost like the female Pheasant in that they’re only shades of browns and taupe and other natural colours, but the patterns are actually really pretty when you study them.

We call Sparrows either Dirks or Hodders. The former is after a previous neighbour whose bedding ended up in a communal courtyard (best not to ask) and the latter after a local firm of builders...yes, that’s a sign of how much ‘development’ the House Sparrows pursue around here. Hoorah. The flocks are strong and they certainly know where to come for food, either the seed or the fat balls.

Dunnock

Easily confused with Sparrow but a quieter and more solitary bird usually found ambling around the margins of the shrubbery minding their own business. Often falls into that difficult category of the Little Brown Jobs.

Great Spotted Woodpecker

Breed extremely well here and visit the fat ball feeders constantly every day. One of my favourites. Since they discovered a reliable source of food they seem to have stopped attacking the nest boxes to prey on nestlings. I had a period of constantly watching on edge  listening and repairing damaged boxes. This one is adept at taking a good sized noggin which he pushes into a hole in the trunk so he can peck away at it undisturbed, although he will sometimes remove it and relocate to another trunk, any loss is someone else’s gain.

Nuthatch

Similar to GSW ... also not adverse to a noggin or two

they are here in great number, breed well and are at both the seed and the fat ball feeders constantly. I always know when this beautiful little bird arrives as they drop straight down like a helicopter landing. They go up and down the palm in both directions, head up or head down. It’s a specialist technique.

Great Tit

Larger than the Blue and more sensible, although they did get into a rolling battle this year with House Sparrows. It was all over the nest box on the side wall and in the end the Sparrows won.

Blue Tit

Tiny birds identified by their colouring and the distinctive eye stripe - the Great Tit has the full black cap. We call them The Li’l Uns - nothing if not creative. They’re the gang who flock to the feeders together and are most likely to have what we term A Mad Five (minutes) It seems to be a game, to the Christmas Tree, to the feeders, back to the tree, to the Willow Tree and ‘off to the woods’ they go...so busy. House Sparrow play this game too, but it’s always really sweet to watch the BTs. Sometimes they adorn the huge Christmas tree looking for all the world like living baubles and decorations.

Marsh Tit

A similar kind of size, both Marsh and Coal are buff, white and black capped. 

There are also very similar Willow Tit, but I’ve never seen one (that I know to)

Coal Tit

The Coal Tit has a white splodge on its head, often quite hard to tell which is which unless they’re at the right angle.

Long Tailed Tit

An absolutely glorious little bird who I am utterly in love with - and why wouldn’t you be? We’ve seen them in the garden before but this year they’ve made their presence well known and are coming in greater numbers, which is lovely. They tend to send out a ‘scout’ who arrives alone and then the rest of the gang show up. They stop for something to eat on their to and fro from the woods but don’t stay long. 

The LTTs are so beloved in our house that they don’t have a collective nickname, we just say THEY’RE Here and we both know.

Wood Pigeon

‘Pijjie’ is another term for Bird Brain in our house. We also refer to them as One Twig because of the time we observed one flying from our garden to the local railway station to choose single twigs with which to return to our garden (literally like a twig hyper-market) and build a nest.

This year we had ‘Daisy Waldron’ build a nest in the Wisteria and Elder outside Ms NW tY’s former bedroom, so we had a lot of close up viewing. Two squabs were reared and fledged. Daisy laid another egg but abandoned it.

Common Pheasant

One year we had a total of 22 regulars in the garden. We’ve also had times when several males have been here, although there is a bit of rivalry as they set out to command the territory. There tend to be ‘bachelor’ gangs and then males will form a harem of ladies to look after and breed with. This year a few of the girls became very fond of my Crow, Papa Crow that is and no doubt saw him as ‘The Man’ aka the one who comes out with the food. The Blue Tits think of him like this too and really don’t bother about his presence, instead literally queueing up patiently.

We call Pheasants ‘Travis’ well, the males*, due to their habit of forgetting they can fly and standing around forlornly getting soaked in wet weather. The Girls tend to have a bit more sense and seek shelter under the bushes or hedges.

* vintage pop song Why Does It Always Rain On Me? by the group ‘Travis’

I do like the distinctive crow of the male Pheasant and we tend to announce ‘Travis’ whenever we hear them.

I do worry about them wandering in the lane, they tended to do that a lot during lockdown, but I saw The Girls go across to the field yesterday and they looked fairly sensational in their own flying formation. The males are absolutely stunning but The Girls have a quiet and understated beauty and elegance. I really have a soft spot for them.

Crow, Rook and Jackdaw

Rook has a paler and straighter bill and feathery trousers on their legs compared to Crow

Carrion Crow have a dark coloured bill and square tail. Their plumage is tidier than Rook and they appear to have mislaid their trousers

Jackdaw. The smallest corvid, grey shawl around its shoulders and black cap. Note its white eye

These three large black birds flock together. They live in the woods and cause the most enormous racket. When they’re in full flow we say ‘Rate my Baby!’ That started because these days we’re all inundated with feedback surveys, sometimes as soon as the order’s gone in and before you even get delivery of the goods, or before you’ve got in the car after visiting a restaurant etc. How did we do? How many stars?

The birds really rev up in the breeding season and of course when defending their nests, so we pretend they’re hassling us for 5 Stars. When they all descend on the garden it’s like being in the middle of a football crowd...or at least how that used to be, but with more flapping.

18 in total.

All the above photos are my own, all but one (Crow) photographed in our back garden and all taken through glass.

NEW BIRDS FOR 2020:

The first spottings we had this year which were new to us came on our Lockdown (the first one) walks. Both down the lane but only within 8-10 minutes.

Linnet, so we now call the location, Linnet Bridge. Of course if I give anyone directions they won’t have a clue what I’m on about.

Whitethroat 

Plus Tree Creeper, Fieldfare, Redwing and the White Storks.

So six species new to us. That’s pretty good I think considering four were from inside the house and two just down the lane.

18 very regulars  + 6 new = running total of 24 to carry forward to tomorrow.

Decoration from the Christmas Tree in Standen Courtyard.

Unseasonal, but in this lull between Christmas and New Year, who isn’t ready for a bit of escapism? and this one’s simple, but lovely in some of my favourite colours. Let your mind wander to blue skies and seas, golden sand, gentle lapping waves and the lure of a traditional British beach hut. (Gallery)

Christmas Music of Choice for the Day is amazing

The Piano Guys

‘Carol of the Bells’ for 12 cellos.

[reveriesevenik]

The Boy Who Fell Through the Underground

Ernest T Smith liked his name quite a lot, so it was with very thinly veiled irritation that he endured all manner of taunts that used his name like a weapon against him.

If he wasn't being called “Ear-nest” for the way his bowl cut made his large ears appear to stick out even more than they already did, he was being told that his last name was not, in fact his last name.

“It's Chan, right? Or Ding-Dong or somethin’. Whatever it is, it’s not Smith, so stop lying to everyone already. Where are you really from?” someone, probably Randy Welch, who delighted in telling everyone how his father employed nearly a quarter of the people in London and was therefore more important than nearly everyone else at school, would jeer.  

The cocky boy was far more popular than scrawny, dark-haired Ernest, with his Young-King-Arthur looks and his wealthy family, and it was obvious that he relished his status. Randy even wore a gaudy, jewel-encrusted necklace on a thick chain to school every day and bragged that it had been in his family for generations.

“Ding-Dong isn’t even an Asian name,” Ernest would reply, “but I hear that’s what they used to call your mother back before she had you.”

His brain was always a few steps ahead of his feet, which was why he often found himself at the wrong end of a fist soon afterwards.  

It wasn’t that Ernest didn’t have friends, but he was prone to alienating the few he had by saying something cruelly witty before he realized that it was probably a bad idea to say it.  It didn’t help that he was literally one of the only students at his private, all-boys school, whose parents hadn’t paid through the nose to get him in.  He wasn’t a stellar student, but he wasn’t a dropout either, which meant that he was worse than either of these things.

He was, unfortunately, unremarkable, except for one very important thing.

Ernest Smith could sometimes see the future.

Luckily, it didn’t happen every day, a mercy for which Ernest was rather thankful. It was disorienting to find himself randomly shoved face-first into the future for a few moments before being dragged back into the present, which usually ended up with him tripping on something or having an awkward conversation with someone who wouldn’t take “randomly popped out to look at the future for a bit, but I’m back now” as an explanation. Episodes of future sight felt a lot like being pushed underwater in a fast-moving river, and he had to struggle to keep himself focused on what he was seeing enough to figure out what was going on.

Secondly, it rarely provided useful information.  Though Ernest was fairly thankful that he wasn’t left with infuriating, vaguely worded prophecies after one of his “episodes,” his forays into the future were not exactly inspiring.  He could see very clearly what would be served for lunch and which line was the shortest at the snack bar, but since he always brought his lunch from home, he never really needed to use the information for himself.  He could see what people would be wearing the next day or the day after, but beyond a few bets he made (which dried up after he won more than once), that information hadn’t exactly yielded positive results either.

And so, Ernest just tried to ignore his so-called “gift” and refrained from telling anyone about it.  His mother had at least an inkling about it, for he’d brought it up when he was much younger, but he’d spent a lot of time convincing her that he had grown out of it (though, really, how does one “grow out” of seeing the future?). It was, he decided, a ridiculous explanation, but his parents seemed relieved at the lie.

As he grew older, Ernest was finding that lies often worked quite a lot better than the truth when it came to parents. Selective truths made up the rest of it. It seemed that cruel truths of the world were simply too much for the grown ups of the world, and Ernest wasn't about to upset them, not when they had the power to make his life miserable.

Seemingly unrelated to the obnoxious episodes of being pushed randomly into the future, Ernest also had recurring dreams about glossy black wings and the scent of mint as someone with a gruff voice whispered something unintelligible to him.  It was an oddly soothing dream that he looked forward to having, though he certainly didn’t have much love for any of the garbage-stealing corvids that made a mess of the rubbish bins around the city, and he hadn't smelled the scent of real mint since the summer before, when he’d gone to the country to visit family.

It was on a fairly forgettable Friday that Ernest made the first terrible decision in a series of terrible decisions that would change his life forever.

It was his first class of the day and he slipped into his seat only to feel something cold and slimy underneath him. He jerked out of his seat and fell to the floor with a scream that echoed through the classroom.

Everyone stared and a few people began to point and laugh. Ernest turned his head to see that someone had piled his chair with cold, slimy noodles.

Shame colored his cheeks as he slowly pulled himself to his feet.

“Thought you'd appreciate a bit of chow fun this morning! You should thank me, Chinaman!” Randy jeered, his cronies surrounding him like an assortment of particularly dim rocks.

Ernest muttered something angrily under his breath just in time for the surly biology teacher to enter the classroom.

“Mr. Welch!” Professor Mungin growled, looming over the suddenly very contrite boy. “Bullying students again are we?  You will clean up this mess and apologize to Mr. Smith. Then, I think that you and I shall take a little stroll down to speak with the Headmaster.”

Randy looked a bit panicked at that, but he appeared to think of something quickly enough and his expression turned smug.

“Oh, Ernest knows that it was just a joke. Harmless fun, right Ernest?”

The way he said it promised dire things if Ernest did not agree.

“No. Not right,” Ernest replied bitterly, wincing at the twinge of pain in his tailbone. “He was just laughing about having done it.”

“Is that so?”  Professor Mungin glared angrily at Randy, who was not even bothering to disguise the look of utter hatred on his face.

Ernest knew it was a mistake the moment he heard the door to the classroom close. The rough, rock-faced boys gave him the sort of look that made his breath hitch with fear. One drew his finger across his neck and then added, as though Ernest couldn't have understood the obvious meaning of the gesture, “Yer dead, Smith.”

Randy didn't return to class with the teacher and Ernest sank even further down in his seat, which, though it had been wiped down, was still cold against his somewhat soggy trousers.

He dreaded the end of the day.

“Oi!”  The voice was sharp and full of undone violence.

Ernest did not turn back. He ran.

He could barely hear anything over the roar of the blood in his ears, but from the chorus of shouts behind him, he knew he was in trouble. Ernest had short legs, but he also wasn't very tall. Normally, these two things were the respective banes of his existence. It was hard to get other blokes to take him seriously when he was nearly a head shorter. Being small and sleight was a boon, however, when running away from a group of murderous thugs in a crowded, bustling city.

Ernest flew into the street and sidestepped a lorry just as it barreled on through the intersection without even slowing down. As he landed on  bus flew by behind him at breakneck speed and he could hear his pursuers swearing over the cough of exhaust that escaped the giant beast of a vehicle as it braked to turn into a bus stop. Ernest ran ahead and ducked down behind a large dumpster.

Sure enough, the group of angry thugs ran by, and when he was sure they'd gone, he quickly took off in the opposite direction.

He’d made it all the way past the turnstiles and was standing near one of the support beams near the subway platform when he someone grabbed his shoulder and pushed him...hard. Ernest let out a shout and half-stumbled towards the end of the platform. He finally caught himself and turned, only to find himself face to face with a furious Randy Welch.

“Come back here, you slanty-” Randy let out a noise somewhat like a balloon being deflated as Ernest headbutted him in the stomach.

“Leave! Me! Alone!” Ernest ground out as Randy grabbed his arms and began to push back against him, his mouth a comical “O” of pain as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Just you wait ‘til my friend Freddy gets here,” Randy gasped out, his fingers curling around Ernest’s arms like steel beams. “He doesn’t like your sort.” He snarled. “Half-breeds.”

Ernest only had a moment to turn his head before Randy spat on his cheek, the warm, thick sensation filling Ernest with a deep, unsettling desire to fight and flee at the same time.  His blood boiled in his ears as he began to struggle like a caged animal against the stronger, bigger boy’s grip.  Ernest felt as though he was looking down a long, dark tunnel, his only desire to hurt Randy until he let go and then get away.

There was a whistling sound in the distance as policemen ran down the platform, but it might as well have been a million miles away.  The rumbling and hot hiss of air as an approaching train filled the stagnant underground station, but Ernest was focused only on one thing.

Get away. Get away. Getawaygetawaygetaway.

Ernest clawed frantically at Randy’s chest and his fingers hooked around something cold and solid.

The pendant on Randy’s stupid necklace.

“-are you crazy-” Randy was shouting something else, but Ernest pulled in the opposite direction blindly, his mind only coming back to him the moment his right foot hit empty air.

There was a horrible metallic snapping noise as the chain snapped and Ernest fell backwards, his head turning to see a bright light growing brighter in his eyes until he couldn’t see anything at all.

There was a scream, and Ernest wondered vaguely if it was his own, but then, with a blast of heat and light, his forehead slammed against something hard and then he didn’t wonder anything at all.

[0goth-hippie0]

Questions for no reason but boredom

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most? Very hard. I have wayyy too many for me to bring it down to just six, so I’ll give you six I can play on repeat anywhere. Tool-Sober; Disturbed-Overburdened; 10 Years-Fix Me; The Amity Affliction- Ivy(Doomsday); Creed-My Sacrifice

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Tie between Joe Rogan and Johnny Depp

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17. (“And why would that be?” Kronos’s golden eyes glittered) Rick Riordan, The Last Olympian

4: What do you think about most? Death and the afterlife. Those that mean the most to me. Why I love.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say? “I bought everyone a new toothbrush so I grab you one for when you come here”- Mom

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes? Depends on what time of year. Prefer just shorts.

7: What’s your strangest talent? Being able to eat anytime, anyplace, hungry or not.

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence) Girls like flowers; Boys need them.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you? A poem. Once.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar? Listening to Chelsea Grin while running a 5k.

11: Do you have any strange phobias? Not really strange one, but a phobia. Arachnophobia. Along with Autophobia, the fear of being alone, unwanted, disregarded, or unimportant.

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? Lol, a pencil once. 4th grade.

13: What’s your religion? I categorize myself as a Christian because my beliefs are more comparable to that, but I am also a spiritualist. I don’t necessarily like the idea of religion or care to categorize myself at all. I have a very unique way of describing my place alongside God’s in this reality.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? Running, walking through nature, reading, or meditating.

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Lol both? Maybe? I don’t like my face, but I’m no photographer either.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? Yikes couldn’t be broader, huh? I have a pretty subjective tie for 1st right now between three bands; Tool, The Amity Affliction, and Breaking Benjamin

17: What was the last lie you told? “I’m not worried”

18: Do you believe in karma? Absolutely. Karma is the ultimate equalizer.

19: What does your URL mean? “0darkest-light0” describes me. I try to be a light to others. A hippie of sorts. Very open minded and love spreading, but also so dark on my own. Very deep and cold to myself. Therefore I am the darkest light.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength? My greatest weakness is self doubt, or “I love you”. My greatest strength is my determination, and encouragement from those I care the most about.

21: Who is your celebrity crush? Scarlett Johansson

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping? One of the many things I haven’t done.

23: How do you vent your anger? Grind my teeth and clinch my fists. Lots of communication and rationalization. Maybe a walk through a wooded area and some music. I used to have anger problems.

24: Do you have a collection of anything? Yes! A rock collection that was huge, bust sadly had been shrunken.

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? I prefer to see a face, but phone talks are easier at the moment.

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become? I wouldn’t change anything. I am me no matter what. I will not stay me as I am now. I will change and grow more. That is life.

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love? I hate buzzing sounds. Like insects or weird electronics. I LOVE the sound of a breeze through leaves, light rain on a window pane, and slow, content, and light breathing.

28: What’s your biggest “what if”? What if everything is not going to be okay?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Yes and we are aliens.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm. I stretch my right arm out and meet my beer(Dos Equis), and my left arm meets a wall.

31: Smell the air. What do you smell? Home.

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to? A trap house with lots of trash, drugs, filth, and reasons to shower 15 times.

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast? East Coast

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender. Amy Lee

35: To you, what is the meaning of life? The meaning of life is to find happiness. To live for whatever it is that makes you happy. Through happiness comes love, and love will show you that we are all one

36: Define Art. Art is emotion, imagination, creativity, and passion in whatever medium works for you. Writing, music, painting, singing, teaching, loving, cooking, etc. Art is whatever you use to bring your inner self out for the world to glimpse your infinite self.

37: Do you believe in luck? A little, but only with certain things.

38: What’s the weather like right now? Clear skies and chilly.

39: What time is it? 1:35am.

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed? Yes but no, not a serious one anyway.

41: What was the last book you read? An Edgar Allen Poe collection of poems and short stories written by him.

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline? Yes I do.

43: Do you have any nicknames? “Cool” or “Coofy” by everyone who knows(few know).

44: What was the last film you saw? “What Dreams May Come”

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? Broken Collarbone

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly? No! Let them be! Too beautiful to capture!

47: Do you have any obsessions right now? My thoughts and music. And Tumblr lol

48: What’s your sexual orientation? Straight

49: Ever had a rumor spread about you? Yes, but who gives a fuck?

50: Do you believe in magic? Yes. Magic is everything. Emotion is magic. Life is magic.

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? I don’t hold grudges, but I never forget.

52: What is your astrological sign? Taurus

53: Do you save money or spend it? Both! Save to spend ya know?

54: What’s the last thing you purchased? A new phone screen

55: Love or lust? Love. Always.

56: In a relationship? In every way but actually.

57: How many relationships have you had? 3, 1 serious

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue? Nope!

59: Where were you yesterday? With my friend Christian and a long lost cousin.

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet

of you? Not a thing.

61: Are you wearing socks right now? Yes

62: What’s your favorite animal? Is all of them an option?? Top 5 categories are dogs, cats(including large ones), bats, reptiles, and “corvid” birds.

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? Understanding and care for them.

64: Where is your best friend? Sleeping for School tomorrow

65: Give me your top 5 favorite blogs on Tumblr. ahappydark, purplebuddhaquotes, omnipotentdarkness, thegoodvybe, iloveyou

66: What is your heritage? Latino, Irish, Native American.

67: What were you doing last night? Drinking and talking with a great friend.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name? Edwards

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off? More and needed probably lol

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend? Yeah I think I’m a decent guy. Fun and always looking for the brighter side.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? I can totally get another job, AND have a new friend to do it with!

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid? a)I tell mostly everyone I think would truly care; b)I share them with the ones I care the most about, I can think of 4 people besides my family; c)No, why fear what was already inevitable?

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love. You can’t have one without the other, but love. Through love you can get anything. Same can be said with trust though.

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it? Chevelle-I get it

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number? **01. Sorry it’s too easy.

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship? Communication, trust, stability, emotion, passion, intimacy, similar goals, loyalty, determination, common interests.

77: How can I win your heart? Good food, true love, compliments, encouragement, and lots of laugh.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity? 100%

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far? To stop smoking pot.

80: What size shoes do you wear? 10.5

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone? I want my family and friends to carve their names into my tree(I want to be a tree when I die)

82: What is your favorite word? Serendipity. The meaning, sound, and flow of the word on your tongue.

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word heart. Pain.

84: What is a saying you say a lot? Everything is a Circle

85: What’s the last song you listened to? Pierce the Veil-King for a Day

86: Basic question; what’s your favorite color/colors? Black, deep purple, forest green, and midnight blue.

87: What is your current desktop picture? Stars

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be? Child molesters

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on? When asked by specific persons, “Who do you love?”

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? I would debate if I was dreaming or not, then still attempt to kill them.

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? The power of flight.

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? 30 minutes of my childhood with my deceased grandmother.

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? Don’t want to get into too much detail so ”A family dispute”

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be? Taylor Swift lol so she can write a song about me.

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? Greece

96: Do you have any relatives in jail? Yes, two.

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car? No I have not in a car.

98: Ever been on a plane? Four times!

[in-the-shade-of-a-rooks-wing]

HAS SUCCESS SPOILED THE CROW?

The Puzzling Case File on the World's Smartest Bird

Any person with no steady job and no children naturally finds time for a sizable amount of utterly idle speculation. For instance, me - I've developed a theory about crows. It goes like this:

Crows are bored. They suffer from being too intelligent for their station in life. Respectable evolutionary success is simply not, for these brainy and complex birds, enough. They are dissatisfied with the narrow goals and horizons of that tired old Darwinian struggle. On the lookout for a new challenge. See them there, lined up conspiratorially along a fence rail or a high wire, shoulder to shoulder, alert, self-contained, missing nothing. Feeling...discreetly thwarted. Waiting, like an ambitious understudy, for their break. Dolphins and whales and chimpanzees get all the fawning publicity, great fuss made over their near-human intelligence. But don't be fooled. Crows are not stupid. Far from it. They are merely underachievers. They are bored.

Most likely it runs in their genes, along with the black plumage and the talent for vocal mimicry. Crows belong to a remarkable family of birds known as the Corvidae, also including ravens, magpies, jackdaws, and jays, and the case file on this entire clan is so full of prodigious and quirky behavior that it cries out for interpretation not by an ornithologist but a psychiatrist. Or, failing that, some ignoramus with a supple theory. Computerized ecologists can give us those fancy equations depicting the whole course of a creature's life history in terms of energy allotment to every physical need, with variables for fertility and senility and hunger and motherly love; but they haven't yet programmed in a variable for boredom. No wonder the Corvidae dossier is still packed with unanswered questions.

At first glance, though, all is normal: Crows and their corvid relatives seem to lead an exemplary birdlike existence. The home life is stable and protective. Monogamy is the rule, and most mated pairs stay together until death. Courtship is elaborate, even rather tender, with the male doing a good bit of bowing and dancing and jiving, not to mention supplying his intended with food; eventually he offers the first scrap of nesting material as a sly hint that they get on with it. While she incubates a clutch of four to six eggs, he continues to furnish the groceries, and stands watch nearby at night. Then for a month after hatching, both parents dote on the young. Despite strenuous care, mortality among fledglings is routinely high, sometimes as high as 70 percent, but all this crib death is counterbalanced by the longevity of the adults. Twenty-year-old crows are not unusual, and one raven in captivity survived to age twenty-nine. Anyway, corvids show no inclination toward breeding themselves up to huge numbers, filling the countryside with their kind (like the late passenger pigeon, or an infesting variety of insect) until conditions shift for the worse, and a vast population collapses. Instead, crows and their relatives reproduce at roughly the same stringent rate through periods of bounty or austerity, maintaining levels of population that are modest but consistent, and which can be supported throughout any foreseeable hard times. In this sense they are astute pessimists. One consequence of such modesty of demographic ambition is to leave them with excess time, and energy, not desperately required for survival.

The other thing they possess in excess is brainpower. They have the largest cerebral hemispheres, relative to body size, of any avian family. On various intelligence tests - to measure learning facility, clock-reading skills, and the ability to count - they have made other birds look doltish. One British authority, Sylvia Bruce Wilmore, pronounces them "quicker on the uptake" than certain well-thought-of mammals like the cat and the monkey, and admits that her own tamed crow so effectively dominated the other animals in her household that this bird "would even pick up the spaniel's leash and lead him around the garden!" Wilmore also adds cryptically: "Scientists at the University of Mississippi have been successful in getting the cooperation of crows." But she fails to make clear whether that was as test subjects, or on a consultative basis.

From other crow experts come the same sort of anecdote. Crows hiding food in all manner of unlikely spots and relying on their uncanny memories, like adepts at the game of Concentration, to find the caches again later. Crows using twenty-three distinct forms of call to communicate various sorts of information to each other. Crows in flight dropping clams and walnuts on highway pavement, to break open the shells so the meats can be eaten. Then there's the one about the hooded crow, a species whose range includes Finland: "In this land Hoodies show great initiative during winter when men fish through holes in the ice. Fishermen leave baited lines in the water to catch fish and on their return they have found a Hoodie pulling in the line with its bill, and walking away from the hole, then putting down the line and walking back on it to stop it sliding, and pulling it again until [the crow] catches the fish on the end of the line." These birds are bright.

And probably - according to my theory - they are too bright for their own good. You know the pattern. Time on their hands. Under-employed and over-qualified. Large amounts of potential just lying fallow. Peck up a little corn, knock back a few grasshoppers, carry a beakful of dead rabbit home for the kids, then fly over to sit on a fence rail with eight or ten cronies and watch some poor farmer sweat like a sow at the wheel of his tractor. An easy enough life, but is this it? Is this all?

If you don't believe me just take my word for it: crows are bored.

And so there arise, as recorded in the case file, these certain...no, symptoms is too strong. Call them, rather, patterns of gratuitous behavior.

For example, they play a lot. Animal play is a reasonably common phenomenon, at least among certain mammals, especially in the young of those species. Play activities, by definition, are any that serve no immediate biological function, and which therefore do not directly improve the animal's prospects for survival and reproduction. The corvids, according to expert testimony, are irrepressibly playful. In fact, they show the most complex play known in birds. Ravens play toss with themselves in the air, dropping and catching again a small twig. They lie on their backs and juggle objects (in one recorded case, a rubber ball) between beak and feet. They jostle each other sociably in a version of "king of the mountain" with no real territorial stakes. Crows are equally frivolous. They play a brand of rugby, wherein one crow picks up a white pebble or a bit of shell and flies from tree to tree, taking a friendly bashing from its buddies until it drops the token. And they have a comedy/acrobatic routine: allowing themselves to tip backward dizzily from a wire perch, holding a loose grip so as to hang upside down, spreading out both wings, then daringly letting go with one foot; finally, switching feet to let go with the other. Such shameless hot-dogging is usually performed for a small audience of other crows.

There is also an element of the practical joker. Of the Indian house crow, Wilmore says: "...this crow has a sense of humor, and revels in the discomfort caused by its playful tweaking at the tails of other birds, and at the ears of sleeping cows and dogs; it also pecks the toes of flying foxes as they hang sleeping in their roosts." This crow is a laugh riot. Another of Wilmore's favorite species amuses itself, she says, by "dropping down on sleeping rabbits and rapping them over the skull or settling on drowsy cattle and startling them." What we have here is actually a distinct subcategory of playfulness known, where I come from at least, as "cruisin' for a bruisin'". It has been clinically linked to boredom.

Further evidence: crows are known to indulge in sunbathing. "When sunning at fairly high intensity," says another British corvidist, "the bird usually positions itself sideways on to the sun and erects its feathers, especially those on head, belly, flanks and rump." So the truth is out: Under those sleek ebony feathers, they are tan. And of course sunbathing (like ice-fishing, come to think of it) constitutes prima facie proof of a state of paralytic ennui.

But the final and most conclusive bit of data comes from a monograph by K. E. L. Simmons published in the Journal of Zoology, out of London. (Perhaps it's for deep reasons of national character that the British lead the world in the study of crows; in England, boredom has great cachet.) Simmons's paper is curiously entitled "Anting and the Problem of Self-Stimulation." Anting as used here is simply the verb (or to be more precise, participial) form of the insect. In ornithological parlance, it means that a bird - for reasons that remain mysterious - has taken to rubbing itself with mouthfuls of squashed ants. Simmons writes: "True anting consists of highly stereotyped movements whereby the birds apply ants to their feathers or expose their plumage to the ants." Besides direct application, done with the beak, there is also a variant called passive anting: The bird intentionally squats on a disturbed anthill, allowing (inviting) hundreds of ants to swarm over its body.

Altogether strange behavior, and especially notorious for it are the corvids. Crows avidly rub their bodies with squashed ants. They wallow amid busy ant colonies and let themselves become acrawl. They revel in formication.

Why? One theory is that the formic acid produced (as a defense chemical) by some ants is useful for conditioning feathers and ridding the birds of external parasites. But Simmons cites several other researchers who have independently reached a different conclusion. One of these scientists declared that the purpose of anting "is the stimulation and soothing of the body," and that the general effect "is similar to that gained by humanity from the use of external stimulants, soothing ointments, counter-irritants (including formic acid) and perhaps also smoking." Another compared anting to "the human habits of smoking and drug-taking" and maintained that "it has no biological purpose but is indulged in for its own sake, for the feeling of well-being and ecstasy it induces..."

You know the pattern. High intelligence, large promise. Early success without great effort. Then a certain loss of purposefulness. Manifestations of detachment and cruel humor. Boredom. Finally the dangerous spiral into drug abuse.

But maybe it's not too late for the corvids. Keep that in mind next time you run into a raven, or a magpie, or a crow. Look the bird in the eye. Consider its frustrations. Try to say something stimulating.