[[A late addition for Black Raven Week!

Disclaimer: These random little snippets are based on an old nursery rhyme- about MAGPIES but oh well- made by who knows who. If you're curious, you should look it up. All I can say is I do not own it, or the Ravens.

Set: Whenever in Misthallery?

Spoilers: Only for Chapter 4 of Spectre's Call.

One for Sorrow

1

Roddy knew sorrow like an itch he couldn't scratch. But he wasn't the type to suffer in silence, oh no. He made sure others felt his pain on a daily basis. He wasn't choosy, either. Any market-goer— friend, passerby, even the local animals— was forced to hear his complaints. Then he'd wait for them to judge him. Downcast eyes, muttered apologises that they had places to be, pity rolling off them in waves. "Poor confused beggar boy." Some didn't even bother listening to his woes.

The Black Ravens were different. They always put up with his grumbling, but usually just rolled their eyes or laughed.

"Shut up, Rod'."

"We've all got it tough here, mate."

"You'll live."

On the odd occasion he wasn't moaning, his opinion was actually valued. He— the grumpy street urchin— was second in command. Here, he was somebody.

Roddy could get by without a father. He could survive without ideal food and shelter. Despite his position, he could live without sorrow.

But without the Black Ravens?

2

"Wren, come meet your baby brother."

When Mum introduced the tiny bundle with a puff of brown hair, two-and-a-half-year-old Wren had been overjoyed. Her dad wasn't around much and she got lonely. But now she had a little brother! Two was better than one, right? Wren knew it; she was good at counting. She'd teach her brother everything she knew like how to talk, walk, count to ten, draw, the alphabet...

Mum asked, "What do you think we should call him?"

Wren looked around their room (it was their room now, she was sharing with the baby) and pointed to the corner where the lamp was plugged in. "Socket." She was good at Science too... kind of.

Mum laughed, but said, "That's a beautiful name. Say hi to your big sister, Socket!" (Thank goodness she hadn't chosen 'plug'.)

Baby Socket just blew a raspberry. All the same, Wren kissed his little nose. "Love you, Socket."

Cut forward eight years. Wren still loved her brother, but she no longer adored him. He wasn't cute and innocent anymore— he was downright evil! Sometimes she said 'I love you' in that you're- my- little- brother- and- I- have- to- love- you kind of way. On more regular occasions she would fondly tell Socket how bratty, annoying and lazy he was. In return, Socket would whine that she was bossy, mean and she smelled. Nice.

But for all his troubles, she could never stay mad at him. There were times when he'd follow her around like a lost puppy or fall asleep at his lookout post. (She almost preferred it when he was sleeping.)

The line between tormentor and confidant was so thin it was invisible, tying them together. Where Wren went, Socket went. One was always dragging Two around with her.

Wren wouldn't have it any other way.

3

Beautiful. Gus gave a lovesick sigh, leaning against the fruit stall. Before him was the single most beautiful thing he'd ever seen...

"Helloooo! Earth to Gus!" A hand waved in front of his face, and he turned, blinking at Marylin. "Are you staring at Aunt Taffy's candy cart again?"

"N-no," Gus lied; looking around for any excuse other than I'm hungry. "I was just staring at... at those birds flying over Aunt Taffy. Yeah."

Cawing, said-birds landed on the fruit stall. Marylin glanced up and groaned, "Oh, not them again..."

"What's wrong?" Gus wondered as she started packing some grapes away.

"Last time those birds were here, they tried to pinch my stock."

"Why not just get rid of them?"

Shoving a box of apples under the counter, Marylin half shrugged. "I'm sure they'll leave soon..."

That was the motto she lived by. Stay calm; just wait till the storm blows over. But Gus was a boy of action. He pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket. He'd been saving it for later... but he'd give it up, for Marylin.

"You know, there's this old rhyme about counting ravens," Gus said, throwing the candy to tempt the black and white birds away from the stand. He began to count them on his fingers. "One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl..."

4

"Those are magpies, silly," Marylin corrected, though she was smiling. "And that rhyme is about magpies too."

"Oh!" Gus gasped when the magpies suddenly hopped onto his head and shoulders, combing for more food. "Hey, get off! I'm not a piece of candy!"

Marylin giggled as Gus waved his hands around like a windmill. That silly boy. Gus turned bright red at the sound of her laughter and increased his efforts to scare the flock away. This only angered the magpies. Squawking angrily, they pecked and clawed at his temples.

"Ow, ow, owww!"

"You leave him alone! Go on, shoo!" Marylin chucked some blackberries from her stand. The magpies abandoned their human roost to go shooting after it, caw caw cawing with glee.

"Are you ok, Gus?" She came to inspect the marks on his face. Luckily, those feathered-fiends had missed his eyes, but the cuts still looked pretty sore... She removed her bandanna and bandaged it around his head. "That'll protect you for now."

She added a kiss on the cheek just to be sure.

5

According to legend, magpies liked to collect shiny things, such as silver. So did Scraps, though he wasn't very legendary. And he didn't plan to be.

The sort of people that went down in history was often snooty upper-class. Kings and queens? Presidents and prime ministers? No thanks. (Though, Scraps did have some respect for notorious pirates.) Worst of all were the poor few who tasted fame, only to become snobs, shedding their humble roots.

Once when Crow had suggested moving the Black Market to the richer city of London, Scraps had strongly rebelled. Why should the Black Ravens abandon their folks and their earnest livelihoods in Misthallery, just for profit? There was more to life than fame and fortune.

Ironically, in this way, Scraps was far nobler than he and many others realized.

6

A golden monkey statue. Louis's dad had bought a golden monkey statue. Why? Who knew. Maybe it was a collector's item. Maybe it was to keep the other pointless antiques in their house company. Maybe it was *gasp!* reduced.

Compared to his fellow Ravens, Louis's family was a little more well off than he let on. It was why he could afford decent clothes and a 'fancy' hairstyle, as Scraps put it. (To Louis's credit, this did help draw visitors to the market.)

But that wouldn't be the case for much longer if his father kept buying things like... like a golden monkey statue. Louis was seriously considering swapping it with Crow for something worthwhile. He tucked the ornament under his arm with a sigh, heading to the bazaar.

Dad needed to learn the true meaning of value. Like friends, and family. Louis wouldn't trade them for anything.

7

Was there anything more precious than a secret? The instant you gave it away, a secret lost its value, and you lost the sharer's trust along with it. Secrets could destroy even the strongest bonds, leading to separation and bitterness and war. One way or another, the truth would come out eventually...

"You can't tell anyone," Crow hissed through the darkness of the auction hall. "Cross your heart."

Unless... you hid something for so long, it tore you up inside until you reached the breaking point. That was the most dangerous type of secret. If you gave it away, it was like passing a time bomb.

A ticking time bomb that was now in Badger's clammy hands.

[[This horrible cliff-hanger should lead to another Black Raven request.]]