One day I got bored. On the second day, I got bored and lazy. Then on the third day, Mary Magdelene and friends rushed into the open tomb of my brain to see that all good literary senses had risen from the dead and flown the coop. This is more or less the true story behind the conception of 'The Things Raven Sees', the fanfic which proves that no matter how abysmally epic and train wreckish 'These Black Eyes' was, I still hadn't done enough review whorage on a daily basis. So I took a bottle of angst, a beaker of unimaginative syntax, and frothed them together on a nightly basis--in little snippets before a nap, or a work shift, or a ceremonious genocide of brain cells--the resulting atrocity, of course, being a 100 chapter long conveyor belt of drivel that sees me far too often acting out some bizarre, transgendered fantasy of being a petite, purple-haired she-witch and not the actual oversized, hairy, basement lemur child I really am. Yuck. For a good drinking game, take a swig at the end of any chapter that concludes with Raven stripping down to a nightie and laying down to sleep in satin sheets--I mean what in the McGoogolJesusCrunchAFudge?

Original Stats: (First Publish Date: 3.28.05) (Last Publish Date: 3.21.06) (Chapters: 100) (Words: 131, 570) (Reviews: 1, 173)

And in answer to your question: No, they are not related.


There is a ghost-like dance in the way the steam rises from the tea. And I know I've heated it for too long. I used to like drinking tea cold, but somewhere that all changed. Drinking tea feels better if I know there was some time involved in making it. Some warm, meaningless time. The hot liquid feels like it heals me. Exorcises me. But too many seconds, and it's scalding. I don't deserve to burn. At least, I don't want to.

"Hey? Any of y'all see the remote? I can't find the freakin' thing!"

I quietly take the cup and saucer and walk over to the corner of the room. There's a booth and table there. A vase of pretty flowers Starfire gathered from the rock bluffs surrounding the Tower. Weeds, really. The happy alien doesn't know better. Nobody has the spite to tell her to throw the things away. So there they sit. Beautifully ugly. Awkwardness sublime.

"Yoohoo! Remote? Come on, people! The Knight Rider marathon's about to come on!"

I sit down. I sit. I produce from under my soft blue cloak a small brown book. A leathery cover with the runes of Azarath burned onto it. There is beautiful calligraphy stringing forth poems and lyrics on the spotty, ivory sheets inside. The words are indistinct in the English translation. Like lonely etchings in the surface of a two-way mirror. I can't remember if I wrote them or not. Or perhaps it was a friend of my mother's anticipating me. Anticipating this haphazard bird cage wedged between dimensions."

"Raven! Darn it, girl, how long have you been sittin' there?"

I sigh. The sigh sinks into a groan. The groan dwindles into a drone: "Since the bleeding earth cooled…"

"This is a matter of life and death! I can't find the remote for the life of me!"

"Cyborg….."

"I could have sworn I left it on the couch! And it ain't under any of cushions. I bet that sniveling elf fell asleep as a snake and mistook it for an egg again! Dammit! Second time this month!"

"Cyborg………."

"I should a lousy tracker on the thing! It just figures…since nobody else around here seems to give a darn about helping me find it when the remote turns up missing!"

"Cyborg………………"

"Huh?"

"………have you ever considered simply….installing a remote in your arm?"

"…………………….whoah……….," a light comes over his face and he smiles happily before skipping back across the room. "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah yeah yeah….Rae, you're beautiful! Woo!"

I take a deep breath. I gaze at my book again. But the pages are suddenly out of focus. The meter of the poems and the beat of my heart is out of sync and I suddenly wonder how I ever was able to translate and connect Azarathian and English to begin with. There are silly, simple things that oftentimes confound us. But only when we want to be confounded.

Somewhere in the distance, Cyborg chuckles to himself. Giddy as a school girl.

I take a sip of hot tea.