Crow Funny Quotes

Jesper knocked his head against the hull and cast his eyes heavenward. “Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Brekker’s lips quirked. “I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost,” Matthias said primly, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain.

Why don't Fjerdans let girls fight?" "They don't want to fight." "How do you know? Have you ever asked one?" "Fjerdan women are to be venerated, protected." "That's probably a wise policy." "It is?" "Think how embarrassing it would be for you when you got trounced by a Fjerdan girl.

You have no finesse,” a gambler at the Silver Garter once said to him. “No technique.” “Sure I do,” Kaz had responded. “I practice the art of ‘pull his shirt over his head and punch till you see blood.

Discipline allows magic. To be a writer is to be the very best of assassins. You do not sit down and write every day to force the Muse to show up. You get into the habit of writing every day so that when she shows up, you have the maximum chance of catching her, bashing her on the head, and squeezing every last drop out of that bitch.

Kaz reached into his coat pocket. "Here," he said and handed Jesper a slender book with an elaborate cover. "Are we going to read to each other?" "Just flip it open to the back." Jesper opened the book and peered at the last page, puzzled. "So?" "Hold it up so we don't have to look at your ugly face." "My face has character. Besides - oh!" "An excellent read, isn't it?" "Who knew I had a taste for literature?

I told you, I like your stupid face.

I ain't never seen a creature like that before, she says. He's so smart, he's- More, like a person than a bird? I says. Yeah, she says. That's it. Whatever you do, I says, don't tell him that. I'll never hear the end of it.

I don't have an accent. Northerners just talk funny.

Close your eyes!" "You can't kiss me from down there, Wylan." "Just do it!

Anything for you, Dru. And I mean it. Now, be quiet and let me concentrate.

I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

When this is all over, when Van Eck has been put in his place, when Rollins goes running, and the money is paid, these will still be my streets. I can’t live in a city where I can’t hold up my head.” “If you have a head to hold up,” said Jesper. “I’ve taken knives, bullets, and too many punches to count, all for a little piece of this town,” said Kaz. “This is the city I bled for. And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it’s that you can always bleed a little more.

Bod quite liked crows. He thought they were funny and he liked the way they helped to keep the graveyard tidy.

No,” he agreed. “You’re not. She never caused me this agony.” What could I say to that? The way he was looking at me was making my head feel funny. Was making me feel funny and not just in that oh God I just almost died way. Christophe leaned in. His mouth was a mere centimetres from me. “She never made me think I would die of heart failure. She never, never made me fear for her this way.

Nothing humbles a beautiful woman better than not being wanted by a man whose girlfriend or wife is ugly (or not as beautiful as she is).

I rubbed at my temple, where the zit was gone. It still hurt a little , though, deep under the skin. I hate those zits that burrow underground. You think they've vanished, but no, they just barricade themselves right next to the bone and hurt.

Razor appeared on his shoulder with a buzzing laugh. "Stupid goblins," he crowed, bouncing up and down, making Kierran sigh. "Funny, stupid goblins think master is funny elf. Ha!" He buzzed once more and sat down, grinning like a psychotic piranha.

so this crow comes and it starts quacking at us.

Fat men take a cushion with them wherever they go.

I told everyone you didn’t go poof, but they just looked at me funny,” said Maddie. Cedar shook her head. “You said, ‘Tiny crow crowned unconfused with a cloud.’

Vig walked back to his truck. That’s when Stieg drily asked, “Do you need another minute to blush coquettishly and dream about your perfect white wedding?” As Vig walked around the front of his vehicle, he grabbed Stieg by the hair and slammed him face-first into the hood.

The seer crow was outraged. "Mangiz does not forget an insult, hedgepig." Ambrose smiled cheekily. "Good, then here's a few more for you to remember, you pot-bellied, cross-eyed, feather-bottomed excuse for a duck.

Graves leaned forward, eyeing me. “Hey, Dru. You were French-kissing a winged snake. Creeptastic.

It's funny. I used to feel that I wouldn't care if I died. I just kept throwing myself at life, hoping I'd hit a bull's-eye eventually. I thought death would be a relief from all that feeling. A relief not to have all that pain. Not to care so much,' Evie said.

Okay then.” She nodded. “Then let’s do this.” “Now before we start, there is one thing you always need to keep in mind during this process.” “What?” “That everyone, at some point in their life, wants to fly. And soon you’ll actually be doing it.” “Which means . . . what? Exactly.” “That you’re better than everyone else.

Are you worried about Nina being out there?” Inej asked. “No.” “She’s very good at this, you know. She’s a natural actress.” “I’m aware,” he said grimly. “She can be anything to anyone.” “She’s best when she’s Nina.” “And who is that?” “I suspect you know better than any of us.” He crossed his huge arms. “She’s brave,” he said, grudgingly. “And funny.” “Foolish. Every last thing needn’t be a joke.” “Bold,” Inej said. “Loud.” “So why do your eyes keep searching the crowd for her?” “They do not,” Matthias protested. She had to laugh at the ferocity of his scowl. He drew a finger through a pile of crumbs, “Nina is everything you say. It’s too much.” “Mmm,” Inej murmured, taking a sip from her mug. “Maybe you’re just not enough.

Very ... shiny. Jack winced a little and snapped the eye patch back into place. Potentially dangerous levels of cheer.

I thought Elder Quinn might smack him in the jaw, but he's not half stirring when he gets on a roll, is he? He should join an amateur theatrical society." He IS an amateur theatrical society, Morrigan thought.

Jesper,” she gasped in relief. “Finally.” “I’m here, too, you know,” said Wylan.

That one doesn’t count. The poor scoundrel is deaf, but he makes a fine sniffer. How do you think we found you?

Over the roar of our motor, we catch snippets of radio hits blasting off the boats we pass: Taylor Swift’s “Cruel Summer” and Sheryl Crow’s “Soak Up the Sun” and Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.

You’ve kidnapped my friend. Sucked her brain out! Not that she had much to begin with, but—” “Bite me.” The laughter didn’t hurt, now. I didn’t even feel weird saying it. Bite me. Pretty funny, for a part-vampire. “Ha. You wish. Lesbo vamp girl.” “Lesbo?” “You love me.” “We’d never work, Nat. You’re too high maintenance.” We both cracked up, and right then, the darkness was kind.

You look exhausted. Will you sleep at all tonight?” Jesper just winked. “Not while the cards are hot. Stay and play a bit. Kaz will stake you.” “Really, Jesper?” she’d said, pulling up her hood. “If I want to watch men dig holes to fall into, I’ll find myself a cemetery.

Your jokes aren't even funny. What is this thing, anyway?' 'That's the beauty of it!' Oliver crows. 'It's nothing‒just some piece of junk from he supply closet. But you're freaking out because it could be anything.' 'Which it isn't,' I remind him. 'Exactly! The nothing becomes something because of how you react to it!

He says, "It's just a hat." But it's not just a hat. It makes Jess think of racism and hatred and systemic inequality, and the Ku Klux Klan, and plantation-wedding Pinterest boards, and lynchings, and George Zimmerman, and the Central Park Five, and redlining, and gerrymandering and the Southern strategy, and decades of propaganda and Fox News and conservative radio, and rabid evangelicals, and rape and pillage and plunder and plutocracy and money in politics and the dumbing down of civil discourse and domestic terrorism and white nationalists and school shootings and the growing fear of a nonwhite, non-English-speaking majority and the slow death of the social safety net and conspiracy theory culture and the white working class and social atomism and reality television and fake news and the prison-industrial complex and celebrity culture and the girl in fourth grade who told Jess that since she--Jess--was "naturally unclean" she couldn't come over for birthday cake, and executive compensation, and mediocre white men, and the guy in college who sent around an article about how people who listen to Radiohead are smarter than people who listen to Missy Elliott and when Jess said "That's racist" he said "No,it's not," and of bigotry and small pox blankets and gross guys grabbing your butt on the subway, and slave auctions and Confederate monuments and Jim Crow and fire hoses and separate but equal and racist jokes that aren't funny and internet trolls and incels and golf courses that ban women and voter suppression and police brutality and crony capitalism and corporate corruption and innocent children, so many innocent children, and the Tea Party and Sarah Palin and birthers and flat-earthers and states' rights and disgusting porn and the prosperity gospel and the drunk football fans who made monkey sounds at Jess outside Memorial Stadium, even though it was her thirteenth birthday, and Josh--now it makes her think of Josh.

Fuck that, go lay an egg, I’m next.

If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket. The world deserves a few more moments with this face. -Jesper

Well, clearly not. Goodness boss, just look at those filthy paws. I’ve never seen any fish carry paws like those. Usually they are cleaner.

Cadence muttered to Morrigan, “I liked her better when she couldn’t remember who I was

Did everyone from your little Hans Christian Andersen village look the same?

First chapter ain't so bad," Jillsy said. "That first chapter ain't nothin'. It's that nineteenth chapter that got me, "Jillsy said. "Lawd, Lawd!" she crowed. "You read nineteen chapters?" John Wolf asked. "You didn't give me no more than nineteen chapters," Jillsy said. "Jesus Lawd, is there another chapter? Do they keep goin' on?" "No, no," John Wolf said. "that's the end of it. That's all there is.

What is this?” she asked, her eyes scanning the page. “It’s not…” She ran her fingertips over the words as if expecting them to vanish. “My contract,” she whispered. “I don’t want you beholden to Per Haskell. Or me.” Another half-truth. His mind had concocted a hundred schemes to bind her to him, to keep her in this city. But she’d spent enough of her life caged by debts and obligations, and it would be better for them both when she was gone. “How?” she said. “The money—” “It’s done.” He’d liquidated every asset he had, used the last of the savings he’d accrued, every ill-gotten cent. She pressed the envelope to her chest, above her heart. “I have no words to thank you for this.” “Surely the Suli have a thousand proverbs for such an occasion?” “Words have not been invented for such an occasion.” “If I end up on the gallows, you can say something nice over the corpse,” he said.

Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed a second later. “What is it, boss?” Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond-studded timepiece should have been. “That little bastard—” Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth. “He picked your pocket?” Doughty asked incredulously. No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning.

I'm not out to make anyone else sad. I can still smile when it's required, laugh when something is funny. I will still accept a hug and sometimes even give one. I'm not turning up to weddings crowing that most marriages end in divorce, lurking in maternity wards to tell new parents that they're certain to fuck up their child in some way. I've never interrupted a sporting event by shouting, "There are no winners because we all die!" I'm not totally dead inside. I can still get it up when I want to. I just don't want to, most of the time.

Wylan cleared his throat and the sound bounced around the blue-tiled room like a spring colt let loose in a corral. Genya’s face was bemused. Zoya crossed her arms. “Well?” “Ma’am…” Wylan attempted. “Miss Genya—” Genya smiled, her scars tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, he is sweet.” “You always take to the strays,” said Zoya sourly. “You’re the boy Nina tailored to look like Kuwei,” Genya said. “And you want me to try to undo her work?” “Yes,” Wylan said, that one word imbued with a whole world of hope. “But I don’t have anything to bargain with.” Genya rolled her single amber eye. “Why are the Kerch so focused on money?” “Says the woman with a bankrupt country,” murmured Jesper. “What was that?” snapped Zoya. “Nothing,” said Jesper. “Just saying Kerch is a morally bankrupt country.

He pulled back, dropped his hands, feeling unspeakably awkward. What did you say after a terrible kiss? He’d never had cause to wonder. That was when he saw Kuwei standing in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide and shocked. “What?” Jesper asked. “Do the Shu not kiss before noon?” “I wouldn’t know,” Kuwei said sourly. Not Kuwei. “Oh, Saints,” Jesper groaned. That wasn’t Kuwei in the doorway. It was Wylan Van Eck, budding demolitions expert and wayward rich kid. And that meant he’d just kissed … The real Kuwei plunked that same listless note on the piano, grinning shamelessly up at him through thick black lashes. Jesper turned back to the door. “Wylan—” he began. “Kaz wants us in the sitting room.” “I—” But Wylan was already gone. Jesper stared at the empty doorway. How could he have made a mistake like that? Wylan was taller than Kuwei; his face was narrower too. If Jesper hadn’t been so riled up and jittery after the fight with Kaz and the argument with his father, he would never have confused them. And now he’d ruined everything. Jesper jabbed an accusing finger at Kuwei. “You should have said something!” Kuwei shrugged. “You were very brave on Black Veil. Since we’re all probably going to die—” “Damn it,” Jesper cursed, stalking toward the door. “You’re a very good kisser,” called Kuwei after him. Jesper turned. “How good is your Kerch really?” “Fairly good.” “Okay, then I hope you understand exactly what I mean when I say you are definitely more trouble than you’re worth.” Kuwei beamed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Kaz seems to think I’m worth a great deal now.” Jesper rolled his eyes skyward. “You fit right in here.

And is your room alright?" "Y-yes, of course!" She stammered. "At least it was when I left it. I swear." Jupiter looked at her for a moment, his brows knotted in confusion. Then he closed his eyes and laughed as though she'd said something achingly funny. "No—no, I meant...I meant do you like it? Is it alright...for you?" "Oh." Morrigan felt her cheeks turn warm. "Yes, it's lovely. Thank you." Jupiter had the good grace to wipe away the last of his grin. "It's uh,.. it's a bit boring, I know, but it's only just met you. You'll get acquainted. Things will change " "Oh." Said Morrigan again. She had no idea what he meant. "okay.

Christmas Cookie Bonanza?” “Christmas Cookie Bonanza,” I confirm. “You’re making my favorite, right?” Josh gives me puppy-dog eyes, which always makes me laugh, because it’s so un-Josh. “You’re such a dork,” I say, shaking my head. “What’s your favorite?” Peter asks him. “Because I think the list is pretty set.” “I’m pretty sure it’s already on the list,” Josh says. I look from Josh to Peter. I can’t tell if they’re kidding or not. Peter reaches out and tickles Kitty’s feet. “Read us the list, Katherine.” Kitty giggles and rolls over to her notepad. Then she stands up and grandly says, “M&M cookies are a yes, cappuccino cookies are a maybe, Creamsicle cookies are a maybe, fruitcake cookies are a no way--” “Wait a minute, I’m a part of this council too,” Peter objects, “and you guys just turned down my fruitcake cookies without a second thought.” “You said to forget the fruitcake cookies, like, five seconds ago!” I say. “Well, now I want them back under consideration,” he says. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have the votes,” I tell him. “Kitty and I both vote no, so that’s two against one.” My dad pops his head into the living room. “Put me down as a yes vote for the fruitcake cookies.” His head disappears back into the kitchen. “Thank you, Dr. Covey,” Peter crows. He drags me closer to him. “See, I knew your dad was on my side.” I laugh. “You’re such a suck-up!” And then I look over at Josh, and he is staring at us with a funny, left-out look on his face. It makes me feel bad, that look. I scoot away from Peter and start flipping through my books again. I tell him, “The list is still a work in progress. The cookie council will strongly consider your white-chocolate cranberry cookies.” “Greatly appreciated,” Josh says. “Christmas isn’t Christmas without your white-chocolate cranberry cookies.” Kitty pipes up, “Hey, Josh, you’re a suck-up too.” Josh grabs her and tickles her until she’s laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.

I pull his hand up to my chest. "It's okay. Some of my best friends are in the mob. It must be really tough with your husband in prison." "You THINK?" He pulls away, as if I've been insensitive, picks up a stone and throws it at a crow walking around in the grass. As the crow screeches bloody murder and takes flight, escaping unscathed, Joshua darts in front of me, hits Tiger in the nuts and calls him a bitch. Pulling Joshua back to my right, I glare down at him asking- WHAT did you CALL HIM? "A BITCH." "He's not a bitch." "YES HE IS." Tiger, coming to the rescue, kneels and places his hand on Joshua's shoulder. "Sorry little buddy. I didn't mean to make you go all APE shit. You like those little flying RATS." Joshua shakes his finger at him. "THEY'RE NOT RATS... YOU BITCH." As I start to give Joshua a lecture, Tiger stands up and stops me. "It's okay," he said. "Believe it or not- he's not the first to call me a bitch." Taking Joshua's free hand, he walks on his other side, while Joshua glares up at him with distrust. "Bitch isn't a word that you should be using. Not at your AGE." "That's right," I agreed. "When you get older, you can call your girlfriend a bitch, but only in bed." Joshua giggles.

Did I hear that right? Edgewood's its own little fiefdom now?" She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and let the car's acceleration comfort her. "Uh. Yeah. And Crow's Neck, too, I guess." "And you're its queen." "Oh God no, don't call me that." "Yes, Your Highness." "Chaz." "Yes. Your Ladyship? Oh, no, wait. Your Nibs?" He glanced over at her. "Get it? Because vampires nibble on people? Ow, don't hit the driver!

The funny thing about heavy weapons is that everyone wanted to fire them, but nobody wanted to carry them.

Funny how you don’t really know what you believe in until your kids are in danger.

Come on, guys, it’s not funny anymore,” said Zoe Patterson in a weak voice. She’d been following the light in the woods ahead of her for what seemed like a very long time. Now, she was deep out in the wild woods, and there was nothing around her on any side but tall tree trunks and dark shadows of foliage.

Good for the mind, but bad for the posture.' 'Good thing you have Varian to exercise with.' Amren laughed, the sound like a crow's caw. 'Good thing indeed.

Human females. They’re kind of crazy during this time, aren’t they?” “If you choose to believe the stories written by male writers,” Vlad replied. They heard a bang and thump from the kitchen, followed by Meg yelling at something. Simon sighed. “That many males can’t be wrong.

Are there weapons in a bookstore?” “It’s a store full of books, which are objects that can be thrown as well as read,” Monty replied blandly.

If you were to name a sword, what would you call it?' Gwyn answered, thought she hadn't been asked, 'Silver Majesty.' Emerie snorted, 'Really?' Gwyn demanded, 'What would you call it?' Emerie considered. 'Foe Slayer, or something. Something intimidating.' 'That's no better!' Nesta's mouth tugged upward at their teasing. Gwyn looked to her, teal eyes bright. 'Which one is worse: Foe Slayer or Silver Majesty?' 'Silver Majesty,' Nesta said, and Emerie crowed with triumph. Gwyn waved a hand, booing. 'What would you call it?' Cassian asked Nesta again. 'Why do you want to know?' 'Humour me.' She lifted a brow. But then said with all sincerity. 'Killer.' His brows flattened. Nesta shrugged. 'I don't know. Is it necessary to name a sword?' 'Just tell me: If you had to name a sword, what would you call it?' 'Are you getting her one as a Winter Solstice present?' Emerie asked. 'No.' Nesta hid her smile. She loved this- when the three of them ganged up on him, like lionesses around a very muscled, very attractive carcass. 'Then why keep asking?' Gwyn said. Cassian scowled, 'Curiosity.' But his jaw tightened. It wasn't that. There was something else. Why would he want her to name a sword?

The Wolf didn’t notice. “What difference does it make if I’m furry or not?” He pointed at Heather, and the look in his eyes made it clear he expected an answer. “Aaaaahhhh,” she said, glancing at Monty. “Weeeellllll. When my mom takes a nap, our cat curls up with her, and my dad doesn’t care. But I don’t think he’d like it if the cat suddenly turned into a man.” “Why?” Simon demanded. “The cat would just be a cat in a different form.” Heather made a funny sound and didn’t answer. Monty quietly cleared his throat before he said, “A form that would be able to have sex with a human female.” “I didn’t want sex!” Simon shouted. “I just wanted my share of the covers.

Fuck if she doesn't get my rooster crowing.

An Appreciation of the Udder by Stewart Stafford Abe Lincoln borrowed Mabel Brown's bra, The bustiest gal in the county by far, Stretched it right back as far it would go, Launched himself up, a skyrocketing crow. He soared up so high, he couldn't believe it, Saw an aerial shot of Mabel's mighty cleavage, Birds wondered about the youthful intruder, Touched the dark rim of space, no blue there. Gravity tapped Honest Abe on the shoulder, He fell back to earth like a tumbling boulder, Broke his rapid fall by grabbing onto a tree, Exhilarated at the thought of skyward liberty. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

Funny, Lore. Who knew demonic kings were endowed with such a developed sense of humor?

Finally, out of breath, they tried to slip behind some trash cans at the end of a narrow alley. But Floyd ducked a moment too late, and Alice’s rabbit ears gave them away. Leona squealed with delight. Yo Ho Ho! I see something funny. It’s Pirate Floyd And his baby bunny! The witches roared with laughter and slapped each other on the back. Floyd winced, but as he drew his saber, his face lit up with a pirate’s grin. First, he kept the witches at bay so his friends could carry little Alice to safety. Then, growling like a movie pirate, he swung out of reach on an overhanging tree limb, turned a quick flip, and somersaulted backward over the fence. “I didn’t know you could do that,” Mona said. Floyd looked surprised. “Neither did I.” “Come on,” shouted Wendell. “They’re right behind us!” They ran until they found themselves in an even stranger part of town. “It’s pretty creepy around here,” muttered Floyd. Wendell suggested they hide in the graveyard, but Mona scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding.” “No, it’s perfect. They’ll never follow us into a place like this.” Actually, the witches didn’t mind the graveyard at all. “We see you, Wendell!” Leona crowed. What’s wrong with Wendell? Let me think. He must be MAD ‘Cause he’s dressed in pink! The witches shrieked and hooted, laughing so hard they nearly cried. For a moment Wendell’s face turned as pink as his smock. But then an idea began to brew. He reached into his mad scientist’s kit and started mixing potions. “Drink this!” he told his friends. “It will make us invisible.” At the word “invisible” the witches roared even louder. But their laughter turned to puzzled yelps when Wendell, Floyd, Mona, and Alice suddenly disappeared!

The reason for the peculiar name could be found in the whimsical sense of humor of the early colonists who arrived on Deanna several decades in the past and found very little at all there to laugh at. Obsidian Crows might seem funny at first, unless you just happened to ride over one with your Jeepo five miles out of town and didn’t have a spare tire. Although there was a reasonable expectation of hitting one of these diminutive brutes on the roads, this did not happen nearly as often as you might think.

Carlos had gotten up and gone to play with the cat. I asked its name and Florence said Salmon, and Carlos thought it was funny for a cat to have a fish name.

The dreams fresh on her mind, she wrote about the Ada she remembered. The obituary wasn’t the sad, plodding list of mother and father, dead children, and surviving family. It honored a strong, funny woman. She proofed it a second time with a smile on her face. Ada would have slapped her knee and crowed along with her.

On the corner of Cathedral Road a raven sat in a tree watching him. He knew it was Dorkus for two reasons. Firstly, he'd told Dorkus to stay there to keep an eye on Michael. Secondly, he was wearing a top hat, carrying a cane, and if Corvid's eyes were right, he now had spats over his feet. "Cacaw," Dorkus said. "Really?" Corvid replied, "we're back to cawing?" "I thought it would be less suspicious in public." "You do know you just said that carrying a cane and wearing a top hat and a pair of spats?

We camped in an RV parked in the middle of an intersection on PCH and Mahar Avenue. We laughed, we drank, I told them stories, and even dipped their chips in dog food for them. If you’ve never seen a drunk crow, It’s hilarious.

You’re right. You and Millie look more like your mom,” I said... “That’s because we spent more time with her,” Henry said seriously, as if it were common knowledge, as if resemblances were based on nurture instead of nature. It was true, to a point. Mannerisms, quirks, style. All those things could be learned and copied. “So if I spend a lot of time with Kathleen, do you think she’ll start to look like me?” I asked him, steering the focus away from his father. Henry looked doubtfully from me to my grunting, banana-bearded child and back again. “I hope so,” he said. Georgia snickered, and I hooted and held my hand in the air so Henry could give me five. “You hear that, Georgia? Henry hopes so,” I crowed. “I guess that means your baby daddy is a beautiful man.” Henry obviously didn’t mean to be funny, and he totally left me hanging. Georgia reached up and slapped my hand and winked at me.

You must be new to DSI.” “Graduated two weeks ago. What gave me away?” I mimic her smile. “The fresh, handsome face, or the fact that I didn’t slip a knife out of my belt when I walked in, wary of you getting funny ideas?” She raises her hands in a mocking gesture of peace. “Both, if you must know. New Crows always have this air of undue confidence hanging around them. Think they can take on the magic world with a .45 and a few fake magic rings, defeat the big bad monsters, play the valiant knights. But they learn real quick, most of them, the truth of the matter. That—” “The world of monsters and mayhem can’t be controlled by mortal hands.” My voice drops two octaves. “Don’t mistake my inexperience for naïveté, witch.” The woman shifts backward a step, and I sense a stream of magic building in her palms. A faint aura forms around her hands, an earthy green hue. A sign she’s preparing to attack. I respond by activating my beggar rings with a simple mental command, Build. My fingers begin to grow warm as the rings absorb the energy in the air around me. There’s a bit more than usual—a consequence of being in the presence of a magic user

Sometimes, when I feel like crying, I remember what my mother used to say to make me laugh - a Japanese saying she repeated because it sounded funny: sakki naita karasu ga mo warau. It meant, "The crow that was crying a few minutes ago is already laughing now." My mother didn't have to scold my brother and me for crying or encourage us to be stoic, because she could usually make us laugh. When she repeated this saying. I imagined the three of us - my mother, brother, and me - turning into big black birds flapping our wings and screaming. I laughed. picturing us perched on trees and cawing. If we were crows, I thought no one would know if we were laughing or crying. This was my mother's gift. Crows are smart and stubborn. They are tough birds that survive and wheel around in the sky on their big wings. My mother wanted us to imagine ourselves flying around making a racket, and laughing-crying-singing. In Japanese, the word for crying, naku, also means birds making noise," although the two verbs are written with different pictorial characters. In conversation the two words sound exactly the same: a flock of blackbirds rise up to the sky, leaving us with the clamor of their singing and crying.

A honey bee, a funny flea, a pitter patter sunny sea A breezy snow, a wheezy crow, a bitter batter easy dough A teary hymn, a weary limb, a titter tatter cheery swim A cozy yawn, a nosy fawn, a chitter chatter rosy dawn

You look…different,” I say. I mean to say “older,” but I don’t want to suggest that she looked young before. She may not bend in all the places that older women do, but no one could look at her face and see a child. No child has that ferocity. “So do you,” she says. “What are you doing?” Drinking, I think, but she’s probably noticed that. “Flirting with death,” I say, laughing. “Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea.” “No, it isn’t.” She’s not laughing. She looks wary. Wary of what, of me? “Didn’t know you had a tattoo,” I say, scanning her collarbone. There are three black birds there--simple, but they almost look like they’re flying across her skin. “Right. The crows.” I want to ask her why she would get one of her worst fears tattooed on her body, why she would want to wear the mark of her fear forever instead of burying it, ashamed. Maybe she’s not ashamed of her fears the way I’m ashamed of mine. I look back at Zeke and Shauna, who are standing with shoulders touching at the railing. “I’d ask you to hang out with us,” I say, “but you’re not supposed to see me this way.” “What way?” she says. “Drunk?” “Yeah…well, no.” Suddenly it doesn’t seem that funny to me. “Real, I guess.” “I’ll pretend I didn’t.” “Nice of you.

The play was made quite famous by a headline misprint in Variety reading OBSCENE PLAY ATTRACTS MASSIVE CROW.

Kaz had tapped his crow’s head cane on the flagstones of the tomb floor. “Do you know what Van Eck’s problem is?” “No honor?” said Matthias. “Rotten parenting skills?” said Nina. “Receding hairline?” offered Jesper. “No,” said Kaz. “Too much to lose. And he gave us a map to what to steal first.” Bardugo, Leigh. Crooked Kingdom (Six of Crows) (p. 106). Henry Holt and Co. (BYR). Kindle Edition.

It was like I was getting assignments from the universe. The voice wasn’t always just in dreams. Sometimes a crow would talk to me or a person who seemed in a trance. Once it was a statue of Abraham Lincoln. Some people might say they were from god but which one? There were thousands. I did think it was an older god, if it was a god. A new one would have texted.

Funny, I wasn’t in the mood to come out of my room and find some Neverland whore on your lap.

I feel funny,” she says. No shit. Her eyes are still black. Where the fuck did she get the shadow? And better yet, how the fuck is she holding on to it?

Vanity, thy name is crow. Which is funny because c-r-o-w is also how you spell kleptomaniac.