Torchwood drabble series: Magpie Augury
Title: Magpie Augury
Author: rustydog
Characters: Jack, Owen, Gwen, Toshiko, Ianto, Suzie, Myfanwy
Rating: overall PG (parts 2, 4, 6, 8, 9 - PG, all others G)
Spoilers: (parts 1, 2, 8) 2x13 "Exit Wounds"; (part 10) 1x13 "End of Days" and 2x01 "KKBB"
Betas: mad_jaks and donutsweeper
Notes:
* This is a series of ten drabbles written in honor of tw100's one hundredth weekly challenge and crossposted at consci_fan_mo.
* In North America the counting/fortune telling rhyme usually refers to crows, and stops at seven, so before I discovered the various magpie versions, some of which do go to ten, I had added the last three lines myself.
"Magpie Augury"
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told
Eight for the ancient
Nine for the young
Ten for the word on the tip of your tongue
Something Old
One for sorrow
It hadn't taken long for Jack to box everything up; while he was interested to learn what eclectic taste Owen had had in porn, there hadn't been much in this flat that said "home." Not even photographs tucked away, as if Owen had no past as well as no future. So it surprised Jack to find a shoebox in the closet containing a yellowed, handmade doily and a note.
-For when you're married. (Don't roll your eyes at me.)
Love,
Gran
Jack carefully tucked the box under his arm. This didn't really have to be locked away with everything else.
Light of the Sun
Two for joy
When the earth was finally disturbed and Jack opened his eyes to see faces-his first reaction was Thank god, not alone. The second was a sensation of light, sending a cold shock wave through his body: the pain and the pure, holy joy of the sun.
The next time he awoke was in the dark, alone again, but friends were close by. Weeks later, when he could spare a moment to reflect, Jack made a note to see if there was a way to pipe some natural light in to the Hub. They could all use a little sun.
Sally
Three for a girl
Six-year-old Gwen Cooper had a doll named Sally. Gwen was very attached to Sally and was shocked to learn, from a charity program, that not every little girl had a doll. Urgent action was required.
The three pounds in Gwen's piggy bank started a fund which grew quickly: relatives, neighbours, shop assistants and the milkman were powerless against a precocious six-year-old on a mission, particularly a child with such large eyes. In the end, seventy dolls were purchased for a children's charity.
Sally, Gwen announced, was pleased. Lesson learned: love and determination could get her everywhere.
The Hunted
Four for a boy
His feet were pounding like a racehorse's, in time with his heart, but it wasn't fast enough. He could hear four thin tires slashing through the gravel: the boys were catching up. They had taken his spectacles, but they wanted more. As if that mattered. His mum was going to kill him anyway.
Owen hated being small.
But he knew of a certain tree and he was up it, waiting, when they came round the hedge. He was very accurate with chestnuts.
His gran had once said, "If you're small, you must be clever." He needed to be even cleverer.
Heirloom, Full Moon
Five for silver
Toshiko took a bite of salad. It seemed fussy, using silver chopsticks here, but they reminded her daily of her family. Besides, her grandmother had bequeathed three pairs; Toshiko only used one.
Owen's voice came over the bluetooth, crackling with road noise and extreme speed, with an urgent weapons request from Jack.
"Teaboy, tell me you have a silver knife, spoon-something silver."
Ianto looked suspicious. "To melt into bullets?"
Tosh choked on a prawn at the implication.
"Believe it, kids."
"Sorry, all the silver's plated. Maybe the archives-"
Tosh sighed. "It's okay, I've got something. Owen, meet you outside."
Mementos
Six for gold
Ianto cleared his throat. "Jack? I wasn't snooping, but..."
Jack raised his eyebrows, and Ianto plunged on. "I happened across these... they appear to be Olympic gold medals from the nineteen twenties? I have to ask. You're fairly athletic, but--"
"Fairly?"
"No changing the subject."
"Okay, yes. I knew a... very athletic fellow. A swimmer. The medals were a gift."
"A gift."
"He insisted! He'd fallen in love with a javelin thrower and thought I'd be hurt. Well, it wasn't my feelings that were hurt, but that's another story."
"I see." Ianto snapped the box's lid shut, grinning at Jack.
Secret Shame
Seven for a secret never to be told
It began when Suzie was seven years old. She never told her friends, even at Torchwood. There was no way they could understand-not unless they had had the same experience, been affected in the same ways.
She found her kindred online, where they could be anonymous yet intimate about the stigma, their memories and hopes. Once, she met a group of them in person. She always kept the outfit she wore that day.
Occasionally she would take it out of her closet, remembering how snugly it fit, stroking the green fabric, tracing the insignia and name badge, DEANNA TROI.
Millenium
Eight for the ancient
"And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years: and he died."
What was it like to be that man? Pick some figs, make love to your wife, sacrifice a goat. Wonder about the kids your daughters will have with those fallen angels they're dating. Make fun of the guy building the ark, then buy him a drink for being such an entertaining crazy bastard. Love, sleep, kill, eat, plant, harvest, day after day, season after season, until you've lived for a thousand years, and then, once and for all... you die.
Jack could hardly imagine.
Infant Mortality
Nine for the young
They never seemed to leave the nest, not permanently. Perhaps, because they had no wings, it was difficult for them. They almost always came back, as long as they lived. Memories of her last clutch of nine young flickered deep in her brain. With no breeding prospects now, she didn't mind if these strange children got rather attached.
Unfortunately, they seemed to have a high mortality rate. Perhaps that was why they bred so often, though she was certain at least some of the breeding was not going to be reproductively successful. They were odd creatures. She quite liked them.
Older, Wiser
Ten for the word on the tip of your tongue
Jack leaned forward in his chair and placed his palms on the desk, feeling its solidness. Being back was finally starting to seem real.
Though buzzing around his lingering awkwardness was something he hadn't put his finger on. He thought of the last time he had seen his team, each one broken by their own desperate actions. Now they were downstairs, working like... a team.
All five of them had done some growing up lately.
And that was it, that unidentified fly in his emotional ointment: pride. Jack smiled slightly, leaned back, and put his feet up on the desk.
~~~
Author: rustydog
Characters: Jack, Owen, Gwen, Toshiko, Ianto, Suzie, Myfanwy
Rating: overall PG (parts 2, 4, 6, 8, 9 - PG, all others G)
Spoilers: (parts 1, 2, 8) 2x13 "Exit Wounds"; (part 10) 1x13 "End of Days" and 2x01 "KKBB"
Betas: mad_jaks and donutsweeper
Notes:
* This is a series of ten drabbles written in honor of tw100's one hundredth weekly challenge and crossposted at consci_fan_mo.
* In North America the counting/fortune telling rhyme usually refers to crows, and stops at seven, so before I discovered the various magpie versions, some of which do go to ten, I had added the last three lines myself.
"Magpie Augury"
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told
Eight for the ancient
Nine for the young
Ten for the word on the tip of your tongue
Something Old
One for sorrow
It hadn't taken long for Jack to box everything up; while he was interested to learn what eclectic taste Owen had had in porn, there hadn't been much in this flat that said "home." Not even photographs tucked away, as if Owen had no past as well as no future. So it surprised Jack to find a shoebox in the closet containing a yellowed, handmade doily and a note.
-For when you're married. (Don't roll your eyes at me.)
Love,
Gran
Jack carefully tucked the box under his arm. This didn't really have to be locked away with everything else.
Light of the Sun
Two for joy
When the earth was finally disturbed and Jack opened his eyes to see faces-his first reaction was Thank god, not alone. The second was a sensation of light, sending a cold shock wave through his body: the pain and the pure, holy joy of the sun.
The next time he awoke was in the dark, alone again, but friends were close by. Weeks later, when he could spare a moment to reflect, Jack made a note to see if there was a way to pipe some natural light in to the Hub. They could all use a little sun.
Sally
Three for a girl
Six-year-old Gwen Cooper had a doll named Sally. Gwen was very attached to Sally and was shocked to learn, from a charity program, that not every little girl had a doll. Urgent action was required.
The three pounds in Gwen's piggy bank started a fund which grew quickly: relatives, neighbours, shop assistants and the milkman were powerless against a precocious six-year-old on a mission, particularly a child with such large eyes. In the end, seventy dolls were purchased for a children's charity.
Sally, Gwen announced, was pleased. Lesson learned: love and determination could get her everywhere.
The Hunted
Four for a boy
His feet were pounding like a racehorse's, in time with his heart, but it wasn't fast enough. He could hear four thin tires slashing through the gravel: the boys were catching up. They had taken his spectacles, but they wanted more. As if that mattered. His mum was going to kill him anyway.
Owen hated being small.
But he knew of a certain tree and he was up it, waiting, when they came round the hedge. He was very accurate with chestnuts.
His gran had once said, "If you're small, you must be clever." He needed to be even cleverer.
Heirloom, Full Moon
Five for silver
Toshiko took a bite of salad. It seemed fussy, using silver chopsticks here, but they reminded her daily of her family. Besides, her grandmother had bequeathed three pairs; Toshiko only used one.
Owen's voice came over the bluetooth, crackling with road noise and extreme speed, with an urgent weapons request from Jack.
"Teaboy, tell me you have a silver knife, spoon-something silver."
Ianto looked suspicious. "To melt into bullets?"
Tosh choked on a prawn at the implication.
"Believe it, kids."
"Sorry, all the silver's plated. Maybe the archives-"
Tosh sighed. "It's okay, I've got something. Owen, meet you outside."
Mementos
Six for gold
Ianto cleared his throat. "Jack? I wasn't snooping, but..."
Jack raised his eyebrows, and Ianto plunged on. "I happened across these... they appear to be Olympic gold medals from the nineteen twenties? I have to ask. You're fairly athletic, but--"
"Fairly?"
"No changing the subject."
"Okay, yes. I knew a... very athletic fellow. A swimmer. The medals were a gift."
"A gift."
"He insisted! He'd fallen in love with a javelin thrower and thought I'd be hurt. Well, it wasn't my feelings that were hurt, but that's another story."
"I see." Ianto snapped the box's lid shut, grinning at Jack.
Secret Shame
Seven for a secret never to be told
It began when Suzie was seven years old. She never told her friends, even at Torchwood. There was no way they could understand-not unless they had had the same experience, been affected in the same ways.
She found her kindred online, where they could be anonymous yet intimate about the stigma, their memories and hopes. Once, she met a group of them in person. She always kept the outfit she wore that day.
Occasionally she would take it out of her closet, remembering how snugly it fit, stroking the green fabric, tracing the insignia and name badge, DEANNA TROI.
Millenium
Eight for the ancient
"And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years: and he died."
What was it like to be that man? Pick some figs, make love to your wife, sacrifice a goat. Wonder about the kids your daughters will have with those fallen angels they're dating. Make fun of the guy building the ark, then buy him a drink for being such an entertaining crazy bastard. Love, sleep, kill, eat, plant, harvest, day after day, season after season, until you've lived for a thousand years, and then, once and for all... you die.
Jack could hardly imagine.
Infant Mortality
Nine for the young
They never seemed to leave the nest, not permanently. Perhaps, because they had no wings, it was difficult for them. They almost always came back, as long as they lived. Memories of her last clutch of nine young flickered deep in her brain. With no breeding prospects now, she didn't mind if these strange children got rather attached.
Unfortunately, they seemed to have a high mortality rate. Perhaps that was why they bred so often, though she was certain at least some of the breeding was not going to be reproductively successful. They were odd creatures. She quite liked them.
Older, Wiser
Ten for the word on the tip of your tongue
Jack leaned forward in his chair and placed his palms on the desk, feeling its solidness. Being back was finally starting to seem real.
Though buzzing around his lingering awkwardness was something he hadn't put his finger on. He thought of the last time he had seen his team, each one broken by their own desperate actions. Now they were downstairs, working like... a team.
All five of them had done some growing up lately.
And that was it, that unidentified fly in his emotional ointment: pride. Jack smiled slightly, leaned back, and put his feet up on the desk.
~~~