//------------------------------//
// Raised on the Radio 
// Story: Quoth the Raven 
// by midworld1999 
//------------------------------//

	When he told us he was lonely, he was speaking from the heart. I was much too young to know him but I knew it was a start... I was- raised on the radio! Raised on the radio!





...I heard a voice. It was a mare's voice.

The voice sounded exhausted. She was panting, barely able to breathe. She was also terrified, screaming in reaction to some unknown horror that was tormenting her. My new found consciousness wanted to help her for reasons I couldn't understand. I tried to move closer to her, my new muscles straining to bridge the gap between us on instinct more than actual thought. She shrieked louder.

I tried to open my eyes, but they were stuck shut. This seemed perfectly natural. Sound was my only connection to the outside world.

I could hear other voices around her trying to calm her down. One was male, the other female. They tried to comfort her, to tell her it was alright, their tone attempting to convey a sense of tranquility. My ears tuned out their specific words. My entire focus was on the voice of the mare. Her voice began to form patterns. I didn't understand what these patterns of sound meant. Later, once I understood language, the words would fill me with a potent mixture of sorrow and vague hate.

"Dear Celestia!" She was crying. "What have I done? What is it? Please, take it, take it away, I don't want it! Let me behold it nevermore!!"

My young mind somehow registered the emphasis of this last word. My mouth gaped open, trying to imitate it.

"Nuh, nevah," I struggled. "Nevahmo-ah."

The mare was wracked with another series of sobs. I felt a set of talons wrap around my middle, lifting me up. Another sense had been revealed; touch. The clarity of my memory here begins to fade. I remember the wail of squeaking hinges and the sharpness of a cold that seemed to contour to my body. They go from crisp recollections to dull, obscure feelings.

My first memory ends.





The first memory, a recollection of the moments directly following my birth into and immediate rejection from the world, was an anomaly. My next extensive recollection seems to take place several months later. After the second memory, the vague, half memories recede. There are no longer islands, pockets of blurry memory amid a black sea of forget.

I could see the street before me, crowded with griffons buying and selling various goods, jokers dancing and singing, surrounded by a crowd. Hear the laughter, conversations of blissful interaction out of my reach. Feel the cool, early spring breeze, ruffling my feathers and whipping my fur. Smell the vendors around me, tempting me with their delicate odors. Practically taste the comfortable atmosphere, an air of friendliness and community I could never truly belong to. I hated them.

I must have learned to walk on my own. Speak coherent sentences-- I did not need to often. Think coherent thoughts-- usually they involved food. Steal to get sustenance-- steal sometimes just to prove I could. Hide when it became necessary-- it was necessary a lot. I was a self taught survivor.

Based on most of my later interactions, it seems unlikely I was taught by others, at least directly. I figure that I must have picked up these basic skills from observing others from the figurative shadows. You see, hiding was instinct for me by that point. I could hide in plain sight if I wanted to, a horrible freak, an unholy blend between griffon and pony, unnoticed among the crowds of a busy town street. I do not remember it well, but I must have learned by then that no one wanted to see me. I obliged.

I was good at remaining unseen. It came naturally for me. I never questioned where this ability came from. When I eventually looked into my ancestry, years ahead at this point, I found that none of my relatives shared this talent with me. Perhaps it was destiny. Another word, whose definition was years ahead of me, would describe my unprecedented talents better.

I reached for an apple from a griffon's stand. I knew that it was wrong. I must have acquired this vague sense of morality by heeding the actions of the populous around me. It must not have meant much to me, because I stole anyway. Whether it was necessary or not, I did it. It was as good a payback for their treatment of me (whatever that might have been) as I could manage.

The roadside market was crowded with early morning shoppers. The sound of rattling silver coins, idle chatter, and haggling filled the plaza. It was busy. The perfect time to nonchalantly swipe away an apple as I was passing by, a small, indistinct figure in the shifting pride.

My claw reached out while the clerk was busy conversing, wrapped around the fruit, and stashed it beneath my wing. The key was to move your body at a normal pace. Moving too fast or slow would only draw more attention to your movements. Of course, back then I wasn't analyzing these techniques. As I said, they came naturally. Honing these skills, going over their every detail to make myself unnaturally unnoticeable and deadly, would come later.

The minute my crime was complete, I felt something wrong. Well, perhaps not wrong precisely. Different is a better word. I suppose this memory may stand out because of this particular feeling. The first major fluctuation in what had up to that point been a consistent, if subconscious, system. Cite target, walk down the street without attracting attention, snatch said target without stopping or glancing at it, eat when out of sight. Never hit the same place more than once a month. No more than one place once a day. If I did it right, all of these steps could be completed in under thirty seconds. Funny feelings were not part of the system.

It was too dangerous to stop and figure what was "wrong" right then and there. Griffons would notice I'd stopped, start really looking at me and seeing me. Again, none of this actually entered my thoughts. It was all taking place in my subconscious. I knew what to do without thinking about it. I kept walking.

I waited until I thought I was safely concealed in a back alley, then turned my attention to the feeling I'd just experienced, trying to place it. It was unfamiliar. I removed my prize from beneath my wing, sat down, my back against a vine-clad brick wall, and began to chew thoughtfully. By the time I'd finished the meal, I hadn't gotten any further into figuring it out.

A shadow fell over me from the alley's entrance.

"Hey, kid!"

My cover had been blown. I ran. I didn't get far.

I hardly gotten ten hooves when the griffon overtook me. The sun shined behind her, so it was hard to see her clearly. She tackled me and pinned me to the ground.

"Woah kid, what's your problem? Why did you- oh. What?"

I cringed. I knew what was coming. The insults. The names. "Bastard. Freak. Monster." The names were inevitable once somegriffon got a really good look at me. I remember these thoughts in my head, so I must have experienced this before, even if I don't now explicitly recall it. But this new griffon surprised me.

"Holy shit! Look at you! What have you been eating!? You're as skinny as a fucking skeleton! When was the last time you ate? Before that apple, I mean."

Somewhere in the back of mind, I registered that she had been the cause of the funny feeling. She had seen me steal the apple. No one had ever seen me steal before! 

But for the moment, she captured my attention for an even stranger reason. It was like she hadn't noticed what I was. I knew that I was somehow fundamentally different from those around me. The other griffons could see it. That was the reason I had to hide, remain unseen. The others didn't like to see me being different. But this griffon hadn't even mentioned it. Was something wrong with her eyes? Was she stupid? I honestly didn't know.

As my brain tried to process this, she asked me again. "Hey, pay attention! When was the last time you ate? And how much?"

For a moment I just jawed at her, trying to comprehend this baffling situation. It took me a few seconds, but I finally managed, "Uhh, yesterday. I filched a chicken leg."

Her eye twitched. "That's all?" She stood silent for a few moments before continuing. From the way she frowned, she must have been considering something important.

While she pondered the situation, I took the time to look at her. She seemed to be an adolescent, probably no older than twelve. This was not uncommon. Griffons achieve independence at a young age, and she certainly seemed to be making decisions for herself. She had the front half of a kestrel and the back half of a lynx, so she was pretty small, even for her age (although she still dwarfed me). Her eyes gleamed with fierce intelligence.

She spoke, snapping me out of my examination. "Alright, I got it. You're coming with me."

"But--"

"Shush. I wasn't making a suggestion. Follow me."

So I did. I walked beside her, careful to stay in her shadow so as to not be seen by the griffons we passed. It wasn't difficult. She towered at least three or four times my height.

This girl put me on edge. She wasn't like the rest of the pride you saw on the street. Something was different about her. I couldn't count on normal reactions like I could from the rest. She was an unknown variable that seemed impossible to evaluate. It frightened me.

It surprised me even more when she held up our conversation. "How old are you, kid?"

I maintained silence.

"Something wrong with your ears kid? I said how old are you?"

"I dunno," I mumbled.

"Pfft, you don't don't know! How don't you know? I mean, everygriffon knows that! Just looking at you, I guess you aren't more than a year old. Even I can work that out. When's your birthday?"

I shrugged feebly. "Dunno."

"Sweet ancestors kid, what do you know? You got a name?"

She was starting to make me angry. What did she think I was, an idiot? Not that she was wrong about me not knowing, but that wasn't the point. For some reason it seemed vital that I prove her wrong. Not having a formal name, I said the first word that came to mind.

"Nevermore."

"Heh, Nevermore, huh? What kind of stupid name is that? It sounds made up!"

"Yeah, well so what if it is?" I defended, tears beginning to mist my eyes. Who was she to judge me? "I-If you're so great, what's your name? I bet it's not any better than mine!"

She blinked at my outburst. Then she laughed. "I like you kid, you're no pushover! Alright, I'll tell you. Name's Lenore. And I take it back about your name being stupid and all. Nevermore's pretty neat I guess."

My curiosity regarding her sanity returned. She liked me? No one liked-- well, maybe it was better not to question it. Being liked didn't seem so bad. My anger towards her dissipated.

Her interrogation continued. "Where you been living, Nevermore? Based off your looks, don't seem like you're living with your folks."

I tried to match her suave, all-knowing tone of voice. I wanted to keep us on an even playing field. "Eh, I've been living around."

"Hmmf. A kid your age? That's a damn shame."

We approached a run down shack. We'd been walking into the poorer part of town, but this place was the worst I'd seen yet. It looked as though it had been built with scrap wood on the foundation of another building that collapsed. Broken bricks were scattered around the surrounding yard, and some had been stacked around the bottom the shack's walls to give them a sturdy base. There was one window, which was slanted and had a moth eaten blanket as a curtain.

I gazed at the building critically. I felt comfortable enough around Lenore now to give her my two bits about the place. After harassing me, returning the favor was the least I could do. "You live in there? Sheesh. Why not make a cloud house or something?"

"Don't know much, do you kid? Sure I could make a cloud house, easy. It would take a while though, and I'm not gonna spend a valuable month of time crafting a house that I'd be leaving in two months anyway. This only takes me a few hours to set up. Not to mention I'd have to pay one of those cheap ass unicorns in the classy part of town to jinx all my stuff so it wouldn't fall through the clouds. That's why there's so many homes on the ground. Duh."

I'd never considered the unicorns before. It made sense though, and I felt stupid for not realizing it.

We walked into the home, which consisted of one room. It had a bed and a strangely shaped case. That was about it.

I revisited my argument. "Well it's not like you'd have much to get jinxed."

"You obviously don't know how cheap those unicorns can be when they set their minds to it. Believe it or not, that's still out of my price range."

"But you could just make the bed and case out of clouds too."

"It's not like the case is empty."

"Oh." I felt stupid again. It must have showed, because she walked up beside me and put a wing around me. For a moment my body went rigid. I wasn't used to personal contact in any context. Then my body relaxed. It felt... good.

"Hey, listen, don't feel bad. Honestly, there aren't even many hatchlings your age who could talk at all, much less hold up an even mildly intelligent conversation, or steal so gracefully. That's why I followed you, and brought you here."

I blushed. She had seen me take the apple.

"C'mon, we'll palaver out back."

"Palver?"

"Palaver. Chat it up while we share a meal." My stomach moaned, and I heard her stifle a giggle.

We walked through the rear doorway (well, opening really) of the shack to a modest fire pit with a rusty, makeshift grill frame set over top of it. She lifted up an average looking wooden plank a few hooves away to reveal a small, but densely packed, nook in the ground filled with raw possum. She slapped four slabs on the grill, and used two stones to light the pit, which already had kindling underneath. The smell of the cooking rodents made my mouth water.

As we sat beside the crackling fire, our conversation continued.

"So kid, can you fly yet?"

"Uh, no, I haven't been taught. It looks like fun though, I guess. But it also looks pretty hard."

"Eh, it's no big deal. It's something you're gonna need to learn though. We're gonna be traveling a lot, and the fastest way to do it is by flying. Once I got you all learned up, we'll be heading off to Plateau City. Lots of money to make there, certainly more than in this crummy, backwater town. I'm not sure why I even came here. Not that I regret it now though."

My mind was reeling from the amount of information conveyed to me in a few short sentences. It was overwhelming. I tried to wrap my brain around what she'd just told me. After several moments, I finally managed a question.

"Why don't you regret it? Coming here, I mean."

"Cause I found you. My new little partner in crime," she said affectionately.

"What!? W-why me? Why choose me so fast? Why are you doing all this?" It couldn't possibly be real. It was like something out of some clichéd fairy tale. Some nice girl whisking the downtrodden child off to a new life. That didn't just happen!

Upon seeing my distress, her kind demeanor tapered off, replaced with a melancholy sigh. "Nothing gets past you, does it kid? Guess I'll be straight with you, Nevermore. I saw you sneak that apple back at the market like a pro whose been at it for years, and you didn't even look like you were trying. The only reason I saw you was because I was looking at the right place at the right time. That kind of expertise isn't just some run of the mill talent; that's what I call a gift, kid. I could help you put that gift to better use.

"You see, I'm a con-artist of sorts myself. You've seen some of the jokers around the city, yeah?" I nodded. Some performed magic tricks, others acted out skits, others were simple bards. None of them ever lasted long around here though. Griffons were pretty frugal around these parts.

"Well, I'm a performer of the singing and playing variety. Not a terrible source of income, but I don't exactly rake in coins either. Especially not in a place like this. It's real hard for a joker to get by in this town."

I nodded again, in recognition of her predicament. Still, I was unsure of how this could possibly have to do with a partnership.

"What some jokers do to work around this is making an agreement with a thief to go around as they perform. You know, taking extra donations, if you catch my drift. Only from those too tight-winged to donate, of course. Then the joker and the thief split the profit. That way, each can get more than they would on their own."

Now I saw where she was coming from. "You want me to travel with you to be your thief?"

"Pretty much. It would work a bit differently for us though. Since you can't really take care of yourself yet, we would pool the money to spend together. We'd each have a bit set aside for ourselves, but most of it would be shared."

This I could comprehend better than simple good will. She was getting just as much out of the relationship as I was. But there still seemed to be some genuine concern for me buried in her proposition. She didn't have to pool the money and take care of me. She could just leave me to my own devices with it. But instead, she wanted to teach me, live with me, take care of me. And even if all that was ploy to win me over, it was more than anygriffon had ever wanted to do for me, or to do with me.

"What do you say kid?"

I looked up at her, jerked away from my thoughts. My eyes misted up, and I tackled her in a desperate hug.

"Woah kid, take it easy! I-It's alright. It's fine. Hush now, hush... hush..." Even though she must have been inexperienced at comforting others, she attempted to console me. She stroked my feathered head with her claw, and I felt secure. I hugged tighter.

Slowly, I calmed down. After a few minutes, I released her, wiping stray tears from my face. Lenore gazed at me with a puzzled and somewhat troubled expression.

"What was that all about?"

I tried to articulate what I was feeling. "N-no one ever wanted to be around me before. Because I'm... a freak, I guess. I'm different. But, you... do you not see that or something?"

She sighed again. "Of course I see it. You're what's called a hippogriff, Nevermore. Not a freak. Some griffons, bastards that they are, think that hippogriffs are wrong. Personally, I don't give shit. Jokers can't be too picky about their company. Ponies and griffons can do whatever the hell they want in the bedroom for all I care. Besides, even if I did think it was wrong, it's not like it's your fault."

I sniffled a bit. A few details flew over my head, by I got the gist of what she'd said. "So... you don't care?"

"Nah, that's not the kind of thing I care about. What I care about is results. And I think I can get them from you. So what do you say kid. We got a deal?"

No hesitation. "Deal!"

"Fantastic. Now that that's out of the way, we can dig... in." The meal was scorched. Pretty much inedible. "Eh, I'll put some more on. Possum's cheap anyway."

As the new supper roasted, its succulent scent teasing us, our conversation went to lighter topics. She told me jokes, stories, and even some old legends. It was a night I hoped I would never forget.





My eyes blinked open to darkness. We were sharing the bed in Lenore's shack. I must have fallen asleep outside, and she'd carried me in. In hindsight, I can hardly blame myself for dozing off. It was by far the most emotional draining day of my life (so far, anyway), although not in a bad way. Whether she brought me in because of maternal instincts, or just simple kindness, I didn't care. It felt good to be taken care of, to be looked out for. I snuggled closer to my new friend. It was then I discovered what woke me up.

A small but definitely not imagined noise was buzzing in my ear. It sounded like... singing. The music was coming from behind me, where Lenore was laying. But something was off.

The voice singing wasn't hers. It was the voice of a male; no, several males. They sung in perfect harmony. Their voices had a melancholy rhythm. Even though I didn't understand what the words meant, the song was beautiful. A familiar instrument strummed the melody as the voices sang in sad concordance. Their mysterious lyrics stayed with me.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,
Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh.

"Na na na na na ,na na na, Hey Jude...

"This is 100.3 WKIT FM, late night radio, with The Beatles classics playing all night. That was Hey Jude folks, and next up we've got... Happiness is a Warm Gun. You know, Bang Bang, Shoot Shoot!"

As the next song started, I turned to look over at Lenore. What the hell was she saying? How was she switching voices without skipping a beat. Why did her voice sound all fuzzy, far away?

When I saw her, I had to stifle a shriek of surprise. She was still asleep. Her mouth was hanging slightly open, a small drip of drool trailing down her beak. Her mouth wasn't moving. Sound was just coming out, like water trickling out of a leaking pipe. Thousands of questions sprung into mind. Should I wake her up? What would happen if I did? Was it worth the risk? Why didn't she tell me about this? Did she even know about this?

I gaped at her, trying to figure out what to do. Waking her up seemed too risky. She might go crazy, who knew? After a few minutes of picking over the situation, I decided to just try to fall back asleep. Maybe a solution would present itself in the morning.

I turned around, facing away from her. But that creepy image of her beak just lolling open, with some being far away using her like some sort of puppet, a demented ventriloquist controlling everything she said, stayed fresh in my mind. The hauntingly mesmerizing music echoed in my ear all night. What could have been a lullaby in a different context kept me awake most of that first night.