(no subject)
"Congratulations."
The Muse was and was not expecting the little surprise party awaiting her in her quarters. The DJ had champagne chilling in an ice bucket for her, while he was chilling with something fragrant loaded in a hookah next to the room service cart.
"I'm not sure you are supposed to be here," she said.
"I'm always here," he said, offering her a glass and a pipe. "It hard ta finda livin' place that I ain't already there."
A derisive snort drew The Muse's attention to the corner where The Artist was blowing the dust off a pastel of The Muse-Servant standing in the dark red forest. It was almost entirely abstract. She rolled her eyes at this snub of the figurative, the literal. Whereas she and The DJ got along like lyric and melody, she and The Artist maintained a prickly distance. Picture worth a thousand words and all that.
"And you as well?" The Muse took the glass but not the pipe. Instead, she drew a cigarette case from her breast pocket and lit a gold-tipped cigarette.
"Sculpture garden, museum," The Artist said, by way of terse explanation.
She sat down next to The DJ. "What's got him in such a mood?"
The DJ shrugged. "He got himself outta harmony because he mad at the name you took."
"What? 'The Muse?' What's wrong with that?"
"Artists have muses too!" The Artist snapped.
"And what should I have called myself, then?"
"Oh, I don't know. You're the one who's supposed to be good at words. The Writer, maybe?"
"Oh yes," she retorted, "and completely disregard my oral traditions?"
"The Storyteller, then."
"And leave out the majority of my poetry, and a huge portion of my non-fiction as well? And why are you so discontented with the name of Artist? As though what I do isn't Art! But you don't hear me complaining."
The Artist retreated back behind his easel, mumbling sullenly about semantics and unfair advantages.
"So," The Muse turned back to The DJ, "who else is here? Are we to have a family reunion? The Scientist, perhaps? The Athlete? Good Heavens, don't tell me War is here. Or Politics."
"Nah, War ain't here. He say th' stakes ain't high enough, what wi' folks bein' brought back from death."
"Not all of them."
The DJ shrugged. "An' the contest too direc' for Politics' taste. But yeah, Th' Athlete watchin', but he don' want t'be called Th' Athlete no more."
"Really? Why?"
The Artist put away his materials, but not his sulk, and helped himself to the champagne and the hookah. "Something about e-sports and leader boards and World Championship Poker, blah blah blah. Stupid."
"Oh dear," said The Muse dubiously, "what is he calling himself, then?"
"The Gamer."
They all winced. "If you have a better idea, say it," said The Artist.
"I'll work on it."
"Science is here," The Artist added, "likes a couple of the contestants."
"Tell me, what does The Scientist think of that Baron fellow? Does he claim him as one of his own, or is he just a little sociopath with a scalpel?
"Sociopath," the other two said in unison.
The Muse sighed. "I thought as much. So are you just here for the show, or is there something else going on?"
"Well..." the other two exchanged looks. "We gotta a bit of a problem," said The DJ.
"Erzanx," added The Artist, as though that were sufficient explanation.
"And the problem with Erzanx is...?"
"He's famous," said The DJ, "an' he's more famous than anyone ever been before."
"So? All of us have our famous people."
"But he don' belong t'any of us. He ain't a warrior or politician, ain't a athlete or a scientist, an' he ain't an artist of any sort. He just famous for bein' famous."
"Again," said The Muse impatiently, "not exactly a new phenomenon."
"But never this big before. His fame is--" The Artist drew grandiose, crazed swirls in the air for lack of words to express the disruption Erzanx was creating.
"It time for somethin'--someONE new," said The DJ. "Time t'add to the family. We need t' find someone t' take charge a'this phenomenon."
The Muse stared at them both. "And you bring this decision to me because...?"
"If y'get the wish, y'can wish this burden offa us. Y'can wish t' find the new avatar of Fame."
The Muse was and was not expecting the little surprise party awaiting her in her quarters. The DJ had champagne chilling in an ice bucket for her, while he was chilling with something fragrant loaded in a hookah next to the room service cart.
"I'm not sure you are supposed to be here," she said.
"I'm always here," he said, offering her a glass and a pipe. "It hard ta finda livin' place that I ain't already there."
A derisive snort drew The Muse's attention to the corner where The Artist was blowing the dust off a pastel of The Muse-Servant standing in the dark red forest. It was almost entirely abstract. She rolled her eyes at this snub of the figurative, the literal. Whereas she and The DJ got along like lyric and melody, she and The Artist maintained a prickly distance. Picture worth a thousand words and all that.
"And you as well?" The Muse took the glass but not the pipe. Instead, she drew a cigarette case from her breast pocket and lit a gold-tipped cigarette.
"Sculpture garden, museum," The Artist said, by way of terse explanation.
She sat down next to The DJ. "What's got him in such a mood?"
The DJ shrugged. "He got himself outta harmony because he mad at the name you took."
"What? 'The Muse?' What's wrong with that?"
"Artists have muses too!" The Artist snapped.
"And what should I have called myself, then?"
"Oh, I don't know. You're the one who's supposed to be good at words. The Writer, maybe?"
"Oh yes," she retorted, "and completely disregard my oral traditions?"
"The Storyteller, then."
"And leave out the majority of my poetry, and a huge portion of my non-fiction as well? And why are you so discontented with the name of Artist? As though what I do isn't Art! But you don't hear me complaining."
The Artist retreated back behind his easel, mumbling sullenly about semantics and unfair advantages.
"So," The Muse turned back to The DJ, "who else is here? Are we to have a family reunion? The Scientist, perhaps? The Athlete? Good Heavens, don't tell me War is here. Or Politics."
"Nah, War ain't here. He say th' stakes ain't high enough, what wi' folks bein' brought back from death."
"Not all of them."
The DJ shrugged. "An' the contest too direc' for Politics' taste. But yeah, Th' Athlete watchin', but he don' want t'be called Th' Athlete no more."
"Really? Why?"
The Artist put away his materials, but not his sulk, and helped himself to the champagne and the hookah. "Something about e-sports and leader boards and World Championship Poker, blah blah blah. Stupid."
"Oh dear," said The Muse dubiously, "what is he calling himself, then?"
"The Gamer."
They all winced. "If you have a better idea, say it," said The Artist.
"I'll work on it."
"Science is here," The Artist added, "likes a couple of the contestants."
"Tell me, what does The Scientist think of that Baron fellow? Does he claim him as one of his own, or is he just a little sociopath with a scalpel?
"Sociopath," the other two said in unison.
The Muse sighed. "I thought as much. So are you just here for the show, or is there something else going on?"
"Well..." the other two exchanged looks. "We gotta a bit of a problem," said The DJ.
"Erzanx," added The Artist, as though that were sufficient explanation.
"And the problem with Erzanx is...?"
"He's famous," said The DJ, "an' he's more famous than anyone ever been before."
"So? All of us have our famous people."
"But he don' belong t'any of us. He ain't a warrior or politician, ain't a athlete or a scientist, an' he ain't an artist of any sort. He just famous for bein' famous."
"Again," said The Muse impatiently, "not exactly a new phenomenon."
"But never this big before. His fame is--" The Artist drew grandiose, crazed swirls in the air for lack of words to express the disruption Erzanx was creating.
"It time for somethin'--someONE new," said The DJ. "Time t'add to the family. We need t' find someone t' take charge a'this phenomenon."
The Muse stared at them both. "And you bring this decision to me because...?"
"If y'get the wish, y'can wish this burden offa us. Y'can wish t' find the new avatar of Fame."