Bright Green Margaritas

Lacy and Grant at a bar talking over Lacy's problems with Ryla.

"I wish it were so much easier than this. This is such a monumental set back. I wish I could just call her up and say, 'Ryla you are going thick headed, wake up!'" Lacy was saturating her body with the alcoholic juices of her fourth bright green margarita since noon. She sat at the bar on a tall squishy stool that faced the wall of ornamental bottles of vintage whiskey's and cheap mix-ins. There was a mirror place in the perfect position for Lacy to intensely glare at her own reflection with self inflicted pity and disdain. Failure was never an option, and it wasn't as if she had failed yet. The fight was far from over, but she had stakes set on this charge and she was devoted to seeing it come to fruition and soon.
"Shouldn't you be out working on it, Lace?" questioned her companion. He too looked into the mirror, but at her reflection. He was tall and black. He head was shaved and his smile impeccable. Although his appearance would suggest an intimidating personality, Grant didn't affect it in the least.
"We've all had set backs. Where's the infinite patience, the compassion, the all-knowing faith in the true and right outcome here?"
"Hmph. Whatever that is, I don't have it. Not today. No way that patience and compassion could live in her toxic environment. All things good go to die and shrivel in her wake." Lacy set her forhead in a frown but she was half joking in her tone. "Let me be clear that she has herself believing she is happy and that is the worst scenario. Lying to herself means it is worse than I thought."
"Maybe she really is happy."
Lacy's barstool kept listing slightly to the right and wouldn't stop. She slide her drink over to the empty stool on her right. Grant slid into her listing stool. He doesn't have to worry about the room spinning like I do.
"Lacy it will all work out. Always has. What has got you so shaken? This isn't like you. Where's the powerhouse Lacy I know?" Grant was very young and very attractive. Lacy had noticed as her mind wandered in the alcoholic haze.
"What is wrong with me?" she asked herself out loud. She never thought of Grant that way.
"Exactly." Grant smiled and rubbed his hand between her shoulder blades to comfort her as she waved off his response.
Grant is... electric, both in personality and profession. His career started with a man and his kite. Of course Dan had been an earth spirit long before then. Before, he was lightning. Crackling and sparking, the danger of his personality hadn't left, but the tender side was a new and very human attribute he was getting used to. Being ruthless and random was exciting, but in the end, he loved his new gig better. Only taking human form on a rare occasion when he was lightning or the Night's Light, Grant was now used to his body and grateful for it. It grounded him in more ways than one. For one thing, he could hold a thought in his head for longer than a second. His power now was the type that was beneath the surface and only came out in necessary situations, which he'd never met. He is the epitome really of a "noob" or a newbie, but different in one important sense. He was an old earth spirit while other new muses were created from scratch as new profession or crafts emerged demanding a new muse. They were created from already existing energies in the world and harnessed to take form in useful muse forms. He was roped into and he was transfered to this gig of no choice of his own.

Grant was different also because he could execute actions before, an experience no muse felt. Essentially as a god, which some did worship him, he made choices and actions with consequences. A muse has only ever be the adverb or adjective to a human accomplishment or action. Never creating or doing. In fact, any muses who tried to get out on their own and create had ill fates. Grant had humans worshiping and fearing him for millenia, but he never had an ego about it. Lacy loved that about him. Instead, he never lacked in confidence. As a god, he has so much more in terms of choice and power, but as a muse, he was able to feel and be a more human like creature that was freed from responsibility of the world and the ego of the godhead. Dark as night, his smile flashes against his black feature with a brilliant shine.

"I know. But considering her potential to be a prodigy, which failed, it makes me feel like I failed. She's wasting away at a safe desk job. She is alone. The fact that she can write as well as work has never entered her mind. If only she just picked up a pen again." Her drawn and pensive face never showed a wrinkle, but belied a history of experience conflicting with a young mind.

Her age could easily seem to be 19 to 30 to a passerby. But every muse in every guild knew Lacy. She's from the original nine, nine sisters that is. Of course when Classical Rome presented the nine sister muses, there were actually thousands in the world. The muses were divine inspiration in female form and fit perfectly into the Roman pantheon and atop Mount Olympus. Artists painted them, sculpted them, and sung about them. The world of the Mediterranean accepted them lovingly. In fact before being known to the world, muses hadn't taken a human form. But the nine had powers unseen in sacred literature, lyrical literature, song, drama, comedy, tragedy, etc. that their debut was in flawless mimicry of humans. It caught on quickly. Before they were ethereal earth spirits which acted as guides. They had no order or guilds, they worked independently. It was dark times before the nine. Muses fought for charges, people they filled with divine inspiration. They betrayed, they hurt, and they sabatoged each other for the furthering of their own reputations among muses. It was much like a prison. When the nine came along, muses had someone to give allegiance to. They had someone to call them bitch. It resulted in the nine guilds. Eight of the original nine sisters still headed those guilds and took on special projects with special charges. The ninth sister had left to make her career in interior design. No one had heard from her after she went rogue with a whole lot of power.

The stories of Classical Rome gave the nine personalities and features. The songs and dramas had given them voices. The sculptures had inspired their forms. They were born. Shades and shadows before, the muse lived as clouds of inspiration from a larger divine source. For the price of a little power they had bodies and could be more human. This resulted in the increase of empathy and the decrease in efficiency now that they couldn't float or zip off somewhere. The kept the body and it's draw backs.

"I gotta pee..." Lacy blurted out, surprising Grant. She slide off her stool and glided to the ladie's room. She hadn't said anything for a while, just nursing her drink into oblivion. Grant sat patiently and listened. He was a good guy. It was never awkward when it got quiet and Lacy liked that. The bar they were in was her guild's official pub. It had the crest of her guild and everyone in it was from her guild.

Mari stared at the new announcement in horror. How could it be possible that...

To think about writing is much different than doing

The summer provided the safest haven for me. I was cuddled and swaddled in the quiet and peaceful sense of loneliness, which sounds weird. Who wants to be lonely? Quite honestly, I would have thought it was too scary to be alone as much as I am if someone had proposed the idea a year ago. I would have in fact panicked. But I have learned something special. The experience of my last year in living has taught me several things, but to the point, I simply had too much. The things could have taught me several lessons, but the fact that they were all there crowding me with menacing accusations and evil thoughts that only swirled about me made me see clearer.

Just because I can- does not mean I should.

I have tested my limits. I have go much much farther than many and farther than what I even thought I was capable of. But should I gluttonously pursue every aim or every while to say that I have? No. I have the control now. I am in control of time and space. I have very little discipline in other areas- but I know what I want. And most people who know me admire and equally fear my determination; it is unstoppable. My determination is a true juggernaut. But the beauty of a juggernaut it the control. The patience. The two forms. The deception of a calm person that is truly underneath an unstoppable force is a frightful prospect.

I know that about myself. I have set my challenges higher. I have been met with no ill fate and no menacing faces from disbelievers. The more I believe in myself, the more I attract people who believe in me. Yet, I know I am what I am without their praise.

To know that without a direction, I can still be a good person with great skills and personal power. It becomes a new kind of zen. I know me. I do not know the furture. I know I like certain things but my outlook has become flexible.

A good pen. A sheet of blank paper. That's how all great stories start. How they progress. And how the end. There is never knowing. There is knowing. And there is faith.