Christian James ♪ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sitarplayer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dear_mun2012-04-08 10:25 am
sitarplayer) wrote in dear_mun2012-04-08 10:25 am
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[Have a liquored up, unwashed writer, who abruptly pushes back from his typewriter with a sigh of annoyance. His gaze darts around the room, searching out an elusive presence before announcing, his words a slight slur,] I-I cannot write with you hovering like that, Mun!
[The sudden outburst over, the set of his shoulders seeming to suggest a second might not be too far off, Christian slumps back against his chair, looking with disinterest at the collection of bottles on the windowsill.]
And why, why would you have me as your Muse? [A pause. The absinthe glass on the table is empty, dried sugar crusted in its well. Wetting his lips, Christian takes a plain sheaf of paper from the stack on the narrow desk, beginning to feed it into the typewriter with deft fingers.]
Muses inspire us, they set upon us the desire to create, to concoct beautiful and wonderful things.
"Melpomene"? [Winding the paper with a final, quick turn of the wrist, he runs a hand back through his hair, brooding upon the page.]
Hn. You know your mythology. Maybe I am. But not by choice. [Dislodging a cork from a half-empty wine bottle with his teeth, he lifts it in a bitter salute to the stale air and his Mun, and takes a swig. It clanks when he sets it down again, tipping over others, but he's well past caring now.]
I have nothing to offer you, please...just go.
[The sudden outburst over, the set of his shoulders seeming to suggest a second might not be too far off, Christian slumps back against his chair, looking with disinterest at the collection of bottles on the windowsill.]
And why, why would you have me as your Muse? [A pause. The absinthe glass on the table is empty, dried sugar crusted in its well. Wetting his lips, Christian takes a plain sheaf of paper from the stack on the narrow desk, beginning to feed it into the typewriter with deft fingers.]
Muses inspire us, they set upon us the desire to create, to concoct beautiful and wonderful things.
"Melpomene"? [Winding the paper with a final, quick turn of the wrist, he runs a hand back through his hair, brooding upon the page.]
Hn. You know your mythology. Maybe I am. But not by choice. [Dislodging a cork from a half-empty wine bottle with his teeth, he lifts it in a bitter salute to the stale air and his Mun, and takes a swig. It clanks when he sets it down again, tipping over others, but he's well past caring now.]
I have nothing to offer you, please...just go.