granger2malfoy (granger2malfoy) wrote in battlehpmuses,

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Ficlet: Fickle Creature - moreteadk's own battle

 moreteadk 's Battle for her muse


Title: Fickle Creature

Author: Moreteadk

Rating: K

Summary: Written for granger2malfoy’s Daily Battle of the Muses Challenge. This is me!centric and might as well be original fiction, actually.


There she is again. I’m rather surprised actually. She hasn’t shown her face in a few days and more often than not she’ll stay away for weeks on end. But she’s here now, and I’d better make the best of it.

She’s sitting on my shoulder, looking utterly uninterested in what’s going on around her. She’s get her back turned to my face and her transparent wings absently wave up and down. Gently, like a new butterfly drying its’ wings in the sun after having left the cocoon. They’re tickling my ear.

I poke her in the back, to make her turn around. She does so, heaving a sullen sigh.

"What do you think of this?" I ask her, and point at my laptop monitor.

She jumps down on the table and reads through the few hundred words I’ve got written down. Without a word she jumps on to the keyboard, landing neatly on the S, and then jumps to a series of other keys in quick succession.

"’Scrap it’," I read. "What?"

"Scrap it," she repeats, returning to my shoulder. "No good, doesn’t work."

"But... Fluff! And marriage proposals! And champagne, for god’s sake!"

A look from her silences me and makes me close the document. She’s supposed to know about these things, isn’t she? With a sigh, I move the file to the Abandoned folder. We had the argument concerning the Trash folder, and finally I managed to get her to accept the Abandoned folder, since I categorically refused to put anything in the Trash folder. She’s not happy about it, but even small victories count.

"How about this, then?" I ask her, pulling up another file.

She spares it only a brief, bored look from her vantage point on my shoulder. She has taken out a file and seems far more interested in fixing her nails than in helping me.

"Scrap it," is the verdict I get once again, as she returns to filing her nails.

"You’re not being very helpful," I say pointedly. She just shrugs.

I hate that nail file. The rasp-rasp-rasp sound it makes just next to my ear is making the small hairs at the back of my neck stand up straight, and the dust from her nails as she files them is carelessly blown away from her fingertips and down on my clothes. I fume silently for a moment, while I wonder whether or not I can fire a muse.

"You can’t fire me," she informs me without even looking up. "I was assigned to you."

"Why?" I ask sourly. "Why you?"

She shrugs again.

"Nobody else was available." She finally packs the stupid file away and rises to her feet. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hair appointment in Berlin and a date in Rio. Bye."

With these words, she takes off from my shoulder and flies towards the window, tiny luggage in her hands. I contemplate getting up and shutting the window before she can escape, but I know such actions would be futile. Before she even reaches the glass, she disappears in a little gleam of golden light, leaving me alone again with my laptop and a head full of ideas that I don’t know how to get down on paper.

My audience has ended for this time.


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