It's All Good
By Bodger

He stood, his ponytail blowing in the wind. I stood further back, watching him as he looked out across the Shifting Sands of Subreality. Neither of us said anything; in our own way, we were delaying the conversation, using the scenery surrounding us as an excuse.

Finally, he spoke. "He quit, didn't he?"

I nodded and sighed. "I think he figured out that he wasn't really the one providing the stories. You can only be unaware for so long before you realize that stories are being written even when you're not there."

"Vivi II?"

"I guess he liked him well enough, so the two kinda stuck together. I'm sure we'll see them around sometime."

"Mm."

We stood for awhile longer, watching the grains of sand tumble over the vast landscape. It was, somehow, oddly symbolic of the gap that was currently between us, the words left unspoken.

"Are you going to ask or what?" he said, finally.

"Ask what?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"'Ask what,' she says. Like we both don't already know," he replied, sneering a little as he did so.

"Enlighten me," I demanded, somewhat coldly.

"'Will I take his place? Will I become your muse?'"

The words jarred a little, so reminiscent of the first time I'd approached him with the idea. He'd turned me down that time, so insecure . . .

"That's what I'm asking," I stated.

"Hmmph." He turned away.

I massaged the bridge of my nose. "Why does it have to be this hard, Kirin? Why can't you just do the job? You're good at it!" I pleaded.

"Uh huh. I'm doing all right for now. But what do I do if suddenly the words don't come to my head anymore? What happens when I just can't inspire anymore? What then?" He shook a little, though whether from the cold or something else was hard to tell.

"Then I stop writing! I don't know! But I'd never blame you for it, Kirin!" I shouted, frustrated.

"But I'd blame myself," he stated simply.

As if the words were a release, he looked down, unable to meet my gaze. I looked at him, unsure of how to comfort him, how to make him feel confident. There was something sad about seeing him, normally such a sarcastic little bugger of an elf, suddenly seeming so . . . mortal.

Why did it have to be this way? Was he really so lacking in confidence about the job?

Then it hit me. I knew what to say.

"Kirin . . . don't think of it as a job, or a responsibility. Think . . . think of it as the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity to get the words out of your mouth that you yourself can't write as a fictive," I began.

He said nothing.

"Furthermore, it's not like you're doing all the work. The ideas are from you, but the words are mine. The burden's not all on your shoulders. We can do this together," I continued. It was hard for me, since words don't normally come easily to me when I speak; however, this time, I was working towards a purpose.

He still said nothing.

"Kirin! Come on!" I exclaimed. Pleaded.

The silence continued unabated. The wind suddenly became blaringly loud, whistling through the tension.

Finally, he turned. And smiled.

"Well, I suppose somebody's got to keep you off those damn computer games, huh? Can't let you waste all that writing time," he stated, grinning.

The tension dropped like a stone. I laughed, feeling the relief.

"Then together?"

"Together."

We held hands, not as lovers, nor as partners; we were mother and son, co-workers together on greater works.

He closed his eyes, as he felt the flow of his new task -- no, new freedom enter into him. Finally, the process was through. "Well, that wasn't too bad, I guess."

I smiled. "Nope. It's all good."

---

I think that Kirin's been my muse the whole time; I just never really thought his character was the type to do it. He's such a part of my being now I can't ever imagine not having him in some place in my mind. A bit mushy mushy, but it's true.

Kirin: Oh, stop it.

Heh. Subreality was conceived and created by Kielle. Thank you very much for doing so.