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Muses. People know them for inspiring ideas in the most misunderstood people in society and helping them become highly successful authors. We owe it to them that we want to write, draw, dance, sing… every shape of art we could create. Because any idea was supported by them in our heads.
Sweet whispers. A warm, cozzy flame in the chest, making artists feel like they were capable of everything they want.
Muses’ presence is so special, so nice, so familiar…
They enjoyed being among humans. They enjoyed feeling how much their presence means to humans, how much they need their guide and support.
They were the true fans of the artists, eating the ideas they inspired in humans.
They loved to be used by humans.
And be feed.
It 's a nice trade.
Humans get new ideas and muses feed from their creative soul. Just a little slice, you will never notice it! At least the muses get obsessed with your ideas’ flavor… But that was part of the game! You could not have a good idea if you don't trade with muses. And muses need a better payment than a ‘thank you’.
Authors once turned to nature, the home of nymphs, in search of inspiration. The Muses lived alongside their beautiful cousins, the forest and water nymphs. Nature was home to three beautiful nature creatures, and everyone was there to see how humans get inspiration.
There was plenty of food, the muses danced so carefree that they were confused with their carefree cousins, who as long as they were in their element would be immortally beautiful and young. Power and ideas were lakes full of crystal-clear water to which no bottom could be found.
But things changed a long time ago.
The ties with nature were endangered and broken when humans abandoned parks, rivers and forests. Homes were new places authors used to call their creativity. Bored, right?
Try to imagine how the muses lived it…
There are no trees or water to hide behind. There are no companions inspiring and sharing a human being to feed on.
There is only you and ‘your’ human. And your new way to work and get your meal is pretending to be a human! Such a horrible, dangerous thing!
Akhalia was really angry with his new life.
He was a very old muse, one that knew old times and how good they were. A muse with no talented humans was a dead muse, and as they got older, more and more difficult would be to keep alive. Time did not wait for an old muse to adapt and understand art and how to feed it.
Nowadays it is easy to create unworthy, tasteless garbage and call it "art." Muses don't have as easy a time finding decent food as they had before.
Akhalia was pretty old, but he knew his race could live a couple of centuries more with no problem. He just needed to eat well enough and often, but it was difficult and he knew it.
“Why do people prefer to use that thing, that fucking ai, to create?” he whimpered, hugging one of the fur, pink pillows of his apartment. Living among humans was not bad. Pretending to be one of them, work, talk to them, being called “attractive”, all that was funny, and he could buy fur, plush stuff like these pillows! Or warm, soft blankets!
Everything had a price in the human world!
Humans had changed a lot since Akhalia's ancestors inspired them to paint on the walls and they still wore just a piece of cloth in their crotches. Not even the infamous Leonardo Da Vinci, whom Akhalia had inspired and whose one of his first acts as an "artist" was to exhume corpses to see what the human being was made of, made the muse get so surprised.
He could get anything he wanted just with the correct number of his credit card or some green pieces of paper. And since he was a muse among humans, although he could work, he preferred to enchant tree leaves or some little rocks as if they were dollars and cash and pay with them. It was easy to get everything his soul desired. Everything, except for the food he needed.
He could satisfy his hunger with water and fruit, but that was mere empty tempempie. He needed ideas, creativity, a tormented spirit like the great Van Gogh, whose bad life and intense personality led him to cut off an ear and mail it to his wife.
Now there was so little creativity, so few people wanted to create…
They have desires, but people are always glued to their screens. Programs, cables, artificial brightness... Where is the smell of drying paint? Where is the passion of fixing a bad brushstroke with more and more brushstrokes? Where is the pain and the suffering blurring with the temperas on a canvas?
Akhalia could not live from ‘ai art’ and programs. He needed something his fingers could touch, his eyes could admire, his heart could pound for.
“Am I so fucking old?” He asked in a trembling whisper. No answer. Never. It's been a long time since he's seen a muse as old as him.
There are more like him, yes, they are born every few decades and life is only exhausted with creativity; but not as old as him. Anghelika -Angela, as humans knew her-, half his age but with great potential, is the oldest he knew in this town. Akhalia didn't know how a "doctor" could still be alive, healing with her powers in the absence of a real medical career and offering enchanted candies so that people believe they are medicines.
“Oh, my Safo…” He whispered, looking at an old poem, on ancient, yellowed papyrus paper, carefully framed next to other ancient works on the wall opposite the bed. “How I wish you would tell me another of your laments for your impossible loved ones… Your pain at not being able to love women as freely as is now possible was the best nourishment I could have had.”
Tormented souls. They were the old muse's favorites. There aren't so many of them anymore, and they're so well-focused on other hobbies. Video games, social media and tv shows now heal grief more than a pen and paper.
“I can't blame them. I like those cowboy movies, I can't stop watching them.”
Akhalia had even created a character, with which to pretend to be human, who was American and dressed in cowboy clothes! Stetson, poncho… Even the boots! He even had some movie posters among his art collection…
“Mr McCree! Mr McCree, it's time for your meeting at two o’clock!” Like moving by a clock, that girl, his secretary, was in front of his door.
Knock, knock, Mr Jesse McCree, the human with a bored job in a bank, it's time to put on some fancy pants and pretend you want this life.
Knock, knock time to go back to the normal, ordinary, bored human life.
Knock, knock it's time to get some money to fill the emptiness of his soul but not his stomach.
Knock, knock… Wait, that was a real sound.
“Amélie, we had talked about this. You can call me Akhalia if there is nobody listening to us.” When the door opened, the elegant, pretty, french secretary went into the apartment as it was hers. Five years working together made them friends. Akhalia did not understand why she kept this job; she could get something better, better paid and with a not-so-fucking demanding schedule.
He wanted her near him because she was a very talented ballet dancer when nobody was watching her. A delicious snack. She could work and live selling tickets to her spectacles. The whole city should watch those legs moving gracefully like a horse through the obstacles, elegant, delicate, beautiful. But she just wanted to be his secretary; since she discovered his real nature, that feeling was even more intense.
She was really interested in his way to live and get “food”, and loved to walk and contemplate the walls of the apartment, reading the unique examples of plays which nobody read before of well-known authors or even persons who never were known as well as others.
It was nice to meet another fan of the art. Even if she was a human.
“I prefer Jesse… or Mr McCree.” The female complained, her little, purple painted lips on a soft smile, “it remembers me you are my boss.”
The non-human rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips, even if he tried to pretend like he was angry.
“Y’know you are more than qualified to be my boss.”
“And lose my golden pass to get into your apartment? Are you joking, aren't you?”
He laughed, walking to be by her side. As every time she came here, she was looking at something from his collection.
“You can do it even if you are not working for me, you know?” he crossed his arms, thinking, “human’s lives are so short and boring and fragile… you should enjoy yours more, not waste your time looking for food for me.”
Amélie looked to him, her golden, shiny eyes like a warning to not talk more about that. Jesse did not feel intimidated, but he nodded, accepting.
“Did you have luck this time?”
“No talented humans between our new clients.”
Thanks to Amélie, Akhalia, our Jesse, has a way to feed on and work at the same time. Working on a bank was a perfect excuse to hear about people's dreams, feed a bit and decide if they could or could not get what they desired. Humans needed some monetary help to try to become owners of a local, or try to get a house; and Akhalia needed some of that emotion and wished to have a better life to keep living.
Everyone wins.
People got their money. Bank got even more money. And Jesse, his alter ego was pretty nice at this job.
When a muse loves your idea and tries it, you will be blessed. The project will work, the muses wanted it to. But when ideas are so bad that even your secretary feels bored, your opportunities are pretty low.
“And the normal clients?” Amélie looked at him curious. Her boss really needs some human’s inspiration to use right now, she noticed. “Is there someone who could… y’know, take a pen and do decent work?”
“There isn't. Sorry.” She sighed. When her boss did the same, she frowned a little and quickly changed the topic of the conversation: “Guess who came to the office while you were here!”
“Another couple trying to get money for their marriage?”
“Ooh… did i tell you and I forgot it?”
“You didn't.” He answered, taking a bottle of water from the fridge. He put some water on two mugs, offering one to her before saving the water in the fridge again. Water did not feed him, but made him feel a bit less nervous and anxious. “You always hated happy couples.”
“I do, I am not afraid to say it.” She drank a bit before crossing her arms, her delicate, pretty, little back against the wall of the kitchen.
He laughed a bit, “some day you will forget Mr Lacroix. And find another man as perfect as him, or even more.” He shrugged, “human lives are pretty short to waste your time missing one of them.”
“I’ll never do that.”
He laughed again. He did not understand love, but could understand she missed her lover. Akadia also missed his friends, the majority of them were not alive, and he did not even know if the others were alive yet, or not.
“Okay, okay. We’ll avoid happy couples to find their happiness together.”
After the meeting, the muse and the female were in Jesse’s office. The Monthly employee office was bigger than normal offices, but not especially comfortable. No windows, no plants, no distractions. The big table of Jesse was full of papers he did not feel like reading or even pretend to read, and the Amelie's table, little and with the name of “widowmaker” instead of hers on the little cartel made her feel foolish.
Their bosses were pretty rare. Never helped, never wanted to talk with their employees, but they knew Amelie's nickname and knew they were a nice team. If they also know Amélie hated to be called “widowmaker” because she lost her husband a couple of months after they got married it was something they did not know.
Akhalia couldn't understand who could be so cruel as to call a widow like that. Humans were so cruel. So no-kind.
During the lunch break, Akhalia was so upset by the lack of talent in his clients that he almost quit. Amélie was always there, remembering he had a good place to get his meal, even if not always it worked. Jesse did a good job by giving people help in the bank and Akhalia, eating a part of their creativity, made that project a success. It doesn't matter if these clients were not creative and Amélie was the one who served them and decided whether to grant a loan or not. Jesse would still be a model worker, with the success rate in granting loans and recovering money with interest that this bank has had.
“Akande seemed very interested in you helping the new workers.” Amélie looked thoughtfully at the sign of the street vendor parked in the park. “You should not say no so aggressively. He could put you out of the bank just with a bad look.”
“I cannot teach anyone to be like me!” He complained, “I can't even force myself to eat and make the client triumph in their project if I don't like the idea…”
“It doesn't seem like he cared about it.”
“Humans are stupids.” The muse rolled his eyes. The employee looked at them strangely, his oily hands drying on a pink cloth. “I can't make art out of nothing, they make it and I don't make them want to make more, that's the deal! You humans don't know how to make deals without cheating!”
The French woman sighed a bit tired and clicked her fingers, calling the boy. “Two hotdogs, a cheeseburger, a chocolate crepe and a chocolate shake. And don't be stingy with the chocolate, drown my crepe.”
“Okay…” He still seemed confused, looking at the non-human. “Do you want the shake to have two straws?”
“It’s all for me, thank you.” For a thin girl with outrageously perfect curves, Amélie didn't eat very healthy. She actually used to eat in large quantities. After all, she trained every morning at the gym before coming to work and danced after work by herself. Of course they could just pretend Akhalia to eat something, but Akhalia loved people's surprise when she said all the food was for her.
Going to a bench to sit down, Akhalia talking about how stupid humans are and Amélie insisting that she can't blame Akande for not knowing that he isn't human, a smell in the park called the muse's attention.
“A normal human would be happy to be promoted to mentor with a better salary and shorter working hours. Everyone would cry of joy if they had your talent.” Amélie explained. When Akhalia did not complain again nor grunted, she looked at him, “... Jesse?”
But he did not answer. He was too busy thinking about this sensation he did not have for a long time ago.
His stomach gurgled with hunger and his taste buds produced saliva. He felt there was something in the air, high quality food.
“Is there something near here you can eat?” Amélie asked, looking around. “Where?”
“I… don't know…” His eyes were also looking everywhere, looking for the person so creative that was practically calling for him. “Look for a frustrated person screaming at a canvas!”
She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling crookedly. “I don’t think there's someone like that here…”
“But their ideas smell like this!”
“There's more to art than just a painting, a sculpture, or graffiti on the walls, Jesse…”
“I know! It is also art building, singing and dancing. But a construction worker doesn't smell so well, they can’t.”
She laughed, denying.
“I still think we couldn't find a painter with a canvas here.”
Akhalia started to protest when the smell suddenly vanished. His stomach grumbled, crying, but he remained calm and didn't run away, desperately searching for any trace of that delicious scent. He looked at her with a frown.
“What's yar idea? What d'ya want to do to find this person now?”
She looked at him surprised, “Did you stop feeling that smell?” He sighed and nodded, his face a gesture of defeat. “Okay, okay… There's no problem. We can go back here tomorrow!”
“Like we could do something coming back here tomorrow…”
“If this person likes this site to create or work here, will come back sooner or later…”
She was right. That was the reason after all that muses used to live in the forest with the nymphs: artists came there to be inspired. Akhalia could only trust that they would return tomorrow.
And there they were the next day. Amélie, with a strawberry milkshake with a thick layer of whipped cream, accompanied him on a walk through the park after work. Akhalia was pretty nervous, anxious. He had practically wandered like a lost soul, pecking at the small, vague creative yearnings of people today; now he had the opportunity to have the equivalent of a feast. It felt like a dream.
“Jesse?” Amélie gasped after the third time they walked around the whole park, “there’s no people drawing on a notebook nor canvas or writing on their phones… singing or dancing. Are you sure you smell creativity here?”
“Of course I am? Do I have the face of an arrogant young muse?”
Amélie looked at him, her face a bit blushed because of the efforts she had to do walking all this time. “Well… you look pretty young. Maybe if muses aged it would be easier to know your age.”
“Haha…” he rolled his eyes.
“Do you think this person is gonna… y’know, come back to the park again?”
“You said we could come back here today! That it’ll not be the last time I smell that delicatessen!”
She looked at her phone. They were walking around this stupid park for about an hour, and they did not find the mysterious person the non-human was looking for. And they were only supposed to have forty-five minutes for lunch. She was really losing her hope to find them, and to finish her job on time. Her pay was good, at least.
“I thought we could find your lunch,” she shrugged, “but we should go back to work soon. It doesn't speak well of you to be out of the office after hours.”
He carefully moved away from Amélie when she took his arm to begin leading him out of the park. “I want to have my lunch first.”
“I can bring you a street artist, if you want a snack…” Seeing his face of displeasure, she sighed. She knew it was like offering a chocolate bar to someone who was expecting to eat at the best restaurant in town, but she did not know what to do. It wasn't easy to find something you didn't see, and Amélie couldn't see the creativity and bring it to her friend. “I can't do anything more, Jesse, I'm really sorry.”
Akhalia looked at her with furrowed jealousy for a couple of seconds before sighing in defeat. “Not yar fault… Thank you for trying to help me. You are a nice human…”
“It’s o-” Before Amelie could finish speaking, a jet of water hit her. There was a hose on the floor and it had suddenly turned on.
The French woman looked horrified at her soaked white blouse and black pencil skirt and then looked for the culprit of such a disaster. Akhalia could barely contain his laughter at the sight of her angry red face. A green-haired boy ran towards her, grabbing the hose that had ruined her clothes. He carefully turned it off, not caring about getting his green gardener's overalls wet.
“What the heck d’ya do to me?”
“Sorry, Miss… We didn't know the hose was connected to the water…”
We.
The non-human looked around, searching for the other gardener responsible for the incident. His eyes fell on a handsome Asian boy wearing a jumpsuit just like the green-haired boy. Tall, handsome, with long black hair and a small beard. And he had the same scent he felt yesterday!
His tormented artist, his stressed art maker… Akhalia knew he needed to talk to him and take advantage of it to eat a little of that creativity.
Amélie gritted her teeth and growled, looking at him. “Stupid and damn garde-!”
“Amélie,” the muse stopped her, caressing her soft, thin arm with his fingers. She looked at him strangely, but soon noticed his gaze. She quickly relaxed, listening, not wanting to deprive her friend of food. “Why don't you go buy some new clothes? I'll pay whatever you want.”
“Oh, please don’t!” The boy denied, embarrassed, “we can pay you! It’s… it’s all our fault…”
“The clothes are from an exclusive collection. It costs a lot of money.” Amélie crossed her arms. It was not right. Akhalia knew perfectly well that Amélie spent little money on her everyday clothes, but rather invested it in her art, clothes and shoes for acting. She was just trying to make an excuse for not helping her.
“I… I'm really sorry.” The man looked really worried about that.
“It was just an accident,” Akhalia downplayed the matter, “Amélie is fine and will buy some clothes. As for you… What’s your job?”
He looked at him as he asked something stupid. After all, he was wearing a gardener's suit, as was his brother, who had stayed arranging flowers a few meters back, letting him talk.
“We are the new park's gardeners.”
Akhalia doubts that art could be born between fertilizer and worms. Amélie watched him even though she already had her boss's credit card, her wet blouse revealing her cream underwear without her noticing.
“And…?”
“And… nothing more.” He shrugged. “My brother plants the flowers in the gardens and trims the hedges. I collect the fallen leaves and mow the lawn… oh my… Miss, your clothes!”
Amélie blushed a little, hugging herself, while the boy ran to get his jacket, placed on a bench. “Hanzo, I have to go for a bit!”
“Be nice to her!”
“I will! Try to save some flowers!”
Amélie looked at him, a little distressed. The large, reflective jacket made her small frame look obvious, but she clung to it as they walked out of the park.
The muse meanwhile joined the boy, on top of the small rise of land where he was. The smell of freshly cut grass and the flowers he planted made Ahkalia feel like he was in the forest again. The nymphs must still be there, just as happy and energetic.
The muse sometimes missed them, especially when he saw the dead flowers that the man was replacing with live ones. They would surely know what to do and would use some kind of magic to keep them alive, like Lifeweaver or Illari.
“It's a shame, right?” The man said, looking at him. A handsome man, especially for a human, long black hair on a comb, Asian, neatly trimmed beard, sharp steel-colored eyes and a sugary, soft voice like caramel. “The old gardener didn't take care of them very well... He put effort into it, there are many flowers in all the gardens and of many kinds; but he didn't listen to the plants.”
A human talking about listening to flowers? Amélie would say he was crazy. But he was curious.
“How do you…listen to the plants?”
He laughed, “I'm not talking about literally listening to the plants, but seeing that they grow well… They need more than being planted in the ground to thrive.”
“I see.”
The scent in the air grew richer as the Asian man placed the healthy flowers. A little fertilizer, be careful when placing each flower specimen. A beautiful display of color, detailed patterns. A living and fragile work of art.
“You are very talented.”
“Thanks,” Hanzo smiled a little, “I love my job.”
“I can understand why.”
“I am Hanzo Shimada.”
“A-... Jesse,” he smiled a bit nervously, offering his hand to him. “Jesse McCree.”
The man almost took his hand, but seeing his dirt-stained work gloves, he backed away. His eyes also went down to the muse's expensive clothes he had to wear to work in the office. About five hundred dollars on a suit that Jesse wasn't even supposed to wear every day since he had to wash it and use another one of his closet, all of them as expensive as this one, due to human code of conduct.
Humans were so strange.
“We shouldn't shake hands, sorry”
He tried to hide his displeasure at that rejection, but it was difficult. The human thought it was really impolite to stain the suit so expensive that he couldn't even afford it with half a year's salary with his dirty clothes. But the non-human, who needed to touch him to feel his hunger satisfied, did not find any importance in dirtying expensive clothing.
“Oh, it's okay…”
But it was not okay for him. Hanzo smiled a little nervously, noticing that change of attitude and quickly pointed:
“Your suit looks too good for me to stain it.”
“Just clothes.”
“Expensive, nice clothes.”
“It's not supposed to be polite to shake hands?”
He laughed, finding his comment really funny.
“Yes, but we can pretend that we have done it. Nobody will ask about it.”
And the only thing he wanted was to touch him, without gloved hands and without stupid suits. Feed on him and his delicious creativity and inspire him to continue, to succeed in his goal of… put plants in a park?
There are weirder forms of art, Akhalia thought, like a banana stuck to a canvas with a piece of adhesive tape.
“You are really funny, to be just a human.”
Hanzo smirked, arching an eyebrow. That way of speaking made him feel like he was talking to a fool.
“I wish I could say the same.”
“Got a sharp mouth, ain't ya?” They laughed, “I never thought that art could be expressed with… plants.”
“Art comes in many forms…” he murmured while he was working, “Painting, gardening, dancing, singing…”
Carefully, flower by flower, the face of a blue dragon revealed itself. Cyan and navy blue for scales, red and white for the eyes and a beautiful purple background. Akhalia knew he completely loved how the human smelt and how the garden looked.
“It looks awesome…”
“Thanks.” Akhalia knew he was smiling by his tone of voice.
The scent drew him closer, seeing him standing so close. Like a flower tempting a bee. Even his heart was racing quickly. So nice smell, so new to all artists he met before, so perfect in his way to work.
His hand rose, seeking to cradle his shoulder in a gesture of encouragement, but when the Japanese man looked at him, his hand a few millimeters to touch him, the muse stepped back.
“How about I invite you to a coffee?” The Japanese looked at him a bit surprised and Akhalia stepped back again, nervous. He felt his confidence shatter, as if he were not facing an ordinary, normal human being, but something more. This guy was something important and special. He did not want to ruin this. “You know, to celebrate you made this…”
Confused, but not uncomfortable, he smiled small. “Of course!”
“Fine!”
Akhalia’s hand ran to take his, but the Asian was the one who stepped back this time. He looked at him, confused.
“I should probably change my clothes. I am a bit dirty, and sweaty…” he explained, his cheeks a bit red of shame, “I don’t have fancy pants, tie nor a white shirt like you though, but a tracksuit. Maybe I could ask my brother to bring me something more elegant...”
He didn't seem to want to wear fancy clothes, Akhalia noticed. Akhalia did not care about Japanese's appearance; he was just a human and the only thing the muse wanted was to eat and admire his work. Also, he was not ugly, but really pretty.
Hanzo pulled his phone out of his green uniform, typing quickly on the screen. “Where’s my brother anyway? It's been almost an hour. You can't spend that much time accompanying your girlfriend to look for clothes…”
“She is not my girlfriend, but a friend. And my employee.” He corrected him quickly. Hanzo looked relieved with that information, he noticed. “Amélie is probably flirting with him...” He didn't think so, but he couldn't say that she was distracting the gardener’s brother while Akhalia tried to feed off Hanzo's creativity.
“Oh…? That’s… that’s fine.” Hanzo shrugged, not very interested. “I guess I can work without him for a while.”
“Can I offer you a cup of coffee again? That way you won't miss his help…”
Hanzo smiled but declined slowly.
“I still don't have nice clothes to… wait! What are you…?”
Hanzo gasped in surprise, watching as Akhalia grabbed some dead flowers from Hanzo's trash bag and threw them over his head. Dirt and withered petals on his chocolate, curly hair and large shoulders, the five hundred dollar suit was ruined; and he was perfectly calm.
“Why did you do that?” The Japanese man brought his hands to his shoulders, trying to clean the black jacket and shirt, but because of the dirty gloves he had, he only managed to stain his clothes even more. “Oh my…! I am so sorry…” The gloves flew over his head before he continued trying to clean Akhalia's clothes.
“They are just clothes. They are not important.”
The non-human gently took his wrists. The contact of their skin felt like a wire connecting to an electrical current. His skin vibrated and his hair bristled, charged, fed.
Hanzo, on the other hand, felt his touch like a caress of the sun, the embrace of a velvet blanket, the scented breeze of newly opened flowers. He felt renewed energy and many ideas flooding his head in a second, designs to draw on the ground planting flowers of different colors.
“I… I guess so.” Hanzo didn't seem to have heard what Akhalia had said, stunned.
Akhalia was as stunned as him, to be honest. He was just able to nod.
“So… Coffee?” Hanzo suggested, smiling nervously. His hands were still held by his.
“Coffee.” He repeated, letting go one of his hands, taking the other in a better way. Intertwined fingers, equally delicate touch. Akhalia received a small piece of his creativity and Hanzo received the motivation to fulfill all those delicious ideas. The wheel turned perfectly and the muse loved it.
“Could I come back here tomorrow? I would love to see you working.”
“It’s a public park.” Hanzo accepted surreptitiously, his heart racing. “I still have to work more today. You won’t bother me if you want to stay, not a lot anyways.”
Akhalia laughed, finding this human’,s attitude really funny.
“I have to work.” And return to Amelie the great favor she has done by distracting the younger brother of this beautiful artist. Today he can't escape work and let her work, or the french woman might ask him for a piece of work from his collection in return! And he cannot give that to her!
“You literally ruined your suit so I don't feel bad about going out for coffee in work clothes.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Yeah…” he laughed, smiling softly, “of course not.”