In Which Kat's Muses Are Obstinate

Inspiration and Consequences
By Kat Kire

Disclaimer
The wonderful Susan Kay owns Kay!Erik and Kay!Daroga. Yay for Susan Kay. And Nadir.

Summary
Wherein Erik is badly in need of inspiration for Don Juan, and Nadir offers some assistance. Subtle slash. E/N.

---

Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks,
Thinking unutterable things; he threw
Himself at length within the leafy nooks
Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew;
There poets find materials for their books,
And every now and then we read them through,
So that their plan and prosody are eligible,
Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible.

He thought about himself, and the whole earth
Of man the wonderful, and of the stars,
And how the deuce they ever could have birth;
And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars,
How many miles the moon might have in girth,
Of air-balloons, and of the many bars
To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies; --
And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.

- From "Don Juan," by Lord Byron

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“Erik? Erik!”

“What…oh, yes daroga. . .I recall that you were going to be unkind enough to stop by today…how benightedly dreadful.”

“Nice to see you too.”

Erik turned away from the violin, one spidery hand resting noncommittally on the strings. “Well? What do you want, Nadir? If it’s chess you want, then go away, I’m working, and. . .I’m working,” he finished lamely, picking the violin back up again and going back to a pitsicatto piece.

Nadir stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking terribly small in comparison with his far taller friend. He looked out and Erik from inside half closed eyes, which were suddenly warm, traces of laughter inside the irises. One lock of thick black hair escaped his turban and fell over one eye. “I don’t want anything.”

“I just want an ending for this infernal piece.” The cadaverous man collapsed unhappily onto the divan, as though all the bones had been removed from his body. “Is that so much to ask, oh world?” He demanded sardonically of the ceiling, lips twisting under the mask. One gold eye snaked its way to see if Nadir was taking in his dramatic performance. “Oh, deliver me.”

“The khanum really is rubbing off on you.”

Unexpectedly, Erik rose and snappily threw a small embroidered pillow at the daroga, who ducked, laughed, grabbed the pillow, and promptly threw it back.

Erik folded utterly, collapsing for real this time, as the pillow hit him lightly on one bony shoulder.

---

Gaaaak!

Gak!

GAK!

AAAAH!

Ahem.

I'm going half mad. This stupid fan fiction is giving me serious difficulty. Writing good E/N is hard, Well, here I am trying to occupy myself until four o'clock, at which time something interesting will happen, writing a ficlet. And guess what happens to the ficlet? I lose control of it. My muses are being obstinate.

My muses, for quite some time, have been the following people.

PotO Muses

Nadir and Erik. As if you didn't know.

Original Fiction Muses

This is going to scare you all. My original fiction muses are. . .you. Yes, you. And you too. You're in a lot of my stories. Example: In Smoke and Mirrors, Max is the narrator, and Ben is one of the main characters. (Spencer and Gabe have bit parts.) In Four Circles, a story regarding many things, most of them of a high schoolish nature, both Max and Gabe appear. (I think Spencer and Ben may show up later on.) Resolutely Blue, a character I've worked hard on, shares characteristics with Micheala. And of course, there is the fact that magicians keep showing up in the play I'm writing. (Blame it on Ben.)

Harry Potter Muses

I do occasionally write HP fiction, sadly enough. My muses are Snape and Lupin. Because Lupin is the best character. He's my favorite. Because he's just brilliant. And Snape. . .well, what can I say. I believe he's good! I believe he's good! DON'T CALL HIM COWARD!

All Purpose Muse

You guys actually don't know this one. . .meet Ezekiel Brown, cowboy, magician, and basically whatever he needs to be to fit into a story. I love him. Yayness. And of course, there's always Dustfinger. He's from Inkheart by Cornelia Funke. The basic principal is that he was from the book Inkheart (it's a book within a book) and a man named Mo, who can read people out of books. Mo is from our world. From there on in, trust me, it just gets more convoluted. Dustfinger is a fire-eater and entertainer. He's trying to find the way back into his world again from ours. He was really the only good bit in a quite mediocre book, I must say. I'm not a big Cornelia Funke fan.

So here is my request. Nay, my demand.

I need a new muse. Commentors, I'm begging you. Any thoughts, ideas, mindblowing revelations?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.