Euterpe (framethephrases) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2013-12-17 20:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint padraig, ukterpe |
WHO: Euterpe & Padraig
WHEN: Tuesday night
WHERE: Padraig's place
WHAT: More feelings and working out how to be friends
After the debacle that had been Halloween and admitting her feelings to Padraig, Euterpe had gone home and taken it out on her piano - but the music had been disjointed and tuneless and too angry and upset to be anything beautiful or anything that could soothe. She couldn't even make proper music in such a mood! Her! Music Itself!
Stupid Saints making their stupid vows to their stupid God! Their god wasn't even a real god anyway! She wanted to remain furious because that felt better than when she let the anger dissipate: when it faded she just felt lonely and sad and rejected.
But the anger couldn't last and knowing he liked her only made her feel worse. She kept replaying the conversation to try and make it parse better, and she kept remembering the time they kissed in his kitchen. It had meant so little to her that night, nothing but another person she'd quite like to bed in that moment, but now, looking back, it suddenly meant everything. She wanted that again and the more she thought about it, the more it made something large and hungry inside of her ache.
Euterpe didn't get rejected. Euterpe was a Muse and even when mortals didn't know they, they tended to flock towards her. The Muses were in the blood of mankind. But this saint, she once mortal, the only one she now wanted, had rejected her.
Christians ruined things all the time, but now it felt rather personal.
The next two weeks she spent sequestered away in her house, feeling like all her songs had abandoned her.
But in the middle of November she marched herself furiously to his door and thumped on it for a long while, ready to be pushy and demanding.
We're going to be friends, was what she was going to tell him, without even letting him get started on anything. I made you into a friend and you're mine now and, dammit, I want to keep you, even if you are stupid and I want to fuck you so hard your ancestors will feel it!
But he didn't answer the door. And so she called up some choice swearwords to his second story window and then stormed home again, returning to bash at her piano. (Her music was better now - determined, flighty, harsh, songs to send Titans crawling, terrified, back to the depths of Tartarus.)
But now it was exactly a week until Christmas and Euterpe kept seeing stupid ads on the television about spending time with the people important to you and making a place for family, and Euterpe didn't have any family nearby. No family but Padraig, because that was what he'd become. She loved him.
(Oh boy, did she ever love him. In these long weeks since Halloween what had seemed to her a simple liking had turned firmly to love, although perhaps that was only because she couldn't have him. It was difficult to know. All she did know was that to not have him in her life in some manner was an intolerable idea.)
And so she grabbed her phone and sent him a text, their first communication since Halloween:
No, dammit, we are going to fucking talk this out, you little shit. Don't you pretend you're not home because I will break into your house and just sit there until you pay attention.