WHO: Antigone and Melpomene WHEN: The day after her meeting with Joan WHERE: Melpomene's place WHAT: A little inspiration, as a treat? WARNINGS: None
“Morning,” came Romeo’s voice from the bedroom doorway, and slowly, Antigone opened her eyes and rolled over to look at her. She’d left the door wide open when she got home last night; there were times, even on good days, when Antigone couldn’t handle being closed in. “Didn’t get arrested last night, then?”
“Managed to avoid it,” Antigone said, sitting up. The bed tipped a little under her. Those teacup cocktails had been strong. “Is it really morning?”
Romeo laughed like she’d been foolish to think it. “No, it’s nearly two. What did you do last night?”
“Met up with an old friend,” Antigone said. Then had the best sleep she’d had in weeks, apparently.
“I love you, you’re so full of secrets,” Romeo said, and Antigone wasn’t sure at all how to take that. It sounded genuine, but it could have just as easily been a dig. Antigone wasn’t great at picking up on subtlety. “I made coffee,” she said, straight after, and Antigone decided to focus on that, instead.
Her hands felt a little tender, like they were hungover, too, from their work of ripping apart a billboard with a crowbar. She inspected her palms while she sat at the kitchen island; there was a faint bruise, a shadow cast across her lifeline and headline. It didn’t bother her; in fact, it was highly satisfying.
She’d treasured the broken nails and aching fingertips she’s earned digging the rough, rocky ground of Polyneices grave, too.
She looked across the kitchen island at Romeo, who had set up her laptop on the end of it – she usually wrote on the balcony, but it was raining outside – and had a bound script in front of her that looked more post-it note than script. “What are you working on?”
“A writer friend is trying to sell his film script. I’m trying to save it,” Melpomene looked wistfully at the script. It was pretty bad, full of cliches. She liked cliches, they were cliche for a reason, but you had to know how to use them, and Reese had absolutely no understanding of the power they could have. She was probably going to have to sleep with him if she really wanted to save him, but he didn’t inspire her to help him that much.
Antigone nodded. It seemed like a musey thing to do, help other people out. She finished her coffee, turning over what she was going to say next in her head several times before saying it. “I’m going to write something today too.”
Melpomene lost all interest in the script. “Yes. What?”
“Something,” Antigone said, determined. Now that she’d said it, there was no backing out. She needed to start writing again, she couldn’t live off savings forever, and besides, she had things so say. She could feel them, brewing. “Something about women’s bodies being a battleground, something about this endless war we’ve been fighting for the right to have control over our own bodies. Something about how it’s been going on for thousands of years and will carry on a thousand more.”
She expected the muse to say something like, that’s grim – which, yes, it was, but was it untrue?
“I’ll make another pot of coffee,” Melpomene said, instead.