Chapter XXIII: Creativity is Dead

There has never been anything so original as originality itself. When originality first made its debut onto the innovative scene, it was hailed as new and marvelous, a refreshing departure from the norm. It promised all the novelty and exoticism of an idea never encountered before, and it was ready to defend itself against the critics and recommend itself to the enthusiasts. Originality was so highly prized that the mentioning of "it's an original" could send people into an ecstatic transport of possessive superiority, leaving those who owned copies or, worse, fakes to discard their unworthy antiques, plots, or whatever else in the dust of creativity. It was this second class of individuals who have traditionally been credited with inventing the corollary: "That's so unoriginal. It has been done. This is a mere pretension to the real thing! Down with the replication and off with the head of the replicator." Of course, copyists of important legal documents, especially forgeries and the last wills and testaments of the clinically insane, were exempt from the eternal scorn of the professors of originality, as were artists whose entire livelihoods depended on imitating nature, ventriloquists and puppeteers, and, when it was discovered, DNA polymerase. Between originality and unoriginality, there is a vast and redoubtable continuum of variation that must be manipulated, manufactured, and manifested in that one way among the manifold myriad to seem newer than it truly is. Those who can execute the transformation successfully are geniuses, and those who cannot are ... Well, to put it decorously, boring. Syai had not wish to be deemed a tedious drag, but she was slowly slipping into a downward spiral of gloomy dejection over her lack of creativity for a novel, bold scheme to solve Tetricus' problem with the Superba while she sat, moping, on the counter of Desmos' cafe.

"By Jove, I have no idea!" she cried, slamming her cup of cardamom cappuccino onto the granite surface beside her. "You know, Armeni, originality is too over-rated, and creativity is dead. I mean the wheel and the harnessing of fire are useful, but, by Hades, if they were not found out then, somebody would come upon them eventually. So if I don't have a plot to assist that orator and his falling out with the Superba, as he demands of me every other night, then he should let someone else do the formulating part because a design will be found--just not by me. I have better things to do."

The cafe owner nodded sympathetically. "Seems Tetricus has great expectations in regard to you."

"Ita vero, in bed, not in the head."

Armenius shrugged as he polished a cup with a rag. Still annoyed, Syai took a candied lemon rind from the basket by her hip and popped it into her mouth. "I don't know. I just don't know anymore what I'm supposed to do. By Jove, I could strangle that big-mouthed Cypriot at the hotel for putting such a notion into Tetricus' little sconce--I the mistress to incite jealousy of Tarquinia so she would leave Paris and come back to her intended. Rubbish!"

"Well," Armenius began, "you did manage to cause the Superba a great deal of jealousy. I heard about what transpired in the Mariatinus gardens."

"And her eternal wish to see me crucified by the morrow!"

"Don't worry, we only exile the criminals here."

"Small comfort, that." She took a long, deep swig of her drink the same moment Gratia, a dancer at the theater, entered the cafe.

"Ah salve, Gratia, quid agis?" Armenius asked with a smile.

"Oh, I'm fine," she replied standing in front of the counter.

"Fine! Fine? What kind of unoriginal answer is ‘fine’?

Surprised, Gratia blinked and looked at the hetaira quizzically.

"Why does everyone respond ‘fine’ to that question? It is always the same," Syai ranted on. "’How are you’? ‘Oh, I'm ... fine’ Despicable! And ... And what if you're not fine? What if you're sad or hungry or, I don't know, sexually frustrated? You still say ‘fine.’ Ye gods!"

This time Gratia turned her questioning expression on Desmos who explained the situation to her and particularly on the matter of originality. The dancer nodded, understanding. "Ita, I can relate i think. It is like trying to come up with a new routine for the chorus. By the way, Armeni, may I have a cappuccino? Cardamom, of course."

Syai rolled her eyes. "The usual order."

Gratia frowned, then smiled, remembering what the cafe owner told her. "Come now, Syai, you're drinking one yourself."

"True."

"Besides these are the best drinks for overwrought, overstrung nerves, from which I am suffering at the moment."

"Oh?" Syai said.

"Quid novi?" Armenius inquired, pouring hot milk into a cup.

"Well, tonight the theater company plans to perform Phaedra, but our prima actrix has taken ill, and I have just been informed, as the assistant manager is always the last to know, that our understudy has run off with the son of the backgrounds' painter. From what I've gathered, they eloped to Pompeii and are honeymooning in Neapolis."

"How inconvenient," Syai said.

It was the dancer's turn to roll her eyes. "Quite observant of you, darling." Armenius shook his head as he added a quantity of crushed cardamom powder into her steaming beverage.

"What are you going to do?" the hetaira questioned, sipping her own cappuccino.

Gratia shrugged, shuffled her feet, and then sighed heavily. "I don't know. I wish we could just cancel the production, but I do not imagine the tyrant nor the Superba would be pleased to know that. They always come to the shows on the kalens and ides, and today is the ides."

Armenius dropped a pinch of angelica into the cup, reached for a stirring rod of bamboo, and then presented the distraught dancer with her order. "Gratias tibi ago," she said, accepting the vessel before testing out the sweet and creamy liquid with a tentative sip.

"You know, I am a courtesan, a professional one, and in Corinth they normally teach hetairae to dance and act and play on some instrument," Syai noted, swinging her legs. "I still remember my lute instructor, very dreamy Thracian with gray eyes and blonde hair. But anyways, could I do it? I mean could I be Phaedra?"

Gratia chewed thoughtfully on a lime rind. "Well ... Do you know the lines?"

"Euripides, non?"

"Ita."

"Very good because my acting master loved, loved to make us recite Euripides, and we never read anyone else as much."

"No Aristophanes or Sophocles?"

Syai shook her head, selecting an orange rind to dip into her cappuccino.

"All right then. I'm willing to take a gamble on you. Come to the Apelleum at the tenth hour for a rehearsal. We are set to begin with the overture during the middle of the first watch."

"I shall be there. No worries. Tetricus and I were planning to see a show tonight anyways, but now it will be more interactive.

Gratia laughed. "Make sure he doesn't become too jealous when you're up there with Paris."

"Paris? Paris will be performing with her?" Armenius asked.

Gratia nodded, sipping her drink. Syai eyed the cafe owner gratefully.

"He's Hippolitus," Gratia said.

"Well then. Tetricus may be jealous of Paris, and the Superba with me. What a pesky, little love square that is!"

The dancer raised an eyebrow. "That's an original. Typically it is a love triangle."

Syai exchanged a glance with Armenius before they burst out laughing, much to Gratia's confusion.