Conversing with the Muse

A bunch of oneshots about the issues I have with my muse. There's a picture of him up on my DeviantArt account. "hotarunokurai./art/My-Main-Man-80698517" My muse's name is Eximius.

From the hallway, I could hear my television blaring some trashy music video and I could smell the stink of burnt popcorn. I walked into my dorm from my lab to find him lying on my bed, drinking my last Coke Zero and rapidly depleting my secret stash of mini Reese’s Cups. Well, at least he had a pair of shorts on this time…

“Where the hell have you been,” I scolded, shutting my door behind me and tossing my book bag onto the spare bed. Ah, the joys of living alone in a double… “I’ve had a ton of stuff that I needed to get done and you decided to take a vacation halfway through my creative writing assignment!” I wouldn’t have been so pissed off if it weren’t the second thing on the long “To-Do” list I had.

He just laughed, his tail flipping the remote into his free hand to change the channel. “Oh, GhostHunters…Seriously though, I opted to reside in an area that had a much nicer climate. It was great; nothing but sun, sand, and skimpy swimwear.”

Must. Not. Kill. Muse.

I rolled my eyes as I sat down at my desk. “Glad you had a good time, Ex,” I tried not to sound resentful. Really, I did. “And I’m glad to see that you actually decided to wear clothing too. I feel honored.”

“You damn well should,” he said after swallowing a swig of coke zero. “These shorts are uncomfortable as hell but I thought I might as well do something nice.” He scratched at the base of one of his horns and bit into a Reese’s cup. “What are you working on now?”

I shrugged as I signed on to AIM, even though I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone. My penguin wouldn’t be signed on so there was little to no point.

“No pictures to color?”

“Nope, haven’t been able to draw anything.” Since you decided to take your freaking vacation.

“No one-shots to type up?”

“Nope, haven’t been able to write anything that I liked.” Since you decided to take your freaking vacation.

“What about your schoolwork? Essays and such?”

“I scraped through, bullshitted all of them and now I’m done.”

“…So what do you need me for?”

I felt like screaming. Picking up my eraser, I chucked it at him, pegging him square in the forehead. “Because I have nothing! That’s the point, you fucking idiot,” I snarled. “I have nothing to do. I have written nothing. I have drawn nothing. I have nothing. Which means you aren’t doing your damn job!”

“Chill, honey,” he said with his movie star grin. “I just thought you wouldn’t appreciate smut-inspiration while you were trying to write your psychology paper.”

I was silent for a moment before deadpanning. “Well, I have nothing to do now. What the hell’s stopping you?”