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a.k.a Nia; Muse of Determination
Thankfully the blue-smoke glass hit the carpet instead of the tile. Thalia’s calculated clumsiness created her desired outcome. While Urania checked to make sure her hairs were in place, there wasn’t any lipstick seeping into her smile lines, and no food was stuck to her dress, Calliope joined Tal under the table — to pick up paperclips.
“Well… I surely didn’t expect THAT!” Tal exclaimed.
“Me neither,” Cal whispered back. “She kind of looks like… Typist?”
“Stern and old?” whispered Tal.
“Ummm… I was thinking more… mature and wise,” Cal replied.
Urania sighed. “If the two of you haven’t figured out I can hear every word you utter by now, we’re going to have to go back to the basics. Do I need to get out the chalkboard? We are all one… ensconced in a Typist in Wisconsin. Stop whispering!”
Two muse heads popped above the table’s edge. “Sorry,” they muttered in unison.
“Tell us about your picture?” asked Cal.
“Well… I do look a little like Typist. It surprised me, too! And I painted the wall I see when I look across the studio from my seat at the table.”
“Without you… this room would still have smelly carpet and a puppy dog wall paper border… stenciled muddy paw prints running around on Dover white walls,” said Cal.
“And we wouldn’t have our new virtual space either… Responsibility and action oozes from you like raspberry jelly from a donut,” the Muse of Wit added.
“Thank you for your appreciation.” Urania dusted a few bagel crumbs from her lips. “I recognize that sometimes my determination is helpful, and sometimes it keeps us from hearing our combined song… which is really where our magic lives.”
The Muse of Harmony blushed. Thalia took a bite of her donut. And Urania said, “Hi… You can call me Nia.”