Background: I encourage everyone to read the Muse stories at Subreality Central first, but it's not necessary. But read them anyway, because they're good. :) All you need to know is that new Muses are "born" and taught at the Imagination Collegium. Among their teachers are Ambrosia and Tristram, two retired Muses. Calliope is the Queen of the Muses, and Ganymede is her secretary.

Preliminary disclaimer: The characters' views do not necessarily reflect my own.

Further disclaimers and notes at the end. This isn't exactly a Subreality Cafe story, but it does concern an important component - the Muses.

Rating: PG-13 for language.

Feedback: Yes, please.

Archiving: Subreality Central has carte blanche. Everyone else, please ask first.

Dedication: To Indigo, who started me off in comics fanfic; to Farli, who inspired this; and to my Muse, the Captain. Thank you.

"I think you're fookin' nuts."

"C'mon, Argent, admit it. I'm right."

"No way in hell, satellite boy. I've said it before and I'll say it again: 'Matrix' was not a good movie."

The silver-haired young woman leaned back against the giant tree, looking through half-lidded lids at her enthusiastically-gesticulating friend. His Padawan braid swayed in the breeze, brushing against his shoulder. Tyrus, she reflected, was obviously destined to be a science fiction Muse.

"M'friend, I don't care what you say about nonexistent spoons. Fact is, whoever inspired that cheeseball showdown scene in the end must've been smoking something." She snorted. "The Muse's prob'ly the Queen Bitch herself."

"Her Highness has not been active for a long time, Argent," reminded Kahlil, a Muse-in-training like herself. He was sitting at her side, watching first-year Muse students scuttling past. "If we were an army, Calliope would be the commander-in-chief--"

"--and commander-in-chiefs don't usually get blood and mud on their hands," Yi finished. The were-tiger stretched out on a low tree branch, relaxation softening her usually alert green eyes. "Not anymore, that is."

"But the point is, 'Matrix' is a good movie. Not perfect, but good," Tyrus interjected. Dark-skinned and dark-eyed, he was the tallest among the young Muses. "What do you think, Reine?"

"Well...Trinity and Neo were cute," grinned the freckled blonde, provoking groans from her friends. "Not as cute as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, though."

"Which brings me to my next point..."

The unconvinced skeptic threw a stick at the resident sci-fi fan, who laughed and ducked.

"No, Tyrus. You're supposed to catch the stick with your teeth and say 'arf,'" Reine quipped, hazel eyes dancing with mirth.

"Hey!" he protested. "I resent the implication that another woman had trained me as well as you have, love."

Argent rolled her black eyes. "Zeus, help me survive the all-sickening sap..."

"Now, Argent," Kahlil rebuked mildly, "There is nothing wrong with being happy."

"We can't be happy all the time," she answered dryly. "'Specially when we're finally out there, badgering some poor sods to be creative."

He rested his chin on a knee, wrapping long arms around his legs. "Does it frighten you? Graduating and becoming full-fledged Muses, I mean."

"It won't be as good as Ambrosia makes it out to be, that much I know." She shrugged, and flicked a dead leaf from her black jeans. "I've been to Shantytown, Kahlil. It's not me that I'm afraid for." She stopped abruptly, asking instead, "You?"

"Once, I thought I would be," he answered, boxing off his desire to know about Argent's experience in Shantytown for later. "After field training, though, I am actually looking forward to it."

"We'll know about a week from now." Yi dropped stealthily to the ground, and sat next to Reine. The grass felt cool and soft to her skin, reminding her of the blanket an older Muse had wrapped around her when she was "born," already full-grown like Athene from Zeus' brow. "Ambrosia said our year will have assignments faster than most. Something to do with a fan fiction explosion..."

"A week. Where'd all the time go?" Argent asked morosely. "Four years ago I was just learning that pissing off Calliope's a Bad Thing. Seems like yesterday. I just hope I don't get assigned to some snot-nosed twelve-year-old writing M/S 'shipper crap."

"We would all like to avoid that fate, but I do not think we will entirely succeed," said Kahlil, in a rare moment of cynicism. He lay on the ground, staring up the sky and the trees that reached up their branches to touch it. The Imagination Collegium's gardens had all kinds of plants ever imagined, real or not. It was their favourite place to hang out, away from the stifling classes.

The dusky young man raised himself on his elbow, studying his friends. Argent, ever intense and sharp-tongued, was dearest to him. Yet there were times when he thought he did not know her at all, when she would not allow anyone past her shields. Her black clothes marked her out among the colourful leaves and flowers, giving physical shape to the alienation he was sure she felt even among them. Her pale skin looked even whiter than usual, which worried him.

Tyrus laughed at a joke Reine made, hugging her to him. The scientist and the jester. What would happen to their relationship once they graduated? Muses rarely had lovers for life, immortality and duty being but two intervening factors. Yi, he thought, was unlikely to find her duties onerous. She truly enjoyed the classes, and honed her skills in ancient warfare as meticulously as Tyrus studied early science fiction works.

Argent caught his eye, her raised eyebrow letting him know that she knew what he was thinking. She tilted her head to one side, shoulder-length silver hair catching in the rough bark of the tree. "Ever wonder what would happen if we didn't want to be Muses?"

"That's not possible," Tyrus interjected. "We were born Muses, with the ability to inspire and the burning desire to do so," he quoted one of Tristram's lectures.

"I know that, dammit," she retorted. "But what if we don't have the desire for inspiration?"

"We have no choices at all, even so," Kahlil said quietly. "What can we do? Live in the mortal world? Our nature prevents us from being part of it, and we do not have the power to shape reality to our advantage like the gods. The odds, as they say, are stacked against us."

She poked his arm. "You're gloomy today."

"Perhaps it comes from being near you for too long, my friend," he joked, earning a low chuckle from Argent.

Yi's eyes were distant, dreamy. "Still, think of what we could do if we were free. I'd like to be an archeologist or a historian."

"If I could be anything, I'd be a sci-fi writer," Tyrus sighed.

"I'd bet I can give Adams and Pratchett a run for their money," Reine mused. "Or maybe I'll be an actress. That sounds fun."

Kahlil sat up, twirling a daisy between his fingers. "I would like to be a philosopher, and teach. It does not pay well, by the standards of industrialized societies, but the mental challenge is more than enough for me."

"They say the young's supposed to change the bloody world," Argent said, bitterness tainting her words. "But I think we haven't changed anything at all...and never will."

"We cannot change what we are." He handed her the flower, squeezing her hand as she accepted it. "Though keep in mind the power that is ours by birthright, Argent. To use an allegory: We may not lay the brick on the wall ourselves, but we inspire someone who can."

His friend let out a long breath, and some of the tension in her shoulders slackened. She started to trace a pattern on the ground with the daisy. "I envy those mortals."

"I doubt we're the first class to feel that, guys, and we won't be the last," Reine piped up. She stood, brushing away leaves from her rose-patterned dress. "Shall we go?" At their uncomprehending looks, she explained, "Some boring old fart of a Muse is going to give a talk, remember? A pre-graduation thing?"

"That was today?!" Tyrus got to his feet in a hurry. "Damn. Ambrosia's been on my back about being punctual, and the last thing I need--"

"I know," sniggered the blonde. "That's why I warned you way ahead of time."

"You're an angel, Reine."

She smiled, returning his kiss. "No, I'm a Muse."

Mneme Hall was only half-filled by the time they got there, but the noise level was enough to drive away any sane being. The five quickly found seats, joining the rest of their classmates.

"Would you happen to know who is the speaker?" Kahlil asked the person next to him, an purple-haired elf named Opal.

Shaking her head, she answered, "No. Ambrosia said it was a surprise." She tilted her head towards the Head of Orientation, who was deep in conversation with Tristram. "She said it won't be Calliope, though. Thank heavens."

"I hate this shit," Argent grumbled. "I'd rather go to Shantytown again."

"When was this?" Kahlil murmured, finally succumbing to curiousity.

"Just before my apprenticeship to Mara's over. A few days ago," his friend explained reluctantly. "She's one of the few Muses who actually take their students there."

"What was it like?" Yi questioned, careful to keep her voice low.

"Enlightening," she answered, after a long pause.

"Heads up, guys," warned Tyrus. "Ambrosia's walking to the lectern."

Yi squinted. "What's that on her shoulder? By Hera...a lizard?"

"Yes," confirmed Kahlil, in an equally incredulous tone.

"Our speaker is a reptile," stated Argent flatly. "Wonderful."

"Is he going to teach us to be lawyers?" Reine joked.

"Snakes, love, not lizards. Maybe the lizard's just a pet," Tyrus said hopefully.

The silver-haired student snorted. "Not likely. It's definitely a Muse. Can't you feel it?"

"I was hoping I was wrong."

"Quite the turnabout, aren't we now?"

"Quiet, children," Kahlil admonished. "Ambrosia is about to speak."

"Good morning, everyone," boomed out across the hall. Ambrosia smiled graciously at them, her violet eyes scanning the young Muses. Most looked bored, or resigned to boredom. She hid a grin.

"Our guest speaker for today is an experienced Muse, and is currently assigned to a fan fiction writer." She set the lizard on the lectern, carefully adjusting the microphone. "Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Frank."

Scattered applause broke out among the assembly. Frank turned a beady eye towards Ambrosia, and Reine could have sworn she heard him say, "I don't have to take any of thessse twitsss asss apprenticcce, do I?"

The Head of Orientation grinned and shook her head, hiding her hands behind her back.

Frank shot her a suspicious look before addressing the assembly. "Ladiesss and gentlemen of the classssss of '99," he started. "Drink lotsss of beer."

Across the hall, jaws dropped.

"If I could offer you only one tip for the future, drinking beer would be it. The long term benefitsss of beer in helping you forget about your Writersss have been proven by the bessst of usss, whereasss the ressst of my adviccce hasss no basssisss more reliable than my own meandering experienccce. It'sss ssstill better than Calliope'sss graduation ssspeech, ssso lisssten up."

"Y'know, this sounds familiar," floated a voice from amidst the seated students.

Having glared the upstart into silence, the lizard continued with, "Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You'll ssstill have the power and beauty a hundred yearsss from now. But trussst me, in a cccentury, you won't have anything resssembling youth anymore. You'll look back and recall in a way you can't grasssp now how innocccent you really were. You are not asss cccynical asss you can imagine."

Kahlil couldn't resist nudging Argent, who poked him in the ribs, hard enough to make him bite back a cry of pain.

"Don't worry about your Writer. Or worry, but know that worrying isss asss effective asss trying to get Tom Clancccy to write passstoral comediesss. The real troublesss with your Writersss are apt to be thingsss that only they can deal with, or the kind that can only be sssolved by threatening to inssspire a Ssspawn/Ssscooby-Doo crossssssover."

A general "eww" swept over everyone, including Frank, who shuddered.

"Do one thing every day that ssscaresss your Writer," he said, grinning smugly. "Sssing the hedgehog sssong anywhere you can.

"Don't be recklessssss with other people'sss heartsss. The people you come in contact with tend to be the sssort who remember grudgesss for a long time."

"Personal experience, Frank?" asked Tristram, sotto voce.

"Ssshut up," he grumbled back. "Ahem, where wasss I? Oh yeah -- Joke. Even when you're sssurrounded by beingsss from the Dungeon Dimensssion, make the time to do a Monty Python sssketch.

"Don't wassste your time on jealousssy. Leave the petty rat raccce to your Writer, and make sssure you get plenty of popcorn before fur fliesss."

Reine grinned knowingly.

"Remember complimentsss you reccceive. Forget the insssultsss. There'sss alwaysss time enough for revenge.

"Keep your old love lettersss. Throw away Calliope'sss memosss.

"Ssstretch your mind.

"Don't feel guilty if your Writer don't know what to do with hisss or her life. The mossst interesssting Writersss I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their livesss. Keatsss wasss a sssurgeon before he ssstarted messssssing with nightingalesss. Sssome of the mossst interesssting 40-year-old Writersss I know ssstill don't know." Frank paused. "Of courssse, the onesss who do are usssually rolling in dough, but that'sss bessside the point.

"Get plenty of experienccce. Be kind to your Writer'sss fictivesss. You'll missssss them when they're gone.

"Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, I hope you won't." The last was muttered in an undertone, but was audible nonetheless, thanks to the audio system. "Maybe you'll chop your ssspoussse into little bitsss when you're 100, maybe you'll danccce in togasss on your 95th wedding anniversssary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourssself too much, or berate yourssself either. Your choicccesss are half chanccce. The other half usssually hasss alcohol in it sssomewhere."

"Is it true that you picked up Tyrus in a bar, Reine?"

"Hey!"

"Quiet, dear. She is right, you know."

"Sure, conspire against me..."

Frank, meanwhile, was well into his "speech". "Enjoy your body. Ussse it every way or ssshape you can imagine. Don't be afraid of it or of what other other people think of it. Even if you end up being a lizard."

There was outright laughter from the audience at this point, quelled by a sharp look from Tristram.

"Danccce, even if you have nowhere to do it but in your Writer'sss head. Or on it.

"Sssharpen your sssword, even if you don't ussse it.

"Do not Mussse for Hanssson fanfic. They will only make you feel dirty."

Ambrosia snickered, and Tristram struggled not to do the same.

"Get to know your Writersss. You never know when you'll be assssssigned to another. Be niccce to Ganymede. He'sss your bessst link to Calliope and the one mossst able to waiver red tape.

"Underssstand that friendsss come and go, but with a preccciousss few you ssshould hold on. Make the time to bridge the gapsss between Departmentsss, becaussse the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

"Mussse for war ssstoriesss onccce, but leave before it makesss you hard. Mussse for romancccesss onccce, but leave before it makesss you sssoft."

"Or makes you wear floppy white shirts and black tights," murmured someone at his back. Frank ignored it.

"Get to like traveling, becaussse you'll be doing a lot of it.

"Accept cccertain inalienable truthsss: Drinking will give you hangoversss. Writersss will get writer'sss blocksss. You, too, will get old. And then you do you'll fantasssize that when you were young, you never got hangoversss, Writersss never had writer'sss blocksss, and children ressspected their eldersss."

Argent raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever respected my elders."

"What about Allen Ginsberg?" the were-tiger smirked. "Or Richard Hell. Or--"

"I get your point, Yi."

"Ressspect your eldersss. Essspecccially if they have the power to turn you into an animal lessssss than an inch high," Frank grumbled.

"Don't expect anyone elssse to sssupport you. Maybe you have a loyal lifemate. Maybe you'll have a prolific Writer. But a Mussse'sss bessst friend isss ssstill hisss or herssself.

"Don't messssss too much with your hair, becaussse by the time you're 400 you'll probably be a hairlessssss were-dragon anyway."

"I should have invited Flame too," Ambrosia whispered to Tristram.

"Yes, but who's going to explain to Rossi that the roasted lizard was her Muse?" Tristram pointed out.

"Be careful whossse adviccce you buy, and make sssure you're holding a sssword to the sssupplier'sss throat while paying for it," the speaker continued, sparing a reptilian glower at the duo.

"Adviccce isss a form of nossstalgia. Dissspensssing it isss a way of fissshing the passst from the ssstill-warm gutsss of a troll, wiping it off, painting over the blood-sssplattered partsss and recccycling it for more that it'sss worth.

"But trussst me on the beer."

Frank left the lectern to the sound of enthusiastic applause and catcalls, as only the young could accomplish. Ambrosia, smiling widely, gave a cheerful dismissal after an obligatory reminder of the upcoming graduation. "Don't be late, or you'll be held back a year!" she ended, eyes twinkling.

"Looking forward to graduation now?" Kahlil murmured to Argent, pitching his voice so only she could hear.

"No, but at least I know now which rules to break." Her grin was like a beacon in the darkness. "For starters."

END

I finally wrote a Muse story without the Captain in it! She seems to enjoy the fact, though. Go figure.

I'd like to thank Rossi for helping out with the "Everyone's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)" parody and letting me borrow Frank for a while. I'll make sure that when it's my turn to write your death, I'll make it a noble one. ;)

Disclaimer: The Subreality Cafe concept was created by Kielle. Shantytown was created by Dea/Seraph. Frank belongs to Rossi. Argent, Kahlil, Tyrus, Reine, Yi, Opal, Mara, and Tristram belong to me. Do not use them without permission, or I'll claw your heart out and feed it to the stray cats near my apartment. Ambrosia belongs to Farli, who has graciously given permission for anyone to use her in a story. Flame also belongs to Farli, but is not public domain.

"The Matrix" and all related characters were created by the Wachowski brothers, and presumably belong to them and/or Warner Bros. 'Star Wars' and all related characters belong to George Lucas -- I bow to thee -- and Lucasfilm. Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter. Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, Richard Hell, and the late Allen Ginsberg belong(ed) to themselves. "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)" is by Mary Smich, but be assured that the parody was not meant as an insult. The use of these and other copyrighted materials in this story is strictly non-profit.