Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to anything in relations to the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, including its universe, its characters and such. This is purely the product of two parts lunacy, one part inspiration and the availability of a laptop.
Crediting: ZoeyMcDowell, who played the part of a beta for the first time and for pestering me to post this despite my doubts.
Author's Note to begin with: I'll keep it short here. Try reading the italicised parts together to get a snippet of a flashback. I would also like to plead that you wouldn't hate me (too much) by the end of this ficlet.
the Artist and her .Muse.
Yet another scrapped piece of paper joined its brethren on the cement floor of the room.
Safe on the island of a bed, a redheaded young woman sat hunched over a sketchpad. The pencil flew furiously across the rough, cream yellow paper.
Thin lines, thick lines- dark lines, light lines;
RIGID lines, curved lines- .d.i.s.j.o.i.n.t.e.d. lines;
They met and parted one another with bold gusto on the graphite-smudged background. Each line was precise, destined by the hand of the artist. The green-eyed virtuoso loved this part of art- being in control. So much has slipped from her helpless fingers; the girl would be all-powerful tonight in this perfect world she created on a page in her sketchbook.
Yet, an anguished-yet-indignant cry- guttural, almost feral- ripped itself free from her throat as a rogue line ruined her masterpiece. The girl cursed the Moirae vehemently under her breath- the Fates still refused to let her have her way even in the miniscule comfort of a world she created in her drawing pad.
She glared poison-laced daggers at the insolent line, as though calling up a threat with her look. The line, being a measly line, stayed put; it remained stubbornly tangled with the other lines where no eraser could eradicate its existence. Green eyes bore into the paper with a look akin to challenging the paper to spontaneously combust.
With a loathing look, the girl ripped the page off and crushed it in her slender hands. She directed all her rage and frustrations into the ball at hand, causing the imperfect orb to crash into the ground with unnecessary force. It was times like these did she wonder if she found solace indulging in art or exhausting her very self by slamming chunks of paper to the ground.
She drew her knees up and buried her face in the nest that was her creamy arms. She felt so… paltry; so insignificant.
'Worthless,' she hissed in her mind.
Despite drinking herself drunk on despair, she still managed to sense the drop in the room's temperature. It was like someone opened a window and allowed a draft to enter. She knew that feeling like the beat of her heart. Instantaneously, her head snapped upwards. She did not heed the whiplash but instead turned to face the window.
The girl's green eyes were glazed with hope and unshed tears. Her lips quivered, betraying her.
"Thalia?" she whispered uncertainly into the cold, cruel night.
"Still waging war with that forsaken artists' block of yours, I see, Rach."
"Thalia!" her voice rose in ecstasy, a quashed squeal tainted the voice of a certain Rachel Elizabeth Dare.
A flood of "Oh my gods" fell carelessly from the redhead's lips as she scrambled to the window, almost tripping over her own feet and possessions in her clumsy haste. When she drew close enough, she threw her arms around the midnight-haired girl. Had said dark-haired girl not have a good hold on the window sill, the two would have hovered precariously a storey's height above the ground.
She crashed her lips against a familiar pair. It had been a long while since they kissed and they had to do a second's worth of searching to fall back into their careful choreography. Running breathless, the redhead drew back and with yet another second, let her palm fall hard against the silver-tinted cheek of the girl Thalia.
Quickly enough before the sharp-tongue girl could finish her choice words of profanities- mostly of the 'What the fuck?' variety-, Rachel once more stole the attention of the other girl's lips and mind. To the artist, it was very much like riding a bike; something you could not forget even when eternity came to pass as an intermittent.
Rachel was a patient girl- well, mostly- but an eternity was most definitely pushing it. The thought of her existence being a mere iota threatened to put a dampener on her adrenaline-laced mood; she quickly quelled it.
"What the heck is wrong with you, Dare? Did you turn bipolar or some other shit?" spat the girl, lacing her sentence with obscenities though a smug grin betrayed her words.
Rachel chose not to answer but to etch the image of the girl into her mind. The girl, Thalia, was like a fountain and she a drunk whose thirst would never be sated. In a twisted way, she looked eerily the same and strangely different.
Mischievous, mirthful electric blue eyes caught her crystalline green ones. The eternal maiden still had a silver circlet about her brow and the bow and quiver slung across her back radiated silver with promise of honour and death. The wolf-pelt parka draped around the daughter of Zeus felt soft and well-worn under the sensitive tips of the artist's fingers.
Impulsively, the words escaped her lips, "You look beautiful, Thals; I've missed you."
Embarrassed at her vulnerability, Rachel set to chew her chapped lips. However, her companion only chuckled.
"You really haven't seen me in a long time, to call me beautiful; I'm the same old person, really. But, yes, Rach: I've missed you loads," stated Thalia, voice filled with confidence as per always.
"Aren't you afraid of heights, Thals? How did you get up here?"
It was then that the blue-eyed lass realised she was still uncomfortably near the window and began to awkwardly shift her way to the safe haven that was the bed instead. Rachel stifled a giggle that threatened to slip through her parched lips. Thalia gave a few nervous, dry chuckles before she flashed a half-smile at Rachel.
Two years of being the half-Olympian's roommate did have its perks; it was rare that the girl Thalia allowed anyone to see her as less than strong.
"I feel so out of shape, Oracle," whined the spiky-haired sylph of a girl spread lazily across the couch.
"Join a sports club, then," offered the heiress, busy with her latest masterpiece.
"Clarion's sport's clubs all sorta suck," rebutted the blue-eyed girl, stretching lightly. The crackling of her bones shifting into place could be heard before the Lieutenant admitted a contented yawn.
"Go run the track," supplied the teenaged artist offhandedly, before adding in afterthought, "a couple of times."
The dark-haired girl
"Does it still hurt?" the worlds fell tender from her lips, laced with curiosity.
Thalia stared at Rachel, recalling, whilst a free hand mindlessly corrected the bra strap beneath her Death-to-Barbie tee before sliding down to tug at her loose silver camouflage pants. The heavy parka had been discarded on the bed and the daughter of Zeus was leaning oh-so-casually against one of the four walls.
"You mean the cheek?" she asked, to which Rachel nodded solemnly.
The huntress pondered for half a moment, her blue eyes flitted to the top right corner of her almond shaped eyes before she grabbed at her shock of spiky hair and staggered.
"Somebody call 9-1-1; I think I've got a concussion!" she staggered, only dropping the act and full out laughing when the (age-wise) younger girl slapped Thalia playfully across the arm.
"Geez, Rach; violent much?" she laughed, "You've got to start staying away from Annabeth."
snorted and rolled on her side, "I feel like pulling a Garfield today."
A twist of a smirk twisted the left corner of the artist's lips, "Then don't complain."
She turned around briefly to steal a glance of the dyslexic and hyperactive girl who happened to be unnaturally lazy today. A giggle bubbled up, but she pursed her lips to hold the tinkling laugh in the cavern of her mouth. The demi-god was curled into a ball that radiated inertia.
"But I'm so bored," moaned the archer, "and unmotivated. Can I try painting?"
"If you get your own brushes and paints, yes."
A tongue was
"Will you close that window? It's making me feel…" Thalia paused here in an attempt to pick an accurate world, but finished with a lame "yeah".
Rachel rolled her eyes at this.
"Sure; my big, brave, demigod's afraid of an open window. Don't fear my damsel- I will save you!" The redhead jested.
"Come off it, Rach," Thalia said in an almost careless manner but Rachel could tell that her words had stung the Lieutenant.
"You know I'm only kidding, Thals."
"Pssh, yeah! It's not like it hurt or anything."
"It didn't sting?"
"Nope."
Rachel grinned at her tough front.
"Okay, then," Rachel said in a sing-song voice. "Saves me the trouble of kissing it better."
There was a short pause during which Rachel turned to cock an eyebrow at the contemplating girl.
"Gods, it hurts so much, Rach," wailed the silver-garbed girl, pulling out all stops at the dramatics. "I'm wounded."
Rachel shook her mane of frizzy red hair, a smile on her face.
stuck out her way. Red raised an eyebrow at the childish display before shooting one back, too.
"I'll have you know not many Lieutenants of the Hunt are sent to babysit Oracles- event the generous ones- at some stupid prep school," fumed the carrier of blue eyes. "Consider yourself lucky, Dare."
"Oh, really?" quipped the artist, dipping her brush precisely in the inkwell containing water.
"I happen to know the last Oracle was a mummy-like being that smelled of snakes and lived in attics. As lovely as she may be, I doubt
Thalia hummed in content as she felt fingers stirring in her hair. She wrapped her arms around the younger girl's trim waist.
"This is why you're my favourite Oracle."
"Any other Oracle you're babysitting that I should know about, Thals?"
"Maybe."
"Yes?"
"No."
"No?"
"Yes."
"What?"
Thalia laughed out loud at the perplexed girl which frowned at the spunky lass' outburst.
"So, is there?"
"Maybe."
"Yes?"
"No."
"No?"
"Yes."
"Thalia!"
she'd be the type to be held captive in some all-girls factory that produced perfect little ladies for the world to see," the redhead returned fire.
The Lieutenant rolled her eyes and snorted once more.
"What are you painting anyway, Dare?"
"My muse; I've finally got the first layer down."
The goth-punk sneaked a peek
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw the light of a room flicker on.
"Shit," was Rachel's choice of swearword as she knew the occupant of aforementioned room would not be merely having a midnight glass of water.
"Rachel?" Thalia cocked her head in concern.
"I think we've been making too much noise, Thals."
"Time for me to go?"
"I'd hate to say so, but yes."
"I'll try to keep in contact."
"I'd really, really love that," Rachel started as she helped the Huntress gather the little amount of items she had brought along with her, "but I doubt you can and it makes it ever more unbearable than it already is."
"If I don't, you'll hit me."
"I'm just damn glad I'll be able to hit you."
Thalia nodded, "This is goodbye, then?"
"Once again."
at the sheet of paper, riddled with obscure blues, blacks, tan and silver.
"What the hell is that?" she asked, incredulous. It looked much like a techni-coloured distorted mirror image to her.
"I'd fancy it the Muse of Comedy. She's really lovely but her sarcasm and irony does carry a tangy bite to it," stated the redhead, before adding in deadpan, "Percy tastes like sea-salt ice cream and peppermints, if I recall correctly."
"What the fuck? I did not
Thalia hesitated at the window, one leg dangling outside and both hand white-knuckled clutching onto the sides of the window frame. Why did the ground have to be so damned far away? Thalia shuddered looking at the drop she'd have to make.
She gave one last look at Rachel, knowing there would be a very long interval between the present and the next time they come together. Watching the redhead's rigid movements, she knew Rachel knew it, too. Her fingers were itching to hold the other girl, but she resisted. Thalia Grace was a master of self-control.
Even if Thalia had been the Oracle instead of Rachel, she would not have seen it coming.
One moment, Thalia was aware Rachel had turned around with the heaviest look in her green eyes; and the next, Thalia's lips were moving frantically against another pair and slim fingers had taken hold of her spiky black locks.
The kisses were heated, fervent and desperate; each one melting away to a wilder, fierier successor. Nails skimmed and grated their way into tender skin and lips bruised and split, heightening the sensation hundredfold. Their hips bucked and gyrated at a rhythm, begging for the company of the other.
They lost themselves in the moment, completely indulging in this sinful affair. The kisses weren't quite kisses anymore, but futile attempts to ingest and assimilate one another so that they would have the other a part of them.
The need of the other preceded even the need of oxygen; Thalia refused to let go even as the edges of her clouded mind dimmed. Her hands travelled, trying to carve memories by piecing all that she touched in place of her occupied eyes. She could already imagine purple bruises adorning the girl as a result of her firm hold.
And with a crescendo, all came to a lame, abrupt halt.
need to know that."
"You taste like tangerines and pomelo," she carried on unfazed. "A vision told me once when I was asleep."
"You dream of kissing me, you queer, virgin prophetess? Me, who declared fealty to Lady Artemis and the Hunt and swore off boys?"
"I certainly did not! It was a vision, and it had looked eerily similar to this set up as well-"
A tongue darted out playfully to go over those lush lips. The words fought their way out despite her state of breathlessness.
"You still taste like tangerines and pomelo," Rachel whispered, her hands fisting by her side and her green eyes darkening to emerald in response to her heightened, hormone-induced lust as well as her drop in mood.
She stared at those clear blue eyes she had missed so much. Clear and hushed, "Go!" she commanded under breath.
As a silver dart, the other girl moved. Rachel turned to face the door, unable to bear it if the other girl left. The voices came louder; the calls of "Miss Dare?" grew. She tore her gaze away briefly despite her determination to not catch a glimpse of the other girl; but Thalia was already gone.
That was how the elder, matronly woman found her: facing the window and chest heaving. Tears boiled and took lodging on the bottom eyelids of both her green eyes; her being was trembling under the enormous strain of suppressing the precarious gloom juice droplets.
The woman shook her head, distraught what to do with the younger of the two. She put her arms around the redhead and gently led her to the bed.
"I heard talking; were you talking to Thalia again?" she tried to ask the girl gently, but elicited no response.
The woman's eyes raked the room and settled on the small Clozapine pills that lie untouched on the dresser despite the cup of water being emptied. She stared at the curled up girl on the bed.
"Sweetie, if you don't help yourself, you won't get better; and if you stay like this, we can't let you leave."
A faint mumbled graced her ears, sounding vaguely like a muffled "Go away!"
What was she to do with this girl?
All alone in her room, Rachel smothered her tears in her thick white sheets- suffocating herself till her lungs threatened to crunch and breathed in as a natural reflex.
Did they really all think she didn't know?
She can't draw, she can't paint, she can't sculpt; Olympians be damned, she can't even fuckin' think straight anymore.
Not after her muse was gone.
In all irony, Thalia was an immortal maiden who shied death more than twice. She was granted an eternal pass from age and sickness. Heck, she even got turned into a motherfuckin' tree to evade death-
But she died in a banged up car on impact of a truck slamming into the passenger side- completely vulnerable and paltry.
An artist was nothing without her muse.
In this crazed world, the artist known as Rachel Elizabeth Dare ceased to be.
Longer Author's Note:
Please be rid of your artillery, I stand no chance even if you came to beat me up unarmed.
I hope you'd forgive the abuse of italics, bold and underline tools; I was just trying some effect with these three buttons.
-If you read this, please add 'tillallmysleevesarestainedred' to your reviews if you decide to do so-
This is my first time writing anything not of the Naruto world and is my first official femslash fic. I didn't write this because I particularly enjoy femslash, or even because there is quite a lack of Thalia/Rachel fics or something. In fact, this was the result of my idle musings somewhere in the junction where I had read Remember Me by Christopher Pike and found out that the Muse of Laughter/Comedy was named Thalia and had been courted by the Greek deity Apollo.
One thing led to another and I couldn't help but wonder what was an artist without her muse, and Rachel was the easiest available artist. In a fit of insanity, I started typing this out.
Well, that's sort of the back story of how this came to be written. I hope you enjoyed this little piece of nonsense, I honestly do. I will now attempt to be a better man and try not to make a fool of myself by begging for reviews, though I'm this close to doing so.
Thank you so very, very much for being willing to spare just a bit of time to read this.
Peace out,
Kid Al.
P.s. Feel free to point out any typos that may have had slipped under the radar. If you find none, thanks ZoeyMcDowell.