Erato, the muse of lyrical poetry

Inspiration: Writer's block. Nuff said

Seigaku: I chose Oishi for this since he seemed to be the most accomplished communicator on the team. He struck me as someone who would be good with words, hence, lyrical poetry.

Oishi Syuuichirou sighed in frustration. For some reason, the words wouldn't come. He'd been stuck on the latest chapter for his novel for months now and his editor, Tezuka Kunimitsu, was beginning to hound him for updates. As much as Oishi wanted to appease Tezuka, the company and his hoards of readers, he just couldn't find the words to say what he wanted. He had all these vague ideas he wanted to use, but he couldn't express them and he didn't know where to begin.

Imagine a writer that couldn't find the right words.

The cursor on his laptop blinked incessantly, mocking him, taunting him, goading him to write.

"Go on," it teased, "Fill my page up. Type something, you know you want to. But you can't, can you? You're stuck. You've got a block!" It seemed to say in his mind with its constant flickering.

'I've gone insane,' Oishi thought when he realised what he'd just imagined. He stood and walked away before he began to dream that the mouse was picking on him as well as the cursor.

He traversed the obstacle course that was his office, meandering through the valley of reference books and discarded ideas to the haven of the kitchen, where his saviour would be waiting for him. His coffee. Coffee didn't tease him with flashing. Coffee just wanted to please him, not like the evil cursor, which was in collaboration with the mouse to ruin his career as well as his sanity.

"That's it," Oishi said to himself, "Nothing more on the bloody cursor!"

He went to the kettle and flicked it on and went to his coffee pot. He looked inside and it was only then that he remembered he'd emptied it earlier in the day. Bugger.

Here, Oishi had two options. Go out for coffee or go without coffee. It was an easy decision and he shrugged on his jacket, grabbed his wallet and left the house.

In Oishi's haze of non-work, he had forgotten that it was two in the morning and so, many of the usual places to get the ambrosia of life were closed. He'd been so wound up about his novel that he'd completely forgotten that it wasn't "normal person operating time". As his usual coffee shop was closed for the night, he was pushed to find another one. He wandered around, the stagnant yellow lights from the street lamps his only company.

If he had lifted his head from staring at the pavement as he walked, he would have been entranced by the yellow light reflecting off the parked cars, bathing everything in a melancholic glow. He could have dreamed up hundreds of words to the sound of the breeze through the trees, the low pitched, almost mournful song they made. But he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. He was just walking, lamenting his bad luck and lack of talent.

He was a terrible excuse for an author.

He walked, dragging his feet with every step, with no destination in mind. No place to aim for. He just kept following the slabs of cement below his feet wherever it would take him. He was moving, completely distracted by the pavement and focussing entirely on it. So the only way he noticed the change was when the drab grey of the pavement was alighted by something other than the dim yellow of the street lamps.

The lifeless concrete was given life as it became flushed with a warm orange glow, highlights of red and yellow splashed around, making a colourful patchwork that intrigued Oishi. The eclectic mix piqued his imagination and he felt like writing something for the first time in months.

He looked up and saw he was stood outside a small, Bohemian inspired café. The outside was made of windows framed with the darkest wood Oishi had ever seen in an elegant manner. The sign above the entrance was a red, yellow and orange neon light, spelling "Perk Up" in glass tubes. With a name like that, they were sure to serve some kind of caffeinated beverage, Oishi was certain, so he push open the heavy wooden door and walked in.

Inside was a vast difference to the outside world that was permeated with a stagnant silence. Inside there were soft strains of classical jazz being played, soulful trumpets and gentle piano notes married and created a beautiful song that surrounded and caressed the atmosphere. Oishi instantly felt more relaxed than he had in months in the café. The walls were the same dark wood from outside and simple photographs lined the walls. The couches were made of soft, red velvet and the table chairs were a burnt orange. The tables themselves were a deep yellow, as was the coffee counter.

He liked it here, Oishi knew from the first moment he stepped through the doors. He liked it even more when he read what was behind the counter.

"Perk Up. Serving you coffee at times when you actually need it."

"What can I get you?" Oishi turned his head at the sound of the voice behind the counter

His green eyes met the indigo ones of the barista behind a very expensive and shiny stainless steel coffee maker. He noticed that his red head flicked out at a very jaunty angle and he was dressed in a 19th century butler's outfit, without the tails (1).

"Just a coffee please," Oishi responded and was rewarded with a, probably patented, smile of understanding.

"What kind of coffee?" was the immediate question and Oishi flushed, glancing at the menu.

"A latte please."

"It'll be ready in a few minutes," the redhead, whose nametag read "Eiji", said. Oishi reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He was just leafing through it for some money when Eiji held up his hand stopping him.

"We don't charge after every drink here," he said with a grin. "We charge on leaving."

Oishi found himself smiling as well, for the first time in weeks. "Presumptive isn't it? You are presuming I'll be wanting another drink after this one." He got a delighted laugh in response.

"We've never had a customer who hasn't yet sir. I'll bring your latte over when it's ready."

He sat at one of the tables, his back to the wall, dreaming. He was still awake but he was dreaming ideas on to a pilfered napkin in front of him. It was the first time he'd been struck with ideas in months and he wasn't going to waste the time. Granted, none of the ideas he had were relevant to his current work, but it helped to imagine for future works.

The remnants of three coffees were scattered around him, proving Eiji's bold claim correct and he could see the redhead humming behind the counter as he made another for Oishi. Glancing up from his brainstorm he took in the rest of the café's patrons. Barring himself, there were three other people sitting over coffee and work at three in the morning.

One was a tall, raven haired man with heavy glasses and a laptop in front of him, typing furiously. The second was a short brunet, who was just stirring his drink, waiting for something. The last was a kind looking brunet, quietly reading a magazine with a large black bag next to him.

They were all here together but they were perfectly happy to sit in silence and Oishi, despite being curious as to why they were all awake at the same ridiculous hour he was, kept quiet as well. Eiji, who had just brought a new coffee over to Oishi, looked up to the clock on the wall.

"It's nearly time, nya?" he said, drawing the attention of everyone in the café. Oishi saw that all the other occupants perked up at the notice.

"I'd better start up the espresso machine," Eiji said and, no sooner had he switched it on, a person walked through the door. It was a short raven haired person, dressed in a rumpled suit and carrying a briefcase.

"Evening Eiji, everyone," he said, in a voice that made it seem he was twelve, though Oishi knew he was probably closer to thirty.

"Morning, Echizen," Eiji replied cheekily and got a deadpan stare from a set of golden eyes in return.

"I suppose we should start then?" the tall black haired one said, standing and bringing his laptop with him to the large circle of couches in the corner. The others stood as well and Eiji flicked off the stereo. The café seemed oppressively silent and Oishi was distinctly confused.

Echizen spared him a glance marked with curiosity and asked who he was. Eiji flushed a little since he'd been serving him for well over an hour and didn't know his name.

"I'm Oishi," he said nervously. He got all their names in response and was waved to join their circle of couches.

"You wouldn't happen to be Oishi Syuuichirou, would you?" Inui, the tall black haired one asked. Oishi nodded in response.

"Ah, the author," Fuji, the shorter brunet said. "I liked your books. Especially 'Moon Volley'."

"Thanks," Oishi blushed.

"You're probably a little confused," the taller brunet, Kawamura, said. "Every week we have a sounding session. We have it when Echizen leaves work, so it's usually at three am."

"How on Earth did you come up with this?" Oishi asked, genuinely confused.

"I was having trouble with something at work. I came here on my way home one night and was mulling it over in the corner. Inui was here as well and he looked like someone who would know the answer so I asked him. It grew from there," Echizen explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Don't question," he saw Eiji mouthing behind Echizen and like a good little author, Oishi didn't question him. They were soon all seated on the very plush and soft couches with drinks. Eiji sat down and joined them and then the sounding session began.

"Whose turn was it to start this week?" Eiji asked and Fuji raised his hand in assent.

"Mine. Just take a look and tell me what you think," and then he withdrew several photographs from the black holder he had with him. Oishi then remembered where he had heard of Fuji before; he was an up and coming photographer who was about to have a huge fundraiser in aid of the Disabled Tennis Charity.

"What's your theme this time Fuji?" Echizen asked, reaching for the topmost photograph.

"Hope."

The others had each gotten a photograph as well and Oishi tentatively reached to grasp one as well. He looked and saw it was a simple black and white image of a concrete pavement, cracked and in disrepair. Stood on the cement was a small, fragile bird, poised for flight. It was beautiful and Oishi said as much.

"They are spectacular, Fuji," Inui said, "but I don't think this one represents hope for me. Freedom, perhaps, but not hope." He motioned to the photograph he was holding, depicting an open field shot from between metal pipes.

"Perhaps you could shoot children," Kawamura said, "They have traditionally represented hope haven't they?"

"Thank you for the idea Kawamura. I'll try some new ones tomorrow."

"My turn then," Inui said, and launched into a long explanation of his problem. Oishi was lost after "the parabole" and knew he couldn't help with this issue. It seemed that Fuji was the only one who stood a chance at understanding Inui's doctorate level mathematics problem. As soon as Inui had said it was his turn, Echizen, Kawamura and Eiji had all turned to their drinks simultaneously. Oishi felt a little guilty that Inui was receiving so little input but, Echizen, who had noticed it on Oishi's face, merely said: "If I could help him with his mathematics, I wouldn't be going to him with mine."

It was a fair point.

Kawamura was next apparently and he reached down into his large bag and withdrew a cello. He nervously glanced at Oishi. "I'm a cellist and I'm auditioning for the Tokyo Orchestra. We have to write a piece for our instrument and I just wanted mine checked over before I perform it for the concours (2) next week."

He got up and performed his piece on the cello, a wonderfully slow, mournful tune with lengthened notes and flats used. However, to Oishi's grossly underdeveloped ears, he could get a feel of merriment as well, the way the tempo would sometimes quicken and the music would swell. There was a crescendo and the air lightened and grew and then, with the bow drawn across the strings in a flourish, it ended. Oishi was amazed; Kawamura had written this? It was fantastic.

Kawamura seemed to be embarrassed by the positive attention he was receiving from everyone, flushing happily with his work. He turned towards Echizen and awaited what the silent group member would say.

"Play it again for me from the eighth bar," he said, and closed his eyes.

"Echizen can hear in perfect pitch," Eiji whispered into his ear and everyone fell silent.

"Change that E flat to an E and switch the D to a D sharp. See how that sounds." Kawamura played it again with those changes and suddenly, pieces of the music Oishi hadn't even noticed as being lifeless were brimming with soul and merged much better with the rest of the piece. Kawamura seemed visibly pleased with the results and smiled happily as he pencilled in the changes on his score.

"Thank you Echizen." Echizen spared Kawamura a small smile and turned to Oishi.

"Your turn."

"But what about you?" he slipped, uncertainly. Echizen simply speared him with a bored gaze and then glanced at the clock. "I would like to sleep soon. Hurry up; I have to be in work again in four and a half hours." Oishi was panicking now, but everyone else looked at him openly and they were willing to listen to his problem.

So he began to tell them. He told them about how his publisher was pressuring him, about how he had no ideas; about the deadline and about how he could express himself.

"Ok, Oishi. Slow down," Eiji said, his hands held up in surrender. "One thing at once!"

"Sequel or stand alone?" Inui asked.

"Sequel."

"Do you have a plot?" Echizen inquired and Oishi shook his head. "It's a sequel to 'Moon Volley' right? Well we've all read it."

"I really liked it, nya," Eiji said, "There were a few things I always wanted to know though."

Everyone barring Oishi and Eiji leant back into their seats, sipping on their drinks in preparation for something. Eiji leant forwards, braced his hands on his knees and opened his mouth.

"Who was Takayuki's previous partner? Did they ever synchronise? If they did, what could they do that they couldn't do before? Did Hiroki (3) ever improve his stamina enough to go into space, like Takayuki wanted? What about the academy, did they ever win the tournament? You finished the book after the local one, but Captain Ryotaro wanted to go for the world."

All of a sudden, with the questions Oishi never knew existed, the new plot was unravelling. It was unfolding right in front of his eyes and he had Eiji to thank. Oishi knew those answers, after all, he'd created years and years of backstory for his characters but he'd never realised how little of it came across in his work.

This is why he shouldn't have listened when he was told never to keep in contact with his fans.

His face lit up with ideas and he couldn't wait to write them down, elaborate and embellish them.

"Well, we're done here I think. Night all," Echizen said, grabbed his coat and left. Slowly the rest bade one another a good night and dispersed as well, leaving Oishi and Eiji.

"Thank you so much Eiji!" Oishi said, picking up his scarf and rushing out the door.

It was only when he got home and had been typing for three hours that he realised he hadn't paid for his coffee.

He went back the next day at a reasonable time, only to find the place was closed and there were no posted opening hours. He looked left and right and saw the open Starbucks and Costa (4) both sides and realised. Perk Up probably made all its money when those places were closed; if they opened when they were open, it would lose them money instead.

So he went back at two am again, sheepishly paid a grinning Eiji and left to finish work before inspiration left him.

"Well done Oishi," Tezuka said next time they met. He had just handed him the completed draft of his new book and he felt greatly accomplished. Tezuka had always been a stern yet strangely accommodating editor, so he was sat with Oishi at two am in Perk Up, mulling over the draft with a hot cup of tea next to him. The others were there as well: Kawamura was being treated to pastries by Eiji as a congratulations for winning the concours; Inui was, as always, typing furiously on his laptop and Fuji was glancing at Tezuka every so often with a predatory look in his eyes (5).

The front door jingled as it opened and Tezuka was the only person to check who it was. Everyone else knew already.

"Echizen-sama!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet immediately. Echizen looked at him strangely over his book and nodded.

"Tezuka-san," he responded. Oishi looked on in confusion.

"You know him, Tezuka?"

"Yes, and you would as well, if you came into the office once in a while. This is Echizen-sama, the CEO of your publisher. And the CEO of the largest chain of bookstores in Japan. His portrait is above the reception area of the office."

"I thought I told them to take that down," Echizen said mildly. Oishi looked at the small man in shock.

"You knew about me and my book and you never said anything?"

Echizen smirked deviously and proceeded to go to the counter without answering, collected his espresso and sat on the sofa.

"Any problems for this week's sounding board?"

"'Synchronisation', the newest novel by Oishi Syuuichirou, has topped the best sellers chart within the first week of release. Critics have acclaimed it as his best novel yet, explaining the questions from his first book 'Moon Volley' and it sold out in most stores within hours of release.

"Oishi-sensei credits his newest novel to his family and to the mysterious "Sounding Board of Perk Up". Who these people are, nobody knows but we can only hope his next novel is as successful as 'Synchronisation'."

(1) Black trousers, white shirt, waistcoat, tie and this bands that encircle the upper arms over the shirt. Imagine Sebastian in Kuroshitsuji without the jacket (aka coattails)

(2) A competitive examination, mostly used for university entrances etc. People perform/interview for n places/jobs and the best n are accepted over the others. They suck, especially the music ones; people get really competitive in them. When I did my music concours, someone mistuned my violin before I went on to perform so I had to emergency retune it. Musicians can be vicious.

(3) Oishi's seiyuu is Takayuki Kondou, Eiji's is Hiroki Takahashi and Tezuka's is Ryotaro Okiayu.

(4) I don't own either of these establishments. If I did, I would not be working. I'd be cruising around the world in my personal yacht.

(5) That's probably the closest I will ever get to a pairing.

Up next week: Euterpe's Music

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