Fakiru Week 2017

Day 2 - Motif

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Autor sighed, removed his glasses then placed them back on his head. These movements were extraneous. He knew that. Fakir most certainly knew that. That is why Autor did it. He liked to make Fakir nervous. He relished in it, even. He rubbed his temples and sighed again.

'Could you just hurry up and tell me what you think?' Fakir demanded, impatient and cheeks reddening.

The papers that Autor had been handed fluttered as he let them settle on the table. The scent of tea and coffee wafted and paled as time had passed between ordering them and getting down to business. Autor licked his lips and picked up his teacup.

'Patience, dear Fakir.' Autor said. 'I'm just savouring your writing, you know, before I completely and utterly pick it apart and tear you down for your own benefit, mind you.'

'What a drama queen.' Fakir muttered under his breath as he crossed his arms.

With a delicate chink, Autor set down the teacup on a coaster.

'It is in my academic opinion,' he began, 'that you are a talented writer, in your own name - not just in Drosselmeyer's.'

'Thank you.' Fakir nodded.

'However,' Autor continued pointedly, 'I do have a concern. You are a touch bit… repetitive. Always the same formula, always a happy ending… even if it isn't thematically pleasing; outside of that, you always pull it off.'

'I'm not ever going to give my characters a tragic ending. I'm not like him.' Fakir said.

'That's not where I was going with this.' Autor replied.

'It's not?' Fakir asked.

'Nope, not at all.' Autor said. He paused, mused. 'Duck feathers and hope, scarlet jewels and burning embers… Mind you, three of those things are quite pretty, perhaps even overdone by other authors but duck feathers… really?'

'Yes, really.' Fakir seethed.

'How long has it been, do you mind me asking?' Autor asked; his voice dipped into sympathy which was not a tone Autor was well acquainted with but nevertheless, one he applied to the conversation anyway.

Fakir's hands were on the table. He trembled; his knuckles turned white. He swallowed.

'A month.' Fakir licked his lips and there were pinpricks of tears in his eyes. 'It has been a month since she passed away.'

'Don't you think it's time? You've memorialised her memory the best you could in the ten years - that's two more years than anyone expected! - that you had her as your companion, so, don't you think it's time to move on? Find a new muse?'

Fakir's heart pounded. He did not have a reply for Autor as his heart, his most precious memories, were dancing at the bottom of a lake wherein all his despair was free to swirl in foaming crests.