Muse fic. Avoid like the plague unless you actively care about my milliMuses.
Behold now the Muses reclining in the June sun!
Lady Calliope, eldest and calmest, Lady of the shining Epic,
Crouching in the full sun. Golden waves of shimmering hair
Snapping in the sea salt air, flying free as she shifts.
Though her movements are ceaseless, her bold voice
Rings clear and true, recounting the heroic struggle
Played out on the glittering sand between four Muses
And a humble volleyball. Beside her stands
Lady Erato, fair-voiced Patroness of lovers’ soft and frenzied speech.
Flame bright hair whips the air as she dives low
And spikes the ball over the net. Rich green eyes glint
With the light of victory as her opponents miss her shot.
Across the dividing barrier of net, rising from the sand,
Lady Polyhymnia, dusting off her marble white knees,
Prayerful Goddess of religious song, laughs and calls
A challenge, her voice ringing with a fervor and passion
For her game. She mimics her sister, Athena, and binds
Her silvery locks back in contrast to her teammate and sister
Lady Terpsichore, auburn haired and light-footed.
She seems to float above the sand, pacing out a measure
In pursuit of the ball. When it comes to game point,
The volleying continues for four full minutes.
Breathless, near stumbling, Lady Erato whirls
To spike the ball, takes a step forward, and misses, and
The game is Over. Laughing, Lady Erato and Lady Calliope
Duck under the net to shake hands with their victorious sisters.
Their eyes meet, rich brown to shimmering green and, as one,
They lift their opponents over their shoulders. They carry
Their shrieking sisters knee deep into the crashing surf
And drop them there, the fallen triumphing over the victors.
Behind them on the sandy rise, a cluster of their sisters sit,
Laughing merrily, enjoying the spectacle played out before them.
Lady Clio, mink-haired Queen of History, sits peaceful
Deeply engaged in carving out a detailed medieval sand castle
From the dune before her. She shakes droplets of sea water off
Her perpetually ink-stained fingers and sculpts turrets and towers
To refine her model of the doomed walled city of the Cathars
At Carcassonne. A few feet away, shaded by a blue umbrella, rests
Lady Urania, protecting her moon pale skin and deep black hair.
In her delicate hands, she holds a clear cube filled with dark mists
In which she numbers the stars and sends their shimmering orbs
Along their proper courses in the heavens. Away from umbrella shade,
Lady Thalia, laughing Lady of the Theatre, lies out on a towel,
Absorbing the sun , turning from snow pale to delicate gold,
Her cinnamon hair streaked with bright flashes of gilt. She laughs
With her sister and her voice dances on the air and sets
The whole beach into fits of merry laughter. For when the Lady of
Joy laughs, only the dead stay silent. Beside her younger twin,
Lady Melpomene is warmly amused, occupied running a brush
Through her chocolate colored hair. She, Lady of illusionary woe
And illustration of lessons hard learned, speaks to her handsome
Half-brother on her cell phone about their joint production of
Richard III. She will play Margaret and give a performance to
Rival her Lady M., the standard to which all tragic actresses are held.
She smirks widely and reassures Dionysus that a day in the sun with
Her sisters will not addle her for tomorrow night’s rehearsal. At the end,
Lady Euterpe, fair-voiced singer, sits and smiles and gives sweet voice
To the songs that summer is made of, her voice ringing down the beach
Bringing a smile to every face.