The din of Club Tartarus could barely be heard behind the heavy oak door that led to Minerva Vantner’s office; a heavy drumbeat accompanied by the amplified sounds of guitar strings being strummed, the vocalist almost screaming the song’s lyrics. Tonight’s lead singer was female, she could tell, though what future she came from that made her so angry, Minerva didn’t know. To tell the truth, she could feel some of herself, her old self at least, in the angry harmonics, yearning for something more than what she was given.
She sat behind her desk, her outbox full of papers and manila folders, the inbox much the same. Pictures of monsters living in Titan City poked out of some of them, offering a brief look at the work she had taken on. For now though, her eyes slipped back to the blank slip of paper in front of her, the ink pen set next to it. Through force of will, she huffed out a sigh, not actually needing the breath of air she’d taken to make it. Picking up the pen again, she began to write, fervently at first, almost in time with the drum beat coming from the club proper, the page filling up with ink made of emotions and memories. Suddenly she paused, the pen quivering in her fingers as though continuing would condemn her very soul to some horrific fate based on the words she had written if she finished her thoughts. In frustration she threw the pen across the room, the point sticking into the wooden door frame like a dart, and crumpled the paper into a ball inside her hands. Hands that were suddenly much larger and less human looking than before, the clay of her golem skin becoming more pronounced as she lost her temper. She tossed the wad over to her waste bin, and it bounced out as it landed on a mountain of other similar ink stained lumps of paper, her arms now trembling as she fought to regain control of her form.
A deft knock at the door and the slight rustling of the blinds on it were all the notice she got before Sarina stood in front of her desk, two drinks held in her right hand. She stared down at Minerva, her indigo eyes highlighted by the fierce makeup she wore this evening, a slight smirk on her ruby lips, hinting at the fangs concealed within. Her outfit accentuated her pale skin; an emerald green silk blouse with the top few buttons undone, a loose skinny black tie draped around the collar, the knot sitting just below her clavicle, and a pair of dark work slacks that clung tightly to her hips. “Eric thought you might need one of these,” she said, placing the drink on the desk in front of her, her hand brushing the envelope as she pulled it back, lifting her own drink to her lips with the other.
“I thought you were still working your shift,” Minerva said, eyeing the drink as she tried to will her arms and hands back into her preferred form.
“I am,” Sarina answered, her eyes never leaving Minerva’s. “Eric told me to take my break, then handed these to me and gestured up here. We haven’t seen you out among the patrons for days; I think he misses seeing you out there. I know I do.”
Again Minerva forced the air through non-existent lungs in a sigh. “I’m sorry, it’s just, we’ve had a lot of new people wanting to get registered within the city, monsters willing to live among the humans, or at least, to try to. I’m trying to do my best to help all of them get the best start. There’s enough fear and hatred out there that any help they get could be crucial to their well being.”
Sarina shook her head, her black curls gleaming purple in the office lights. “Dear heart, that’s not the only reason you’ve locked yourself up in here. You haven’t finished the letter to your family yet, have you?”
Her shoulders slumped reflexively, and Minerva reached for the drink, arms still shaking just a bit. “No, it’s been more… challenging than I thought.” She gestured at the waste bin with the hand holding her drink, then pulled it back and took a sip, wincing at the bite of it.
Making her way around the mahogany desk, Sarina put her hand over Minerva’s as she sat on the desktop. “I can see that. Anything I can help with?”
Minerva flipped her covered hand so she could hold hers, then gave it a squeeze. “I don’t know. I’m torn; how do I tell them I’m not really dead, that I’ve been alive, in a sense, since that night, just different from before? And is it right for me to do so now, after all this time has passed and they’ve moved on? They’ve dealt with their grief and feelings of loss, and been able to move forward with their lives. Would it be better to just let them believe what has been their reality, rather than selfishly pierce that veil?”
A loving smile graced Sarina’s lips as she squeezed Minerva’s hand back. “Dear heart, I think you’re allowed selfish desires from time to time. It’s what makes us human. Well, not human, but human? You know what I mean.” She glanced at the mountain of wadded up paper in the waste bin, and grabbed a fresh sheet from her desk before producing the ink pen Minerva had darted into the doorframe with a flourish. “I think what you need is to get your feelings out, to write down all the words you want to say to them, all the things you love and miss about them. Once you do, you’ll know whether or not it’s best to send this or just frame it to remind you of them. But not now. Now, you are accompanying me down to the floor before my break is over. It’s my turn to be selfish, and I would like a dance with you this evening. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” she said as she slid off the desk and onto Minerva’s lap, causing her to blush.
“I think that’s fair,” Minerva answered back, leaning in for a kiss before helping Sarina off her lap. “A little change of scenery might help me figure out just what it is I’m trying to say.”
Sarina led the way, opening the door and letting the sounds of Club Tartarus be heard a bit more clearly. The band had shifted away from their heavier tone of earlier, opting to instead play something a little more relaxed, a song not so much about loss but about love. And as the two women made their way down to the dance floor, the wad of paper last flung towards the waste bin was enveloped in a purple glow, and moved back down onto the desk, no wrinkles or creases to be found on it. In a dark corner booth, a man surrounded by historical figures touched the bridge of his sunglasses. “I believe you were very close with this, Minerva. Let’s give you a second look at it,” Mr. Powers thought to himself, before turning to answer a question of one of his guests.
How to Overcome the “My Character Wouldn’t Do That” Excuse