The Beloved Author
The background is muted, faded to shadowy streaks of gray and brown, to show nothing of his home. It was one of his conditions for accepting the online interviewer's invitation. With the fame his novels have earned him, Majesty can afford to be a little eccentric.
"So tell me...what was the inspiration behind Serpenti Supersonic? You've mentioned in previous interviews that you took an interest in exploring Atebus from a young age, I believe."
He'd made it clear before he signed the contract that he would not have his personal life brought into the interview. Fortunately, reporters were like small children. Easily distracted, when offered something shiny to focus on.
"Atebus is quite a fascinating landscape. The sunset craters, the Fields of Telenilla, to say nothing of Ziara City itself. One hasn't truly lived until they've sampled a gear-themed goodie from Libertine and danced under the moonlight with a few hundred members of the rave movement."
"Serpenti seems quite adept at moving among the various factions you've created. Tell me...did you really spend three years researching the steampunk scene in order to write the final scene for Ticking Time Bomb?"
So began a twenty-minute discussion of the many adventures of the space-traveling spy known as Serpenti. Majesty compared quirky side characters, lamented over fascinating villains he'd been forced to kill off and dropped wicked hints about a fourth motion picture that may or may not be on its way into Subeta's Box Office this summer. He knew his fans would be speculating within the hour as to which of his twenty-three best-selling novels would make it to the movies next.
"What does Regalia think of the death of Xerianna Starlight? Serpenti is practically posed to marry her and she gets incinerated under Dethaglio's booster rockets."
Majesty cleared his throat. His girlfriend most definitely fell into the category of off the table for discussion.
"I'd much rather talk about the unknown quantities in Sector G-380 that will bring Serpenti into a whole new phase of the Subetan Space Race."
"Oh, come on. My readers are just dying to know when you're going to pop the question."
He made a vague answer, thanked her for her time and disconnected the call. A casual flick of the wingtip opened his little red leather book. The nosy reporter's name was carefully penned in. She would not get another interview. Not now, not ever.
He closed his eyes and sat back for just a moment, letting the gentle and familiar sway of his treehouse soothe him. He could hear Magic in the other room, her claws ever so gently scratching on her perch like the tap-tap-tapping of typewriter keys. He smiled.
Regalia would be home in a few hours with some of the few writers whose works he truly respected. Thursday nights were a time for board games and charades, a time for recluses to come together in a safe place to have some fun.
They'd been together for years. They were bonded, yet entirely their own independent people. Not everyone feels the need for a fancy wedding...yet he couldn't imagine ever leaving her. What they had worked. It was who they were. They were happy.
He was casually thinking of the last vacation they'd taken to the Galaxan Wastelands when it hit him...the perfect ending for his current work in progress.
Magic had to land on his shoulder and give his cheek a gentle nip to get him to answer the door. A writer in the zone is fearless, focused...and totally unaware of his or her surroundings. His friends were clearly amused and Regalia was covering her beak with her wing to keep from laughing out loud.
He didn't feel too bad. He was among fellow writers. They all knew the feeling of the muse inspired.
Besides, he had a really nice bottle of wine set aside for sharing.
Who says a recluse doesn't know how to have a good time?