Twin eye-rolls, this time. "If you're going to be like that, we may as well go," Melpomene says severely. "We're supposed to be keeping our heads down, and my confidence in Polyhymnia not letting on we're *not* is..."

"Nonexistent?"

"...*Limited*."

They rise as one. "There's nothing special about this place," Thalia says. "Not for anyone but us, at least. I expect you can lie low here as long as you like."

"If I don't mind opera."

"I suppose there is that. We may be around."

"Or we may not. It depends."

"But we will catch up... after."

"If there is one."

After another quick exchange of looks, they each offer him their free hand. Gabriel thinks of refusing the help, is reminded again that *everything hurts*, and accepts the tug to his feet -- and more. They leave him sitting on a settee with blue satin tasseled pillows in the prop room of some theater, listening to Italian opera.

They didn't have a lot of power to share, and it's nothing like Grace. Mostly what they have to give is essentially the same inspiration they give to humans. It *does* lend strength, and it *will* help him recover, but it also leaves a nagging urge to write both comedies and tragedies.

"Convenient," he mutters, and sits back for a more thorough assessment of the healing yet to be done.

###

The other reason they didn't turn up much in the myths is that they had a lot to do with writing them.

It's always the quiet ones.


---

(Fine. There it is. Now maybe I can get some homework done.)