[Lurker]

"Me!?"

[hehe...lurker...Kielle called you so]

Offended, she sniffed. Silly child. Silly self. Arguing with herself, as usual. Big surprise. Crises in her mind tended to be disguised as frivolous debates between herself and...herself? Her alternate persona? No, too whimsical to be a part of self, or even an alternate version of self. Beloved was an idiot savant. Self was too practical, cynical, defensive to be related to Beloved.
Besides, no-one that similar could share the sort of affection-rejection spinout Beloved and self seemed to exist within.
Unsurprisingly, Beloved resumed her attack.

[Lurker. Coward. Stupid.]

"Ah, bugger off. I have things to do. Places to go. Just because you want my brain doesn't mean life'll stand aside and let me lease it out to you. Besides, you wouldn't know what to do with it. You can't consolidate a concept, let alone a LIFE"

[-laughter- not my job to life. Mine to transport/bring to you fool consciousness ideas. Show things. YOU translate. YOU give form. Only YOU too lazy/busy/stupid now. Want to play again.]

Idiot savant. That described Beloved, if it was within the realms of sanity to describe the irritatingly cute, mysterious, elusive mindsprite as an entity. Entity she might be, in some distant universe...

[some nearby universe. Foolwriter. You know. Have heard. Have seen. Half-fall-in-love! Silly. Ignore it, will you. Lurker.]

It was true, in a way. She knew of the place. She knew of the concept. It stood to reason that she'd fallen in love in with it. But...too busy, too shy, too scared, too thinly stretched to decamp to the written Utopia. Beloved knew. Beloved knew the deepest secrets of self's mind but had a tendency to present them in such a way as to be unrecognisable. Like pressing a photograph through a strainer, throwing it like confetti and then reconstructing the original image as a piece of abstract art.

[should write. Should play! Play with minds. I play?]

"I'm trying, okay? I don't...have...time for this, Beloved! Too many things. Creativity just isn't that high on my list, you know that. I don't get a high leaving mark from spending all my time writing fictional people. The Board of Studies doesn't care about writers' anguish!"

[-sadness- write more important. Characters important. Languish without your care. So sad...]

Her voice faded, like that of a saddened child. She just didn't understand! Weimar Germany, that was important. Biochemistry, too. Othello. Hitler. Economic relations. French Revolution. Not silly stories, the flow of words that'd taken up too much space in her life already. It hurt to leave it behind, especially when this ...gorgeous universe...had been just discovered and not yet explored, but it couldn't be helped. If Beloved had her way, self would spend her every moment at her laptop, rattling out whimsical fiction rather than studious fact.
It hurt to feel the pull and be unable to respond.
It hurt more to know that Beloved was sulking and would, in all likelihood, not visit with her poppy-eyed wordjoy for days more. Perhaps weeks.
Still.
Probably for the best.
Real work could get done, and in the meantime...well, she could always watch.

[Lurker -pout-]

peace and out
Ali