Chapter Text
Long ago, far from the Grove the gods call home…a quiet copy editor received a most unusual script at his desk.
Of course, to say Clarence Clerical was quiet was an entirely conditional truth. He had become so renowned an editor for precisely the opposite reason: if there was a problem with a script, novel treatment, pitch, anything, Clarence would let you know about it. He kept to himself for the most part and many of his coworkers would describe him as a polite yet unremarkable presence in the office, but when it came time to mark things up, the gloves were off. Clarence was blunt, minute, thorough…ruthless, some would say. But there truly was no one better for the job.
Clarence, for his part, enjoyed the work. It was immensely satisfying to tear into a new story, seize upon its strengths and reel them up from the depths, cut and slash and replace and reduce it all down to its thickest, sweetest state, like a fine roux. But lately, the scripts that had shown up at his desk…flat didn’t even begin to cover it! The same old tropes, tired values, and stiff dynamics plodded along the page, and there was only so much he could do to polish them up short of a complete rewrite. And, unfortunately, he wasn’t paid to write entirely new scripts.
But, one otherwise unremarkable day…a different story appeared at his desk! a thick, verdant stack of paper edged in gold and tied up with crimson ribbon. Clarence wasn’t quite sure who had chosen to expense such a fancy presentation for a script draft, but it had already been a long morning and his mind didn’t seize upon it for more than a moment. The editor took a long sip of coffee, perched his reading glasses on his nose, and got to appraising the script.
Heart in Calloused Hands, it was called, and it immediately became clear that it was no ordinary script. The tale of a young artist, ostracized for her differences yet rewarded for her pain; surrounded by adoring fans yet the connection of true love evaded her! She was no plucky hero, always finding her way just by following her dreams: failure followed her everywhere she went, in one form or another. Flings and fancies drifted in and out of her life, all leaving her wanting more, and her closest confidante, the nearest to a soulmate she’d yet known, drifted from her life before she could ever act on her feelings.
Clarence was enraptured by the script in a way he hadn’t been for some time. All twenty years of his career lifted from his hunched shoulders, and he felt the light excitement of his early editing exploits returning. For as deeply emotional and engrossing the script was, it certainly wasn’t perfect. A confusing transition here, clunky dialogue there, and a host of little inconsistencies and non-sequiturs common in early drafts. Every page got at least a bit of markup, whether from Clarence’s pen or typewriter, and he was having the time of his life.
However, when he emerged triumphantly to turn in his latest round of edits, the response from his supervisor was not at all as expected.
“What are you holding there?” she asked, apprehension edging her voice.
Clarence thrust out the elegant stack proudly. “Heart in Calloused Hands! I don’t know who this raw, enrapturing story came from, but it was a delight to edit! Just needed a few good tweaks here and there…”
“A few good…” His supervisor pinched the bridge of her nose. “Clarence, you Drainhead! Didn’t you read the front page?”
The editor tilted his head. “Well, sure, I got the title right, didn’t I?”
“The fancy shmancy paper should have tipped you off, at least!” She pointed out a smaller line of elegant longhand below the script’s title. Clarence quickly slipped his reading glasses back on and squinted; he’d never been the best at reading cursive.
Heart in Calloused Hands
Screenplay by Thespius Green
“Thespius…?” he repeated aloud, awestruck. “The god?”
“Yes, the god, Clarence!” groaned his supervisor. “This script should have never shown up at your desk.”
Clarence blinked. “What do you mean? It was a good script, sure, but it did need some edits…”
“No, it didn’t,” she insisted through gritted teeth. “None of his scripts have ever been touched by our editors. You don’t just redline a script from a god.”
Clarence pursed his lips, unconvinced. He didn’t see why he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like Thespius was the god of scriptwriting…or good spelling, based on what he’d read.
His supervisor stared down his small, confused eyes then massaged her temples furiously. “Listen, Clarence: he’s a god, whether he’s a good writer or not is irrelevant. What’s relevant is whether or not he decides to make life hard for us if we disrespect him…and redlining his script is as disrespectful as it gets!”
Clarence blinked incredulously; he’d never disagreed with anything more in his life. “Surely it’s far more disrespectful to pretend he has no more room to grow, isn’t it? I’ve seen a Thespius Green work or two…they never get very popular, do they?”
His supervisor sighed. “No, Clarence, they don’t…most folks don’t ‘get’ Thespius’s stuff. I don’t really get much of it myself, but that’s not the point -“
“W-Well, what is?” Clarence butted in. He usually wasn’t so argumentative, but the logic on display was beginning to grind his gears. With the right editor Thespius’s script could really sing, soar higher than anything ever put on the silver screen, and they were willing to let it languish in obscurity because they were too scared to tell a god his writing wasn’t perfect?
“Listen Clarence, I know you like to get in a tizzy about the…’art’ of what you do,” said his supervisor, the sarcastic quotes practically dripping from her words, “but you’re gonna have to drop this one. We process Thespius’s scripts because he’s a god, and we’d be stupid not to. Editing his stuff is a waste of your time and energy…and, frankly, the company’s time, too.”
Her words sank deep into Clarence like rotting wood in a mire. He had never been the righteous sort, and wasn’t exactly sure why he felt compelled to challenge his employers’ verdict on this matter — it wasn’t like he didn’t see the reasoning in fearing a literal god — but something pulled at him regardless. There was so much potential here. Potential being squandered out of fear, and…maybe something a little more insidious. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but all of a sudden desperately wished to.
“Earth to Clarence? Hello?”
Clarence blinked back to reality by way of a set of fingers snapping in his face. “A-Ah, right, yeah. I heard you. No marking up Green’s pages!”
Hastily he tucked the script under his arm. “I’ll uh…just get rid of this! Lickety-split.”
“Lickety-split,” his supervisor agreed in a flat, unamused tone. “We’ll just ask his godliness to summon another copy.”
Clarence nodded, turning to head down the hall where the paper shredder sat awaiting its next meal. At the end of that same hallway, of course, was a turn that connected it to a different hallway: the one that led right back to his office.
It was Friday, and Clarence had a three-day weekend ahead of him. Against his better judgement…he was already devising a plan to set sail for the Grove, where Thespius Green’s most inspiring draft had been penned by the god himself.
=====
As could be expected of an editor rarely spotted outside his office or apartment, Clarence was most unused to traveling. Despite this he packed lightly, even if that was mainly due to the fact that his typewriter demanded an obscene amount of space in his suitcase. Luckily for his stomach the weather was fair at sea, and he was able to focus enough to get a bit more information on this Thespius guy.
God of love and mirth…or love songs, depended on who you asked. Either way it seemed music was his main wheelhouse, which Clarence admittedly wouldn’t have expected from a regular scriptwriter. Most commonly mentioned, though, was his appearance. Seeing as Thespius was a god of love, it was no surprise to hear that he was something of a looker, but Clarence probably heard about how hot he was nearly twice as much as anything else about him. Irrelevant information, in Clarence’s opinion. One’s work was far more important to him than their physique…not to mention that Thespius was a man, god or not. Certainly the matter wouldn’t even come up.
Being a white-collar worker straight out of the most quintessential Earth city, Clarence felt a bit out of place the moment he set foot in the Grove, but the Field of Green where Thespius resided was a particularly alien landscape to him. The air was warm, fresh, and rich with soulful folk music drifting past like autumn leaves. Colorful tents dotted the verdant landscape, with equally flashy residents seated outside languidly strumming on guitars and tapping at keyboards. Clarence had seen these scrappy flower child types here and there back in the city, but evidently the majority of them had gravitated here to put up their feet and let their creativity flow. A lifestyle Clarence had heard many an uncharitable judgement on, certainly, but he had no quarrel with it himself. In fact, on his worse days, he found himself envying such an untethered existence.
“Ahem, excuse me,” he said, approaching one such vagrant on the lawn. “Could you direct me towards a Mr. Thespius Green?”
“You’ll find his tent on the bluff up north, mister.” They eyed him appraisingly. “Are you some kinda city cat?”
“Ahah, well! I don’t know if I’d count myself…’hip’ enough to be a ‘cat’…” Clarence chuckled nervously, painfully aware of the way his voice squeaked out whenever he was trying way too hard to be sociable. “But I am from the city, yes. I’m an editor!”
“An editor, huh?” They raised an eyebrow. “Pretty bold move coming all the way out here to tell a god what to do, city cat.”
“Ohhh, I’m well aware,” Clarence sighed, mostly to himself. Over the past twenty-four hours, doubt had of course begun its mandated creep into the corners of his mind. But he was too far along to turn back now.
He was glad he’d thought to ask for directions: aside from being the northernmost tent in the field, the entrance to Thespius’s domain didn’t particularly stand out from the others surrounding it. Well, aside from the bright, nearly white light barely concealed by the front flaps…
It began to truly hit Clarence what he was here to do. To approach a god and insist its script needed an editor… Oh, there was something wrong with him if that phrase merely stirred up excitement in his core.
Clarence shook his head; no more overthinking. He pulled aside the flap and stepped through.
The blinding light didn’t immediately recede, as he’d half expected it to, and a mellifluous voice beamed directly past his ears and into his mind.
“Who’s there trying to slide into my domain?”
“Uh…just a curious party, mister Thespius, sir!” Clarence called out into the blinding void. “I’m just an editor, from the city? I wanted to talk about your script!”
“An editor? All the way from outside the Grove?”
Clarence wobbled as his foot met with a soft, bouncy texture. The light finally began to abate, and he saw that it was some sort of cloud beneath his feet. And, looking up to get his bearings, he could finally make out…
Oh, gods. He was huge.
Clarence felt ridiculous for thinking that. Of course a god of all things would be larger than life, but… Well, Thespius Green was easily twenty times his size.
“Hey, little dude,” said the god of love and mirth, voice pealing out like a chorus of trumpets, “you look like you’re a ways from home.”
His soft lips parted into a curious gap-toothed smile, and Clarence found he’d forgotten just what he’d come in there to do.
Many would expect a god to be robed in some ancient raiment, but Thespius was quite sharply dressed in a plaid suit and tie, broad chest and shoulders emphasized by the cut of the garment. Rough, calloused fingers lovingly grasped a massive ukulele, and his hair — gods, it looked nearly as soft as the surrounding clouds. One of his eyes was seemingly shut in a perpetual wink, but the other shone a brilliant gold, as if Clarence was being beheld by the light of the sun itself.
Suddenly Clarence felt rather inadequate in his pill-ridden sweater vest and haphazardly cuffed corduroys.
“Heh…I know that look. Never seen a god before, huh?” Thespius shifted his weight with a distant sigh. “Take it in, man, I’m used to the attention by now.”
“I-I, uh…” Clarence cleared his throat. Gods, why was he so sweaty, this was far more intimidating than he’d anticipated — “I’m from the city, I don’t- I don’t exactly see this kinda thing every day.”
Thespius chuckled, and it was as if the skies around them had been blessed with an angelic choir. “You, uh, said that already, little dude…” He paused for a moment, then rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ugh, sorry, it’s been a second since I’ve had a visitor. What can I call you, man?”
Ah! That was a question he could seize on. Clarence fished a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his balding forehead free of sweat. “Ahem…Clarence Clerical, your godliness! But just…just Clarence is fine.”
“Well, just Clarence, you don’t need to bother with all that godliness jazz.” Thespius leaned forward, chin propped up on his elbow…as if Clarence needed any more of a reminder of their vast disparity in size. “I’m just Thespius.”
“Eheh…right…” Again Clarence’s thoughts were getting away from him. The way Thespius looked down at him was mesmerizing; like he was interested and entertained at the same time.
“So, you said you wanted to chat about a script of mine?” the god prompted lightly, his smile unabating.
“Ah- Yes, that’s right!” Clarence set his suitcase on its side and opened it up, thanking himself for having the foresight to set the script on top of all his other belongings. “It’s your latest draft — Heart in Calloused Hands?”
Thespius’s gap-toothed grin widened. “Heyy, yeah! I just sent that one over last week. I don’t usually hear anything back after I put ‘em out in the big, wide world.”
He put his ukulele aside and joined his hands under his chin. “So, what did you think, man? I put a lot into that baby… Heart and soul! I hope it comes through…”
Clarence forced down his apprehension. “Oh, it does, it does…truth be told, it’s one of the best scripts I’ve read through in awhile!”
“Oh, c’mon, you don’t need to puff me up like that, man…” Thespius waved a hand hastily, his cheeks coloring a little at the praise.
“Heh, well, it’s true…” Clarence hesitated before continuing. “Of course, I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t need…a few tweaks.”
Thespius’s smile faltered a little. “Tweaks?”
Oh, gods. Here he went. “Tweaks, yes! I…I am an editor, as I said…” Clarence donned his reading glasses anxiously and began flipping through the script. “There’s plenty of little proofreading notes, of course, and some plot points could use a little…plussing up, y’know?”
“Plussing up,” repeated Thespius, apprehension creeping into his voice. “You’re saying my script ain’t all there yet?”
“Oh, no no no, that’s…well, that’s the beauty of it!” Clarence insisted, beginning to sweat again. “It’s all there, it just needs a bit of a…push!”
“A…push?” Mercifully, Thespius didn’t sound too displeased by this news. On the other hand, he was beginning to sound almost…downtrodden by the implication that his script had anything wrong with it. “What do you mean?”
Clarence would have expected dismissal from a god — downright condescension, even. But he hadn’t even considered the possibility that a blunt enough critique would hurt Thespius’s feelings. Nevertheless, he pressed on and flipped to the first good example he could think of. “Well! For instance…on page 52, Marissya is having her little tiff with her partner Calypsyo –“
“A little tiff?” Thespius frowned. “You mean…the argument that pulls them apart forever?”
“See, that’s the problem!” Clarence said. “It is a really important turning point, the first big turn in Marissya’s life for the worse…but it doesn’t feel that way.”
He pointed to a line on the page. “Here Calypsyo’s just told Marissya that she’s been accepted to the graduate program overseas and she’s gonna go for it.
“‘Good for you,’ Marissya says, picking at her sleeve.
“Calypsyo notices her lackluster response and frowns. ‘Aren’t you happy for me?’
“‘I’d be happier if you didn’t have to leave me.’
“‘Marissya, we’ve talked in circles about this long enough. This has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and I wish you’d respect that.’
“‘Even after all we’ve been through, Calypsyo…I still have no place within your dream?’”
Clarence looked up. “Now that line really hit me when I was reading it. I knew from that line alone the importance of this argument…” he flipped onward, “…but then they keep at it for another two pages!”
“Well, I…” Thespius shifted his weight a little awkwardly. “I figured they ought to really hash it out, lay out all their cards on the table, y’know?”
Clarence shook his head. “The most tragic of arguments, breakups, falling-outs, are those where too much is left unsaid and everything that is said comes out all wrong.”
For a moment his confidence wavered. “Uh, do you…mind if I pitch something to you?”
“I guess not…” Thespius scratched his head. “Is it really that bad, man?”
“No, no, not at all!” Clarence waved his hands insistently. “You’ll see. Ahem…”
He straightened up. “Interior, Calypsyo’s apartment, the morning following her and Marissya’s tender heart-to-heart the night before. Marissya wakes up first, sitting up in bed and stretching, smiling over at her still-slumbering partner.
“Cut to: Calypsyo’s kitchen. Marissya enters and starts a pot of coffee before leaning onto the counter. She eyes the poster for their performance lying on the countertop and smiles, picking it up to appreciate it closer. But, when she lifts it up, she notices there’s something else folded beneath it. A piece of paper with a very familiar coat of arms stamped on it…” He paused for dramatic effect. “…the coat of arms for the Academy of Liberal Arts and Sciences.”
Thespius’s eyebrows went up with interest. “The letter…?”
Clarence nodded. “Her hand hovers over the folded paper, apprehensive: she knows she shouldn’t snoop through Calypsyo’s mail, but…if she’s going to have her heart broken, she’d rather it be on her own terms.”
Thespius said nothing, but maintained undivided focus on Clarence as he spoke. Though he wasn’t without apprehension, getting such rapt focus from a god, his growing confidence was quickly winning out; it was really easy for him to get into a pitch once he got going.
“Resolution firm, Marissya carefully opens the letter. Inside…it’s just what she fears:
“Dear Prospective Student,
“We are pleased to accept you into our graduate program here at the Academy of Liberal Arts and Sciences. Should you choose to accept, please reply promptly and prepare for the upcoming fall term…
“She can’t even finish it. She stares blank-faced at the words on the page, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, when suddenly…a shifting of fabric, a creaking hinge. Marissya swivels around teary-eyed to see Calypsyo in the kitchen doorway.”
Clarence paced back and forth, gesticulating and injecting more emotion and gravitas into his words the longer he went on. “Calypsyo averts her eyes, unable to meet Marissya’s hollow gaze.
“‘I was going to tell you,’ she murmurs quietly. ‘It came last week.’
“Marissya crosses her arms, blinking furiously as if that will banish the tears from her eyes.
“‘Well…congratulations. I’m happy for you.’
“A beat as Calypsyo’s brows knit together.
“‘You don’t sound happy.’
“Marissya makes a valiant effort to keep her feelings contained, but before Calypsyo’s eyes the dam breaks.
“‘Well, what am I supposed to say? After two of the best months of my life, you’re going to be gone from it forever!’
“‘Marissya, this has always been my dream, I thought you…I thought you knew that.’
“Marissya bites her lip as it takes her all she’s got to keep from sobbing.
“‘I did, I just…well, I thought that somehow, I could still be a part of it.’”
Clarence raised his hands, back facing Thespius as he concluded. “And…scene.”
The editor had only realized how long he’d let himself go on when he was finished. A little embarrassed, he turned around to gauge Thespius’s response, and -
Oh, gods. He was crying.
Not even struggling to keep back his tears! He sniffled, still somehow sounding soft and melodious, and Clarence’s heart dropped into his stomach. He’d been called a tough critic before, but he didn’t realize it was this bad. But at the same time, he wasn’t surprised at himself. Leave it to Clarence Clerical to make a god cry…
“Clarence…” Thespius sniffed, wiping shimmering tears with his calloused fingers. Clarence tensed and prepared to be smote.
“…That was beautiful, man!” One of the god’s massive hands attempted to alight on Clarence’s shoulder, but only succeeded in nearly eclipsing his entire body.
“R…Really?” Clarence asked, trying to ignore the unfamiliar stir in his gut at the feeling of a god’s fingers against his skin.
“Dude, it was just how I imagined the characters…” Thespius sighed. “What was I thinking, having Calypsyo just tell Marissya about the acceptance letter? Of course she’d be too worried about hurting Marissya’s feelings with the news…”
“And in turn, she ends up hurting her anyway,” Clarence added, his confidence returning in the face of Thespius’s excitement. “Maybe even worse.”
“Aghhh, exactly! Oh, it hurts, but it hurts so good…” Thespius lay back against the clouds. “And Marissya…the vulnerability! You really made her sound so heartbroken, thinking that despite everything maybe Calypsyo would still keep her by her side…” He exhaled long and slow, like a summer breeze. staring off into the clouds pensively. “It’s too real, man.”
Surprisingly, his emotional response had apparently prompted his other eye to finally open, just as bright and beaming as the other. Again Clarence found himself somewhat distracted; now that he wasn’t as floored by being in the presence of the god as he was a few minutes ago, it occurred to him that Thespius didn’t even look that intimidating. His face was soft and his eyes were kind, his mouth a bit crooked as it shifted from a faraway frown to an easygoing smile. For a god, he looked quite…human, once you got past his staggering size and divine voice.
Suddenly, Thespius leaned forward onto the very clouds Clarence was standing on, face propped on his hand a mere couple feet away from the comparatively tiny editor. “Man, where have you been my entire writing career?” he asked with a gap-toothed grin.
Clarence gulped down a strange pit in his throat as his face got uncomfortably hot. Maybe he wasn’t entirely past the god’s size and voice yet. “I, uh…well, I’ve been an editor for around twenty years…but, I didn’t realize you sent scripts to my studio. They usually never let editors anywhere near them.”
Thespius frowned. “What? That’s a bummer…why not?”
“Well…you’re a god,” Clarence said, like he was informing someone of a bad habit they were unaware of. “The suits at the studio are worried you…wouldn’t take criticism in good humor.”
“Huh?” Thespius tilted his head. “I mean, I know I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I won’t cry at a little bit of -“
“No no, they’re more worried you’d…smite down the studio with divine retribution or some such thing,” Clarence amended, opening his hands for emphasis in spite of his usual self-consciousness about over-gesticulating.
Thespius narrowed his eye incredulously (his other had closed again), his face scrunching up a little. “Dude…I’m the god of love. Where’d they get that idea from?”
Clarence could only offer a shrug, especially when he himself had admittedly been warring with the exact same fear in the back of his mind.
“Well!” Thespius huffed. “At least you’re here now. I’m guessing there’s more sweet rewrites in that copy you brought?”
He pointed at the stack of paper in Clarence’s hands, and the editor nodded. “I can leave the script here for you to flip through on your own time. I’m staying at a hotel up in BuzzHuzz for the night, so feel free to reach out, but after the next morning -“
“Huh? You’re leaving so soon?” Thespius’s harmonious voice took on a somber, muted quality. “I don’t wanna impose, man, but your read inspired me like nothing else! You made my words sound so real, so full of passion and yet so clear…”
Clarence began to feel a little awkward, in a flustered kind of way. He was used to being praised for his editing, sure, but his stage presence? “What, that? Ha! That’s just how I pitch, I’m certainly no actor,” he chuckled anxiously, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Clarence, man, don’t be modest, you got me crying over here!” Thespius insisted, before tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, I guess that isn’t so unusual for me, but still!”
He leaned back down on his folded arms in front of Clarence. His other eye was open again, and both looked down at the editor pleadingly. “I know you’ve got your job and all, but…do you really have to leave as soon as tomorrow?”
Clarence stared upwards speechlessly, mind racing a mile a minute. This has not gone at all how he’d expected. He’d anticipated that someone as high and mighty as a god wouldn’t even give him the time of day, that he’d been astronomically arrogant to come all this way and offer advice to a divine being, but…here he was, with the literal God of Love and Mirth practically begging him to stay a little longer and help him polish his script.
Before he could open his mouth, Thespius straightened up hastily, hands raised. “Again, not trying to impose, not at all! I always forget folks find it a lot harder to say no to a god, but…don’t feel like you gotta stay just ‘cause, you dig?”
Gods, it was almost comedic how nice he was. Maybe that was the “mirth” his title referred to, Clarence considered before blinking himself back to the present. Thespius wasn’t wrong; it was hard not to feel obligated to obey the god’s request merely due to his status. That said… Clarence hadn’t come here in the first place simply because Thespius was a god.
“Well…you don’t have to worry about that,” Clarence finally said, a smile forming on his face before he could catch it. “I came because of your script, and that’s all. Editing is my passion, and…if you want me to stay and help you polish this script until it’s as tight and impactful as it deserves to be, then…I do have the rest of the weekend before I’ve got to get back to the studio.”
Thespius broke into another grin, and Clarence found himself disproportionately happy to see it. “Aww, dude! You’ve really got a way with words, man. Guess that comes with being such a good editor…
He leaned conversationally onto one of the many clouds around him. “You said you were staying in BuzzHuzz?”
Clarence nodded. “I’m afraid I didn’t see any uh…infrastructure for overnight stay here in the Fields of Green.”
“Ahh, yeah, it’s kind of a free-for-all around here,” Thespius admitted. “It’d just be nice if you were a little closer. Wouldn’t be a problem to get you set up out on the field, but I’m sure a city guy like you wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in a tent…”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind!” Clarence found himself saying, despite the fact that he hadn’t gone camping since a company retreat ten years ago. “If it’s as comfy as your tent seems to be, it won’t be any trouble in the slightest!”
To his relief, Thespius actually laughed at his terrible joke; quite a bit more than it deserved, honestly. At least his laughter was as divinely appealing as the rest of him…a thought that Clarence instantly force-fed to a paper shredder at the back of his mind.
“We’ll get you set right up, li’l doggie,” said Thespius with a smile. “Just stay in BuzzHuzz for tonight, and we’ll figure something out first thing in the morning. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds peachy to me,” said Clarence, impressed with his hold on professionalism thus far.
“Groovy!” Thespius held up one hand in a peace sign, before bringing both together under his chin with excitement. “Aww, dude…I’m so excited! I’ve never had an editor before… I just know we’re gonna come up with some tight stuff together.”
Somehow, Clarence still found himself matching Thespius’s smile. Part of him felt crazy for being excited to spend his three-day weekend basically doing his full-time job pro bono. And yet, what he’d told Thespius wasn’t a lie. Editing had always been more than a job to him…or at least, it had been before decades worth of hackneyed, soulless scripts and execs wore him down. Thespius’s script had been the first in a long while to actually remind him why he enjoyed editing, and he felt like a fool for thinking he could just drop off his work on it and leave after a day.
It certainly didn’t hurt that Thespius wasn’t just a lot more laid-back than he’d expected from a god, but…way more personable and complimentary than he’d been prepared for. Sure, Clarence was used to people telling him he was a good editor, but…it was hard not to get swept up in Thespius’s genuine smile and his melodious, beautiful voice…
“So, you gotta get going now? Or have you got enough in you for a few more uh, ‘pitches?’” asked Thespius, leaning forward expectantly.
Clarence straightened his long-suffering back the most he had in some time. Between his newly returned vigor for his craft and…well, everything about Thespius so far, it was easy to ignore his aching knees and sweaty clothes for quite a few hours longer.