Mr. Write [COMPLETED]

Chapter 14 - "I'm 56% sure she'll never knife you in a dark alley."

"Murph!"

The girl took the greeting in stride with a quiet nod. Cece waved enthusiastically.

"Hey Mia!" she said. "Come sit by me."

Mia gave Cece a half concealed amused smile. Before she could move Tristan stood and hugged her.

"I'm glad you graced us with your presence," he said.

Mia gave him a bright, genuine smile. A look that softened her dark brown eyes.

"It's been about three months since I've talked to normal people," she said. "I figured I should do it before I start hearing my cat talk."

"Then you should stop by more often," Tristan said.

"I would, but I don't like people."

"You like cats."

"Yes, because they make it clear how they feel about you."

"Would it help if I ignored you and walked over your computer when you stopped by?"

"You know, it just might."

Tristan laughed and hugged her again.

"Mia, you are like the sister I always wanted."

"Hey!" Cece and Elliot cried.

Tristan shrugged.

"I'm still not retracting my statement," he said. "The truth hurts. You can use it in one of your books."

Cece leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"Yeah," she said, "I have a character who looks like you. I think I'll have him get shot in the back as payback."

To Cece's utter disappointment, Mia took a seat by Tristan and fell into a discussion with him and Andrew about social politics at show premieres.

"Who is that?" Beck asked.

"Mia Davis, the playwright. Ever seen Crimes of The Cat?"

Beck nodded and Elliot gestured to Mia.

"That's her play."

"Why does everyone call her Murph?" he asked.

"Well, once when she was in Dublin she saved an old man's life as he was about to be hit by a car. The man turned out to be the town's head honcho. The town honored her by calling her Murph. It means mighty one in Gaelic."

"Funny, but you're lying."

Elliot laughed and shrugged.

"Yes, but it sounded better than I have no clue. She's just called that." 

Beck nodded and looked around taking in the whole group, a crease between his eyebrows.

"How did you meet everyone?" he asked.

Elliot glanced around the table, memories appearing before her as she looked to the faces before her. She turned back to Beck.

"Most of them are Tristan's friends," she said. "He worked with Ryan. Jay was one of his dancers, as well as all the other dancers here. Andrew actually was coached on his writing by my mom, as well as Mia. From there they just became part of our family. I think they were so happy to have support in their art that it made them stay."

Beck nodded as he looked around, his eyes analyzing the group.

"Cece and my contribution to the group is Milo. So really we're set."

Elliot chuckle, but Beck didn't seem to hear, his gaze still roaming over the table.

"What about you?" she asked.

Beck looked back at her.

"What about me?"

"Do you have people that have become part of your family?"

Beck was silent as he thought.

"Ashley, my mother's nurse, feels like she's part of the family, but we don't have anything like this." He gestured around the table. "Mostly my parents have their friends and my brother has his. There's not a lot of mixing."

"Any of them artist? Writers?"

Beck's jaw flexed and he avoided her gaze.

"No," he said, his tone flat.

Before Elliot could ask more about his family, Beck spoke. 

"Everyone here makes their living off of some form of art or other?" he asked.

"Pretty much, except Joe. His job is being awesome and he does it well."

Beck was silent for a long moment. The stories around them rushed to fill the space.

"...he didn't like the play, so I decked him," Andrew said.

Tristan handed Mia a five.

"...there we are freezing our nuts off," Jay said, "and they are trying to convince us the show closing was our fault."

"...the review was the worst we've had yet," Ryan said. "But it's nothing I can't beat."

Beck looked at Elliot, his usually impassive features displaying puzzlement.

"What?" Elliot asked.

"It doesn't make sense," he said.

"Oh, that's because you're trying to listen to everything at once. Pick one conversation to listen to and stick with it. It doesn't make sense any other way."

"No, I mean everyone living off their art."

Elliot gave him a funny look.

"The proof that they are is before you."

"But that's not how normal life works. You get a stable job and possibly do things on the side. You never bank everything on your art."

"Don't say that too loud or we might all stop existing."

Beck just looked at her, his face reverting to its normal, emotionless state.

"Beck, I'm not saying it's the easiest path in life," Elliot said. "Heck, there are so many other easy things we could have been done but it's worth it. Don't you agree?"

Beck said nothing, his silence holding all of his opinions.

"Are you saying people shouldn't believe in their art?" Elliot asked.

"I'm just saying normal life doesn't work that way."

"Then what are we then?"

Beck was silent and Elliot could feel a wall falling down between them. For a long, tense moment they looked at each other. Marilyn stood and the table, with some nudging and shushing of neighbors, fell silent.

"Alright?" she said. "Who made the most on bets this morning? Because you have the honor of doing dishes."

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Okay people!

This is serious! We are going to do something we have never done before! But I believe we have the strength to face this challenge! (Yes, I see your eye roll at my dramatics but this is serious. Focus!) We are diving into our ideal guy's personality! I told you this would not be easy, stay with me and let's begin!
Quiet or outgoing?
Book smart or street smart?
Funny or goofy?
Strong silent type or life of the party?
Logical or daredevil?
Football player or bookworm?
Thoughtful or carefree?

Vote, comment, follow! Tell your ideal guy!