“Have you ever run out of ideas?”
The Muse looked over, looking more amused than annoyed. “Maybe. Why?”
“Hello, November.” The Writer gestured into the literary emptiness that stretched before them. “How do I know you’re going to pull your weight? What happens if you just ditch me three days in and I’m on my own?”
“I think you’d manage.” The Muse went back to playing with the primordial nothing that made up the landscape. “After all word count is word count, right? You could just ramble on about how goddammed annoying it is having no plot, and no ideas, and then you’ll just hit the forums and take some dares.”
“I’m not doing dares!”
“Dares have ninjas in them.” The Writer looked around nervously. “I’m allergic to ninjas.”
The Muse blinked. “Really? Um…”
The Writer sneezed.