the crazy old man got so many weapons and explosives, I think.
– Thanks, Cap. We can’t close business without you,» Tamura said. – I’m going to breakfast! Who’s with me?
– I’ll keep you company,» Ruta snorted.
***
The girls were sitting across from each other at Coven’s cafeteria table, eating sandwiches and drinking hot coffee.
– Come on, tell me, who’s the new guy? – Tamura asked.
– Why a man? – Ruta furrowed her eyebrows. – A guy, twenty-eight years old, an artist with a fine mental organization, a creative person – is he a man?
– I’m sorry, I’m sorry. In the concept of «man» I put a set of positive male qualities, not synonyms «rude dork» and «uncouth stump».
– Come on, Tamurach, don’t worry, I’m just kidding. His name is Vincent. And he’s really nice. And we’re in love!
– Does that mean you won’t kill him?
– I won’t even hurt him. I’ll let him go in peace. Maybe I’ll marry him.
– Are you out of your mind, you old witch? What’s the age difference between you and him? Seventy years? Does he even know how old you are?
– Oh, don’t be jealous! I told him I’m twenty-four. He doesn’t really believe it and thinks I’m flirting, but he loves me with all his heart. – She took her cell phone out of her belt pouch and showed a picture of a young man.
– He’s cute,» Tamura agreed. – Have you forgotten how to love?
– I haven’t had such a poetic high in ages! My hormone glands are just gushing. I’m peeing a cocktail of oxytocin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. I get heart palpitations just thinking about him. And I’ve never written so much poetry about anyone before. I’ll definitely publish a collection of poems dedicated to Vincent. The rhymes just fall into place. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me lately.
– That’s awesome! I envy the white witch with white envy! You know I’m a fan. I collect everything you drop. And I’ll be the first one to read it. And I’ve even tried my hand at writing, looking at you.
– Yeah, okay. Can I see it?
– Promise me you won’t be sarcastic and make fun of me.
– Sure. – Ruta ran her palm over her face, smoothing out the wrinkles. – I’m the serious one.
Tamura crumpled a little, pulled out her phone, looked for something, and started reading:
– The verse is called: «To You.»
– Romantic! Mmmm… And not once clichéd. Keep going,» the moon witch commented, taking a bite of her sandwich.
– «I love you so much, and my love is so classy, but I can’t bear to live within my means, so I’m moving in with you.
Ruta lasted two seconds and burst into laughter through her nose as her mouth was full of sandwich. The snorting laughter immediately elicited a reaction from the rest of the café’s customers, who first took notice and then squeamishly turned away.
– You promised! – Tamura shouted. – That’s it! The fence is down! – A pattern of horizontal bars appeared on her face and immediately covered her face. She tried to fumble for the hilt of her sword behind her back, but after a futile attempt, she faked raising it and asked calmly: – What’s wrong? The rhymes are wrong, or the sensuality is lacking?
– Well, let’s talk about rhymes first. Although form is not the most important thing in poems, but since you started about rhymes, let’s talk about rhymes. They’re pretty simple.
– They’re not precise, are they?
– Exact rhymes are: you-will-forget, self-you, gone. And exact rhymes have long been equated with primitive rhymes. One of the founding fathers of Russian poetry once ridiculed primitive rhymes:
«The frost is already in full swing
And the fields are silvery
The reader is waiting for the rhyme «rose».
Here, take it!
– And since then there have been assonance rhymes, multisyllabic rhymes, dissonant rhymes.
– What’s wrong with simple rhymes? – The black witch asked, shoveling noodles into her mouth with a fork from a paper bag of hieroglyphics.
– Well, here’s a look. – Ruta picked up a cube of raffinade from the tea saucer and showed it to Tamura. – This is the simplest sweet form capable of producing primitive organoleptic pleasure in humans and living things.
– Yes, I know. Sugar is a quick carbohydrate that can immediately raise the body’s energy level and partially satiate the body. That’s why our receptors like it.
– Yeah, but that’s not what I’m saying. Give a kid sugar, next time he’ll give his hand for it. Then dilute the sugar with fruit or berries, and the taste of sugar is filled with flavors, sourness, and the sensation plays out in a new way. Continue culinary experiments, add cream, coffee, cocoa, various synthetic components, and a person will never eat pure sugar. Because it’s too easy. It’s the same with poetry. If you do not develop, do not try to seek new aesthetic orgasms from rhymes and forms, you can be satisfied with sugar all your life. That’s how graphomania breeds. And the saddest thing is that no one remembers real poetry now, because they haven’t eaten anything but sugar for a hundred years.
– Great! – Tamura looked at her hand. Her palm was covered in a black, barely transparent, mesh. – Only I don’t get it, what’s wrong with my poem?
– Don’t worry, Tamura. I’ve seen a million graphomaniacal poems, but none of them made me smile, let alone laugh. That’s worth something! You have no lyrical spark, but sarcasm sparks from every pore. All right. (chuckles) What are you doing?
– Mitsu’s gonna get me a fresh new suit of armor, and I’m gonna go to the armory. I’m gonna put on my battle gear. I got some shurikens from the stab lab to try out, with built-in controllers. It’s an old order of mine. I drew the schematics for the lab myself.
– Ninja throwing stars? I’m surprised you didn’t have them before.
– I did, but they were just ordinary ones. I didn’t use them much. That’s because they run out so fast.
– What are these like? Do they find their own targets?
– Nope! They can come back. The main controller is on my belt. Scatter the shurikens, press the button, and they respond to the directional electromagnetic selective beam. They burst out of the soft tissue and fly to my belt, where they’re powered by the main battery and ready to throw again. The main thing is not to throw them into trees – only to pull them out by hand.
– You’re
