Wildest

Hamlet

Theme Song loved the rain. Not because her real name was Apryl, and not for the decor it created on the glass wall behind her CEO desk, making it feel like she's still a child outside playing in the puddles. Not for the little bets she makes on the drops' abilities to reach the bottom of her window and then the bottom of her building to be plopped into smithereens. Not for the way it seemed to envelop any amount of stress she'd pack for lunch on the given day. Possibly for its universality; rain made everything equal, it made everything simply soaked. It was water that fell from the sky over everything on the ground. Somehow it managed to have the same impact that unifies the significant to the insignificant without spreading itself too thin. If only she could liquify herself into rain. Her powers did not permit shapeshifting, at least to the limits she explored them through. She was sitting in her surrounding, assertive, white leather desk chair, an ankle tucked under her butt, the other foot's tip rapping gently on the floor in sync with the pen she was wiggling. Her tongue peaked out of her lips as she stared at her computer screen with a dark sky full of universes songs at her fingertips. She was concentrating on the rhythm the rain was creating on her window, deciding to let it inspire her next playlist since she idolized rain so dearly. What songs could possibly carry out its rhythm? It was odd for Theme to be paying so close attention to noise that was not coming from her headphones. She was more focused than a bullet on its target. She heard the bang of the gun as the door to her office was knocked on.

"Theme? I'm just here with your mail..." the muffled voice calls from the other side of the door, who seemed to be inheriting its massiveness from the chair. Theme designed her office to match some kind of large safe that evil billionaires had in movies, filled with more riches than one's corneas could bear. It used to be her favorite metaphor for the experience of discovering new, successful musicians and their tracks. The room itself was of an immaculate white, the walls became screens of the music's colorful rhythmic line if it was playing. The seats for guests were two pink bean bags seated on an even pinker round rug, looking like a giant bowl of tangled pink macaroni. There was a constant clash between the loud and the minimalist that Theme loved listening to. "And your coffees, and..."

"Clarissa?" Theme peaks up from her computer screen and unlocks her 'safe' door by pressing a large spacebar-like button, where a keyboard would normally be placed on the sliding panel of a desk. Her struggling secretary awkwardly makes her way in, carrying a sack of fan mail in one hand and a carton of five lattes in the other. Theme always wondered what she did to never spill them. The fan mail always excited her, mainly because the constantly inflated beige tweed sack reminded her of a penguin's belly or freshly made popcorn. "Girl, let me give you a hand." The one thing she did learn with her powers was levitation. But it never worked on its own; it always seemed to have to have a reason or purpose for it to work. Theme decided the purpose always had to benefit someone in a positive way, and fortunately for her (did she ever run out of luck anyway?) it was always the case. She gestures with two fingers to the baggage she was holding, waving them off of her and levitating them to Theme's desk. Clarissa breathes out in exhaustion.

"This also came...Theme" she pants, hustling up to Theme's desk and almost tripping on the carpet. It looked like a book wrapped up in pages by another, sealed with a weak-looking string and a messy wax stamp. Theme studies the curious package suspiciously.

"Thanks Clarissa, I can always count on you." she muses, but doesn't look up from the package. The sound of her walking back out and the door closing didn't startle her. Something about it made her feel uneasy, like the floor beneath her feet was shifting side to side. She undid the string neatly, and then the packaging. It was Hamlet. She flipped through the pages to see if the giver had given any justification for the gift along with it. Nothing at all. Theme shifts her lips to the side, confused, but then shrugs and discards the book from her attention, on her desk.

"Maybe they must've wanted to share their love for this play with me, or something." she mumbles to herself. She's gotten all sorts of gifts from fans, but the classic work of literature seemed to stand out. Granted, Theme had never read or seen Hamlet before; she did drop out of high school and land into an endless pit of luck with founding her music production company. She picks the book up again, resting it on her lap, flipping through it slower this time. "Wellp. This is Greek to me." she tells the rain.