by The Eurostar
Edulcore Cicciotto:
56 Oakwood Avenue, Puerta Mibela, La Perdita. The place is right. The door is in front of me. The apartment complex looks anonymous, and the plate next to the door, reading MBL Consulting, Inc., is rather small. But the island is a paradise, I have to admit. Things have really changed from my time with these guys.
Anyway, I am eagerly anticipating my entrance. We were the best of friends back at the circus, nothing like what I had experienced in the EPS. Distrust, coercion, plain hate: these were the norm. With the Revolutionaries it was camaraderie, fun, and friendship. Finally, I am back.
Next to me is Turner. Will he ask to stay here? If he does, I will be the most happy. He has proven to be a great friend and, under his rough exterior, a very fun guy. My pet UFO, the means of travel that has brought us here, is hiding inside the island's volcano. We had enough time to change clothes and clean ourselves.
Will my friends recognize me? The figure mirrored in the glass of the door is somehow different from the Edulcore Cicciotto they knew. The endless hours of training at the EPS have built back my body, like I was in those years as a track runner, and how I was NOT in my days as a cook. I have become bald, but not completely, and the hair at the back of my head is long, tied up in a ponytail. In the days of the flight across North America, a beard has grown on my face. I like it, so I haven't shaved it; I gave it only a little trim. Blue jeans and a black shirt, that's my usual wardrobe. It was back in my days as a famous man, it was in my days as a cook, it will be forever, I think. My old red costume, that for a time had been my other choice of clothes, is gone, destroyed, is behind me like it was the remnant of an old, dead universe. Right now, it would be impractical, to say the least. With long sleeves, it would prevent my feathers from sprouting out of my arms. So, from now on, it will be only T-shirts for me.
Eh, I am nervous, you see that! I am about to meet my long-lost friends, and all that I am able to think about is what I am wearing.
I open the door.
There is a girl, a young woman, sitting at the reception. The face tells something to me. I bet I've met her before, but where?
"May I help you, sir?" the girl asks. So much for the entrance.
"This is the MBL, right?" I ask.
"MBL Consulting, yes. Would you like to make an appointment with Mr. Piper?"
Piper? Who the hell is Mr. Piper?
"Uh, well, I would rather prefer to talk with Marv Velo, if it's possible."
"Velo? Sorry, but he's gone."
"Naecken?"
"Naecken is dead. I'm sorry."
Nae, dead? An immortal composite of demons and angels is dead? This is difficult to accept.
"Nowhereman?"
"Gone."
"Lance Lorenzo?"
"He just left today."
"Tobias Christopher?"
"He went with him."
"Danny?"
"Danny is still around, but he's out to see the parade."
"Mick, then?"
The girl smiles at the name. "He's out, too. By the way, we are getting married, Mister... Mister...?"
"Cicciotto. My name is Edulcore Cicciotto."
The face of the girl becomes white. "They... they said you died..."
"Report of my death were quite premature, I fear." I offer my hand.
The girl takes it. "Shirley Francis. I'm the secretary and receptionist."
"Are you alone, here?"
"No, there's Kit, Turkish, Schanz, Grimm, Dirk, and Quantos..."
Quantos! Thank God, at last one person that I know!