Puerta Mibela, La Perdita
56 Oakwood Avenue
The place is right. The door is in front of me. The apartment complex looks anonymous, and the plate next to the door, saying MBL Consulting 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 friend, back at the circus. Nothing like what I have experienced in the EPS. Distrust, coercion, plain hate, there 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 tough bark, a too fun guy. My pet UFO, the mean that has brought us here, is hiding inside the island volcano. We had the time to change clothes and to clean ourselves.
Will my friend recognise 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 build 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 in the back of my head are long, tied up in a ponytail. In the days of the run away, 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 has 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 to sprout 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 what I am able to think is what I am wearing.
I open the door.
There is a young girl sitting at the reception. The face tells something to me. I bet I have met her before, but where?
“May I help you, sirs?” the girl asks. So much for the entrance.
“This is the MBL, right?” I ask.
“Do you want to talk with Mr Piper?”
Piper? Who the hell is Mr. Piper?
“Uhm, well, I would rather prefer to talk with Kristogar Velo, if it’s possible”.
“Velo? Sorry, but he’s gone.”
“Naecken?”
“Naecken is dead, I am sorry”.
Nae, dead? An immortal composite of demons and angels is dead? This is difficult to accept. “Larry Lance?”
“Gone too!”
“Nowhereman?”
“Gone”
“Tobias Christopher?”
“Gone”
“Danny?”
“Danny is not gone, but it’s out to see the parade”
“Mick, then?”
The girl, at the name, smiles. “He’s out, too. By the way, we are getting married, mister... Mr?”
“Cicciotto. My name is Edulcore Cicciotto”.
The face of the girl becomes white. “They... they say you died...”
“Report of my death were quite premature, I fear.” I lean my hand.
The girl takes it. “Shirley. I am secretary and receptionist”.
“Are you alone, here?”
“No, there are Kit, Turkish, Schanz, Grimm and Quantos...”
Quantos! Thank God, at last one person that I know!
[ 08-20-2002, 07:04 AM: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]
