The Empty World | The Empty World Sequence [complete | rewriting]

Twenty-One

"Morpheus?" He didn't recognize the voice, right away. "And River! It is you!"

"Jericho," River said, even as Morpheus straightened and looked out toward the park. River whispered to him, "The taxi accident."

Morpheus remembered, but he hadn't thought of it in a long while, not since he and River had lived in Hotel Seventeen, in New York. The woman looked somewhat like Jericho Heath, their East Village lost soul. When she rushed in and just glomped him, Morpheus could sense her name in the proximity of her soul. He attempted to return her embrace, but the bags made it difficult; he just leaned.

"You look different," Morpheus said, when Jericho took a step back.

Jericho smiled up at him, brushing blue hair over her shoulder. He was sure it had been brown. "I grew past residual self-image. I'm on expressive self-image, now."

Morpheus shouldered his pack, then reached to touch her hair. It was close to his color, very close. "Very expressive. I like it!"

Jericho reached up and rumpled Morpheus' hair.

"You remember River?"

"Of course." She cupped her hands together and lifted them. "May I?"

Morpheus gave a nod to River, who nodded back then hopped from Morpheus' shoulder into Jericho's waiting hands.

She scooped River carefully onto her left palm and stroked his scales with the fingers of her right hand. "You're really pretty like this," she said.

"Thanks," River said, wiggling.

"Riv and I were just trying to decide what to do next."

"You're in luck, I'm in the business of helping lost souls find their way," Jericho said. She was confident in her statement, nearly cocky even. And, so different from the eyes-down New Yorker who clutched her purse and flinched at kids in black leather and studs.

"Our baby is all grown up." Morpheus smiled.

The cockiness left, but Morpheus could see Jericho still smiled. "I know just where to go. Absinthe goes there. You know she's here...sometimes? And Raziel!" Jericho beckoned with a movement of her right arm, then strolled across the Central Park grass, toward the first circular cross street.

Morpheus had heard of Cafe Endless, it was in a neighborhood between spoke-like Avenues that appeared dedicated to cafes, cafe/bars, bars, and bar/danceclubs. The two-plus story structure contained cafe, bar, and dance floor.

They entered on the first floor, where Morpheus saw a cafe counter on the right, and a small, raised stage ahead and to the left. Toward the rear, there was seating at tables, and the stairs to the mezzanine level above, which in turn led to the upstairs dance hall.

There were others, conversing over drinks. Jericho set River on the counter, then walked around to the service side.

"You work here?" Morpheus asked.

"Did it hurt?"

"What?"

She grinned, "When you fell out of Heaven, Angel, because I find once-mortal souls usually understand the transitory and voluntary nature of labor in L.A."

"You got me. But, just Triquat, actually."

"But, seriously, can I get you something?"

Morpheus glanced to the equipment along the counters. "Cappuccino, please."

"Iced Green Tea," River said, "In a saucer, please."

"You weren't a barista, before," Morpheus said. "Didn't you write for news?"