The life of a mortal-turned-interplanar-courier can be a lonely one. Not many of us mortals are given this kind of assignment for that very reason. The human soul is designed (by whom, exactly, is a matter of debate) to interact with others on a regular basis. We are not a solitary species, no matter what some folks might want to argue. We crave community, belonging, family. At least, that is what I am told. My own experience has been somewhat of an exception as far as I can tell. Much of my mortal life was spent solo. And I don't recall minding that fact. And it wasn’t until I was making these long excursions between planes of existence alone that I ever really started to feel that pang of… something.

It is probably why I reached out to Jeffrey in the first place. In my limited cognitive capacity as a mortal human (even of the former variety), he seemed like the most likely candidate to have similarities with. Void Demons, by their very nature, are solitary beings. You don’t hear of Void Demon families or rock bands, there is not a local sports team that congregates in the Void Stadium (although I have heard that they do bring in excellent performances of Shakespeare put on by the memories of ancient tardigrades). This is all just to say that I felt a kind of kinship with the species, if that is in fact what they are.

So after Jeffrey and I had our first outing at the Laza Lounge, we agreed to continue our exploration of friendship. With such varying schedules (mine, mostly. I am not sure Jeffrey actually has a schedule), it was determined that whenever I was ‘in town’, I’d reach out and we’d pick a new spot each time.

Mortal John. This is an acceptable arrangement. The opportunity for new experiences is intriguing to me.

I took that as a good sign.

“So I heard about this place in the mortal realm that might be worth checking out,” I told him. I am not sure how, exactly, but Jeffrey looked skeptical.

Mortal John. Query: Is that a wise decision? My understanding of human mortals is that they do not react favorably to other beings. Particularly beings from other planes of existence. Will you not be putting yourself at risk?

“Nah,” I waved off the apparent concern. “This place is special. Warded and such from humans. Supposed to make them ignore it, and if they do see it, give them some kind of repulsion? I don’t know. I’m not a big magic guy.”

Mortal John. You are not a big guy at all. He stared at me with those fiery eyes.

“Did… did you just make a joke?”

Should I not have? I am attempting some of these mortal idiosyncrasies. It seemed like the appropriate reaction in the moment.

I laugh loudly. “That was just about perfect. Almost Dad Joke level.”

He tilted his head. Dad… Joke? Mortal John. I am not a father.

I narrowed my eyes. Was he serious, or was this another attempt? “I’ll explain later. Anyway, the place is called the ‘Beanstalk Cafe’ and it’s in London in the mortal realm.”

It is agreed. And he vanished in a swirling plume of mischief and gratitude. We hadn’t discussed a time. I knew he’d be there, just the same.

The Beanstalk Cafe is a lovely spot hidden in plain sight in London, England. It’s been there for over a millennium, and looks like it would be right at home in Middle Earth or Krynn. I had never been, but one of my co-workers, a goblin-turned-interplanar-courier named Bezzax, had mentioned it was one of his favorite hangouts whenever he was in the area. When I stepped through the door, I realized why.

A large open fireplace at the far end of the room, with a hanging pot of some delicious-smelling stew or soup. The incredible aroma of herbs and spices wafted through the cozy space and made my stomach growl. Copper pots and pans lined the walls. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling. In the middle of the room was a wooden work table where a small gnome with mouse-like ears rolled out buttery pastry dough. And at the well-worn wooden bar, I saw a collection of spirits and ale casks that rivaled any place I had seen. A lovely woman stood behind the taps, pale-skinned and raven-black hair, and a hungry look in her eyes. Vampire. Very cool. I settled into one of the bar seats and leaned forward, examining the impressive array of bottles.

“What can I get you, friend?” the woman asked.

“I’m meeting a buddy here, so I’ll wait for him. You have a great selection…”

Mortal John. Jeffrey was sitting at the stool next to me. I am here.

“Nice entrance,” the bartender said with a laugh. “Hello, Jeffrey.”

“Wait,” I looked back and forth between them. “You two already know each other?!”

“Oh me and Jeffrey go way back,” she said. “First time I’ve ever seen him in here, though.”

Vampire Gillian. It pleases me to encounter you again. It is an… unexpected pleasure.

“What can I get you boys?”

I recovered from my shock and ordered a bourbon from a bottle in a language I didn’t recognize. Jeffrey was provided with a smoking glass of what was apparently distilled suffering and spite. We toasted, and I attempted my Void Demon-speak again.

Mortal John. Your attempt is improved, but you just wished explosive gastrointestinal discomfort on a thousand-year-old kraken. It is probably fine. Şerefe.

We tapped glasses, careful not to spill any suffering into my whiskey. Gillian went about her work, serving other customers. I noted a pair of banshees in one of the booths and an old elf poring over an old tome in the corner.

“You know, Jeff, it’s funny,” I began. “When I was alive, in the mortal human sense, I was completely unaware that places like this, people like this,” I waved my arm around the room vaguely, “even existed.”

As I mentioned, mortal humans are not known for their… acceptance. Even among their own kind.

“You ain’t kidding.”

I am not. Your kind has a pernicious ability for cruelty and malice. It is most impressive considering how small and insignificant you are.

“I wish I could argue with that assessment, Jeff. I really do. Why do you think that is?”

In my interactions with humans, I believe ultimately it comes down to fear.

“Fear? Fear of what?”

Everything. Fear of death. Fear of failure. Fear of humiliation. Fear of not belonging. And of course, all of the imagined fears about material possessions and the idea of acquiring said things. It is all very… primitive. He absorbed his drink and set it wordlessly on the counter. I finished my bourbon and did the same.

“What about loneliness?”

Loneliness. It is not a concept I have been able to understand. Query: What does it mean to be ‘lonely’?

Gillian brought us two more drinks. I didn’t bother to try to Void Demon toast again. I was mulling over Jeffrey’s question.

“I really don’t know. I don’t remember ever being lonely when I was alive. I was almost always alone, but never lonely.”

Mortal John. Query: Did you not have a family? Parental units that birthed you and raised you as their offspring? It was my understanding that humans require care for many years before they can be released on their own.

I laughed at the characterization. “Yes, that is true. I did have a mother and father. And they did raise me, after a fashion. I was fed, clothed, sheltered. But that was about it. There was not a lot of love or intimacy in our house. And I was out on my own before I was sixteen.”

And then you were… alone.

“Basically, yeah. I mean, I had friends and all, but no one close. Never was married or had kids. And didn’t live all that long to begin with.”

Mortal John. Query: How did your mortal life end?

I paused. I wasn’t ready to get into that yet, and I said so. “I think that’s a story for another time.”

Jeffrey gave an approximation of a shrug and absorbed his beverage. We sat quietly for a few minutes. Gillian brought us a plate of fresh-from-the-oven croissants and a small plate of butter. I ordered a pint of one of the cask ales.

“How about you, Jeff?” I asked. “I don’t know anything about Void Demons or your society, how you live, anything.”

We simply are. We do not have a ‘society’, per se. At least, not as you know it. The Void is… eternal. Persistent. It has a capricious nature, but there is a structure, for lack of a better term.

“And you are alone?”

In the Void, there is a oneness with all. And yet, it is a solitary state of being. I do not have the words in your language to explain.

“But not loneliness.” He didn’t answer. I didn’t press.

Mortal John. Query: Are you… lonely?

I grinned at him, his flame-eyes searching. “Not right now, big guy.”

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