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Rachel dreams - spoilers for the end of the Animorphs series

Her pace is steady, if only because anything that isn't steady calls her attention and gives her something to be angry at, and even Rachel finds it difficult to get mad at her own feet. Plodding along with her little bag slung over one shoulder, chewing numbly on some of the bread from yesterday's dinner, hardly looking around her. It's just another road in another state probably with another town that needs a thug tossed out of it or something. Doesn't need her, just needs anybody.

What's the point?

Grumbling to herself, a very tired, very cranky blonde continues on.

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"...your name is Mort?"

She probably shouldn't mock gods but... Mort?

"Like, all hail the Mighty Mort? Our Mort who art in Heaven? Dear Mort, bring me a puppy for Christmas? Mort?"

"And you chose the name you use I presume?" He's heard it all before, it doesn't bug him. Mainly cause he lived his mortal life being teased as Mortimer. "Although if you have such issue with my name, it is rather excellent that you are speaking with the god of travellers right now."

Rachel arches a brow, still holding the CD and feeling more than a little foolish about chatting with it. "You said prophecy and reflection a second ago. What does making fun of your name have to do with traveling?"

"Not. Not speaking to the god of travelers." Mort coughs. "Excuse me, my attention was diverted momentarily." He holds up a finger. "I would never impinge on Bobs territory."

"Bob."

That arched brow ain't goin' anywhere.

"Whatever happened to all those classy Biblical names? Look, what are you even talking about?"

"I was introducing myself, and you took off on a tangent about my name, where upon I brought up that all gods start off as mortals, and tend to keep the names we were given in our first life."

A brief nod of his head. "I believe that covers it?"

"Except for the bit about a god of travellers."

Rachel is confused and frustrated. A confused and frustrated Rachel is easily angered.

"...you were mortal? Human?"

"His name is Bob. He's an amusing fellow, when he's sober." Mort lifts a finger. "Yes, before the godwave. Our world expierienced... an influx of deities."

"...Bob, the god of travellers, is an alcoholic."

Makes sense, for some travellers.

Rachel frowns, glancing back to find a tree that doesn't have CDs hanging from it to lean against, still looking down at the guy reflected in the CD in her hands.

Absently flips it over to see what kind of music it is.

"What's that mean? Godwave?"

"Bob is what some men would call a hobo. Well, before he was imbued, anyways. And it's sort of hard to break your mold after the imbueing."

There is an indication from the CD that Mort might be evil. After all, it's one fo those free AOL starter disks. But then again, those things are easy to come by.

"It was an energy, that came from outside our universe, and created new gods. We believe it to have been the remains of the ancient gods."

Rachel left Earth in 1998. The true evil of AOL has yet to be completely discovered. She frowns at the disc and flips it back over to look at Mort again.

"So it just chose people randomly and gave them jobs?"

You were a happy mistake.

Well, at least she's not a CD.

"Not exactly randomly. A lot of it came from what we were in life. And what we were doing when the wave hit."

He adjusts his tie, self conciously.

"I was one of the premier stockbrokers in my field, which earned me the prophecy bit."

Rachel looks impressed. ...okay, no, but she has a feeling he expects her to.

So she stares at him for a couple of seconds before shrugging. "Huh. Okay.

"Well, uh... nice talkin' to you, Mort, but I should get going."

The weirdness of talking to a CD for a good length of time is starting to hit her.

"Searching for your way?" He winks at her. "You looked... lost."

...don't wink at her. It makes Rachel make a face at the shiny CD.

"I think you have to have a goal in mind to get lost," she grumbles, frowning at him.

"I was speaking, perhaps, more mentally then literally." There's a limit to the amount of actions one can perform when one is imprisoned in a reflection.

Rachel arches a brow, waiting.

Metaphors, she is not too interested in.

"You seem as if you have no direction." In an effort to clear things up.

"I said that."

Actually, she said she didn't have a goal in mind. But technicalities are not for irritable blondes talking to CDs.

"What do you care?"

"Part of my job is to look out for people." He leans back, his face receding from the CD. "To help them with their goals, even if it's just finding out what those goals are."

Rachel frowns.

"To muck around in people's lives, that's what you mean. I've had enough of that, thanks."

"I prefer to aide, rather the muck. The future is coming, and as it stands, it's not so bright."

"The future is always coming and it's never bright," Rachel points out, unfazed - or at least pretending like she is. "And people who have enough power to aide always end up mucking.

"Even if they're stuck to an AOL start-up disc."

"It could be bright, if the right things happen." The light shines off all the other discs for a moment. "There'sa possibility, of all this being fixed."

Rachel snorts, giving off the impression that Mort is not the brightest of gods. "For how long? One year? Two? A hundred? What about after that? If something breaks and you fix it, it can still get broken again. It might even be easier to break it. You're not impressing anybody, but your klepto-followers," she says, gesturing at the trees and their shiny decorations.