“Come here often?”

"Only when I buy a train ticket," I said.

"Aw come now, where's the fun in that?"

"Mmmm, you're right," I said, now more aware of the beard floating right in front of me. "I'm new at this whole commute thing. I guess you could say I'm in TRAINing."

"You must be HM," the beard beamed with a gentlemanly tilt.

"Who's asking?"

"MJ."

"MJ?" I scoffed. I gestured for him and his golden wizard cap to take a seat across from me. He "sat" to my left and beamed even harder. I frowned and cocked my head. I switched seats to face him.

"Pardon my accuracy," I said, "but you seem a little...err...tall...to be a Mary Jane."

"It's, Making Jargon."

"Oh." My eyes bugged while I took a stalling sip of train water with a hint of lemon. Not bad.

"Like 'Has Moxie' is all that creative," came MJ's dark laugh.

I brightened. "You have me pegged, fellow traveler," I said. I reached out a hand, confused as to what I might shake in greeting. The beard bent his hat to meet my hand. Glittery dust blanketed my palm. Felt strange to actually make contact instead of my hand slipping right through.

"So," I said, "you're just as fake as me, huh?"

"I prefer the word 'invented,'" said MJ. "Lamps were invented, phones, computers... why, even trains were invented! Not all that is fabricated is fake."

"Cool it, Major Jellybean," I said, now chewing on the ice from my drink. "Don't be one of those people."

Ol' "copper whiskers" adjusted his hat. "Those people?" he said. "You mean, imaginary?"

I pursed my lips and nodded. I decided to change the subject. "Hey, uh... listen, Moldy Jaguar," I said, "I've got a weird question for you."

"Weirder than a wizard beard and a horned maiden chatting on a westbound train?"

"Somehow, yes," I chuckled. "Here goes. Are you a fan of chaos? I believe I see a devilish glint in you."

"How kind of you to notice!" said MJ. "Every good story needs a least a little chaos, right? You stir the pot to keep the meal from burning."

"Delightful," I said. "Delicious, even!"

I leaned toward the aisle and searched for my maker. Such eclectic heads dotted the rows of leather benches before me. From top hats to beanies, this train really had it all. Tilda was easy enough to spot, though. She was struggling to master the "messy bun" updo while refraining from stabbing the woman next to her with her toothpick elbows.

I pointed and said, "You see that raven-haired fret-face over there?"

MJ nodded.

"That's the 'meal' I'm designed to, uh.... stir, as you put it. Which one's yours?"

The beard floated up just above the chair and pointed with his thick mustache.

I gasped. "Is that Delores?? THE Delores? The world-renowned author who wrote that earth-shattering quadrilogy, Turnip the Volume?? THAT'S your maker?"

"And that," said MJ while drifting back to his chair, "is why I'm awesome." He twirled and caught his cap for added effect.

I leaned back in my chair. "Well, Making Jargon, what say you - does Delores need some... stirring these days?"

"Always."

"It's settled then. We'll have plenty to keep us busy at this writer's retreat. Delores is headed there too, right?"

"Right."

I scratched a horn and watched as autumnal colors whizzed by the window.

"I have another question," I said, breaking our five-minute silence.

"I'm a wizard," said MJ.

"Pardon?"

"You're wondering how I knew your name before meeting you, right? I have magical abilities even beyond 'imagine magic.'"

I furrowed a brow. "Imagine magic?"

"That stuff that all Imaginaries can do. You know, like being heard by writers, floating through walls, sensing other Imaginaries nearby..."

"WHAT?"

"Appearing in dreams, world building, having perfect pitch..."

"Tilda always has envied my singing chops."

"Is that all you do with your magic? Sing at your maker?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I only just discovered I could talk to writers about a week ago."

"You have much to learn, kiddo," said MJ. "Lesson number 1 - always step out of a dream sideways..."