Out of all the people to be stuck with at the end of the world, the flower chick was easily at the bottom of the list.
It’d been a long enough journey; one that she’d diligently followed to its bitter end. So many copies of that game sold, so much infernal artifact manipulation, so many… cases, resolved. All of it, she had done with unparalleled efficiency, all so that it’d be consumed in the Eye, and digested for this final purpose. In… this.
There was no such thing as a reward with Truth—- this, she knew well— but did it think she had the patience of a saint? Well, she begged to differ. The others had talents, at least. That wanderer, that strange viking, hell, that robot— all were just fine by her. All of them were touched for their separate reasons, whether it was their power, or their drive, or their ability to draw attention. Most importantly, though, was their obsession. Their devotion.
But what did Truth have to say about that one, so eagerly holding her writing device to her chest, but barely paying attention to what laid in front of them?
These were all things for the Closer to ponder as she stared off towards the surface of the old Earth, ravaged by the apocalypse. They called it the eyepocalypse, a dreadful pun, with no right to be that funny: a place for those who became obsessed with changing the world to experience the agonizing weight of their own futility, repeatedly failing to stop themselves from being consumed by their want for knowledge, and for everyone else to be sanded down in their own personal hell, as mere bait for these Watched.
As for them, watching this pale blue dot from afar? Well, they played their parts, their roles long over. Then, they became the Watchers.
Or at least, they were supposed to be. Not like her partner was doing a lot of watching.
The hooded girl poked at the Closer’s hood, the visual fuzz that composed the cloak enveloping her fingers at the touch. “So you really are made of static, huh? Never would’ve guessed that!” She chimed, staring at her with profound interest. “So, uh, what now? What was your name… Weaver?”
“Bit of an antiquated title, isn’t it, Scribe?” the Closer said, her gaze squarely on the task at hand. “No matter. Those titles are beyond us, now. I’d advise you to find something else, if you insist on having one.”
Her eyes darted to the glass pane with little interest. “I mean, it’d be useful, if we’re at the end of the world.”
“You, out of everyone, should know the end is never the end,” she replied, a hint of smugness in her tone.
“Well, maybe it’s just nice!” She threw her hands up in defeat. “Maybe it’d just be nice if we had something to call each other by, if we’re going to be stuck here for a non-infinite amount of time. Not like the robot’s of any help,” she huffed. “Seriously! All he does is twitch all the time and then zap me when I touch him.”
The robot. Yes, she‘d had time to become well aware of it. She cast a glance to where it was before; the rusted bathtub then empty, the last pool of water falling out of the faucet with a drip, drip, drip. Upon further examination, the reflection of wet footsteps on the metal floor could be seen leading off into… well, somewhere. It would seem the robot had rediscovered the secrets of locomotion.
Well, then. Truth took some liberties filling the blanks.
“And why were you touching him, pray tell?”
“Because it’s new and I want to know? C’mon, at least you have to be a little curious!” She hugged the metal contraption on her with a tighter grip, bouncing on the tip of her toes with evident impatience. “Big Eye teleports us all to a moon base after the world goes to shit, and you aren’t the least bit interested in knowing who you got stuck with?” With a free hand, she gestured at the remains of the old world.
It all looked so tiny from up there.
The Closer let out a long, weary sigh, turning her back towards the glass. “Suppose I’m interested, then. Let’s see…”
With all the attention placed on her, the hooded girl grinned ear to ear. Her leather hood had seen better days, with the edges of it rugged and full of scratches and holes, letting strands of her short auburn hair poke out. Holding the cloak of her hood closed laid a brooch with pink lace, with a red eye made of glass as its center- a manifestation of Truth, if she had to guess. And, of course, trailing her gaze back to her features, one of her eyes was replaced by a white flower, grown to a size that would inevitably make it hard to see with the remaining one, with those leaves getting in the way.
She had no idea what that one was supposed to be. Or if Truth had even planned that. Frankly, at that point in the gamble, she was starting to doubt if Truth had planned… anything. Can’t be a minotaur if you don’t get trapped in your own maze, after all.
“Was ‘Flower’ never in your list of possible names?” The Closer remarked, reaching a hand forward, as if waiting for permission to touch.
She nodded, looking at the lingering hand. “I mean, I guess it was! But you still have a title, right? The Closer. Ooh, spooky. You close something!” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis. “What does she close? It’s not like you were named like ‘Phone’, or anything.”
“Who says I wasn’t?” She let out a chuckle. The flower was… soft, of course. The girl made a face, as if holding back a laugh. Was the flower… ticklish? “But that was a title given to me by others. You should be well aware that names are nonessential.”
“Yeah, yeah, something nonessential, whatever.” She rolled her eye in response. “Come on, seriously though.”
The Closer hummed.
What name was there to give someone like this? So… outlived in their usefulness? Sure, perhaps she didn’t outright hate her panache, but ‘failing to write an FAQ’ is hardly a good title for anyone.
Then, an idea. A smile rose up to her ears.
“If you want a title like mine... how about you earn it?”
“E-earn it?!” The girl flustered at that, catching the implication from a mile away. “I’ve done plenty, thank you! That FAQ took me forever!”
“And now you can’t write anymore?” She chuckled, putting a hand over her mouth in a lady-like gesture. “I had to close plenty of deals before I could be called what I am now, you know. It takes dedication,” she said, pacing around her fellow associate. “And we can’t have you be titled after something you only did once, no, no, that can’t be it.”
The flower girl looked down, in shame, or guilt, or something more. Well, that won’t do. The closer snapped her fingers; the girl’s eye focused on it a second before the motion finished. “Here’s what: give me something to read, and I’ll consider giving you a name fitting. Is that a good enough deal, for you?”
Her gaze trailed back down, hand clenching her brooch with surprising intensity, and resiliency, and strength , for someone who looked so small.
That was weird to note, it occurred to her. That she looked small. Not that she wasn’t, of course; the cloak made her look a lot bigger than she was. Her hurried steps, more confident; her missing eye, more mysterious.
It was all an act, of course. Truth seemed to find a lot of liars, ironically. Perhaps because the truth, by itself, is rather uninteresting.
But it was hard not to see it then. The cloak hiding those spindly limbs, her walk hiding that innate anxiety, the flower hiding the gaze of someone who might’ve been about to cry. It was then, watching her think that request through for what felt like forever, the Closer’s own gaze ever so slightly focusing back into that pale blue dot behind the glass, that it occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, that girl was as lost in this hellish maze as that robot, or perhaps, any of them. In that world, or the next.
And it was hard not to ask herself, not for the first time, but not for the last, what the hell she had gotten herself into.
The girl piped back up. “Well… yeah! Yeah, I can do that! I can do that.” She nodded furiously. “Yeah! Yeah. Head honchos, you, and I, and I guess that robot and the others, if we find them? I’ll find something!”
“Well then!” The Closer took her hand into a firm handshake- the flower girl’s grasp faltered for just a moment, only to solidify itself with newfound resolve. “The contract is sealed, then. Hope you won’t live to regret it.”
This time, it’s the girl who laughed; a short but loud burst that contained itself at the end. “Oh no, I’m totally going to regret this decision! I’m gonna want that receipt now, please.”
The Closer returned the laugh with a small chuckle. Perhaps this arrangement wouldn’t be too bad.
No, she decided. It wasn’t too bad at all.