Smooth like Butter // [Topper & Tiggy Train]

The static was the loudest sound she had ever heard. Like the echo of a dying breath, exhaling out into the nothingness for an eternity. She knew the stories of the constellations in the night sky — those tragic figures and ancient artifacts long lost to the blur of history.

Remembered only for the way they had suffered, and the way they had triumphed. They were the rare color that flashed between dawn and dusk. If you blinked, you would miss it.

It was silly, but it made it easier to think of her grief in this way. Let all of her feelings become stars, she thought. It was okay if it didn't make sense. There were no words that she could possibly use to describe what she was feeling. Maybe she simply didn't know better.

Perhaps she hadn't been paying close enough attention.

She was powerless, and yet it felt like all of her strength was being used to drive a sword through her own chest. And as horrible as it was, it sounded terribly like her own name. The most familiar knife. "Tiggy Libertine." Loud as a thunder clap, and then it faded.

Hope broke itself apart, to the point that the shattering felt more like silence. Numb in her bones, and her skin; enough that she caught herself gasping in the same frightened way her father often would. When he would have liked to snap his fingers, and disappear.

Like how the birds would sing through the morning, only to leave.

Like it could ever be that easy.

The instinct to take a step back overpowered all else. She quickly scanned the crowd to find her parents, only to falter with the split second decision between accepting a death sentence or jumping in front of a bullet. If the people who raised her never escaped their misfortune, what luck did she really have? It was destined to hurt.

So, she let it. For a quiet while.

Tiggy considered herself grateful to the boy across from her. If anything, he served as a great distraction for the strange thoughts running through her mind. He seemed nervous, a mess of half-smiles and bouncing knees. Joy turned to fear, and shifted back again. If he wanted an introduction, she didn't see why she should share it so willingly. He needed to learn how to fight. They both did.

"We can't be there yet," she heard him say quietly, so she turned her gaze on him. His voice was warm, and maybe a little uncertain. She didn't get the sense that he took himself too seriously. He tried to peek through the slats in the railcar, only to turn and catch her staring at him. She met his broad smile with a smaller version, but it was still kind. "Not that I'm like a master at geography, or anything."

"Well, neither am I. So no pressure there."

They were about as equal as they could be — staring down the barrel of the same gun. "I'm," he tried to start, but faltered and took a short moment to rethink his words. "Well, you're Tiggy." She flinched when she heard her name again, remembering the way it had sounded as it rang out across the square. Like an ending. "You wanna tell me who I am?'

She laughed at that, and looked away awkwardly.

"I know you're called Topper, but no, I can't tell you who you are." It wasn't that she was trying to be rude, only honest. His identity was no business of hers, and even still, he was a blank canvas to her. Nothing more than a mirror that reflected the terrible things she was going through. She knew him, but she also didn't. And given what was coming, she wondered if it should stay that way. It'd be a kindness to the both of them.

"Sorry. But, yeah, um— I agree with you. We probably still have a good ways to go."

And so little time left to make it there.