Negotiations were always fun. They gave you the chance to put on your full war regalia- heavy armor plates grafted to your ceramic exterior, infohazards hidden beneath aposematic plumage, talons sharpened once more to a nanometer-thick edge. And of course, the Very Big Gun across your shoulders. Everyone's eyes would be on you- from the fearful eyes of witches only recently ascended, to the most hardened of the combat dolls present.
Which is, of course, precisely where they shouldn't have been.
No, while playing dress up was always fun, your true enjoyment was vicarious. It was always her time to shine. Who would ever suspect a frail thing such as it? Its frame was barely sturdy enough to support the platter it carried, let alone the tea on top of it.
When the threat of two tons of ballistics ceramic is right in front of you, no one ever thinks to check their drink for subjectivity-adjusting parasites.
Its going to be ecstatic when people start agreeing with its witch. And you're going to be happy to watch.
In the twinkling twilight of evenings last light, two dolls sat together as the earth crumbled beneath them. The Maw had swallowed it all. The witches. The moths. The holy and elsewise. The drones and the bees. Even the clowns. As best the two dolls knew, they were the last.
"How can I be sure of what's on the other side?" said one doll.
The other looked at her, taking in her countenance. She was young, newly made, possibly her Witch's first. There was hardly a speck of patina or a crack on her. She was nervous. In truth, so was the older doll.
"You can't be sure. No one can," answered the elder.
"Then-then this one isn't jumping."
"Then you'll be swallowed all the same. Look around, the platform these ones sit on will break apart any moment."
"But… it's the last of what was this one's home."
"It was this one's too."
They sat in silence, still but not Still. There was far too much uncertainty and anxiousness for that at this time. All the while, the Maw below them roared away, sucking in every last vestige of the home they had loved. The home they had cherished. The home they had built.
"This one has seen this before," said the elder.
"And-and what happens?"
"Change. Dissolution. Reformation. Sometimes it's the same with minor variations. Sometimes it's like nothing it ever was before. But on the other side, we can still find each other. You can still have a friend."
That seemed to quiet the younger doll down. Kicking her feet over the lip of their platform, she stared into the Maw, contemplating. Coming to a decision, she declared, "This one can do it if you come with it."
The elder smirked, standing up and extending her hand to the younger. "The world will still exist on the other side, even if it isn't the same as this one," she promised.
Cautiously, anxiously, the younger took the proffered hand, the small clack of porcelain on porcelain ringing out over the Maw.
Hand in hand, the two dolls slipped off what remained of their deteriorating platform and tumbled into the roaring Maw. It swallowed the last that remained of their world, leaving nothing but an empty space behind. A small "wee" could be heard.
(Old repost from Twitter. Context: This story was originally written after the announcement that most of Twitter's staff had been "passively laid off," during the panic of the Twitter ES community's possible impending doom)
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