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It had been days of no food and no sleep, only some sips of clean water to help them through. The archivist was trudging along, his notebook tucked under his arm as he gazed longingly at the guide. Her delicate frame looked so frail and weak, it made his heart ache in a way that weighed on his chest. The prosthetist stared blankly, he was visibly exhausted but he didn't falter, studying the amulet on the archivist’s neck. He took great interest in the newcomer, who had seemed to become more accustomed to the eroded life than he had. The two had taken a great interest in one another. While the archivist was preoccupied with the guide, he couldn't help but closely study the prosthetist- the mechanical way in which he moved, his gentleness and kindness, his bluntness and honesty, it was all so intriguing.
The attention of everyone was directed at the guard as he announced the location of a food source, holding its flailing body in his hand. The guide sat with her chin on her knees as she gazed at the fire, the prosthetist sitting across from the archivist, the guard seated at the head to keep sights on everyone, and the collector leaning against the colossus, nodding off as she felt the soft rumbling emitting from her hollow body. The archivist gazed at the prosthetist, watching as he studied an artifact he had gathered on their walk, his gaze as curious as it could be. Despite his blank expression there was a joy emitting off him, a satisfaction in being occupied, in having a purpose. The archivist, while he was still capable, shot him a smile.
“Anything to note?” The archivist asked.
The prosthetist looked up, his expression unchanging. “Yes, it's another mimic- perfectly adapted to its environment. I find them to be spectacular.”
“Do you?” The archivist tilted his head, opening his notebook to begin archiving the other's thoughts.
The prosthetist nodded his heavy head. “Don’t you wish you could do that, newcomer? Wouldn't it be useful?”
The archivist hummed. “It would. But there's nothing wrong with standing out, either.”
“I suppose not.” The prosthetist shrugged. “That being, if you have other means of defense.”
The archivist hummed, nodding along. “I find that you stand out, Prosthetist.”
The prosthetist’s expression remained unwavering, but a curiosity emitted off him as his head fell to the side like a doll with no spine. “In which way?”
“Your face almost holds a lifeless quality, but your passion and gentleness illuminates you.” The archivist nodded with a smile upon his face.
The prosthetist fell silent, he felt almost flustered by how the newcomer had seemingly taken the time to observe him and analyze him in such a way. He could only manage a hum. “That … is quite the detailed description.”
The archivist laughed. “I assume it’s only the surface. But you do stand out, in such an interesting way.”
There was a silence between the two, the prosthetist stared as the silence between the two grew, the archivist’s eyes darted around while the prosthetist didn’t even blink. The soft snores of the collector made the silence much less deafening and lessened the tension in the air. The prosthetist would smile if he could, but his lips only twitched. Yet the archivist had caught on to his limited range of expressions, and spoke in a soft voice.
“Is that a smile, Prosthetist?”
The prosthetist hummed, his lips twitching again. “Yes, it is … nice to see everyone resting.”
“It is.” The archivist hummed.
“You’re smiling, too.” The prosthetist noted, pointing to his own lips.
“Am I ..?” The archivist teased softly, his smile only widening.
“I suppose it's easier to tell on you than I.” The prosthetist mumbled with a careless shrug.
“It's easy to tell on you, too.” The archivist hummed, his expression softening. “Others just simply aren't looking.”
The prosthetist didn't flinch, but his mouth was ajar to express his surprise. The two men stared at each other for a moment, the prosthetist hesitated but slowly inched closer to where the archivist sat. They found themselves sitting shoulder to shoulder, the prosthetist's heavy head falling to rest under his jaw. The archivist raised a hand to gently massage the other man's shoulder with his thumb- even a newcomer could see the look of relief that crossed the prosthetist's face. The evening fell quiet aside from the soft snores of the collector and the buzzing of fireflies. The world seemed to fall still, and for a moment, they were okay.