Chapter 2:
Buttercup The Grim Reaper | Quistis The Academic Advisor And Part-Time Student
[Seven Years Later]

Buttercup was NOT his real name but that was a moot point.

He would never know what name he once had, nor would he ever remember the life he once lived. This knowledge belonged to the realm of humans and was permanently sealed off the moment he passed away from their world and was reincarnated as a Grim Reaper under the service of the Great Hyne.

Some interpreted this loss of identity as a cruel punishment. Others believed that the total erasure of one's memories was a merciful act of consideration from Hyne, for it was rumored that Grim Reapers came into being because they had committed unforgivable sins as humans: better to forget the monster they once were than to suffer in shame for all of eternity.

At the end of the day, he couldn't care less about his human history. Whether he had been a heartless world dictator or a drug lord with a personal harem at his beck and call made no difference to him at this point. He had been working tirelessly for Hyne for the past seven years and didn't see much purpose in pining over his unknown past. There was no way to return to his old life; he could only press onward in his current life.

For now, he was content with being Buttercup the Grim Reaper.

Quistis' departure from the mercenary world had resulted from a confluence of factors.

She had been plagued by occupational ennui. She had endured physical stress on and off. She had watched her colleagues move on to new endeavors. She had eventually cracked under the pressure of her prominent standing as an A-Rank SeeD.

Cracked. What a funny word that was…

She would always remember the nervous excitement with which she left Balamb Garden to live on her own. Her first dinner at her new home had been a sad parody of an omelet after several attempts at cracking eggs. She had been unaccustomed to domestic pursuits and struggled to understand the concept of using fire and knives for purposes other than destroying and killing.

Now, she was unblemished and non-militant for the first time since her Garden days, no longer brutalized by battles and strained by spell-casting. And she had learned how to cook a mean Eggs Benedict among other gourmet dishes.

She worked hard at her desk job during the day and studied diligently into the late hours of the night.

For now, she was content with being Quistis the Academic Advisor and Part-Time Student.

Buttercup observed himself in the mirror.

His coworkers, male and female alike, agreed that he was one of the most handsome Grim Reapers in their jurisdiction.

His macabre occupation was characterized by a simple dress code that decreed he wear black at all times. He favored a classic black suit and tie with a white dress shirt. Even on warm days, he liked to wear his dark trench coat to complete the look. He had a strong attachment to the coat that he couldn't quite explain. It was crafted from wool and cashmere, a piece of clothing that was not only incredibly comfortable but also made him feel totally in his element.

The only thing he disliked about the corporate wardrobe was the fedora.

Not surprisingly, the hat was black like the rest of his ensemble, and it served a very special function: wearing it effectively shielded him from human senses while on the job. It was beyond him why someone had decided to assign a crucial piece of magic to such a commonplace object, especially when Grim Reapers already had a host of supernatural abilities on hand. The invisibility-granting fedora never seemed to stay on his head at the right angle. He found the accessory to be irritatingly frivolous.

With the way his coworkers waxed poetic about his golden hair and mysterious scar and sartorial elegance, he might as well have been gift-wrapped, but for whom was the million-dollar question. Romance was a luxury when he was technically dead. Too often he would be chased by female Grim Reapers but they were always after his looks and predictably made him feel empty inside.

Would he ever find a woman with whom he could share the hidden depths of his heart?

Was there someone out there who was capable of loving him with steady affection in the sun, the rain, and the snow?

Someone with gentle yet raw-throated honesty to embrace him when he was weak and indict him when he was wrong?

Buttercup's daydream was interrupted by his cell phone.

He glanced at the screen and saw that it was Wendigo. He was a fellow Grim Reaper who had only been around in the Afterlife for the past year, though that hadn't stopped him from becoming fast friends and now roommates with Buttercup.

He answered the call. "What's up?"

"Hey! Whatcha doing after work?" asked Wendigo.

Buttercup snorted. "As if I have free time with my crazy-ass caseload these days!"

"That was a rhetorical question, ya know?" A chuckle. "Just wanted to ask if you feel like eating out tonight."

"Good with me," said Buttercup. "Actually, we don't have much of a choice…I'll stop by the market tomorrow morning to restock the fridge."

"Thanks, man!" replied his friend cheerfully. "Why don't we meet at our usual spot at six o'clock?"

"I gotta go to the hospital. Let's make it six-thirty."

"Alright, see ya then!"

Something about Wendigo's mammoth build and hearty laughter stirred the faintest sense of déjà vu in Buttercup, if that was even a possible sensation for someone with an obvious truncation of memories. He felt at ease around Wendigo, as if he had known him forever.

"Wendigo" was a name that was cool, tough, and respectable. "Buttercup" certainly lacked the same kind of punch on all counts.

When Buttercup had been a nameless newbie, one of the senior Grim Reapers (senior in position and not age) had obnoxiously declared that he reminded her of the pugnacious green-eyed heroine from The Powerpuff Girls. It was then that he was christened Buttercup and his street credibility went kaput, though he had since built up his status as an alpha and would never admit to occasionally indulging in this cartoon whenever he had trouble falling asleep at night.

As if it hadn't been bad enough to be named after a girl, he had soon learned about the existence of another well-known female Buttercup in pop culture: Princess Buttercup from The Princess Bride. To this day, half of his colleagues assumed that his Grim Reaper name referred to the heroine Buttercup while the other half automatically thought of the princess Buttercup—and for the ones who did not watch movies and television, well…they just thought of Buttercup as a sweet spring flower.

He had given up on correcting people after his first year of service as his annoyance became shadowed by melancholy. It was like having an identity crisis on top of an identity crisis even if Buttercup wasn't his real name.

He gathered up his assigned Name Cards and dropped them into the pocket of his trench coat. He had a large number of Souls to collect today so he would have to get moving.

Buttercup smashed the fedora onto his head and willfully vanished into thin air.

Quistis was pleased with the casual dress code that came about from the newly appointed chancellor's efforts to modernize the school's administration and promote a more laid-back work culture. Her current outfit of boatneck sweater, corduroy pants, and ballet flats was making her feel comfy and relaxed.

The student sitting on the other side of her desk, however, was not making her feel as relaxed. Quistis reviewed the student's academic transcript with increasing concern, seeing that she was slated to graduate in a year and had just submitted a petition to change her major. For the fourth time, according to her enrollment history. At this rate she wouldn't make it out of Obel Lake University with any sort of degree.

"So," said the student, popping her bubblegum. "What classes do I need to take next semester?"

"Ah…" Quistis chewed her tongue and combed her mind for a tactful response. "I think that it would be best to stick with your current major," she said gently. "Even if your department approves the switch, you're in danger of maxing out your total units."

"Maxing out!?" The student's expression turned from disinterest to devastation in seconds. "This sucks," she whined, wilting into her chair. "Just when I finally found a subject that I'm passionate about!"

Quistis had gained enough experience by now to recognize that underneath the heavy makeup and incessant gum-chewing was a fragile girl who was simply trying to find her place in the world.

"You know," she offered kindly, "your field of study doesn't define who you are as an individual."

"What do you mean?"

"People are constantly growing," explained Quistis. "So are their interests and inclinations. We can always pursue the things we enjoy, with or without a formal education."

"I guess that's true," conceded the girl. "I just wish there wasn't so much pressure to decide on what I want to do for the rest of my life. Chill out, people! I'm only twenty-one…" She sighed dramatically. "Do you like your job, Ms. Trepe?"

Quistis gave her a warm smile. "I do! This is very different from my previous line of work but I enjoy getting to help students like you. The tuition discount is a great perk, too."

"Ohhh!" enthused the girl. "You're a grad student here?"

"Actually, I'm on the professional undergraduate track."

"What's that?"

"Since I didn't attend a traditional high school, I'm with a separate group of students who are working toward their bachelor's degrees. At the end of the program, I'll get the chance to continue on the same track to get my master's."

"Wow, that's cool."

"Speaking of which, there's a graduate program that may interest you down the road." Quistis selected a glossy brochure from her paper stand and handed it to the student, whose eyes lit up with revived interest. "You don't need to have a related degree to apply."

"Thanks, Ms. Trepe!"

"Of course."

Several minutes later, Quistis had seen off the satisfied student and was munching on some unsalted almonds in the office kitchen. The three o'clock slump was never easy, and sitting down for eight hours a day (nine if she counted lunch) could make her feel like sludge if she wasn't intentional about taking breaks.

A woman walked primly into the kitchen.

Her headband of the day featured an embroidered pair of birds set against the backdrop of periwinkle fabric. She made the accessories entirely by hand and sold them at the campus bookstore. Quistis sensed that this was a lucrative side hustle. The headbands were not cheap considering the average student's budget, yet they frequently sold out as soon as a new batch was stocked. The woman had gifted Quistis a few, but she lacked the confidence to wear them to work and usually saved them for special outings on the weekends. There was just no way she could pull off the look as fabulously as the headband artisan herself.

The woman poured herself a cup of water and spun on her heels to address Quistis. "DECIDED YET?"

Quistis flashed her a grin. "The Rusted Kettle!"

Fujin frowned delicately. "NOT FANCY…"

"I don't want you over-spending for the sake of my birthday," insisted Quistis.

"FINE," sighed Fujin, taking a sip of her water.

"Sometimes you just need the comfort of a greasy spoon," said Quistis brightly. "I know you love them as much as I do."

"TRUTH," admitted Fujin. "SEE YOU TONIGHT." She gave Quistis a little wave before exiting the kitchen.

Quistis' birthday was actually tomorrow, but Fujin would be off to Nanchucket Island by then. It was nice to see that her boss was finally taking a much-deserved vacation.

In her quest for a new career, Fujin had transitioned out of Garden long before Quistis. The phone call from Fujin had come out of the blue a few years back. At the time, Quistis hadn't seen her since Seifer's memorial service and had been thoroughly surprised by—and extremely grateful for—the job offer. That had marked the real start of their friendship, which had developed easily both at and outside of work.

Quistis finished her snack and headed back to her desk, a smile tugging at her lips.

She had a feeling that it would be a memorable birthday weekend.

Buttercup was leaning against the wall of a hospital room, constantly adjusting his fedora and wrinkling his nose at the smell of antiseptics.

The heavy silence was peppered with the muffled caterwauling of patients awaiting their turn in the emergency room and the steely echo of a woman's boot heels. Her shoes might have been stylish for the catwalk but they were clearly not designed for endless rounds of agitated pacing.

He couldn't blame the woman's personal expression of anxiety. Her aged father was critically ill and there was nothing she could do to help him. His arduous breathing, his drab hospital gown, the way that the incandescent lamplight made him look jaundiced beneath its glow—all of these qualities drenched the elderly man in an atmosphere of terminal sickness.

Buttercup dreaded hospital visits the most. It was just not possible to escape the agony of those on the brink of mortality coupled with the trauma of those left behind in this world. People watched helplessly as everything that they held dear came crashing down. Overburdened doctors gave their reports with jaded tones and tired gazes. In this place, death had the power to perfume the very air and pare things back to practically nothing.

He watched his timepiece with bated breath. Less than one minute to go until the elderly man's Time of Death.

Buttercup squeezed his eyes shut at the onset of the flatline. His senses perceived the familiar sequence of events that always seemed to come straight from the script of a medical drama. The family member crying out for help, the door banging open, the staff scurrying in, the doctor performing chest compressions in a high-strung manner with the ever-present threat of medical malpractice looming behind their every decision…

The elderly man's spirit soon left his body and observed the scene of his death with numb fascination.

Buttercup placed a dispassionate hand on the elderly man's shoulder.

"Merit White?"

Mr. White blinked at him and nodded slowly.

Buttercup proceeded to deliver his standard lines with hard precision. "Age: 72. Time of Death: October 3rd, 4007, 6:02PM. Cause of Death: Myocardial Infarction."

"Wh-what happens next?" Mr. White asked in an unsteady voice.

"I'm here to accompany you to the Afterlife."

The elderly man looked at his teary-eyed daughter one last time.

Buttercup teleported them into his office, which was in fact a tiny café with marble archways and a set of sentient windchimes that never failed to tinkle upon the arrival of a new Soul. A pine table with a matching set of chairs rested in the center of the room beneath a golden chandelier of teardrop lampshades. On one side of the room was a sleek kitchenette and the adjoining countertop was haphazardly decorated with piles of his unfinished paperwork.

He asked Mr. White to take a seat and began to prepare tea for him.

"Did you know, son? I used to be a doctor myself." Mr. White shook his head ruefully. "I was once foolish enough to think that I was invincible."

"Yeah? What was your specialty?" Buttercup asked politely.

He had never been great with small talk but it was somewhat of an occupational necessity. Death had a way of making people open up and release all of their heartaches in one go. Since Mr. White was the last Soul of today's shift, Buttercup could afford to give the elderly man a little more time to express whatever was lingering on his mind.

"Psychiatry," answered Mr. White proudly. "I developed a particular interest in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and ended up working with a lot of soldiers." He observed Buttercup with interest. "Young and sturdy, they were. You almost look like you could have been one yourself!"

Buttercup laughed bitterly as he poured the hot water into a small jade bowl. "Grim Reapers have no identity, Mr. White."

The elderly man met Buttercup's gaze evenly. Most humans were too afraid to keep eye contact with a Grim Reaper for more than a second or two, but Mr. White appeared to be especially brave. "Is that what you really believe?" he challenged.

Buttercup gave a half-hearted shrug.

"I can tell that you're special, son. So what if you used to be damaged goods once upon a time? Turn that pile of bones into faerie dust. And never, ever stop dreaming!"

Buttercup's lips curled into a genuine grin. He couldn't remember the last time a Soul had offered him encouragement in the day-to-day moments of his grueling job. "Thanks, Doc. Guess I ended up being your final patient in this lifetime, huh?"

Mr. White smiled back with gentlemanly grace.

Buttercup set down the steaming bowl of tea. Mr. White looked at the brew with curious eyes. "What is it?"

"This is the Tea of Oblivion." Buttercup took a seat across from him. "It'll relieve you of your earthly memories and help you go peacefully."

Mr. White nodded in understanding. He looked tired but content. "I choose to leave with no regrets," he decided, raising the bowl to his lips.

When he finished the drink, Buttercup pointed to the entrance. "The Afterlife is just past that door."

And with that, the Soul named Merit White left the presence of the Grim Reaper named Buttercup and ascended the Stairway to Heaven.

The Rusted Kettle was slammed with the Friday night dinner rush. Quistis and Fujin had arrived just in time to snag a couple of chrome-base stools. With their elbows leaning on the worn Formica counter, they nourished their sweet tooths with creamy milkshakes while watching the home renovation channel on one of the diner's sprawling television screens.

Though it was hard to hear the narration over the bustle of the patrons, it felt rejuvenating to be around people, if only for the next hour. These days Quistis kept herself busy enough to stave off loneliness, though there were times when it bothered her. Being a grown-up in the real world could feel quite isolating compared to the bubble of Balamb Garden where she could not have avoided people even if she had wanted to.

Balance was key. Quistis was scoring high in the spheres of work and school, socialized every once in a while, and had absolutely nothing going on romantically. Xu's past attempts to set her up with friends of friends had been miserable, to put it mildly.

Would she ever find a man who could receive her extravagant love and give it back to her in equal measure?

Someone who would approach her with emotional candor, even if the truth hurt, while making her flush with excitement?

Someone who would understand and respect that she was a whole person on her own—but that she was also a person who could be so much more with a life partner by her side?

"BIRTHDAY PLANS?"

Quistis shook off her pleasant daydream. "Just a small gathering with Xu and Nida," she answered. "Everyone else is busy with their families over the weekend. What about you? Do you have an itinerary planned out for your trip?"

Fujin shrugged. "NOT REALLY."

"Did I tell you that Cid and Edea vacationed at Nanchucket recently? They said they enjoyed going apple-picking and visiting Chocoboy's House."

"CHOCOBOY'S HOUSE…"

"Yes, I believe that his home and the neighboring chocobo farm are designated as a historical landmark. It also functions as a zoological education center."

"SWEET," Fujin commented. "WILL CHECK OUT." She spooned Oreo bits from her milkshake and crunched on them with gusto. "SCHOOL GOOD?"

"I'm hanging in there." Quistis dabbed a napkin to her lips. "The class I'm taking right now is reading-intensive. Normally I'd love such a curriculum, but the subject matter is pretty dry this time."

As always, Fujin wasted no time in getting to the core. "INVESTMENT," she stated.

"Oh, absolutely." Quistis' eyes sparkled with anticipation at her forthcoming educational accomplishment. "It's a sacrifice that'll ultimately be worth my time and effort."

Fujin nodded in agreement.

When Quistis had first left SeeD, her change in career had been littered with question marks and false starts. It was amazing to see how seemingly small choices had shaped her into who she was today, though she still had no idea what she was doing half of the time. She was convinced that the Great Hyne was watching over her well-being and whispering words of wisdom to her.

The two ladies continued watching the home makeover episode and reached the part before the final reveal when their waiter arrived with plates of food oozing with nostalgic flavors.

As Fujin rolled back her cuff sleeves, her family bracelet glinted in the light of the diner. It was crafted from the same cut of steel as the pauldrons that she and Raijin once wore.

It had been about a year since Raijin passed away in a tragic work accident. Quistis could not forget how that event had broken Fujin into a million little pieces. But she was a survivor who had fought her way through the jungle of grief in record time. She had to make good on her promise to her brother that no matter who left this life first, the remaining sibling would live even more diligently than before.

Fujin had almost put away the bracelet in an effort to move on, but Quistis had told her to do what made her happy. And so she continued to wear it to honor his memory.

Back on the television screen, the beneficiary of the newly built home broke into sobs.

Life was hard whether you were coming out of poverty like the man in the episode or had lost your only family like Fujin or were perpetually sleep-deprived like Quistis.

But life could also be beautiful with its moments full of promise and secrets waiting to be discovered and opportunities to be surprised.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, QUISTIS," said Fujin softly. She tilted her plate onto Quistis' to share some chicken nuggets with her.

Quistis smiled in appreciation. "Thanks, Fujin."

Mascarpone was a posh but obscure bar located in a subterranean area that required Buttercup and Wendigo to descend a precarious stairwell and traverse a number of dark hallways, but the eatery itself was warm and lively with wooden fixtures and plush banquettes and cozy anonymity. It was the guys' favorite place to unwind after a long day, not to mention they were shamelessly addicted to the owner's pièce de résistance of fried chicken and beer.

Wendigo grinned as he watched his roommate dismantle a crispy chicken leg. "Feel like doing your good friend a favor?"

Buttercup dipped the leg into his ramekin of spicy mascarpone sauce. "Go on."

"Can you cover my shift tomorrow?" Wendigo asked in a hopeful tone. "It's just one Name Card."

"Sure," said Buttercup with raised eyebrows.

"I know I shouldn't ditch work, but…I really need a 'mental health day' or whatever they call it." Wendigo sighed deeply. "I'm thinking of paying another visit to the fortune teller."

Buttercup rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you not to believe everything you hear!?"

"But, but," sputtered Wendigo. "If you had the chance to find out who you are, even if you can't get your memories back, wouldn't you give anything to know more…?"

The fortune teller in question claimed to have clairvoyant insight into celestial matters. Whether she was aware of Wendigo's non-human identity was debatable, but she had informed him with great confidence that he had a living family member who missed him very much.

"I dunno," mused Buttercup. "If I found out that my life was great, then it's not like I can relive it. And if it wasn't great, I'd just end up with unnecessary regret. Oblivion is probably a good thing." He downed the rest of his beer. "Actually, don't listen to my bullshit. I want you to do what makes you happy, okay?"

"Thanks!" Wendigo beamed. "I'm happy as can be."

Buttercup chuckled. "So tell me about this family member again."

"The only thing the fortune teller could see was that I used to get kicked a whole lot."

"Sounds like an interesting dynamic. But in a nice way, I guess. 'Cause it means that someone cares enough about you to kick you…?"

"Yeah…" Wendigo's eyes turned misty. "Just knowing I have family out there makes me tear up."

Buttercup poured himself some more beer. "Seriously, Dig…when I look at you, this whole Grim Reaper origin theory just doesn't make sense. You're too damn sweet! I bet you've never even killed so much as an ant in your past life."

"Heh. The origin theory makes no sense to me either, ya know? I think it's literally just that: a rumor!"

Buttercup continued, "How bizarre is it that Grim Reapers need food, sleep, and exercise just like everyone else? This is the one question I'd pay to hear the answer to. What exactly was the Great Hyne's intention in making us pseudo-human?"

Wendigo patted his friend on the shoulder consolingly. "If I ever come up with an answer to that question, I promise that you'll be the first to know."

"I feel like this brew makes me moody every time."

"Hey, alcohol is a valid route to becoming a philosopher!"

Buttercup scowled lightly. "Forget philosophy. Just get me drunk."

Wendigo chortled. "We're gonna need a lot more than beer to get us drunk."

The bar owner sashayed over to their table and gave them an extra plate of chicken. "On the house!" she sang out charmingly.

Wendigo was ecstatic. "Thanks! What's the occasion?"

"I'm feeling generous today." The strawberry blonde woman gave the two of them a knowing smile. "That, and I can only imagine what a tough job you fellas have."

As she walked away, Wendigo choked on his mouthful of chicken in alarm. He took a swig from his friend's mug and cleared his throat. "Buttercup!" he whispered apprehensively. "You think she's onto us!?"

Buttercup shook his head. "We're protected by Hyne's magic at all times, remember?"

"Oh, right…" Wendigo giggled nervously.

Wendigo held a different role than Buttercup. With an aptitude for paperwork over fieldwork, Wendigo spent much of his time at the Afterlife Headquarters, which meant that he had significantly less Souls on his assigned Roster. Buttercup would often remind him of field fundamentals while Wendigo shared his knowledge of administrative procedures.

"The magic makes it impossible for people to know that we're Grim Reapers. They also can't recognize our faces, even if they've previously seen us when we were human," Buttercup went on in a discreet voice. "But you know what, we should probably stop coming here straight after work…"

"Oh, you mean the fact that we're always dressed suspiciously in head-to-toe black?" Wendigo laughed and pulled out an envelope from the front pocket of his leather roadster jacket—his Reaper uniform of choice. "Thanks for helping me out. Here's the Soul for tomorrow."

Buttercup accepted the Name Card and examined its blood-red print:

| Name: Quistis Trepe
| Age: 24
| Time of Death: October 4th, 4007, 5:30PM
| Cause of Death: Smoke Inhalation

Author's Notes: As you may have read in the description, the television series that inspired me to write this fic is called Guardian: The Lonely and Great God (2016) [which also goes by the title Goblin]. Actor Lee Dong Wook portrays the Grim Reaper, and if you head over to this chapter on my AO3 you can see some images of his Reaper Aesthetic that form the basis for Seifer's look and wardrobe.