He decided to call the ‘white fluffy presence’ Obbie. Not that the name was meaningful to it. But as a way to thread his own memories back and forth. To further ground himself even as the rest of the world around him seemed to be lilting and melting away into a nonsensical diorama.

He needed to keep himself grounded. Because he might literally be the only soul left of mankind.

And he had to survive. For the sake of a future he was honestly not entirely sure of. But having even one surviving witness to tell the tale of what he had seen and what humans had been was better then letting them vanish without a trace.

At first he had thought Obbie or one of the other spirits could be trusted to act as witnesses and record keepers.

That had not turned out well.

“What do you mean you’re only two years old?! Your a spirit! You can live forever.”

Obbie laughed and fluffed along threads of living space that were still unclear. It might either be decomposing leaves or a tree’s fungal infection under the bark. The nuance of identifying ‘physical matter’ from this side of death was apparently not something Obbie had for sale beyond vague tidbits.

“Spirits live forever?! Whimsy in the barrow. The mountain knows its stone crumbles and cracks. So it looks to the winds blowing and calls it forever! Yet does not think of how thin the winds are and how shallow the life. How little can be or have been or ever be so thin! Foolish idiot! Please certainly spirits live forever! Forever compared to roilets in the flutters!”

It laughed at him, it had learned to do it from his own actions.

It was always cruel and vicious when it did.

“Compared to corpse riders like yon self? Spirits shed and sparse and flip away to nothing all the time! I be mighty venerable of my position to be as ancient and wise as I! Have some of the oldest memories of a marketer be I!”

Which is why it fell to him. The spirits were... the word slipped away.

A thing that lived but a day? It emerged from the flowing liquid flat places.

Lived and loved and died all at once and was done in the afternoon with all its life.

He sighed and spent a long moment following each word back and forth in his memory trying to catch the lost piece. To hold onto the thing but eventually he had to give up.

Another fragment of himself and his life apparently gone!

He might be the last vessel for the memory of mankind but he also might as well be a sieve!

Still even after death apparently there was no end to the needs of life. Just an alteration of them.

Obbie was precisely negative help in that particular regard. Gleefully giving suggestions for stuff that he was pretty sure would get himself killed in a roundabout way. Leering about keeping him fat and rich for the inevitable carrion.

But after so long being isolated, both before and after death he kind of appreciated the fluffy thing that yearned for him to fail so it could feast on the remains of his soul.

At least with its vested hunger and greed it was sticking around to keep him company.

And it could be trusted in one very precise area.

“What would it cost me to teach me how to breath myself full here?”

“Sparse pickings be that... Not known to me how so any could live long-some here. A Price of thoughts it be for certain to scroung by my leanings”

That was something he was starting to learn was also an untrustworthy manner of Obbie. The fluffy mercantile spirit always framed things in a way that sounded inconsequential when it came to price. But he had already surmised was a lot more vicious and dangerous then you could guess. He still stung when he realized he did not KNOW what the price for his spirit sight had been. Possibly he could never recognize the price.

Dealings with Obbie were dangerous in a way far and beyond any mortal danger.

“Which kind of thought would the price be”

The spirit buzzed and laughed for it knew it had been had again. As always the laughter was never kind.

“Only small thoughts? Counting may haps be sufficient?”

Yeah... He had not been the best at numbers before, but even he could tell giving up counting was not something worth learning how to strip whatever this place/thing’s nature of the necessities of after-life.

“I’ll pass. Maybe try a few things myself. Don’t you have other business besides hounding me for scraps till I give up the ghost?”

He tried to give Obbie an example of a laugh that was more friendly and kind. Maybe if he taught by example it would learn to not be so much of a vicious bastard.

“Funny fools it speaks! Nay cannot I! Made dealings and contract with yon fool single! Not with strangers and beasts that fall upon him. Need be to be present lest other foul steal away my winnings!”

He strummed and flung himself down a way, a spiraling new path along a different array of associations. Letting the pattern and the ‘breath’ of the place shift and slide. He could feel the teeth of the mulch pups he had ‘claimed’ or been claimed by scratch along this new expanse. It was not the kind of sustenance they were used too but it gave a trickle of life to him.

Held off the inevitable fearful unraveling of himself.

“So you will act to protect me from great terrors? Why Obbie! I didn't know you cared!”

“Nay I! Only fight to defend mon delectable promise if other foul nay agree to beget the claim of first feedings of mine! If cordial like beasts be we find I happily let ye be shredded by em!”

He fluttered his vision randomly about in an approximation of a blink.

“Then why are you telling me that? Surely it would be better to have kept quiet and let me discover your inevitable betrayal”

“Because ye asked! Truth be deals and deals be truth! So truth be me in deals I make!”

That was something at least. A fiendish companion who must always speak truth yet yearned for his death?

Wouldn't that make a good story?