Work Text:
Clacking of a flying machine, slowly shifting its way across the infinite, still End. Three birds in a boat, crammed together, one hunched into themself like a frightened rolly-polly, other gazing at the liquid stars. Last one a ghost, spirit sitting heavy on Parrot’s shoulders.
“I’m telling you, Parrot. It’s a great idea. We should, like, really go for it.”
“Says the creator of the idea,” Parrot shoots back. “What if the bandits aren’t there?”
“We’ll pick up enough loot on the way to-”
“Just don’t, Theo,” Parrot sighs, “I don’t want to argue this with you right now.” Not with the past pressing ever-closer, suffocating him.
“Look, there’s no way we can possibly lo-”
“Please, Theo.” That shuts him up. They’re always arguing, the pair of them - somehow… friendly through it all.
He still isn’t sure what to call Theo - friend or foe or stranger. Best friend is the term itching at the back of his head, but what happened to the last one he called best friend? He doesn’t want Theo to end up the same way. Friend, maybe, but can you really call them a friend if you’re always looking over your shoulder, always keeping them in your peripheral vision, too afraid of what they might do when they’re in your blind spot? Not quite a foe - there’s no bite behind the bark. Certainly not a stranger - there’s too much history between them, Farlands and Spawn and Capital City now.
Ally is the term he settles on. A good, neutral-positive word; someone you trust, but not enough. More distant, safer than friend.