Work Text:
He walks in circles. His dirty boots leave scuff marks over the floor. All the snow has long melted from them thanks to the heat, leaving wet puddles on the bamboo planks.
It is quiet, just the clop of boots on wood and the quiet burbling of lava.
He has been imprisoned on this bamboo island in an ocean of lava for - for what? For caring about his best friend? For wishing him not to die? For hoping?
There is, really, truly, nothing he can do. There is nothing he wants to do anymore. Not after kneeling in the blown-out crater of a graveyard, shrapnel digging into his pants and drawing blood. A graveyard. They didn't even let him bury Parrot. Not even a body left.
He wants to lay down on these planks and let the heat roast him alive. No, that's not right. Parrot wouldn't have wanted that. Does he want to kill Lettuce? A little. But it's sorta dimmed under the realization that Parrot is not here and will never be here or anywhere ever again.
What he really, honest-to-God wants is for Parrot to magically show up and say, What're you moping about, bro? Thought you were the biggest bird and bridge across the lava and help him across and they'll both be home free.
Maybe then, he'll consider sparing that dirty, dirty cat. It's what Parrot would've done, anyway.