“Edgar?” Labaguette inquires, “I see no Edgar.”
“To do with horror, never mind,” the Captain says, trying to snatch the parrot’s throat to shut his gob.
“We made it! We’re inside the garbage hook, aren’t we?” CollectOrus asks with a winner’s certainty, shaking Chloroph’s hand and smiling.
Chloroph nods, content.
“Now what?” the King asks.
“MY BELOVED!” the Captain exclaims, coming back to his senses, “THE RUM!! All is lost.”
“You’re alive, are you not?” Chloroph and CollectOrus exclaim in unison.
“No point in it.”
“Spare me the self-pity, Captain,” Chloroph says, “if it weren’t for me, you’d—”
“—Are we…” the Captain asks hesitating, new ideas already rushing to his brain, “What are we? Particles?”
“I reckon we’re trash, litter, waste – you name it – that can be seen, noticed and felt by any other garbage,” Labaguette explains.
“We’re willing waste,” Chloroph says, “we’re likely to be rejected at some point. In order to qualify as true and utter litter, one must be discarded by another and garbage isn’t known to decide upon its own status nor upon any of its relatives.”
“Regurgitated?” Labaguette asks, “Where? When?”
“You piece of shit!” the Captain exclaims, now determined to strangle Chloroph bit by bit, “my life has come to nothing thanks to you. I’d rather have been confronted by an oncoming planet and die in its path with my beloved than end up with nothing and being placed into a state of inexistance,” he continues, squeezing the plant’s man neck to a thread, “bring back the Insatiable Princess or else I’ll—”.
“—Blame the monkeys!” Chloroph sputters, coughing.
To be continued…