Author's Note: So, yes, this is a song-based fic, but then again, it's so much more. Intentionally, this was supposed to be a strictly Vicious fic, but Spike, of course, tried to steal the show. Basically, I'm trying to show that Vicious wasn't always, well..crazy. Events, as you will see, lead up to it all. Also, this will be a chaptered fic, so, yeah. Um, Vicious' dad is kinda intense, so be aware. But anyways...Here ya go, I hope you enjoy!
---Prayer for the Dying---
Fearless people…
Silver eyes. By God, he had silver eyes. Eyes that bore into your very soul, acting as if he could see through your every front. But then again, perhaps his eyes just matched his silver hair, which stopped just at his shoulders.
Taking a drag off of his third cigarette of the night, the man sat unnoticed in the back of the club. Le Chate Dior was the name of the joint; a quaint little jazz hub which often times doubled as a meeting ground. He had been waiting a little over and hour, but that was no surprise. He always came early to hear the music, and the man he was waiting for was always late.
As the man drifted into attentive daydreaming, the band struck a low chord and thrummed out a slow and haunting melody.
'Lost Man Blues,' the silver-eyed man thought, sorrow nipping at his heart. He definitely was a lost man…but what did that matter? This lost man had a place. And if he had anything to do with it, he'd be at the top of it all in no time.
As someone occupied the chair across the table from him, the self proclaimed 'lost man' focused his attention onto him.
"Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, Vicious," the man simply stated.
"Not at all, Wade. You should realize by now that I have a fondness for the music," Vicious replied in turn.
As a small staring contest ensued, one strictly made to establish dominance, Vicious wondered how long it would be before Wade looked away. He always looked away first. Vicious and his silver eyes would always hit their target like cool bullets, which always made anyone else look away quickly.
Not even twenty seconds later, Wade let out a sigh and put his bag on the table.
"You know, Vicious, one day, someone will make you look away."
"You look away because you have fear. You fear me, though you may never admit it. Everyone fears something. Everyone, save myself. I doubt another like me exists, therefore, I doubt I'll ever look away."
"Whatever you say, Vicious, whatever you say," Wade said as he rolled his eyes at another one of Vicious' roundabout riddles. Pulling out a vanilla folder, Wade pushed it toward the young man. "Here. It has everything that you need. You know: names, addresses; all that jazz…"
As if on que, the tenor saxophone roared a heart-wrenching note, as if echoing the emptiness the seemed ever-present in the heart of the silver-eyed man.
"Of course, Wade. It will be done by tomorrow night. Don't worry."
"We never do, Vicious. You're one of the best we have. And for shit's sake, you're barely twenty! It's like killing is in your blood or something like that."
"Yeah, something like that," Vicious mumbled. He pushed up from the table, stopping momentarily to ground out his cigarette and grab the folder, and then he was off, lost in the crowd, and lost to the world again.
"That man'll either kill us all, or rule us all. He always was one of those 'fearless people'," Wade chuckled to himself as he signaled for a drink.
Careless Needle…
He remembered when this had all began. He remembered when he had 'earned' his place. He remembered all to clear. Funny, though, his mind was far from clear when this all started.
'A hit, a hit! God damnit, I need another fucking hit!' the silver-haired youth thought as he carelessly rambled through his room.
He was on a four day drug bender, nothing but cocaine, the only thing he dared put into his system. He had first injected himself with the white powder a year ago. It was his fifteenth birthday present to himself. And ever since then, it was something he definitely got used to fast.
At first, he just took the damned stuff to be cool. How he always wanted to be cool. His father was rich, a prominent business man, and his mother was the perfect trophy wife. And he was supposed to be the perfect son: smart, handsome, athletic and successful. Well, he was smart, no doubt about that. He'd been wandering the streets, high as a kite and decked out in expensive clothing, and managed to stay alive. He was handsome, he figured: he lost his virginity not long after his first hit. Athleticism and success eluded him, however. He detested sports of a physical nature. He refused to become brutish, dirty and injured. He opted for chess, the intellectual game. His father, however, was not too pleased.
His father was the star quarterback in high school, a legend in his own right. Vicious, or Valerian, as he was christened, would always cringe when he heard the over-time story. And when he didn't decide to fall into his father's footsteps, in sports or business, let's just say, Val's father decided to focus all of his attention on his second son, the 'promising' one.
Shortly after, Vicious decided that his father, and the whole lot of them, could all go to hell. And when his fifteenth birthday went unnoticed, due to his father's merger and his brother's all star game, Val turned to something to take his pain away. As he stuck the needle into his arm for the very first time, he felt his heart break. But shortly thereafter, he couldn't feel anything at all.
Harsh words spoken…
"You little fucker! Chess? Books? Poetry? Are you one of those fucking faggots? I bet you are! Damnit, I always knew you'd be a disappointment! All I wanted was to say that I was proud of my sons. I got a good one. But shit, I also got a queer! How could I ever think that I'd be happy because of you?"
"I…I'm sorry, dad. Really, I am. I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't!" the youth screamed as he was pulled into the car.
His father had had enough. He found out about the drugs. He had also found some shit about Dragons or something. Not only was his son a queer failure, he also still believed in magical creatures. And that was the final straw. Now it was off to boarding school with young Val. And after that? Well, off to the army, of course. His father was going to make something out of Val, even if Val wasn't going to make something out of himself.
He refused to cry as the car speed down the elaborate driveway of his family's lavish mansion. He would make his father proud. Somehow, he'd find a way. But he'd be damned if he was going to boarding school. And the military? His father had to be out of his fucking mind. But then again, who wasn't in this life?
And lives are broken.
He wasn't going to go. It was as simple as that.
He had been in the car, on his way, though against his will, to Raylin's School for Wayward Youth. He wasn't going to go. He wasn't wayward, he wasn't any of that.
He sighed when he realized he couldn't get out of the car without the driver noticing. And then there would be too much trouble to deal with. He sighed again, and settled on his only option. No, there where actually several options for him to choose, but this is the one he decided on. And the only one that would get him into the Dragons, which just so happened to not be a bunch of 'magical creatures'.
He pulled out a small knife from his backpack. He deftly kissed the blade, snuck up behind the driver, and jerked the knife across.
His mind was wondering again. It always happened when he flew. Sighing to himself as he came in for a landing, Vicious guarded himself again. He had to stop thinking about his father. And the first time he killed someone. His father had sent him off so he would never think about him again. He had killed the driver so he could have his freedom. He was living life for himself, now, well the Dragons, actually. And that would have to be enough.
He opened the folder once more to remember the name, more for comfort than necessity.
"Spike Spiegel. Isn't that a catchy name? Barely twenty years old and getting ready to die. Such a pity for you," Vicious said to himself. "Let's just hope this doesn't take too long, I've got some things to do tonight."
He opened the door to the apartment building, The Crater Arms, and headed for the fourth floor, and his unsuspecting target.
A/N: So, this is the end of the first chapter. How did you like it? Hope it was okay. So, if you really wanna let me know, why not hit that review button and let me know. But please, no harsh words. Thanks. And if you really want me to, I'll post the rest of the chapters; I've already got 'em done. Well, just let me know and have an awesome night/day/whatever time it is where you are!