Writer's Note-
Hey, everybody. Just thought I'd provide a little insight before I actually began the story. I know you're probably all sick of those Spike's- not-dead fanfics, (I don't think I'm actually spoiling anything- the beginning is pretty obvious) but I really wanted to do this one. Bear with me for now, Bebop and crew will return later on in the story. This is probably not be my best work, but I'm happy with it so far. All I have written so far is the beginning, so please let me know what you think. If I get good reviews, I'll probably continue it, if not, I may anyway. This chapter is pretty 'G' material, but I'm already suspecting violence later on will change that. I'm going to apologize now, for my notes taking so long, for any grammatical, spelling, etc. errors, and for using the words 'yeah' and 'alright' too much. -.- By the by, I don't own Cowboy Bebop... So here we go.
Broken Hearted Melody
Hero's Requiem
As soon as the blonde stranger shoved open the door, upbeat contemporary music met her ears. Drawing inward, she drank in the club's ambience with masked delight. Everything, from the smoke filled ceiling, to the insane improvisations emitting from the band, had a certain retro, late nineteen-forties feel, heavily mixed with modern culture. The men there wore loose rat pack style suits; the women, jazzy dresses or pant suits of nearly every imaginable color, fabric, and design.
Realizing she had broken a smile, the woman collected herself and forced a cool, nonchalant expression.
'You are composed,' she thought to herself. 'Mysterious, apathetic- you have a task. Be professional.' She nodded, straightening the hem of her black, velvet dress, a few inches below the knee, then took a deep breath and mingled into the crowd.
The whole aura was invigorating, the music being the life and pulse of the place. Without the jazz, there was nothing. Without that musical force, it was just a smokey building filled with people in old costumes.
The blonde quickly wove her way through the dancing crowd, making her way towards the bar. She picked an empty stool and sat, mumbling her order to the bartender. In a few moments, it arrived.
She sat there, elbows on the bar, slowly sipping her light liquor drink through a straw. Eventually, she gradually began to shift her eyes to the left, attempting to steal a look at the character next to her- he was the reason she chose the seat.
The man was tall, she could tell even when he sat. His lanky limbs only heightened the look. His face was fixed in a grin, his eyes entirely covered by large, dark black sunglasses. He wore dark slacks, with a casual blue button-up shirt. The woman spotted a matching black coat hanging from the back of a stool, the final piece of his contemporary rat pack getup. His most noticeable feature; though, was his hair, a large brown mass of curl and frizz. He faced the opposite direction of the bar, his back against it and his hands folded behind his head.
She had been eyeing him for some time when he finally turned his head slightly, presumably looking her in the eyes, although it was impossible to know for sure. Startled and slightly embarrassed, the woman averted her gaze back to her glass.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked in a friendly enough tone.
She simply shook her head, and thought for a moment before speaking up.
"You look just like him," she observed, drawing her eyes back to his again.
"Who?" he asked, an eyebrow extending from above the rim of his glasses."
She shrugged. "You know. Him. Spiegel."
"I know," he answered with a quiet chuckle. "I've heard that before."
"The resemblance is uncanny... Have you heard? They say he's dead."
He nodded, dropping his hands and propping his elbows on the bar, turning his head to stare straight before him.. "I believe it. A guy I knew was his good friend, and he told me it was true."
"Ah. Shame."
He turned back, tilting his head in curiosity. Even behind the shades, she could tell he was looking at her skeptically.
"Really?" he wondered aloud. "Even for you?
"What? Why would you say that?"
"Spiegel's not exactly a celebrity... Sure, some people would recognize his face, but most of those people have prices on their heads."
She looked rather insulted. "How dare you suggest such a thing!" she blurted out. "I am a well-mannered woman! You don't even know me!"
The look-a-like turned his shoulders. "No offense. I was just saying. Sorry."
She sighed and calmed herself down. "Fine. It's alright."
For some several minutes they sat in silence, until the man started up again, just as the saxophonist began to improv a few runs.
"Now I suppose we didn't just have that conversation for nothing..." he said with a smile. "You look like you need something."
"Ah... Yes, actually," she admitted. "I heard -from a friend- that you own a ship, and-"
"Say no more. You need a ride? Where to?"
"That's just the thing- I'm not sure. I'm trying to find somebody."
"Somebody?"
"Look..." she ran a hand through her long hair, he mouth turning to a frown. "I can't- No. Never mind. I'll tell you more later." She inhaled sharply, feeling as if she had just made a fatal mistake. "So can you help me?"
He shrugged indifferently. "Alright, miss. For a fee, of course. The thing is, I don't want to get involved in anything illegal. Well..." he paused for a moment- "Not too illegal."
The woman laughed politely. "Very well." She daintily extended a slender hand towards him. "This may be a long trip, so let's get acquainted, shall we?"
He took her hand and shook it tightly, then arched one of his eyebrows. "Or was I supposed to kiss it? Anyway, I'm Colin Reilly. Just Reilly to most."
She nodded, absorbing the information. "That's a good old Earth name... Same here. My name's Kathryn "
Reilly removed his shades, shoving them into his shirt's breast pocket. "Alright then. I hope you don't mind sharing a room."
She was taken aback. "With you?!"
Her exclamation was met with blinks of surprise. "Wha-" he began, then stopped. "Well," he grinned, "only if you'd like to." Kathryn made a sour face, so he waved the comment away and continued. "No, in all seriousness, with a friend of mine. A woman. One of my crew, you could say."
"Is there a large crew?"
"Heh. Don't flatter me. It's just a small piece of junk ship."
"...Oh."
"Er-" he smacked his forehead. "Damn it! It's a good, safe ship, trust me. Just a little worn around the edges. Not very impressive looking."
"Alright..." she replied with a sigh. "You've given me no reason to doubt you- yet. Can we discuss a fare later? I'd be happy to pay anything, provided it's not too ludicrously expensive. I would really like to leave soon."
"Mmhm. Deal." The easygoing captain finally sat up straight and faced the bar, gulping down the remnants of his drink. He rested his chin against his chest and sighed contentedly.
"Please, can we move?" Kathryn pleaded, shaking his arm while firmly grasping his bicep. "I really want to get out of here." She stared him straight in the eyes. "I need to go. Now."
He took in the desperate woman's gaze, examining every inch of her solemnly begging stare. "Yeah," he returned slowly. "You're right. Let's get out of here." He stood up, grabbing his jacket and quickly throwing it on. "You have a car? We'd get back to the ship a lot faster."
"Yeah," she responded without hesitating. "Do you have room for me to store it on the ship?" They began to walk out, and she shoved open the door. "...Or should I find a storage garage?" She led the way outside.
Reilly glanced wistfully back at the bar as the band struck up a brassy bop number, the spotlight on a single trumpet player. "Man..." he sighed. "I really like that song." He shook his head and stepped through the doorway as he jammed his hands deep into his pockets. "Yeah," he finally answered. "We should have some extra room in the hangar."
They hurriedly walked for a few blocks, the chill evening causing their breath to appear in icy clouds of mist. It was still early on in the night, but most of the buildings around them had already shut off their lights. Reilly cast a glance at the woman beside him, for the first time getting a good look at her. She was pretty, he admired, but he was able to tell that before. He fair complexion was beginning to turn rosy in the cold. He dress was long, but it still offered little protection against the nip of the wind and the cool of the air. Goose bumps began to appear on her bare arms. Reilly thought about offering Kathryn his coat, but decided against it- he didn't want to seem like he was hitting on her. Normally, he wouldn't care, but...
She reminded him too much of her. Oh god, did she ever remind him. Then again, a lot of women did now- come to think if it, Kathryn really didn't even look much like her. The hair was similar, but that was all. Strange- he recalled the feeling of her cold locks against his cheek. The memory was comforting.
Spike noticed that Julia had stopped, and she grabbed him around the elbow, tugging him back.
"I said, 'We're here!'" Julia shouted.
What was she talking about?
"Julia?" he asked, confused.
"No..." she replied, eying him in frustration. "Kathryn. You forgot my name already?"
Kathryn... Damn, Reilly.
"Oh... Eh heh." He half-faked being embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm bad with names." She simply emoted frustration.
Reilly cursed himself again. Julia's dead. Spike's dead. That whole life is dead. If you had just let Spike die like he was supposed to the first time, you might still be on the Bebop. Spike at least had that. Three strikes and you're out- don't think you're gonna screw up this living too.
Kathryn's car was an old machine, although she kept a new metallic blue paint job on it. The car drove with little noise, save the radio, which quietly hummed out tunes similar to those inside the club. A melody would be broken every so often by Reilly pointing out directions. They sat stony faced and apathetic, illuminated every few yards by a street light.
"So..." Kathryn began, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. "What do you do with that ship for a living? I'm guessing it's not just commercial transport."
Reilly chuckled. "No, though it has happened quite a few times before. We -the crew and I- run mainly as a small planet-to-planet fishing boat. We sell to little companies, self-employed merchants, things like that."
Kathryn glanced at him momentarily, smiling. "I never would've guessed," she said, turning her eyes back to her driving. "How's the pay?"
He snorted. "Lousy. We end up doing all sorts of odd jobs- stuff like this. Just to get by, you know?"
"Uh huh..." Kathryn sounded pleased and smug, as if she had just figured something out. "I know what that means."
He looked back at her, puzzled. "What?"
"It's why you asked me if I had a price on my head- you hunt bounties, don't you?"
"I..." He barely began before trailing off, suddenly fidgeting. He shifted in his seat, facing towards the window. "Maybe, yes. A few times. I'm not happy about it."
"Something wrong?"
"Yeah... Just never mind it."
"...Alright..."
Kathryn looked at him strangely, then shrugged it off and returned to attentive driving. This man was strange, all right. It seemed like he had problems with his past- he was definitely trying to forget something he should not. Maybe he had undergone some emotional pain while chasing out a bounty? He had called her something... Julia? Yes, that was it, and he had a lame excuse as well. She could understand being called Caitlin or Cathleen, but Julia? That was too far off. Unless he forgot the name altogether and just made some random guess.
He was a character indeed.
So, that's it. In traditional Cowboy Bebop fashion, I've decided to name the entire work and most, if not all, of the chapters after songs or types of music. The story's title, Broken Hearted Melody, is a song by Sarah Vaughan, a famous bebop singer who helped give the musical style it's popularity. The mood of the song doesn't really fit my work, but I really liked the title, so I figured I'd use it. The chapter isn't a song, but requiem is a style of funeral music. That's all I've got to say. Hope you enjoyed it.
Hey, everybody. Just thought I'd provide a little insight before I actually began the story. I know you're probably all sick of those Spike's- not-dead fanfics, (I don't think I'm actually spoiling anything- the beginning is pretty obvious) but I really wanted to do this one. Bear with me for now, Bebop and crew will return later on in the story. This is probably not be my best work, but I'm happy with it so far. All I have written so far is the beginning, so please let me know what you think. If I get good reviews, I'll probably continue it, if not, I may anyway. This chapter is pretty 'G' material, but I'm already suspecting violence later on will change that. I'm going to apologize now, for my notes taking so long, for any grammatical, spelling, etc. errors, and for using the words 'yeah' and 'alright' too much. -.- By the by, I don't own Cowboy Bebop... So here we go.
Broken Hearted Melody
Hero's Requiem
As soon as the blonde stranger shoved open the door, upbeat contemporary music met her ears. Drawing inward, she drank in the club's ambience with masked delight. Everything, from the smoke filled ceiling, to the insane improvisations emitting from the band, had a certain retro, late nineteen-forties feel, heavily mixed with modern culture. The men there wore loose rat pack style suits; the women, jazzy dresses or pant suits of nearly every imaginable color, fabric, and design.
Realizing she had broken a smile, the woman collected herself and forced a cool, nonchalant expression.
'You are composed,' she thought to herself. 'Mysterious, apathetic- you have a task. Be professional.' She nodded, straightening the hem of her black, velvet dress, a few inches below the knee, then took a deep breath and mingled into the crowd.
The whole aura was invigorating, the music being the life and pulse of the place. Without the jazz, there was nothing. Without that musical force, it was just a smokey building filled with people in old costumes.
The blonde quickly wove her way through the dancing crowd, making her way towards the bar. She picked an empty stool and sat, mumbling her order to the bartender. In a few moments, it arrived.
She sat there, elbows on the bar, slowly sipping her light liquor drink through a straw. Eventually, she gradually began to shift her eyes to the left, attempting to steal a look at the character next to her- he was the reason she chose the seat.
The man was tall, she could tell even when he sat. His lanky limbs only heightened the look. His face was fixed in a grin, his eyes entirely covered by large, dark black sunglasses. He wore dark slacks, with a casual blue button-up shirt. The woman spotted a matching black coat hanging from the back of a stool, the final piece of his contemporary rat pack getup. His most noticeable feature; though, was his hair, a large brown mass of curl and frizz. He faced the opposite direction of the bar, his back against it and his hands folded behind his head.
She had been eyeing him for some time when he finally turned his head slightly, presumably looking her in the eyes, although it was impossible to know for sure. Startled and slightly embarrassed, the woman averted her gaze back to her glass.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked in a friendly enough tone.
She simply shook her head, and thought for a moment before speaking up.
"You look just like him," she observed, drawing her eyes back to his again.
"Who?" he asked, an eyebrow extending from above the rim of his glasses."
She shrugged. "You know. Him. Spiegel."
"I know," he answered with a quiet chuckle. "I've heard that before."
"The resemblance is uncanny... Have you heard? They say he's dead."
He nodded, dropping his hands and propping his elbows on the bar, turning his head to stare straight before him.. "I believe it. A guy I knew was his good friend, and he told me it was true."
"Ah. Shame."
He turned back, tilting his head in curiosity. Even behind the shades, she could tell he was looking at her skeptically.
"Really?" he wondered aloud. "Even for you?
"What? Why would you say that?"
"Spiegel's not exactly a celebrity... Sure, some people would recognize his face, but most of those people have prices on their heads."
She looked rather insulted. "How dare you suggest such a thing!" she blurted out. "I am a well-mannered woman! You don't even know me!"
The look-a-like turned his shoulders. "No offense. I was just saying. Sorry."
She sighed and calmed herself down. "Fine. It's alright."
For some several minutes they sat in silence, until the man started up again, just as the saxophonist began to improv a few runs.
"Now I suppose we didn't just have that conversation for nothing..." he said with a smile. "You look like you need something."
"Ah... Yes, actually," she admitted. "I heard -from a friend- that you own a ship, and-"
"Say no more. You need a ride? Where to?"
"That's just the thing- I'm not sure. I'm trying to find somebody."
"Somebody?"
"Look..." she ran a hand through her long hair, he mouth turning to a frown. "I can't- No. Never mind. I'll tell you more later." She inhaled sharply, feeling as if she had just made a fatal mistake. "So can you help me?"
He shrugged indifferently. "Alright, miss. For a fee, of course. The thing is, I don't want to get involved in anything illegal. Well..." he paused for a moment- "Not too illegal."
The woman laughed politely. "Very well." She daintily extended a slender hand towards him. "This may be a long trip, so let's get acquainted, shall we?"
He took her hand and shook it tightly, then arched one of his eyebrows. "Or was I supposed to kiss it? Anyway, I'm Colin Reilly. Just Reilly to most."
She nodded, absorbing the information. "That's a good old Earth name... Same here. My name's Kathryn "
Reilly removed his shades, shoving them into his shirt's breast pocket. "Alright then. I hope you don't mind sharing a room."
She was taken aback. "With you?!"
Her exclamation was met with blinks of surprise. "Wha-" he began, then stopped. "Well," he grinned, "only if you'd like to." Kathryn made a sour face, so he waved the comment away and continued. "No, in all seriousness, with a friend of mine. A woman. One of my crew, you could say."
"Is there a large crew?"
"Heh. Don't flatter me. It's just a small piece of junk ship."
"...Oh."
"Er-" he smacked his forehead. "Damn it! It's a good, safe ship, trust me. Just a little worn around the edges. Not very impressive looking."
"Alright..." she replied with a sigh. "You've given me no reason to doubt you- yet. Can we discuss a fare later? I'd be happy to pay anything, provided it's not too ludicrously expensive. I would really like to leave soon."
"Mmhm. Deal." The easygoing captain finally sat up straight and faced the bar, gulping down the remnants of his drink. He rested his chin against his chest and sighed contentedly.
"Please, can we move?" Kathryn pleaded, shaking his arm while firmly grasping his bicep. "I really want to get out of here." She stared him straight in the eyes. "I need to go. Now."
He took in the desperate woman's gaze, examining every inch of her solemnly begging stare. "Yeah," he returned slowly. "You're right. Let's get out of here." He stood up, grabbing his jacket and quickly throwing it on. "You have a car? We'd get back to the ship a lot faster."
"Yeah," she responded without hesitating. "Do you have room for me to store it on the ship?" They began to walk out, and she shoved open the door. "...Or should I find a storage garage?" She led the way outside.
Reilly glanced wistfully back at the bar as the band struck up a brassy bop number, the spotlight on a single trumpet player. "Man..." he sighed. "I really like that song." He shook his head and stepped through the doorway as he jammed his hands deep into his pockets. "Yeah," he finally answered. "We should have some extra room in the hangar."
They hurriedly walked for a few blocks, the chill evening causing their breath to appear in icy clouds of mist. It was still early on in the night, but most of the buildings around them had already shut off their lights. Reilly cast a glance at the woman beside him, for the first time getting a good look at her. She was pretty, he admired, but he was able to tell that before. He fair complexion was beginning to turn rosy in the cold. He dress was long, but it still offered little protection against the nip of the wind and the cool of the air. Goose bumps began to appear on her bare arms. Reilly thought about offering Kathryn his coat, but decided against it- he didn't want to seem like he was hitting on her. Normally, he wouldn't care, but...
She reminded him too much of her. Oh god, did she ever remind him. Then again, a lot of women did now- come to think if it, Kathryn really didn't even look much like her. The hair was similar, but that was all. Strange- he recalled the feeling of her cold locks against his cheek. The memory was comforting.
Spike noticed that Julia had stopped, and she grabbed him around the elbow, tugging him back.
"I said, 'We're here!'" Julia shouted.
What was she talking about?
"Julia?" he asked, confused.
"No..." she replied, eying him in frustration. "Kathryn. You forgot my name already?"
Kathryn... Damn, Reilly.
"Oh... Eh heh." He half-faked being embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm bad with names." She simply emoted frustration.
Reilly cursed himself again. Julia's dead. Spike's dead. That whole life is dead. If you had just let Spike die like he was supposed to the first time, you might still be on the Bebop. Spike at least had that. Three strikes and you're out- don't think you're gonna screw up this living too.
Kathryn's car was an old machine, although she kept a new metallic blue paint job on it. The car drove with little noise, save the radio, which quietly hummed out tunes similar to those inside the club. A melody would be broken every so often by Reilly pointing out directions. They sat stony faced and apathetic, illuminated every few yards by a street light.
"So..." Kathryn began, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. "What do you do with that ship for a living? I'm guessing it's not just commercial transport."
Reilly chuckled. "No, though it has happened quite a few times before. We -the crew and I- run mainly as a small planet-to-planet fishing boat. We sell to little companies, self-employed merchants, things like that."
Kathryn glanced at him momentarily, smiling. "I never would've guessed," she said, turning her eyes back to her driving. "How's the pay?"
He snorted. "Lousy. We end up doing all sorts of odd jobs- stuff like this. Just to get by, you know?"
"Uh huh..." Kathryn sounded pleased and smug, as if she had just figured something out. "I know what that means."
He looked back at her, puzzled. "What?"
"It's why you asked me if I had a price on my head- you hunt bounties, don't you?"
"I..." He barely began before trailing off, suddenly fidgeting. He shifted in his seat, facing towards the window. "Maybe, yes. A few times. I'm not happy about it."
"Something wrong?"
"Yeah... Just never mind it."
"...Alright..."
Kathryn looked at him strangely, then shrugged it off and returned to attentive driving. This man was strange, all right. It seemed like he had problems with his past- he was definitely trying to forget something he should not. Maybe he had undergone some emotional pain while chasing out a bounty? He had called her something... Julia? Yes, that was it, and he had a lame excuse as well. She could understand being called Caitlin or Cathleen, but Julia? That was too far off. Unless he forgot the name altogether and just made some random guess.
He was a character indeed.
So, that's it. In traditional Cowboy Bebop fashion, I've decided to name the entire work and most, if not all, of the chapters after songs or types of music. The story's title, Broken Hearted Melody, is a song by Sarah Vaughan, a famous bebop singer who helped give the musical style it's popularity. The mood of the song doesn't really fit my work, but I really liked the title, so I figured I'd use it. The chapter isn't a song, but requiem is a style of funeral music. That's all I've got to say. Hope you enjoyed it.