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Prompt One: Higher
"I wanna go back to the old way, but I'm drunk and still with a full ash tray. With a little bit too much to say."
Characters: Faye, Spike
Rating: T
Genre: Angst
Summary: After Spike's final departure from the Bebop, Faye is left to her own devices in a sleazy bar on Venus at 1 p.m. recollecting her thoughts on the matter. Introspection and more.
Session One: Higher
This whiskey had her feeling pretty.
Beautiful. Diaphanous. So light and delicate that she felt if she were to just run outside to the warm, windy Venus afternoon, she could simply blow away into a myriad pieces drifting off into the winds like a dandelion during the summertime. Warm sunshine and warm nights. Pool parties in the morning and bonfires in the evening. But that was on Earth and that was over fifty-five years ago, and four months, and twelve days—not like she was counting. And there were no dandelions on Venus nor were there any change of seasons for the matter as it stayed perpetually hot all year round on this godforsaken planet.
So pardon Faye Valentine if she were impolite, but the much needed whiskey on the rocks and the coolness of the bar counter was something of a blessing. And who gave a damn if it was 1:37 in the afternoon and that the bar was completely devoid of any other poor soul save for the token drunkard that lay precariously on her far right?
No, Faye had the right to be impolite for all things considered.
And as she swirled the glass cup in her hands watching the coppery liquid slosh and mingle around with the ice before she stilled it once more to let all the elements coalesce into the perfect potion for pity, she threw her head back to gulp the fire right down her throat. Wincing as it left scorch marks down its path.
It was a bit ironic really. Needing temporary displeasure for an almost temporary sweet release. It was like all things in this life as she traversed its seemingly infinite scape of pity and disillusionment—simple and immediate gratification was your every solution. It did the job.
And by God had it become her go-to companion. Because whiskey never said much even if she were at her wits end. All it ever really needed was to be consumed, like flames catching on to flames, and doused down by a bit of lemon juice and sugar if she wanted it extra sour. Then, with the temporary flames riding down ever so gently to pool in a liquid heat down the throat, that's when reality mixed with whatever the hell else was up in her brain and she'd forget about the five thousand woolong she lost off the horse race bet or the fact that Ed had mistaken her shampoo for provisions and downed it in one gulp.
Yes, whiskey was her best companion. Her compadre. Her friend. Maybe even her midnight lover.
"Another glass, please," she beckoned towards the barmaid. The empty glass was high in the air before she knew it, with nothing but the sound of ice clinking onto glass resonating around the room. It was hazy now.
She felt a warm body unceremoniously plop right down on the stool next to her.
"Make it two," Spike's voice was as low and smooth as a shallow pond still undulating with the waves.
Within minutes, two glasses of whiskey sat waiting in front of them, fresh ice and all.
"Fancy seeing you here," she said as she took a sip from her glass.
His eyes darted towards the side but he never turned to look her in the eye. "Looks like we dig the same haunts, huh?"
She swirled her glass again before throwing her head back and downing half of it in one gulp. "Can't say I'm surprised. Cheap booze, no smoke-free signs, and nothing but drifters all around. Seems like your taste."
"Like I'd even care if it were smoke-free or not. If a man wants to light up, he should be able to do as he pleases," Spike said resolutely before he himself had dug into his pockets to procure a crumpled-up cigarette.
As if on cue, she already had her bic lit out in front of him and he carelessly dipped the stick to its flame.
"Touché," she said before lighting up her own.
The man swiveled around his seat and leaned his lanky frame against the bar counter as he took in a long drag. "It's morning, but it feels like the stars should be falling," he muttered.
"You mean, 'up?' The stars should be up," Faye corrected.
"No, not at all."
She frowned but said nothing. Attention fell all on the lone cigarette that was carefully held between her fingers. Inhale and exhale. Like breathing in all the burdens of the world and releasing it out into the air for it to fester like a big, ugly wound. Inhale and exhale.
Faye blew the smoke on his face.
"Sorry 'bout the other night," she said suddenly.
This time, he did look at her, with that same haunting expression she'd always remembered him to have—the one with the fake eye and the other the real. "I don't know what you're talking about," he finished off smugly.
"Damn right you know..." She said as she coughed up the cigarette smoke and extinguished the butt of it on her ashtray. "I shouldn't have shot out like a madwoman. It was all impulse, my nerves got all jumbled and I guess my fingers just twitched a little is all."
He wasn't looking at her again, but the ghost of a smile still played on his visage. His arm shot out in front of him and he cocked his fingers as if it were his gun and he mouthed," Bang, bang" with each mimicked shot. The man looked so silly right then and there, but she wouldn't say a damn thing. It felt like eternity, as if they were stuck in eternity, with him staring out into the void with his arms out in front of him pantomiming gunshots and her gazing longingly at the back of his frame. If this were eternity, she would gladly fall into the void.
The two had allowed the silence to veil over them for quite a bit, before he finally spoke after staring out and towards the darkened corners of the rest of the bar for so long.
"You're forgiven," he finally said before reaching back to take another swig of whiskey.
She paused as she looked down at her drink, the ice was melting into the liquor making it look watered-down and translucent. It was fading quickly now and she didn't know whether or not she could catch it at the right time before it just disappeared. For a long time she pondered the words she was about to say.
"I know I can be more creative, and, y'know, come up with poetic lines, but..." She leaned over with her head in her hands no longer cradling the glass. "'I'm fucked up right now and I love you' is only thing in my mind I can think of."
His glass was empty now.
They sat there in the middle of Speakeasy's Bar at 2:09 in the afternoon with the sun scintillating through the blinds of the cracked maroon rimmed windows and the rest of the room filtered out into a wan darkness. The barmaid was on the other end of the counter wiping down glasses while lightly sipping on a cup of Alize and candied cherries. The drunkard to their right had already dozed off with his withering middle-aged hand covering half of his countenance and an empty bottle of who-knows-what dangling in his other.
Amongst the blur of the scene, the soft sound of the afternoon soap opera reverberated from the small flat screens that lined the corners of the room mixing in with the odd melody of light snores and the gentle clinking of glasses. But it was just the two of them now. Just Spike and Faye. No pretenses, no banter, no anything.
"My star has fallen," he said solemnly, and somehow he managed a full-blown, dazzling smile with teeth and all as he said this. But why, why did he look so sad? "There were so many cigarettes left unsmoked, so many bottles of whiskey left to the brim...Would you light my fire one more time?"
He gave her a tentative look as he brought his last cigarette up for her to light and this time it was in pristine condition—enough that you could visibly see the Marlboro imprint just around the paper.
Faye was crying now.
"I want to go back to the old way," she said as she reached over with trembling hands to flick her bic on for the very last time.
"Don't we all?" He questioned in that cryptic manner he always used whenever he had so much to say but with so little words.
She watched in forlorn as the familiar frame of the lanky man with a cigarette held carelessly between his lips and a glass of whiskey dangling in his hand leaning over the counter slowly faded into a silhouette. Then, the shadows disappeared completely. And just like that, he was gone. Like a spectre in the drunken haze that was her world, he slipped away so easily, so quickly just as he had came. The stool next to her was empty and the second glass that she felt he once held was empty too with red lipstick stains pressed gently across its rim.
And then Faye realized she was left alone, too drunk and with a full ash tray.
With a little bit too much to say.
A/N: This is based on Higher by Rihanna. And on a side note, I'll be continuing with a plethora of more oneshots based on a lot of ANTI's songs and others, ranging from happy, sad, funny, and angsty. So, definitely give it a listen to RIH even if you're not into consumerism pop because its actually a great album.
