I'm not going to go looking. I don't know why anyone would want to go on a search for someone who's probably dead--unless death was the objective, in which case just searching for bodies afterwards is a pretty half-assed way to go about it. I'm not looking for dead bodies, and if you're not dead, you'll be on the run. I know how it is; it's not hard to disappear, if you work at it a little. Whatever past you had, I'm sure you learned how to pull those sorts of tricks.
...and that means I won't find you. Fine. You obviously don't give a shit, so neither do I. I don't answer to you, you don't answer to me, all's well and as it should be. Far be it from me to offer advice on searching for things better left dead.
That makes me a hypocrite now, doesn't it? I can't be any worse than you: put my past behind me, look to the future...you are such a goddamned conartist, you know that? I actually believed you. I thought you believed it, that you were telling me the truth as you saw it; I thought I'd at least earned enough of whatever passes for your sarcastic respect to get some straight-talk.
Silly little girl, huh? I don't know why I thought you were different from every other lying bastard out there, you with your devil-may-care grin and over-fluffed hair and cigarette butts all over the damned ship--yes, they're still there, you moron, you think I'm going to clean up your mess? The hell I will. You can damned well come back here and empty the ashtrays yourself.
Ah, but there's the trick. You're not coming back. You just hopped in your bi-eyed time machine and skipped back to that past you acted like you didn't have, just because it wanted you back.
If it was so freaking perfect, how did you end up out here in the first place, huh? Answer me that. You can't, and there's the other wonderful thing about running away...you don't have to answer questions. Good thing--maybe if you'd actually stopped to think, you would have seen what a prick you're being and you'd reconsider.
Oh, but that wouldn't fit with your image, now would it? You're too cool to care what anyone thinks of you...except for her. She's special. Fine. So glad I could tell you she was waiting--you're welcome, by the way. I don't do much for free these days, you know that. Charity doesn't really sit well with me, for some reason; this might be part of it. Just might.
It's so quiet...hell, even the freaking dog had somewhere to go. Oh, I'm not technically alone...Jet's here--it's his ship--and I can't seem to open my mouth without pissing him off somehow. Whatever...he'll be fine. At least he was raised in this world; he can get around. Not like I can't, of course...I just don't feel like it. Bounty hunting's shitty work to try and do alone, and damned if I'm going back to casinos or any other job that involves my skill set. It's a bit limited, you know? You'd have to know; seems all you can do is fight and run. May it get you far...or dead. Whichever.
Eh, I don't care, and that's what matters now. You're not part of my problems anymore; you never were, really, until you decided you had to throw all your bullshit in my face before waltzing off to die. What, it wasn't satisfying enough to just walk out? You had to get that close...had to look me in the eye like I was some backward child and explain to me why you were throwing your life away, since obviously I was just dense not to have understood before.
You double-talking son of a bitch.
Well, I hope wherever you are, you found that faded dream you thought you'd been living. I happen to know that you can't live in dreams, but you never thought to ask me; no reason to, ne? You fooled all of us for a while...but in the end, she was the only one who really mattered. I wonder what she had to do to earn that--I wonder if she's even aware of it.
Not my problem. I don't know where Jet's steering this lump of junk next, but that's not my problem either. It's his ship, he can deal with it. I'll find enough crap to do to keep fed, and life will go on just like always.
...and I'll be waiting here.