Well, I don't know exactly where this is going, I basically wrote the first chapter in a fit of inspiration and significance (the music didn't help either). What I don't wanna do is make another fic where Spike saves Faye, cause we all know she's stronger than that. She can take care of herself. Well, um, most of the time. Hell, I'm still not sure if Spike's gonna be alive or not yet. Oh well, I know where I want this chapter to go, so that's cool.
Oh, and I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Yah, like anyone'd believe I did.
***
My Beautiful
Ch. 2- Elegance
There is something to be said about the beer on Mars. It's thick as treacle and sweet as sin, and it washes your worldly worries away. I take a gulp of mine- Thurber's Extra Thick (est. 2056)- and idly wonder who Thurber was. I've certainly had enough of his 'quality brews' to last me a lifetime. I'm probably a huge source of income for him. Hell, I could've payed for an entire factory by now. Maybe he'd loan me some money, it's just fair.
I lean my head down on the bar, not even caring that the surface is sticky with the unique ooze that can only be cultivated by long years of alcohol spills. My hair, which has grown considerably longer during the last year, fans around me, a violet curtain, my shield from the hurt of the world. Peering out from my veil, I spy on the other occupants of the bar. There are seven prostitutes, thirteen loners, three victims of heartbreak, eight down-on-their-luck bounty hunters, five pilots, and one nervous businessman. All come to dull their pain with the magical amber potion.
I really need to change my life. I had hit upon this idea when I stopped to get cigarettes this afternoon. I had looked deep into the window pane in front of the store, and, for the first time, had been utterly disgusted by what I saw. I wasn't a Faye I liked. Not that I had ever been, but this time I hated me. Cheap, corrupted, wasted, empty. These are the words of my life. And I'm tired of it.
Sighing, I drain the last of my beer, slap some woolongs on the bar, and walk out. The first step to self-redemption will have to be getting some money, and keeping it for more than a week. I had made my money off of some quite unsavory means, and I don't want to do that anymore. Something legal would be nice. Maybe it's time to think about bounty-hunting again.
The life doesn't appeal to me, hunting down others for money, in a profession where blood flowed freely as water, but I don't have much of a choice. It's not as if I have any other valuable skills.
Shivering, I hunker down into my now tattered red jacket. It's technically July, but on this side of Mars, it's cold as space. Looking upward, I think about space, that empty, freezing void that sucks life away in instants. I'll have to return there, now that I've decided to go back to bounty hunting. My only clear memories of my past life are of an accident in space. It was horrible, to say the least. But I can't let a past life keep me away from earning money in this life, now can I?
I stop in front of my apartment building, and head up to my room. It's not technically mine, I stopped paying for it a few months ago, but so far no one's kicked me out. I don't think it's worth the cost of evicting me. The walls are seeping with moisture, the floors are crawling with roaches, and the bathroom only drips out yellow water. Still, it's a place to sleep where I can actually be alone. It's still cold in here, the heat doesn't work, so I take out a heavier coat, and wrap myself up.
Laying on the spring-less bed, I think about my options. There aren't that many. My ship has just about had it, I need a new gun, and I have no money. I don't think I'll be able to do this alone. So I get up and walk over to my phone (which, miraculously, works today). I dial in a number, and a gruff voice answers.
"What d'ya want?"
I smile, he's still the same.
"Hey, Jet, it's been awhile..."
Two days later, I stand in front of my former home. I can't believe he actually let me back on the Bebop. Grabbing my bag firmly in one hand, I take a step up to the ship.
***
OK, that was short, I know, but I got done what I wanted done. Now, the question is, should Spike be on the ship? Or at the syndicate? *Pulls at her hair* I DON'T KNOOOOOOOOW.... *cries* I have almost no idea what's going to happen! Isn't that sad? Oh well, you tell me what you think, OK? I'll be eagerly awaiting your responses.
~Val~
Oh, and I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Yah, like anyone'd believe I did.
***
My Beautiful
Ch. 2- Elegance
There is something to be said about the beer on Mars. It's thick as treacle and sweet as sin, and it washes your worldly worries away. I take a gulp of mine- Thurber's Extra Thick (est. 2056)- and idly wonder who Thurber was. I've certainly had enough of his 'quality brews' to last me a lifetime. I'm probably a huge source of income for him. Hell, I could've payed for an entire factory by now. Maybe he'd loan me some money, it's just fair.
I lean my head down on the bar, not even caring that the surface is sticky with the unique ooze that can only be cultivated by long years of alcohol spills. My hair, which has grown considerably longer during the last year, fans around me, a violet curtain, my shield from the hurt of the world. Peering out from my veil, I spy on the other occupants of the bar. There are seven prostitutes, thirteen loners, three victims of heartbreak, eight down-on-their-luck bounty hunters, five pilots, and one nervous businessman. All come to dull their pain with the magical amber potion.
I really need to change my life. I had hit upon this idea when I stopped to get cigarettes this afternoon. I had looked deep into the window pane in front of the store, and, for the first time, had been utterly disgusted by what I saw. I wasn't a Faye I liked. Not that I had ever been, but this time I hated me. Cheap, corrupted, wasted, empty. These are the words of my life. And I'm tired of it.
Sighing, I drain the last of my beer, slap some woolongs on the bar, and walk out. The first step to self-redemption will have to be getting some money, and keeping it for more than a week. I had made my money off of some quite unsavory means, and I don't want to do that anymore. Something legal would be nice. Maybe it's time to think about bounty-hunting again.
The life doesn't appeal to me, hunting down others for money, in a profession where blood flowed freely as water, but I don't have much of a choice. It's not as if I have any other valuable skills.
Shivering, I hunker down into my now tattered red jacket. It's technically July, but on this side of Mars, it's cold as space. Looking upward, I think about space, that empty, freezing void that sucks life away in instants. I'll have to return there, now that I've decided to go back to bounty hunting. My only clear memories of my past life are of an accident in space. It was horrible, to say the least. But I can't let a past life keep me away from earning money in this life, now can I?
I stop in front of my apartment building, and head up to my room. It's not technically mine, I stopped paying for it a few months ago, but so far no one's kicked me out. I don't think it's worth the cost of evicting me. The walls are seeping with moisture, the floors are crawling with roaches, and the bathroom only drips out yellow water. Still, it's a place to sleep where I can actually be alone. It's still cold in here, the heat doesn't work, so I take out a heavier coat, and wrap myself up.
Laying on the spring-less bed, I think about my options. There aren't that many. My ship has just about had it, I need a new gun, and I have no money. I don't think I'll be able to do this alone. So I get up and walk over to my phone (which, miraculously, works today). I dial in a number, and a gruff voice answers.
"What d'ya want?"
I smile, he's still the same.
"Hey, Jet, it's been awhile..."
Two days later, I stand in front of my former home. I can't believe he actually let me back on the Bebop. Grabbing my bag firmly in one hand, I take a step up to the ship.
***
OK, that was short, I know, but I got done what I wanted done. Now, the question is, should Spike be on the ship? Or at the syndicate? *Pulls at her hair* I DON'T KNOOOOOOOOW.... *cries* I have almost no idea what's going to happen! Isn't that sad? Oh well, you tell me what you think, OK? I'll be eagerly awaiting your responses.
~Val~