Elflord: *clears throat conspicuously* Hem, hem. Rest of universe: *in the
loudest voice possible* ENOUGH WITH THE UMBRIDGE JOKES!!! Elflord: *anime
sweatdrop* Heh heh heh . . . just a little joke. Anyway . . . *clears
throat 'hem hem'-less* . . . World . . . I have something to say. * Spike,
Vicious and Julia appear out of thin air* Vicious: We're listening. Spike:
This I gotta see. Elflord: *exasperated look* Oh, I guess you're here to
get revenge for power trips . . . huh? Julia: Don't look at me. I'm here
for moral support. Elflord: *biiiiiiiig sigh* Okay. Here I go . . . World,
I don't' own Bebop or any of the characters! Julia: That's IT??? Vicious:
We thought it was something important! Spike: Of course you don't own us.
Vicious: That's a given. Julia: *look of disgust* Let's get out of here!!!
*all three disappear again*. Elflord: O.
A/N: This fic, as is true with all my other fics, does not follow the plot exactly. I do not take from the plot as ground in stone, but do my own interpretation of what happened. I use some parts of the plot, and some other parts are my own interpretation. Truly, I feel, most important, in case otherwise stated, is to stay in character.
Another A/N: I have borrowed the lyrics of several artists here (mostly Floyd). They are numbered, and you will see the name of song and artist at the end of this fic.
Psychopathics
in Silver and Black
The sky glowed with a big waxing moon . . . quarter past one now. Swiftly, stealthily up the darkened street a figure in black walked as though he'd grown out of the night itself. His figure cut both the alien and the strangely familiar. A large black trench coat, collar pulled high, hid his defining features. No names here . . .
An aftertaste of cocaine lingered in his nostrils as he glanced down at his once bloodied katana, now tied at his hip. It had been a strange, violent night. He shook his great white locks and lit himself a cigarette. The sour fumes entered his lungs. He let them linger a moment and then exhaled, a long white tail of mist twisting into the night, a slow snake rising from his nose.
Crookedly he held the cigarette between his teeth. Home couldn't be far. And he would need her tonight, as soon as possible. That he knew.
He worshipped the nights when he owned her, body and soul.
Even the thought of her body gave him a twinge down below. Vicious walked faster. Get to her, to bed quickly. Her body would quench it, heal it. Now, when they could be alone.
'You'll have that sugar soon enough,' he thought in attempt to sustain his body. So bad . . . he had to distract himself. Anything. Immediately, the lyrics amplified on his ears . . .
. . . And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's 'off with her head!'
Remember what the dormouse said:
'Feed your head!
Feed your head!' . . . (1)
. . . the house in all it's glory. Lights off. He looked up into window of the bedroom. Dark, but she was there, alright. With a flick of his finger, he flipped the cigarette into the grass. He wouldn't need it now.
'Just a little while longer and you'll have all you want,' he thought, trying to keep himself from jumping out of his skin.
The doorknob turned easily. People came in and out so often, they never bothered to lock it.
Dark and cavernous as an abyss, the front room, but he could see like a cat . . . the stairs. Barely taking time to hang his coat and unlash the katana, he started on them, two at a time, stealthily. 'Just a little while longer . . .'
Long, the hallway, the bedroom door open a bit, a shaft of moonlight pouring through the gap. His fingertips resting on the doorknob . . .
"Almost done" Julia's whispered voice. He stopped, his ears perked. Was she talking in her sleep?
"Hurry . . . please!" a panicked whisper. Vicious' ears stung. His mind was a blur. It couldn't be so.
Looking through the gap . . . his silvery eyes dilated in rage. Two people in his bed, one of them Julia, stark naked, undressing . . . Spike Spiegel. A little gasp escaped his throat.
Spike, now down to boxers, looked up. "Did you hear that?"
Vicious clamped a hand over his mouth, quaking against the instinct to scream.
"Hear what?" she asked.
There was a long silence.
"I could've sworn I heard something . . ."
'Don't scream,' Vicious slowly sank to the floor in silence. 'Whatever you do, don't scream.'
Spike Spiegel, his best friend for so, so long . . . he bit down on his tongue, stifling the impulse. He didn't know what was worse; him or her.
"Eh," Spike sighed finally, sliding out of the boxers at last. "Must be my imagination."
"I can get your imagination reelin'," she pulled him back into the sheets, "'til you won't hear spooky noises . . ." Spike crawled over her, his breath tense, . . . they gave a communal groan, their bodies began to move.
Vicious sat and watched in silence, swaying slightly, staring. He watched the sweet thighs he'd longed after minutes before bend to another man's beat. The sweet mouth, so moist and full, kissed by his. The sweet breasts, white, perfect, heaving under the strength of another. The sweet voice, like chimes and birds, moaning, calling out a foreign name in sighs. Staring through the night, he watched them cycle once, twice, thrice . . . watched and waited . . .
* * *
They were asleep now. Their sighs had died away about forty minutes ago. Spike turned once twenty minutes ago, but before and since, neither had shown any sign of awareness.
One corner of his mouth turned up in a strange, frightening grin. For the last hour or so, he had been turning his gun over in his hands, waiting for the very right moment. And now it had come.
He got to his feet and pulled the door open so slowly. There he was, still asleep, his pale muscular chest exposed, green mop of hair on pillow. Completely unawares that his life was about to end.
"Sleep well, my friend," whispered, the arm holding the gun pivoted right at his chest. "Sleep well . . ."
For a second or two, he held his eye closed and hand steady, staring down the barrel at whom a few hours ago had been partner in crime . . .
No bang.
'No,' he thought to himself. 'No . . . not yet . . . her first. He gets to see her go.' The gun pivoted toward the blonde woman, still asleep, who a few hours ago had been his light o' love . . .
"Good night, dearest. . ."
No bang.
His hand shivered. What was wrong? Why didn't he fire? The longer he held it there, the more it trembled. No bang. No bang.
Suddenly, with a little gasp, he pressed the barrel against his temple. He would end it right now, yes, right now, no more of this treachery, no more crime and sin, no more pain, nothing at all, all over, there was no use waiting on it, his finger was on the trigger . . .
Click.
Nothing. He tried again. Click. Click. Click, click, click, click, click. And then the sudden realization . . . in all his rage, in all his fury . . . he'd never taken the safety off.
He snapped his eyes closed and clenched his teeth. He wasn't thinking clearly. Look what he'd almost done!
There were far, far better ways to do this . . .
Vicious looked down at his former friend, still asleep. Somehow, he'd gotten the covers off his torso, and his body shivered. He took a corner of the blanket and pulled it back onto him, who fell asleep almost immediately.
Julia, gorgeous as ever, her pure, soft, bare back facing him. With fingertips so light, he rubbed along her shoulders and back.
"Sweet dreams, m'love," his voice came as a whisper, a hiss. "Sweet dreams . . .
Without another word, he turned on his heel, steps soundless. A small creak left the door a bit open.
Quarter past five. He should get out before it got light. Down the stairs as he'd gone up them. Took his coat, wrapped it around the shoulders, out the door again. Out of the house that was no longer his palace.
He'd find some coke, find someone to cut, make whine for life; find anything that'd make him forget it all. It didn't have to come now. This required planning. This required cunning. This required pain.
They'd never forget about Vicious Reddragon again. That was certain.
Until then, there would always be those stunning lyrics.
But they were of quite a different nature now. They came in a great fast, unending, almost psychotic string of unconnected words and notes, rambling . . .
. . . The lunatic is in my head.
The lunatic is in my head.
You raise the blade, you make the change
You rearrange me 'til I'm sane.
You lock the door
And throw away the key.
There's someone in my head but it's not me . . . (2)
'Insanity in reality.'
. . . Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears . . . (3)
'Sweet, sweet reverie of justice.'
. . . Oooo, that smell!
Can't ya smell that smell?
Oooo, that smell!
The smell of Death surrounds you . . . (4)
'Toke it up, boys. Who gives a damn about death?'
. . . And If I to stay here with you, girl,
Things just wouldn't be the same
For I'm as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change . . . (5)
'God, free me from the prison.'
. . . Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you . . . (6)
'Fucking bitch.'
. . . There's a silence surrounding me
I can't seem to think straight
I'll sit in the corner
No one can bother me . . . (7)
'Leave me the hell alone.'
. . . I've got wild, staring eyes
And I got a strong urge to fly
But I got nowhere to fly to . . . (8)
'Let me fly until I burn.'
. . . And I can feel,
One of all my turns coming on.
And I feel,
Cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum . . . (9)
'Oh, this stealthy cancer of souls.'
. . . His blood has frozen & curdled with fright
His knees have trembled & given way in the night
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth . . . (10)
'Enough,' he thought to himself, his head reeling and strange. It took him a second to get his bearings. 'Gotta get a hold on yourself. You can't go on that way.'
He'd never let them forget Vicious Reddragon. Now it was their turn to die from within.
"Enjoy yourself, my friend," a strange voice could be heard down the street under the slowly lightening sky. "Enjoy . . . whilst you can . . ."
THE END
(1): Jefferson Airplane "White Rabbit"
(2): Pink Floyd "Eclipse"
(3): Aerosmith "Dream On"
(4): Lynyrd Skynyrd "Smell of Death"
(5): Lynyrd Skynyrd "Free Bird"
(6): Led Zeppelin "Dazed and Confused"
(7): Pink Floyd "Keep Talking"
(8): Pink Floyd "Nobody Home"
(9): Pink Floyd "One of My Turns"
(10): Pink Floyd "Sorrow"
So . . . Tell me what ya think, already! Like it? Hate it? TELL ME!!!
A/N: This fic, as is true with all my other fics, does not follow the plot exactly. I do not take from the plot as ground in stone, but do my own interpretation of what happened. I use some parts of the plot, and some other parts are my own interpretation. Truly, I feel, most important, in case otherwise stated, is to stay in character.
Another A/N: I have borrowed the lyrics of several artists here (mostly Floyd). They are numbered, and you will see the name of song and artist at the end of this fic.
Psychopathics
in Silver and Black
The sky glowed with a big waxing moon . . . quarter past one now. Swiftly, stealthily up the darkened street a figure in black walked as though he'd grown out of the night itself. His figure cut both the alien and the strangely familiar. A large black trench coat, collar pulled high, hid his defining features. No names here . . .
An aftertaste of cocaine lingered in his nostrils as he glanced down at his once bloodied katana, now tied at his hip. It had been a strange, violent night. He shook his great white locks and lit himself a cigarette. The sour fumes entered his lungs. He let them linger a moment and then exhaled, a long white tail of mist twisting into the night, a slow snake rising from his nose.
Crookedly he held the cigarette between his teeth. Home couldn't be far. And he would need her tonight, as soon as possible. That he knew.
He worshipped the nights when he owned her, body and soul.
Even the thought of her body gave him a twinge down below. Vicious walked faster. Get to her, to bed quickly. Her body would quench it, heal it. Now, when they could be alone.
'You'll have that sugar soon enough,' he thought in attempt to sustain his body. So bad . . . he had to distract himself. Anything. Immediately, the lyrics amplified on his ears . . .
. . . And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's 'off with her head!'
Remember what the dormouse said:
'Feed your head!
Feed your head!' . . . (1)
. . . the house in all it's glory. Lights off. He looked up into window of the bedroom. Dark, but she was there, alright. With a flick of his finger, he flipped the cigarette into the grass. He wouldn't need it now.
'Just a little while longer and you'll have all you want,' he thought, trying to keep himself from jumping out of his skin.
The doorknob turned easily. People came in and out so often, they never bothered to lock it.
Dark and cavernous as an abyss, the front room, but he could see like a cat . . . the stairs. Barely taking time to hang his coat and unlash the katana, he started on them, two at a time, stealthily. 'Just a little while longer . . .'
Long, the hallway, the bedroom door open a bit, a shaft of moonlight pouring through the gap. His fingertips resting on the doorknob . . .
"Almost done" Julia's whispered voice. He stopped, his ears perked. Was she talking in her sleep?
"Hurry . . . please!" a panicked whisper. Vicious' ears stung. His mind was a blur. It couldn't be so.
Looking through the gap . . . his silvery eyes dilated in rage. Two people in his bed, one of them Julia, stark naked, undressing . . . Spike Spiegel. A little gasp escaped his throat.
Spike, now down to boxers, looked up. "Did you hear that?"
Vicious clamped a hand over his mouth, quaking against the instinct to scream.
"Hear what?" she asked.
There was a long silence.
"I could've sworn I heard something . . ."
'Don't scream,' Vicious slowly sank to the floor in silence. 'Whatever you do, don't scream.'
Spike Spiegel, his best friend for so, so long . . . he bit down on his tongue, stifling the impulse. He didn't know what was worse; him or her.
"Eh," Spike sighed finally, sliding out of the boxers at last. "Must be my imagination."
"I can get your imagination reelin'," she pulled him back into the sheets, "'til you won't hear spooky noises . . ." Spike crawled over her, his breath tense, . . . they gave a communal groan, their bodies began to move.
Vicious sat and watched in silence, swaying slightly, staring. He watched the sweet thighs he'd longed after minutes before bend to another man's beat. The sweet mouth, so moist and full, kissed by his. The sweet breasts, white, perfect, heaving under the strength of another. The sweet voice, like chimes and birds, moaning, calling out a foreign name in sighs. Staring through the night, he watched them cycle once, twice, thrice . . . watched and waited . . .
* * *
They were asleep now. Their sighs had died away about forty minutes ago. Spike turned once twenty minutes ago, but before and since, neither had shown any sign of awareness.
One corner of his mouth turned up in a strange, frightening grin. For the last hour or so, he had been turning his gun over in his hands, waiting for the very right moment. And now it had come.
He got to his feet and pulled the door open so slowly. There he was, still asleep, his pale muscular chest exposed, green mop of hair on pillow. Completely unawares that his life was about to end.
"Sleep well, my friend," whispered, the arm holding the gun pivoted right at his chest. "Sleep well . . ."
For a second or two, he held his eye closed and hand steady, staring down the barrel at whom a few hours ago had been partner in crime . . .
No bang.
'No,' he thought to himself. 'No . . . not yet . . . her first. He gets to see her go.' The gun pivoted toward the blonde woman, still asleep, who a few hours ago had been his light o' love . . .
"Good night, dearest. . ."
No bang.
His hand shivered. What was wrong? Why didn't he fire? The longer he held it there, the more it trembled. No bang. No bang.
Suddenly, with a little gasp, he pressed the barrel against his temple. He would end it right now, yes, right now, no more of this treachery, no more crime and sin, no more pain, nothing at all, all over, there was no use waiting on it, his finger was on the trigger . . .
Click.
Nothing. He tried again. Click. Click. Click, click, click, click, click. And then the sudden realization . . . in all his rage, in all his fury . . . he'd never taken the safety off.
He snapped his eyes closed and clenched his teeth. He wasn't thinking clearly. Look what he'd almost done!
There were far, far better ways to do this . . .
Vicious looked down at his former friend, still asleep. Somehow, he'd gotten the covers off his torso, and his body shivered. He took a corner of the blanket and pulled it back onto him, who fell asleep almost immediately.
Julia, gorgeous as ever, her pure, soft, bare back facing him. With fingertips so light, he rubbed along her shoulders and back.
"Sweet dreams, m'love," his voice came as a whisper, a hiss. "Sweet dreams . . .
Without another word, he turned on his heel, steps soundless. A small creak left the door a bit open.
Quarter past five. He should get out before it got light. Down the stairs as he'd gone up them. Took his coat, wrapped it around the shoulders, out the door again. Out of the house that was no longer his palace.
He'd find some coke, find someone to cut, make whine for life; find anything that'd make him forget it all. It didn't have to come now. This required planning. This required cunning. This required pain.
They'd never forget about Vicious Reddragon again. That was certain.
Until then, there would always be those stunning lyrics.
But they were of quite a different nature now. They came in a great fast, unending, almost psychotic string of unconnected words and notes, rambling . . .
. . . The lunatic is in my head.
The lunatic is in my head.
You raise the blade, you make the change
You rearrange me 'til I'm sane.
You lock the door
And throw away the key.
There's someone in my head but it's not me . . . (2)
'Insanity in reality.'
. . . Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears . . . (3)
'Sweet, sweet reverie of justice.'
. . . Oooo, that smell!
Can't ya smell that smell?
Oooo, that smell!
The smell of Death surrounds you . . . (4)
'Toke it up, boys. Who gives a damn about death?'
. . . And If I to stay here with you, girl,
Things just wouldn't be the same
For I'm as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change . . . (5)
'God, free me from the prison.'
. . . Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you . . . (6)
'Fucking bitch.'
. . . There's a silence surrounding me
I can't seem to think straight
I'll sit in the corner
No one can bother me . . . (7)
'Leave me the hell alone.'
. . . I've got wild, staring eyes
And I got a strong urge to fly
But I got nowhere to fly to . . . (8)
'Let me fly until I burn.'
. . . And I can feel,
One of all my turns coming on.
And I feel,
Cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum . . . (9)
'Oh, this stealthy cancer of souls.'
. . . His blood has frozen & curdled with fright
His knees have trembled & given way in the night
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth . . . (10)
'Enough,' he thought to himself, his head reeling and strange. It took him a second to get his bearings. 'Gotta get a hold on yourself. You can't go on that way.'
He'd never let them forget Vicious Reddragon. Now it was their turn to die from within.
"Enjoy yourself, my friend," a strange voice could be heard down the street under the slowly lightening sky. "Enjoy . . . whilst you can . . ."
THE END
(1): Jefferson Airplane "White Rabbit"
(2): Pink Floyd "Eclipse"
(3): Aerosmith "Dream On"
(4): Lynyrd Skynyrd "Smell of Death"
(5): Lynyrd Skynyrd "Free Bird"
(6): Led Zeppelin "Dazed and Confused"
(7): Pink Floyd "Keep Talking"
(8): Pink Floyd "Nobody Home"
(9): Pink Floyd "One of My Turns"
(10): Pink Floyd "Sorrow"
So . . . Tell me what ya think, already! Like it? Hate it? TELL ME!!!