Okay, well here it is the third update. I did it. I think this is the longest one I've written yet, should be at least one maybe two more coming – though I wouldn't throw a lot of chips in the fifth chapter. Also I'd like to thank everyone one (three of you now) for your positive reviews of the last chapter, I'm glad the idea was well received, I was pretty worried about how it would go. I would like to ask if you could tell anyone you know who might be interested to read this, let it get around a little, and hopefully they'll review it too so I know they read it. Anyway I'm glad to see that people have enjoyed it so far – I enjoy the reviews keep with them -- and I'll keep going with this.
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I made some minor edits to this chapter, probably not noticeable but it's a bit smoother now. Anyway, I am working on a 4th chapter (mostly in my head right now) -- and there will probably be a very short 5th one to go along, but I need reviews, It's the only way I'll know if anyone – besides the 3 different people who have reviewed this have read it, not to mention, even getting consistent reviews from just a couple of people is basically what motivates me to keep writing, I don't want to be an ass about this, but I really can't tell if it just sits there and looks pretty (or boring perhaps?) or if anyone reads it. The 4th chapter will be up soon though… I hope.
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What You Want
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Jet didn't know what to think, or really how to feel, coughing up his lungs seemed to be the reasonable reaction, but he was a man of relative control so he opted just to sit his ass down instead. Sitting across from each other again, with the kid back on the yellow couch, had nothing happened? He couldn't really decide how to react, how was he supposed to react? First and foremost, he had to clarify two things in his head; firstly he didn't believe a damn word this kid was saying, secondly he wasn't entirely sure of what this kid was saying. Dylan could most defiantly be delusional, it would explain his whole drunken-sleepy-amnesia thing, but on the other hand it most certainly did not clarify how this kid knew detailed facets of his life. The real problem, or what upset him was a bit more difficult to put his finger on, it wasn't so much what Dylan had said, but rather the way he said it. There was something about how he described his loss of an arm, looked down at him, told him the "truth", he did it with an artistic precession that was quite frankly -- unsettling.
"Firstly," began Jet interrupting the long silence, "I just want to say that I don't know what the hell your talking about, and I don't give a damn."
"Right," replied Dylan patronizingly, staring back at him glumly, "Won't this be fun?" he added with a blast of sarcasm.
"God damn it!" Jet said smashing his hand against the table, "I'm not sure if I understand what you're saying, and even if I do, I mean, how the hell am I supposed to take it?"
"With this," said Dylan bluntly tossing him the half empty bottle of booze, "and a very open mind."
Jet let out one grand, intensive, cathartic, sigh, bleeding out all his frustrations for the moment and looked harshly across the table at Dylan.
"I don't entertain delusional fantasies." Jet said sternly glaring down as a challenge to Dylan. Dylan just stared back blankly, tired and worn, a face that showed, good god empathy? Jet couldn't help but notice that after he had crucified him with his glares, and ripped his world to shreds, the man was sad tired and confused too, and well just disappointed.
"Spike's dead Jet," Dylan said, damn it that was the second time today someone felt the need to remind him of the obvious like he was a little child, "I can't imagine you entertain much of anything these days."
The point hit Jet in the gut again taking the wind out of him, it was there again, that artistic precision, but the kid was right, and he knew too much, good god he knew too much, and all in all he couldn't help but imagine the kid was a little confused and frightened too. He did say it was weird for him too, and besides who was Jet kidding? He didn't have anything else to entertain.
"So," he began but not continuing till he took a large swig of the alcohol straight from the bottle, and finally set it down gently, "I'm a animated character?"
"Yup," he replied snatching the bottle back from him and taking a hearty swig as well, "Basically."
"…And I don't suppose you have any sorta hard evidence to prove this?" asked Jet.
"Like what, a few of the episodes to show you?" Dylan replied flatly, "No, not really."
Jet sighed in frustration, dismissing the validity of trying to argue with him, "But there are episodes of my life… available to the public, somewhere in existence?"
"Yes," Dylan began, "Er, well no, I mean not that' you'll ever see."
"What?" Jet snapped sounding a little bit angry.
"No, don't misunderstand, I mean they exist but you can't get them here…" Dylan tried to explain.
"Ok, then where do we go to get them?" Jet asked almost in cynical mockery.
Dylan let out an exasperated sigh, "It doesn't work that way," he said noticing Jet's eyebrow twitch in irritation, "Look If your gonna have any hope of understanding this the first thing your gonna have to follow is that in my world per say, you don't exist, you're a fictional character."
"Your world?" Jet asked.
"Yes, I mean you could call it a different universe, an ulterior plane of existence, but the point is, in the universe I was in and I understood, you, Spike, Bebop, didn't exist, it was all part of a fictional television show."
Jet sighed again in disbelief, but now with a hint of understanding, "Well, what's your 'world' like?"
"Basically the same, really, I mean the show was basically modeled off our own existence, they just made up some characters set it about 70 plus years in the future, and took a half assed sci-fi approach to what could happen."
"So your 'world' is just really what happened before 'mine'?" Jet asked slowly.
"Not really, in fact I'd say what goes on here, is pretty far off guess at what might happen in 70 years, by my world's standards anyway," Dylan replied equally slowly trying to think of the most rational and logical way to explain what was both completely irrational and illogical.
"So exactly what is it to your 'world' then?" said Jet still trying to get his head around the idea.
"Fiction, pure and simple, it's completely fictitious entertainment, an animated fictional television show, if you can understand that, then the rest is easy shit."
Jet slumped his head back into his hand, "Understanding was never the hard part, it's the whole believing and accepting thing that got me in this state," he grumbled, "So maybe I get your theory, but it's kinda creepy to imagine, you know everyone watching me all the time."
"Well first of all, it's not like you exist, or anyone is even lead to believe you exist, your purely fictional, so nobody's watching you, and to be honest, the show is just a bunch of relevant fragments of your life."
"…And I'm animated…" Jet added again with more emphasis, "Like a damn Cartoon?"
"Well, cartoon is kinda a demeaning word, it's pretty life like you know? Basically how you are right now, just you know, animated."
Jet was tempted to ask when exactly, they were watching him, like in the shower maybe? He thought better of it, already getting a drift of what the show was about. "They" weren't watching him anyway, cause he didn't exist to them. Yeah he understood, as if. The whole thing was ridiculous to try to comprehend, but he could finally tell now why Dylan was so stressed out too. There was no reason why this should be logical – much less possible to him either.
"So," Jet had to ask, though he felt kind of stupid, "So everyone, back in your world," he said, having a little less trouble using the word, "they just sit around and watch – er watch episodes of television about us – er me?"
"Well Jet," Dylan began, "Not to kick you off any high horse, but we, like yourself, have plenty – if not to many television shows, and this one is by no means the most popular, the series started and ended buddy, I just happen to be a fan." He said, noticing Jet for the first time nod, and almost chuckle at the idea of having specific admirers, Dylan however wasn't to comfortable with this, "and while were in the process of kicking you off any plausible ego trip you might have gotten out of this experience," he continued, "I should mention that that it's not about you per-say, your more of a supporting character."
Now Jet chuckled a little, naturally everyone would think in terms of themselves, even though Jet was by no ones standards self-centered. It made sense though, well if you accepted the premise at all anyway.
"So," Jet asked, "When did it end? -- I mean in you know like…"
"Yeah I gotcha," Dylan explained, it was getting easier, just one thing left to over come, "Well reading your papers, specifically bout the Red-Dragon building, I'd say – oh bout six months ago…"
Jet paused for a bit, and nodded solemnly as the severe reference kicked in, but he could really only stay down for so long till it hit him:
"Wait a minute!" Jet demanded, "The shows about Spike?"
"Yeah." Dylan replied flatly until he noticed the expression on Jet's face, Dylan couldn't help to chuckle, or really along side Jet burst out laughing, he fell over on the couch eyes watering a little, and after some more side killing laughter with Jet booming along in unison, he wiped his eyes and sat up straight. As the wave of laughter from Mr. Black also subdued, Dylan noticed Jet looking a little puzzled.
"Ok, now I thought I got this whole mind trip of yours figured out," Jet began, "but I mean, yeah that was funny, but If I'm thinking about this properly, I fail to see why it would be funny to you."
Dylan smiled a little, and resisted the urge to laugh some more, he was catching on fast, he was right it wasn't really funny to him, at least not for those reasons. "Well, yeah that part isn't funny to me at all, what's funny is your reaction, this whole – barrel of nonsense really, I mean, your completely… in-character – that's what's so funny to me I guess."
"Hrmph," Jet grunted smacking the sofa with his fist. "So, it's all about Spike, and basically I make the appropriate appearances?"
"Well now," Dylan said thoughtfully, "Don't belittle yourself, your pretty damn important, practically as important as Spike, -- but officially he's the main character."
"…Right…" Jet said slowly, falling back into the realization of how deep he was getting into shit that went way beyond surreal, "I'm sorry, but I don't totally get it, what exactly happens in this show?"
"Huh?" Dylan, half asked, and half stated, "What do you want me to do explain it episode by episode?"
"Yeah, I don't see why not, something like that would do, cause I'm not going anywhere, and as I made it quite clear to you – your not either."
"Huh," he grunted this time, without question, "Um… well I guess it you know, opening music then introduction then title, and then there's the episode…"
"Woah woah woah," Jet cut him off, "Opening music?"
"Yeah," said Dylan casually rushing through the explanation, " it's this big band Jazzy number, and it's all exciting and there's this off color presentation, and then the title, and then they show you some opening scene and then the title of the specific episode or whatever…"
Damn. This idea had totally escaped Jet, though he had accepted that it was a television show, well on some level, like – he still hadn't actually thought of it that way—as a show, with a theme song and a title and all that nonsense.
"Wait…" Jet said, "What's this all called?"
Dylan paused for a while, he didn't look thrilled about answering these kinda questions, "Cowboy Bebop," he replied as smooth as he could.
"Cowboy Bebop?" Jet asked a little surprised, "um, well I guess…"
"Yeah, why not right?" Dylan said reassuringly, though Jet couldn't tell which one of them he was trying to reassure.
"So…" Jet pressed on conceding that the iconography of this kids surreal fictitious television show was somewhat less important than the plot line, and he didn't want to loose track, "Continue – the first episode."
Dylan let out a sigh and lit up another cigarette, "Well it's basically you guys going after that Asimov character, it starts out with the Ship cruising through space, you tell Spike to eat, and the running joke with bell peppers and…" Dylan cut himself off, "…well technically I suppose that's not how the episode starts…"
Jet raised a questioning eyebrow, "Ok, exactly how does it start."
"Well it's this little artistic scene with Spike and his cigarette and flowers, and then he's shooting some people through the flowers and blah blah blah…"
"No, not, blah blah blah," Jet stated in frustration, "It's relevant, cause I don't remember any of this part,"
"Well it is Spike's past, so you really wouldn't know I guess, except the audience can't make any sense of it either, well at this point anyway, but at the beginning of the series the viewer isn't supposed to know, it's just supposed to look all dramatic, melancholy and spooky, and make you think there's a lot more to the show than meets the eye I guess…"
"…Right," said Jet, clearly not feeling as comfortable as he had felt.
"So look, let me save you the trouble of a detailed– step-by -step analysis of 26 episodes, and let me sum it up," Dylan said flatly, "An episode where you find, Ein, an episode where you meet Faye, episode where you meet Ed, quite a few delving into the dark past of Spike, Julia, and Vicious, a few about your past, a few about Faye's and a whole shit load of stuff in between," Dylan finished sheepishly, "I really feel like such a goon…"
"So, basically from Asimov – till…" Jet said struggling a little.
"…Till Spike dies…yeah…" Dylan finished for Jet, and for some reason adding a strange new level of reality to the fact that Spike really was dead, which was funny when you thought about the fact that the 'reality' had come out of total fiction.
"…Right…" said Jet Slowly nodding.
Dylan sunk his head down again and leaned more into the couch, he seemed a little dismantled over the way things were going, and maybe a level of his artistic precision was gone.
"I mean, it covers the high points at least, I've really got no evidence to say, you know, anything else didn't happen between the episodes…but that's all I know…"
Jet let out a long weak sigh again, he was already getting much too accepting of this, sure he understood what the kid was proposing now, but that didn't make his theory logical -- or possible. There of course there was the big question:
"Now I suppose it would be entirely fruitless me to ask you – you know – exactly how the hell you got 'here'…right?" Jet said glumly.
"Yeah basically," he replied blowing smoke out of his mouth in the classic dramatically -casual manner.
"So you just woke up here one day? Is that it? No idea how?" Jet grumbled.
"Well, Jet," Dylan began confidently, "It's not exactly as if I've been spinning you nothing but lies since we first met."
"Oh?" asked Jet sarcastically.
"No, not exactly anyway, see I do have some form of amnesia I guess," Dylan explained, "You know, like I don't really remember getting here, why or how, it's kinda like a dream, the whole thing just slowly focuses until I have a clear memory. I have some very vague memories of heavy fog early on, but I can't say how or when it started. I do know I was around those docks in bum clothing, I know I was there for a week, hell maybe even two."
"So it's all just been strange hints to the truth huh? A different world, partial amnesia, is that it?" Jet asked in frustration.
"Not really," Dylan conceded, "I'd have to admit that this has mostly been calculated moves, minus my catastrophic slipups."
"Yeah I'll say," grumbled Jet, "Exactly what have you been calculating?"
"Well," Dylan admitted, "When I came to my senses and figured out 'where' I was -- so to speak anyway – I realized that I was gonna have to run into one of you – it was the only way me being here even made sense, and that the only sort resolve was gonna come from getting on your ship, well…I made some calculations…"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jet said sharply, "Like what?"
"Like what?" Dylan snorted back, and then grinned yanking his suit forward a little with a spot of pride, "You think this was an accident? Sure you can call it hero worship if you want," he chuckled cockily, "But I knew you'd have a soft spot for seeing this suit -- on this couch again."
The cigarette fell out of Jet's mouth and ashed itself on the cold metal floor, he stood up in an instant, eyes blazing, and reached across the table, yanking Dylan up by the suit he had just spoken so proudly of, in what was now an all too familiar situation.
"This is just a fucking joke to you isn't it?" Jet snapped shaking Dylan a little, "Our lives are just cinematic dribble for you to critique and analyze? None of this matters to you, does it? Our history, our pain, Spike's death, it's all-just melodrama right? Well I'm real, damn it! You've got no business crashing into my world like this!"
Now it was Dylan's turn to snap, he stared back at him harshly and smacked his arms off his coat and fell onto his feet neatly, giving Jet a harsh shove backwards away from him.
"What the hell did you expect!" Dylan demanded, "You think this was my idea? You think I did this? Spike's death did mean something to me; a hell of a lot more than it should considering he wasn't real! I escaped far too much into that damn show, but don't think for a second that this is my twisted little game!"
Jet conceded a little, it was a scary place for Dylan too, not just him, hell at least he was still at home, so to speak anyway. Jet sat down apologetically and yanked out his cigarettes with his head down as an offering of regret to Dylan. Dylan snatched one out of the box, crammed it into his mouth and paced around in place furiously for a few seconds and then snapped his hand back at Jet who was ready to light it.
"This wasn't my damn idea!" he said flopping down on the couch letting out all his frustration as he blew smoke from the side of his mouth, "You think I would have left myself in rags smelling like fish for more than a week?" he said blowing more smoke from his mouth, "Listen, If I was gonna mix universes, I wouldn't have thrown myself into your world on to some boring dock with some bum's clothes smelling like rotten seafood," he said then grumbling some to himself, "I would have brought Faye back home to my bedroom okay?"
Jet had to chuckle at that, and thankfully Dylan did too, but there it was again, blushing over Faye. Jet did admit that she was damn good looking, but seriously? Then it hit him, one more puzzle piece fell into place.
"Wait a minute," Jet asked, "So Faye's a…" he couldn't even get the words out.
"…Hung up on walls and lockers of geeky boys everywhere…" Dylan said chuckling, leaning as far back into the couch as he could with his head hanging over and looking up, trying to hide his redness.
"She's a sex symbol?" Jet gawked.
"Not in so many words," Dylan laughed uncomfortably.
"What words would you take out?" Jet snorted humorously.
"…Symbol…" said Dylan stretching his arms, yawing, laughing, blushing, and grinning all at once.
Jet burst into a fit of short laughs, that reeked of a school girl with a rich baritone who had a bit too much to drink, "Man, that's a riot," he said through laughter, panting for air.
"Yeah, I guess so," said Dylan grinning a little now.
"Well I can see why you were a bit worried bout meeting her now," Jet said smiling, "Though really, this is a once and a lifetime opportunity…"
Dylan's eyes rolled upwards as he closed them, smiling, perhaps dreaming of what the encounter would be like, meeting the legendary pin up girl herself, but his smile turned to a embarrassed frown.
"Yeah, but awkward as hell," he said suddenly, "and besides I'm not really up for having this conversation again."
"I dunno man," Jet said, "Those are some powerful words you have, might be your ticket…"
"No, I don't think the – 'Hey sweet thing, did I mention that you're a fictional character on an animated TV show…' line is gonna get me much action," he said chuckling and blushing, "But then again Jet, with all you've been drinking to cope, I suspect she wouldn't object too much to anything," he said laughing even more.
It was a little in bad taste, but Jet could tell by his reassuring smile he was hardly serious, and he was right, the booze really had loosened him up, "Is that so?" he asked chuckling along.
"Well," said Dylan before he paused, and the laughter stopped, "Nah, not really, I couldn't – she's in love with the dead man Jet."
"You think?" asked Jet intrigued at what the keen artistic observer might have figured out about their emotions, since he had basically decided hence forth, real or not, this was a learning experience.
"C'mon on man," Dylan put on in his best comforting confident voice, "You know it, you don't need me to tell you, I saw the end man, but you – you were there, she may have wanted a home, but buddy – you know Spike was icing on the cake, and I just can't imagine how much it messed her up, I mean that's why she's not here right?"
"Yeah I guess that's right," Jet admitted sadly, the poor shrew loved the stupid lunkhead, and it was truly classically depressing. It was a shit cycle really, Julia-Spike-Faye, except Faye was still here to deal with it.
"…Besides…" continued Dylan, not hearing Jet's thoughts for once, "I can't imagine what happened to her when you found his body on those stairs, it damn near killed me for Christ's sake."
"Found him on the stairs?" Jet asked a little of set and surprised, "What?"
"That's where he died man!" Dylan said annoyed, "He collapsed on to the stairs in dramatic brilliance! That was the end man!"
Jet rubbed his head in awe, man this was too much, "Well maybe that's how you saw it," said Jet a little interested and annoyed, "But I wasn't watching, remember, that's not how it goes, I wasn't there, you were, we never found his body."
"What?" Dylan asked, shaking his head in disbelief, "What do you mean: You never found his body?"
"That's how it was, man" Jet grumbled, "ISSP reports said that there were basically no survivors, and most of the place was in shards really, I had inside info, and the reality was there was no way he could have made it, I knew that, and clearly you did too."
Dylan popped up to his feet waving his hands and cigarette in frustration and irritation, "You didn't find his body?" Dylan snapped once more rhetorically, and irritated, "That's ridiculous!" Jet could tell he was talking in terms of his own world now, "They didn't find his body…" he said mockingly in some childish voice, "That's garbage, that's the kind of absurd explanation that some tragically obsessed fan would offer up when they just couldn't take the fact that Spike had d…" he cut himself off at the first sound of the last word, his cigarette fell out of his hands and dropped lightly and slowly to the floor, he had gone white, whiter then Jet had seen him yet. He was scared, his eyes wide like all those cartoons he had watched, but real, true fear, a sudden understanding he just couldn't bare. Like the clarity in the midst of chaos he had hoped for had not lead him to a happier soothing truth, it had lead him to a truth which had opened up a whole new world of little terrifying questions that stabbed away, shattering what little chance at comfort he had had. He let out a small breath, breathing out one cold icy piercing utterance, barely audible, but growing in intensity with the wind of his breath, "…fuck…" he fell on to his knees dropping his hands into his head.
"Good god," Jet asked, "What is it?"
"Shit," he said in watery choked voice almost at tears, "It all makes sense now…"
"Really?" Jet exclaimed in excitement, but caught himself, and became worried, "What is it?"
There was a new determined look on his face, any signs of tears were gone as he looked up at Jet straight in the eye, "I'm going, now."
"Wha…" Jet started in a panic, this was too much like Spike for him.
"The Swordfish – it's here isn't it." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement, he could have very well just asked where it was.
"I…" Jet started again, yeah they had taken it back when they had finally accepted that Spike was gone, but there was no reason why this kid should know that.
"No, c'mon I need to go, take me too it, now!" Dylan snapped.
"Er—wait no listen," Jet tried almost trembling now, "Tell me what's going on?" he didn't like how familiar this was sounding.
"Walk with me, take me there," Dylan ordered, "I'll tell you if we go, c'mon."
Without further pause Jet and Dylan bolted forward walking briskly as Jet took him down the path to the hangar.
"Ok," Jet said harshly walking rapidly to stay ahead of Dylan, "Once again, I need answers."
"Look," began Dylan rapidly in a nervous and scared, yet confident excitement, "Since we've meet there have been three things that absolutely under no circumstances could I rationalize in my head – until now, cause you didn't find his body." He added the last line with a hint of smugness, implying the absurdity of Jet's explanation.
"Well what -- what things?" Jet said, noting that Dylan had paused to long for his liking and they were getting awfully close to the ships.
Dylan shook his head in frustration, "Three things make no sense," he took a deep breath, "three things; the cigarettes, the booze, and my fighting."
They were now entering the hanger, and once it was in sight Dylan took no time to dash forward leaping up the ladder, and in moments began to open the cockpit.
"Hey now wait!" Jet demanded, "You didn't tell me anything! Besides think about it, your not Spike, your not even from this 'world' you can't fly that thing, can you?"
"Don't you get it?" Dylan asked in a hurried frustration, mixed with a pang of
guilt, "The three things that didn't make sense, the cigarettes, the booze, and now you tell me you never actually found his body? Believe me, I can fly this thing."
Jet through out his arms in disgust and confusion, "What?" he asked raising an irritated eyebrow.
Dylan sighed once more, "Jet, in my world, you know, the place I know. I've never smoked in my life; it ought to taste terrible to me, shouldn't it? But I went through at least a pack with no trouble. I never drank much either, a glass of wine at most! But I went through the hard stuff like it was nothing! Most of all Jet back home, so to speak, I'm kinda pudgy and out of shape, and I damn well don't know any martial arts! Yet, I mop the floor with that guy like I was, well like I was Spike, Jet, that keyed me into something, that there's more at work here, but it didn't make sense until you gave me a lazy-fan excuse of 'We didn't find his body'. Then it all clicked, and I've got to go now, I need answers to all the new questions."
Jet was flabbergasted, this kid could answer a thousand questions, and provide a thousand more, "You know what now?" he asked demandingly, "What is this all supposed to mean?"
"Don't you get it?" Dylan asked one last time in a whisper of frustration, "He's alive."
"What?" Jet asked in a quiet shock.
"Spike is alive, Jet," he said repeating himself, "He's alive," he repeated again looking cold and hard at Jet one last time, "…and he's alive because I wanted him to be."
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