DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however,
own this original story.
Beyond Beautiful
By The Lady Razorsharp
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith
Ch 2: Fate
Love my Love my
Love du jour
Sheza mine all mine
My mind's made up
Yeah I'm so sure
Cuz there's none so fine
This ain't about
No losin' sleep
It's all about
The love you keep
The smell of cigarette smoke told her he was there.
Julia leaned back against the wall, her arms clutched about the bodice of her burgundy satin dress, her fingers tracing the velvet roses on her wrap. The night air was cool on the back of her neck, since she'd pinned her blond waves up with a pair of mahogany chopsticks. Right now, she longed to pull them out, just so she could watch Spike's face soften from that of a killing machine to a hot-blooded man as the golden strands fell down around her shoulders. She dared not, and simply watched him as he smoked on the other side of the door, the side of his face illuminated by the light spilling from the doorway.
"Nice party," he commented, smoke rolling from his mouth with the words.
She sighed. "I suppose so."
He ground the cigarette out beneath his shoe. There was a moment's silence, then: "You look beautiful tonight."
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. "Spike," she whispered, turning away from him.
"Julia," he whispered back, taking a step forward into the light, then glancing to his right into the ballroom. He stepped back.
"Don't say such things."
"Even if they're true?" He was in front of her now; somehow he had managed to skirt the light, walking near the railing where the night provided a bridge for him to cross to her. "Julia." His fingers tilted her chin up, making her look into his lean face. "I can't do this forever. I'm not made of stone."
"I know," she breathed, laying her head against his shoulder, the dark wool of his coat scratchy beneath her cheek. She pressed her nose into the fabric, smelling a mix of gunpowder and cigarettes and cologne; his scent, the smell of a man who was real and warm and alive.
"Vicious will have to know the truth someday."
She sighed. "And you don't think he already does?"
"No. Otherwise I'd be dead by now."
Julia's heart squeezed again. A flash passed before her eyes, one of herself dressed in black, weeping into a lace handkerchief in the pouring rain. A coffin, draped with a pall embroidered with the Red Dragon crest, making its way into the red Martian soil. Vicious, his cold eyes showing no emotion as he tossed a white rose tipped with red into the grave. Those same eyes raised to hers in a silent communication: This is what becomes of those who betray me.
"I have to go back inside," she stammered, pulling away from him and stepping back into the light.
"Julia!" Spike hissed behind her, but she didn't turn around. Instead, she composed herself back into her doll-like self, her flesh freezing back into its porcelain hardness.
Vicious broke away from a knot of Black Coats he was speaking with and held out his hand to her. "Ah, Julia. I have some bad news, my dear." His hand was ice-cold in hers, his manicured nails digging into her flesh. "There is some business I need to take care of this evening. I want you to run along home; don't wait up for me. I'll see you tomorrow." He left an icy kiss on her cheek, one that made all the young gangsters around him smile behind their highball glasses. "Spike, my friend, you're just in time."
Julia blinked, careful not to let her surprise show beyond that simple fluttering of her lids.
"Oh? What for?" came Spike's voice from behind her. She turned to see him standing there, and in the light, he looked like any other Syndicate cog; long dark coat, fluid black pants with knife-like creases, black leather shoes. The coat hid the Jericho strapped to his side, but now she noticed that his burgundy poplin shirt and matching tie were the exact shade of her dress. Over all was his mop of messy green hair, his lopsided grin, and piercing garnet eyes. Those eyes flicked to her as he dipped his head in a show of respect in the presence of a beautiful lady; that much he could do in Vicious' presence.
"I need you to do me a favor, old friend." Vicious laid his hand against Julia's shoulder, running his fingers lightly over her pale skin. "I have to work late tonight. Would you see to it that Julia gets home safely?"
Spike nodded. "I'd be glad to."
"I am in your debt, my friend." Vicious kissed Julia's hand, but the gesture was stiff instead of gallant. "Run along now, dearest. Goodnight, Spike."
Beyond Beautiful
By The Lady Razorsharp
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith
Ch 2: Fate
Love my Love my
Love du jour
Sheza mine all mine
My mind's made up
Yeah I'm so sure
Cuz there's none so fine
This ain't about
No losin' sleep
It's all about
The love you keep
The smell of cigarette smoke told her he was there.
Julia leaned back against the wall, her arms clutched about the bodice of her burgundy satin dress, her fingers tracing the velvet roses on her wrap. The night air was cool on the back of her neck, since she'd pinned her blond waves up with a pair of mahogany chopsticks. Right now, she longed to pull them out, just so she could watch Spike's face soften from that of a killing machine to a hot-blooded man as the golden strands fell down around her shoulders. She dared not, and simply watched him as he smoked on the other side of the door, the side of his face illuminated by the light spilling from the doorway.
"Nice party," he commented, smoke rolling from his mouth with the words.
She sighed. "I suppose so."
He ground the cigarette out beneath his shoe. There was a moment's silence, then: "You look beautiful tonight."
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. "Spike," she whispered, turning away from him.
"Julia," he whispered back, taking a step forward into the light, then glancing to his right into the ballroom. He stepped back.
"Don't say such things."
"Even if they're true?" He was in front of her now; somehow he had managed to skirt the light, walking near the railing where the night provided a bridge for him to cross to her. "Julia." His fingers tilted her chin up, making her look into his lean face. "I can't do this forever. I'm not made of stone."
"I know," she breathed, laying her head against his shoulder, the dark wool of his coat scratchy beneath her cheek. She pressed her nose into the fabric, smelling a mix of gunpowder and cigarettes and cologne; his scent, the smell of a man who was real and warm and alive.
"Vicious will have to know the truth someday."
She sighed. "And you don't think he already does?"
"No. Otherwise I'd be dead by now."
Julia's heart squeezed again. A flash passed before her eyes, one of herself dressed in black, weeping into a lace handkerchief in the pouring rain. A coffin, draped with a pall embroidered with the Red Dragon crest, making its way into the red Martian soil. Vicious, his cold eyes showing no emotion as he tossed a white rose tipped with red into the grave. Those same eyes raised to hers in a silent communication: This is what becomes of those who betray me.
"I have to go back inside," she stammered, pulling away from him and stepping back into the light.
"Julia!" Spike hissed behind her, but she didn't turn around. Instead, she composed herself back into her doll-like self, her flesh freezing back into its porcelain hardness.
Vicious broke away from a knot of Black Coats he was speaking with and held out his hand to her. "Ah, Julia. I have some bad news, my dear." His hand was ice-cold in hers, his manicured nails digging into her flesh. "There is some business I need to take care of this evening. I want you to run along home; don't wait up for me. I'll see you tomorrow." He left an icy kiss on her cheek, one that made all the young gangsters around him smile behind their highball glasses. "Spike, my friend, you're just in time."
Julia blinked, careful not to let her surprise show beyond that simple fluttering of her lids.
"Oh? What for?" came Spike's voice from behind her. She turned to see him standing there, and in the light, he looked like any other Syndicate cog; long dark coat, fluid black pants with knife-like creases, black leather shoes. The coat hid the Jericho strapped to his side, but now she noticed that his burgundy poplin shirt and matching tie were the exact shade of her dress. Over all was his mop of messy green hair, his lopsided grin, and piercing garnet eyes. Those eyes flicked to her as he dipped his head in a show of respect in the presence of a beautiful lady; that much he could do in Vicious' presence.
"I need you to do me a favor, old friend." Vicious laid his hand against Julia's shoulder, running his fingers lightly over her pale skin. "I have to work late tonight. Would you see to it that Julia gets home safely?"
Spike nodded. "I'd be glad to."
"I am in your debt, my friend." Vicious kissed Julia's hand, but the gesture was stiff instead of gallant. "Run along now, dearest. Goodnight, Spike."