A/N~ I just watched finished watching CB last night and while I was sitting at my
computer, supposedly doing my homework, a sudden thought came to me, and this was
born...Sorry if it sucks...Sorry if it's out of character. Takes place after The Real Folk
Blues Part II...
Disclaimer: Don't own the Bebop, don't own the Cowboys...Put two and two
together...Don't own Cowboy Bebop...Don't own the song 'Going Under' by
Evanescence...Really cool song ya?
~Dove (Zoheret cannot read this, write about this, or know of this until she has actually
seen CB...So don't tell her about this, kay?)~
Session 27: Lament of the Dragon
/// Okay. 3, 2, 1, let's jam!///
Breathe...Why was it so hard to breathe? The darkness seemed to be pulling at her, pulling her under, and along the edges a young girl was still running, running home. There was no home, there was no life, nothing...And he was gone...
/...Now I will tell you what I've done for you
50 thousand tears I've cried
Screaming deceiving and bleeding for you
And still you won't hear me.../
She wonders if she ever even meant anything to him. Wonders if he even thought of her before he died, and yet a part of her is hoping, clinging to the thought, that he still is alive with his hands in his pockets and his fluffy hair.
Behind her she hears Jet making noise, grumbling as he pacing in front of the
couch, stopping to glare once in awhile at the television and the reporters flashing across
it.
There's a beep, a sign someone's called in, and she hears Jet mumble, "Hey, Bob."
Silence. She pushes herself to her feet and enters the room, using the wall to keep her upright, and ignoring the couch in the corner of her eye.
/...Don't want your hand this time I'll save myself
Maybe I'll wake up for once.../
"...It's a massacre over there," the old man on the screen was saying, his voice distant to her ears, "The guy just blew through them all like a hurricane, dead bodies everywhere. The Red Dragon has taken a fatal blow with this one."
Jet doesn't notice her and continues staring into nothing. "Is he dead?"
The old man sighs and looks away, "...I'm sorry, Jet."
Silence. A slightly shaking voice, "Is there proof?"
A nod followed by a beep. "I'm sending you pictures taken at the scene. Again, I'm sorry, Jet."
She makes her way over to his shoulder, to stare at the screen as he opens the file. Pictures of morbidity assault her, blood and gore everywhere mixed with signs of bombs and explosions. He scrolls through them, till he reaches the last three. Spike walking down the stairs, arm crossing his stomach as he staggers slowly, staring straight at them, a smirk on his lips. Another with an arm in the air the shape of a gun. His mouth is slightly open, and she figures he said something. The last one, him on the stairs, laying face down, as if he'd been pushed.
/...Not tormented daily defeated by you
Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom
I'm dying again.../
She covers her mouth with her hand and backs up. He's dead and he isn't coming back. Better get used to it being just you and Jet, no where left to go, nothing left to do. Easy come, easy go. Gonna have to carry the weight alone.
Jet turns slowly and notices her, opens his mouth to say something, probably about how troublesome the guy was, but just snaps it shut and heads to the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in an hour."
He will hide his grief in work.
She turns away and heads back to the hall, stares up at the ceiling where she'd fired her gun. Bang, she thinks, bang, bang, bang! She wonders if maybe she could have saved him if she'd been able to shot him. He would have hated her for that, though.
But he'd already hated her for a lot of things.
/...I'm going under
Drowning in you
I'm falling forever
I've got to break through
I'm going under.../
She wonders if she should disappear, fly away, find somewhere else to be, and maybe be someone else. She remembers Ed and wonders if the girls okay, realizes how quiet it is.
Grief surrounds her, pain of the now mixed with the agony of remembrance. The walls become fuzzy and strange. She blinks.
Right now she would kill for one of those mushrooms.
/...Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies
So I don't know what's real and what's not
Always confusing the thoughts in my head
So I can't trust myself anymore
I'm dying again.../
*
"This is the Stairway to Heaven."
Obnoxious frog. Get the hell out of my way.
"Sorry, Spiegel, you're still alive."
Aw, shit.
"There's a price for this you know."
Price? I don't have any money so you're outta luck.
"This price is for never dying, Spiegel, the price of immortality."
Huh?
"You were a cat, you had a million lives and you spent them, you cried a million tears and lived on in a dream. So near death, but you can't climb the Stairway, now can you?"
I'll show you, you stupid animal.
"..."
...Alright, so I can't....
"Because Spike, you can't die, but you can't live either."
I hate you, you know that?
"You were a cat. Now be a dragon."
*
Ryen stares across at the other three, fully aware of the elevated hope in the room. He glances down at his hands, palms flat on the desk, and wonders how many deaths they've caused.
"You're saying he'll live?" Dreg demands heatedly, standing up and shoving his chair aside.
The make shift meeting room was three feet below the ground, in an abandoned ISSP interrogation faculty.
Ryen meets his glare and shrugs. "I've got just as much medical training as you, how the hell should I know?! All I'm saying is that I think he has a pretty good chance."
Vere sighs and leans back in his chair, "I still think we should call in a few
doctors."
"And call attention to our hideout? I think not!" Ryen snaps, combing through his short black hair with one hand.
All three of the syndicate members wore black with two handguns strapped to their sides as if they expected attackers at any moment. Vere was the oldest of the trio, but had the list power in their small triangle, his hair was a salt and pepper color, the fading of brown tinting the edges. Dreg was around thirty or so with no hair what so ever, and repeatedly would state that he shaved it off, while people rolled their eyes in doubt.
They had been appointed by the older members of the Red Dragon to take care of Spike, code name 'Chaos'. Messages were being sent to all members, altering them that the heir of Mao had returned and was healing, that he had killed of Vicious to save them from certain destruction, that all would be right.
"There is another thing." Ryen mutters and rubs his temples with the tips of his fingers. "I highly doubt that his memory will be intact."
The three stare at each other. "What do you mean?" Dreg demands and returns to his chair, staring straight ahead as if the Elders were in the room with him.
"He was very close to death when we pulled him out of there, so close in fact that he was in a sort of coma. With the medical supplies we stole we should be able to get him out of here within the month, I just wish I was a true doctor."
Vere snorts, "With all the training you've had I'm surprised you aren't. And you always say Dreg is as much of a doctor as you are, but the truth is, he isn't. We all know that. Chaos's life is in your hands."
"I'm just saying that if he does wake up, he probably won't remember who he is. He might remember the syndicate and other normal day to day things, but the scans show brain trauma, and..."
"So Spike ceases to exist and Chaos is born..." Vere mumbles in reply. "Works well for the syndicate."
"And what if his memory is intact?" Dreg adds slowly, "Is it worth it to delete it?"
/// Wake up Space Cowboy ///
A/N~ Well....I don't know what to say...I don't really know where this came
from...Hopefully it doesn't suck too bad...Even if you hate it, would you still review
please? Feed back is nice...I'm sure this prolly sounds like all the other fan fics out there (I haven't read them, but I'm just supposing. But I have a nice plot twist so there...Just
review) Oh, and one more thing, this will be a Spike/Faye 'cause I think they look cute
together. ^_^ P.S. Am trying to figure out how to get italics, so if it's all screwed up I apologize...
computer, supposedly doing my homework, a sudden thought came to me, and this was
born...Sorry if it sucks...Sorry if it's out of character. Takes place after The Real Folk
Blues Part II...
Disclaimer: Don't own the Bebop, don't own the Cowboys...Put two and two
together...Don't own Cowboy Bebop...Don't own the song 'Going Under' by
Evanescence...Really cool song ya?
~Dove (Zoheret cannot read this, write about this, or know of this until she has actually
seen CB...So don't tell her about this, kay?)~
Session 27: Lament of the Dragon
/// Okay. 3, 2, 1, let's jam!///
Breathe...Why was it so hard to breathe? The darkness seemed to be pulling at her, pulling her under, and along the edges a young girl was still running, running home. There was no home, there was no life, nothing...And he was gone...
/...Now I will tell you what I've done for you
50 thousand tears I've cried
Screaming deceiving and bleeding for you
And still you won't hear me.../
She wonders if she ever even meant anything to him. Wonders if he even thought of her before he died, and yet a part of her is hoping, clinging to the thought, that he still is alive with his hands in his pockets and his fluffy hair.
Behind her she hears Jet making noise, grumbling as he pacing in front of the
couch, stopping to glare once in awhile at the television and the reporters flashing across
it.
There's a beep, a sign someone's called in, and she hears Jet mumble, "Hey, Bob."
Silence. She pushes herself to her feet and enters the room, using the wall to keep her upright, and ignoring the couch in the corner of her eye.
/...Don't want your hand this time I'll save myself
Maybe I'll wake up for once.../
"...It's a massacre over there," the old man on the screen was saying, his voice distant to her ears, "The guy just blew through them all like a hurricane, dead bodies everywhere. The Red Dragon has taken a fatal blow with this one."
Jet doesn't notice her and continues staring into nothing. "Is he dead?"
The old man sighs and looks away, "...I'm sorry, Jet."
Silence. A slightly shaking voice, "Is there proof?"
A nod followed by a beep. "I'm sending you pictures taken at the scene. Again, I'm sorry, Jet."
She makes her way over to his shoulder, to stare at the screen as he opens the file. Pictures of morbidity assault her, blood and gore everywhere mixed with signs of bombs and explosions. He scrolls through them, till he reaches the last three. Spike walking down the stairs, arm crossing his stomach as he staggers slowly, staring straight at them, a smirk on his lips. Another with an arm in the air the shape of a gun. His mouth is slightly open, and she figures he said something. The last one, him on the stairs, laying face down, as if he'd been pushed.
/...Not tormented daily defeated by you
Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom
I'm dying again.../
She covers her mouth with her hand and backs up. He's dead and he isn't coming back. Better get used to it being just you and Jet, no where left to go, nothing left to do. Easy come, easy go. Gonna have to carry the weight alone.
Jet turns slowly and notices her, opens his mouth to say something, probably about how troublesome the guy was, but just snaps it shut and heads to the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in an hour."
He will hide his grief in work.
She turns away and heads back to the hall, stares up at the ceiling where she'd fired her gun. Bang, she thinks, bang, bang, bang! She wonders if maybe she could have saved him if she'd been able to shot him. He would have hated her for that, though.
But he'd already hated her for a lot of things.
/...I'm going under
Drowning in you
I'm falling forever
I've got to break through
I'm going under.../
She wonders if she should disappear, fly away, find somewhere else to be, and maybe be someone else. She remembers Ed and wonders if the girls okay, realizes how quiet it is.
Grief surrounds her, pain of the now mixed with the agony of remembrance. The walls become fuzzy and strange. She blinks.
Right now she would kill for one of those mushrooms.
/...Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies
So I don't know what's real and what's not
Always confusing the thoughts in my head
So I can't trust myself anymore
I'm dying again.../
*
"This is the Stairway to Heaven."
Obnoxious frog. Get the hell out of my way.
"Sorry, Spiegel, you're still alive."
Aw, shit.
"There's a price for this you know."
Price? I don't have any money so you're outta luck.
"This price is for never dying, Spiegel, the price of immortality."
Huh?
"You were a cat, you had a million lives and you spent them, you cried a million tears and lived on in a dream. So near death, but you can't climb the Stairway, now can you?"
I'll show you, you stupid animal.
"..."
...Alright, so I can't....
"Because Spike, you can't die, but you can't live either."
I hate you, you know that?
"You were a cat. Now be a dragon."
*
Ryen stares across at the other three, fully aware of the elevated hope in the room. He glances down at his hands, palms flat on the desk, and wonders how many deaths they've caused.
"You're saying he'll live?" Dreg demands heatedly, standing up and shoving his chair aside.
The make shift meeting room was three feet below the ground, in an abandoned ISSP interrogation faculty.
Ryen meets his glare and shrugs. "I've got just as much medical training as you, how the hell should I know?! All I'm saying is that I think he has a pretty good chance."
Vere sighs and leans back in his chair, "I still think we should call in a few
doctors."
"And call attention to our hideout? I think not!" Ryen snaps, combing through his short black hair with one hand.
All three of the syndicate members wore black with two handguns strapped to their sides as if they expected attackers at any moment. Vere was the oldest of the trio, but had the list power in their small triangle, his hair was a salt and pepper color, the fading of brown tinting the edges. Dreg was around thirty or so with no hair what so ever, and repeatedly would state that he shaved it off, while people rolled their eyes in doubt.
They had been appointed by the older members of the Red Dragon to take care of Spike, code name 'Chaos'. Messages were being sent to all members, altering them that the heir of Mao had returned and was healing, that he had killed of Vicious to save them from certain destruction, that all would be right.
"There is another thing." Ryen mutters and rubs his temples with the tips of his fingers. "I highly doubt that his memory will be intact."
The three stare at each other. "What do you mean?" Dreg demands and returns to his chair, staring straight ahead as if the Elders were in the room with him.
"He was very close to death when we pulled him out of there, so close in fact that he was in a sort of coma. With the medical supplies we stole we should be able to get him out of here within the month, I just wish I was a true doctor."
Vere snorts, "With all the training you've had I'm surprised you aren't. And you always say Dreg is as much of a doctor as you are, but the truth is, he isn't. We all know that. Chaos's life is in your hands."
"I'm just saying that if he does wake up, he probably won't remember who he is. He might remember the syndicate and other normal day to day things, but the scans show brain trauma, and..."
"So Spike ceases to exist and Chaos is born..." Vere mumbles in reply. "Works well for the syndicate."
"And what if his memory is intact?" Dreg adds slowly, "Is it worth it to delete it?"
/// Wake up Space Cowboy ///
A/N~ Well....I don't know what to say...I don't really know where this came
from...Hopefully it doesn't suck too bad...Even if you hate it, would you still review
please? Feed back is nice...I'm sure this prolly sounds like all the other fan fics out there (I haven't read them, but I'm just supposing. But I have a nice plot twist so there...Just
review) Oh, and one more thing, this will be a Spike/Faye 'cause I think they look cute
together. ^_^ P.S. Am trying to figure out how to get italics, so if it's all screwed up I apologize...