See You Space Cowboy..
I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. I also do NOT intend to make money doing this! Thanks. ^_^ I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. Thanks. ^_^ Note: * denotes thoughts of Vicious, and ~ denotes voices in his head.
Chapter I: Prodigal Son
And so there he sat. As always, he had noticed; this fetal position had oft crept out of the darkness. But this time, he had not escaped. Gray marbles rolled idly in their sockets as the din of raven jeers became present. The only ray of light emitted from the bay window that revealed cold, sheer darkness and the desolation of Callisto. He remembered well his ordeal there, and memories flared and flicked past so vividly..
The memory was dark as well as lonely. A haunting tune bellowed forth from the record; it came to an abrupt stop as two seemingly lifeless, pale fingers slid themselves along the smooth, black covering, and a scarlet liquid dawdled and shimmered atop it. The fingers playfully spun the record about, forming the liquid into a foul embracement. Upon the seldom emotional face was painted an insidious grin as the gray marbles shivered in madness. At this point, there was no present reason why the tall, loathsome figure removed his bloody fingers from the record. It began to play again, and sounded close to a hymn of devilry; at this, he chuckled.
All sound ceased. His pupils shrank as he turned his head a mere inch. In the gloaming behind him, flaming pupils resided. His awareness surged, and he flipped 'round with a speedy gyration, crashing down into the record player. The aged blood dripped onto his nose as he looked upon his supposed assailant in horror. He had not known fear thus far; naught had come before him and his acts of impurity. With a shriek, the flames vanished and appeared before him.
He cried out as the stench of carrion wavered in the air. With a liquid movement he brought his thin fingers forth in attempt to grab the beast, but it dodged with the ease of a bird and darted to the top of a chandelier that was presently covered in blood. And there he panted, questioning his movements; cursing under his breath. While shivering, he stood, and the record player crashed down once more. The flaming orbs vanished permanently, and from the deep shadows feel a shard of steel.
After what seemed like an age of falling, the blade sliced itself deep into the fine wood of the oak table. Slow steps eventually brought him before it, and he gripped the gashed hilt of it without thought. He recognized the blade; dried blood still stained it. He had killed with it.
A will rekindled bursted from inside him, and with a great honor for the blade, he fell to his knees. Upon the floor droplets of crimson fell from his face, and with a touch of madness, he laughed. And continued to do so as the night passed on..
He awoke. His mind set was in the present once more. He thanked this all to the clutter and slam of a rickety door that bore many deep imprints and gashes.
"Deimos," A deep voice called from behind a wire-frame clipboard. The deep voice laughed silently as a flame flicked in the darkness. Smoke then followed. It traversed the low-gravity and settled about the boy's face. The boy sat. He payed no heed to it.
"Boys down in the Trianko were callin' you Vicious. Feh, you like jus' like a boy ta' me." With a frustrated grunt the broad shouldered man sat his bulbous behind atop a rusted chair. It shuddered under his weight, and he thereafter leaned over the table.
The gray marbles had become orbs, and they focused upon the man lifelessly. Pale and emotionless was his visage, and his ever-thin fingers gripped tightly the arms of the crude chair. The darkness passed as a dim light splashed over the room. Another hulking figure had entered, and he bore with him a katana. He pressed it to his pillow-like breast, and it became knowledge to Vicious that the pair of them were clad in dark suits that had the deep, red face of an enormous lizard on their cufflinks; a dragon. The same image was crudely painted upon the floor, and it had clearly faded over the decades.
"Yer clamped into that seat 'cause we know what ye' can do. Don'tcha even try to get up." The huge form tossed the blade with a yawn to the table, and it floated there steadily. Vicious' eyes lit up, and a nervous sound of desperation came from him as many red, flaming eyes brought themselves about in the dismal corner behind the lot of them.
"Release me. I warn you now. Release me to avoid a gruesome fate," his voice was even more treacherous than could be fathomed. The eyes had finally found an object to embrace themselves to; the katana. He fidgeted oddly in his creaking seat as the jeers once again echoed in the room. Horror flushed over the obese men. The one who was presently seated rose abruptly, and his foot steps made deep, drum-like noises upon the hollow floor. His back slammed into the wall as a raven set itself into him, and tore about in his fresh innards, bringing the carrion scent back.
"Y..you fuck head! You FUCKED YOURSELF!" Thereafter there was a call of torment as feathers floated silently in the air. Ravens flocked eagerly about the corpse of the figure, and blood was strewn about the room. Vital organs were present, and sickly noises were heard only, now. The flaming eyes were lit anew with greedy hunger and self satisfaction. The other man, after seeing the fate of his comrade, smiled wryly and slammed himself through the old door. Down it toppled, and the echo sent itself spiraling throughout Vicious' blood-filled mind. And this whole time, he merely watched as the man was gorged. He smiled.
"When angels fall, they become servants of but one lord." And the ravens sat upon the chair like a throne, pecking each other of blood and other various morsels. Vicious glowered like a dark lord; though restrained, he was a satanic figure, and the ravens glowed as they always did.
I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. I also do NOT intend to make money doing this! Thanks. ^_^ I do not own ANYTHING related to the masterpiece known as Cowboy Bebop. Thanks. ^_^ Note: * denotes thoughts of Vicious, and ~ denotes voices in his head.
Chapter I: Prodigal Son
And so there he sat. As always, he had noticed; this fetal position had oft crept out of the darkness. But this time, he had not escaped. Gray marbles rolled idly in their sockets as the din of raven jeers became present. The only ray of light emitted from the bay window that revealed cold, sheer darkness and the desolation of Callisto. He remembered well his ordeal there, and memories flared and flicked past so vividly..
The memory was dark as well as lonely. A haunting tune bellowed forth from the record; it came to an abrupt stop as two seemingly lifeless, pale fingers slid themselves along the smooth, black covering, and a scarlet liquid dawdled and shimmered atop it. The fingers playfully spun the record about, forming the liquid into a foul embracement. Upon the seldom emotional face was painted an insidious grin as the gray marbles shivered in madness. At this point, there was no present reason why the tall, loathsome figure removed his bloody fingers from the record. It began to play again, and sounded close to a hymn of devilry; at this, he chuckled.
All sound ceased. His pupils shrank as he turned his head a mere inch. In the gloaming behind him, flaming pupils resided. His awareness surged, and he flipped 'round with a speedy gyration, crashing down into the record player. The aged blood dripped onto his nose as he looked upon his supposed assailant in horror. He had not known fear thus far; naught had come before him and his acts of impurity. With a shriek, the flames vanished and appeared before him.
He cried out as the stench of carrion wavered in the air. With a liquid movement he brought his thin fingers forth in attempt to grab the beast, but it dodged with the ease of a bird and darted to the top of a chandelier that was presently covered in blood. And there he panted, questioning his movements; cursing under his breath. While shivering, he stood, and the record player crashed down once more. The flaming orbs vanished permanently, and from the deep shadows feel a shard of steel.
After what seemed like an age of falling, the blade sliced itself deep into the fine wood of the oak table. Slow steps eventually brought him before it, and he gripped the gashed hilt of it without thought. He recognized the blade; dried blood still stained it. He had killed with it.
A will rekindled bursted from inside him, and with a great honor for the blade, he fell to his knees. Upon the floor droplets of crimson fell from his face, and with a touch of madness, he laughed. And continued to do so as the night passed on..
He awoke. His mind set was in the present once more. He thanked this all to the clutter and slam of a rickety door that bore many deep imprints and gashes.
"Deimos," A deep voice called from behind a wire-frame clipboard. The deep voice laughed silently as a flame flicked in the darkness. Smoke then followed. It traversed the low-gravity and settled about the boy's face. The boy sat. He payed no heed to it.
"Boys down in the Trianko were callin' you Vicious. Feh, you like jus' like a boy ta' me." With a frustrated grunt the broad shouldered man sat his bulbous behind atop a rusted chair. It shuddered under his weight, and he thereafter leaned over the table.
The gray marbles had become orbs, and they focused upon the man lifelessly. Pale and emotionless was his visage, and his ever-thin fingers gripped tightly the arms of the crude chair. The darkness passed as a dim light splashed over the room. Another hulking figure had entered, and he bore with him a katana. He pressed it to his pillow-like breast, and it became knowledge to Vicious that the pair of them were clad in dark suits that had the deep, red face of an enormous lizard on their cufflinks; a dragon. The same image was crudely painted upon the floor, and it had clearly faded over the decades.
"Yer clamped into that seat 'cause we know what ye' can do. Don'tcha even try to get up." The huge form tossed the blade with a yawn to the table, and it floated there steadily. Vicious' eyes lit up, and a nervous sound of desperation came from him as many red, flaming eyes brought themselves about in the dismal corner behind the lot of them.
"Release me. I warn you now. Release me to avoid a gruesome fate," his voice was even more treacherous than could be fathomed. The eyes had finally found an object to embrace themselves to; the katana. He fidgeted oddly in his creaking seat as the jeers once again echoed in the room. Horror flushed over the obese men. The one who was presently seated rose abruptly, and his foot steps made deep, drum-like noises upon the hollow floor. His back slammed into the wall as a raven set itself into him, and tore about in his fresh innards, bringing the carrion scent back.
"Y..you fuck head! You FUCKED YOURSELF!" Thereafter there was a call of torment as feathers floated silently in the air. Ravens flocked eagerly about the corpse of the figure, and blood was strewn about the room. Vital organs were present, and sickly noises were heard only, now. The flaming eyes were lit anew with greedy hunger and self satisfaction. The other man, after seeing the fate of his comrade, smiled wryly and slammed himself through the old door. Down it toppled, and the echo sent itself spiraling throughout Vicious' blood-filled mind. And this whole time, he merely watched as the man was gorged. He smiled.
"When angels fall, they become servants of but one lord." And the ravens sat upon the chair like a throne, pecking each other of blood and other various morsels. Vicious glowered like a dark lord; though restrained, he was a satanic figure, and the ravens glowed as they always did.