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, and ~ denotes voices in someone's head.
Chapter IV: Rhythm of the Rain
Fiery eyes glinted in the gloaming of the glass walls. Flecks of painful scarlet were wrapped about in the cold breeze of air from above. In solitude, the lanky figure of a man resided. Forest green strands of careless hair flapped slowly; the eyes changed their focus to a long bed of roses that were specked with the twilight's sweet dew. With the fire of powerful rubies, the red eyes caught in them the sight of many flourishing trees that were entwined with the enamoring touch of an avid florist.
Silence had long settled. Melancholy was the air of the green house, and the man clashed with the thriving surroundings; all of him except his hair. Not oft did the man feel such emotion, and to contest it, he smirked broadly as his eyes shut.
"Spike, you've been standing in that same spot for at least forty-five minutes," a woman in her prime called from the only source of light, which was far-off into the shadows. Spike wheeled around quickly with pursed lips. Anyone who saw his lips pursed would know that he was about to smoke.
With the sigh and chuckle of a smart aleck, the board-like structure came walking towards the short woman at an indifferent speed. Smoke came from his lips; as this happened, the glass became pelted with clear shards of freezing rain. From the opened heights of the greenhouse, the rain tried endlessly to get through, and some droplets did. Each drop that plastered itself to Spike's thin face made him grimace.
The woman smiled wryly as her long hair billowed slightly in the rain's corresponding wind. Her round face was kept at ease as Spike came into clear view, gripping his sides. Eyes closed, he sat upon a chair in the only non-thriving part of the whole area. He was trying not to grin himself as he idly tossed a pack of glistening cigarettes up and down to at least give a response of his care to the woman.
Utter silence had rested over them, save the relaxing patter of rain, which acted as their words. With her black pupils that seemed like ice, she did not cease her eyes' embracement of the figure. His off-blue suit was thoroughly drenched, and still dripping; with all due thanks to the rain, a pistol sparkled briefly from his pocket. Breaking the silence, he spat the lit-cigarette from his lips and flicked it in mid-air. With one crimson eye open, he laughed aloud as the burning paper was doused in the shadows.
"Come on, Spike. I've told you to quit smoking." With one corpulent hand upon an orange-tinted, fine-glassed bottle of rum, her grin faded. The other hand held a shot-glass close to her breast; the liquid flowed into the cup. Both eyes closed, she downed the liquid. A bead of sweat dripped from her nose as she tried to accept the harsh alcohol.
With a sly grin, Spike's natural visage had been painted definitely upon his face.
"And I've told YOU to quit drinking that stuff so fast."
Lightning crashed through the midnight-blue sky, searing whatever air it traversed; it lit all of the greenery, and Spike's eyes flamed greatly in the flash.
"Anastasia."
"Spike! Oh.. How many times do I have to tell you NOT to call me that?" With that, she despondently finished the bottle herself, using only her large lips.
With another glare of lightning, Spike had already risen from his seat. There's that odd silence again.. He thought. As his feet met his previous spot in the greenhouse, he felt at home; he also felt that he had left imprints upon the cement.
A thick mist tied itself about his ankles, and he kneeled slowly, observing the world of roses as he did so. With his hair plastered upon his face, he slid his fingers into the mist. Seconds later, he pulled out a glistening rose. Upon his face was a triumphant smile. His other long hand dug into his pocket; out he pulled a vial that glowed with crimson. At the sight of this, the woman gasped silently.
"Don't worry, Annie. I'd never take this stuff."
He flipped the vial quickly in his soaked fingers and caught it in a firm grip. With a short click, the vial shot out red mist that blanketed the rose. It seemed to wither, but it flashed gold briefly and remained the color. Spike pocketed the golden rose and forced his foot over the vial, crushing it utterly. Crimson dripped from its shards.
"But it's so expensive, Spike.. And you're wasting it! At least sell it!"
As usual, Spike cocked his head back indifferently and yawned, taking the freezing rain into his mouth. He frowned and passed Annie slowly, who rose from her seat with trouble.
"Have..have you seen.. Mao?" Annie said hoarsely, in a race with her senses, and her breath.
Spike was ever silent, until he laughed silently, his hair shimmering in the rain.
"Mao.. Yenrai? Heh. I saw him last week. He's working himself too much."
As Spike's fingers slid along the deathly cold glass of the exit, Annie said silently, "She must be a special girl."
With wide eyes, Spike turned slowly; he looked as if a specter had possessed him. Hands across his thin chest, he laughed facetiously.
Remorseful over the rude chuckle, Spike quickly brought himself outside of the greenhouse. He was now enclosed by towering, though aged buildings. The rain had brought about many puddles, all of which caused Spike to view his waterlogged body. In those murky puddles, he saw clearly the rose in his pocket. It haunted him and his mind as he carried on down the sidewalk silently.
Many streetlights flared up at his passing, and at last he came to a highway. His beaten feet could find no rest upon the uneven sidewalk, and he sighed carelessly at this whole ordeal. She never even saw the bandage on my leg. Those words flowed through his mind.
He knew he had to figure out who sent that freezing steel along his body.. Because of the wound, he had a slightly noticeable limp, and crimson droplets fell from it at times. But the room of combat and judgment, also known as the Trianko, was thoroughly caught in darkness, and his assailant could not be made out.
His feet plunged deep into the deathly cold puddles that formed about his legs. Vehicles shot past like bullets, and they only soaked him further. The water had nigh made him wonder if life could ever be dry again. The quilt-like, purple sky seemed to slice itself open with lightning. Seeking a bit of relaxation, Spike drew the golden rose from his pocket. Rain merely ran down it, so it was not wet at all.
As he met the curb of the highway, he stepped from the ankle-high waters. It was in this moment that all life seemed to empty from his body, and he nearly let loose the rose. His eyes followed a vision of heaven; a woman with a bowed head, whose blond hair ran for ages. She was clad in a skin tight and shining leather suit, and she paid no heed to anything.
For aught Spike knew, she was but a divine figment of his imagination which would soon seep into the depths of forgetfulness. From inside, he heard cries.. Cries telling him to meet the woman. But it seemed as though broad arms held him back. In the flurry of feelings, he pricked his forefinger upon the rose, and crimson beads dropped from him, mingling with the rain.
Before long, the woman had passed into a beat-down building. So, she was real. He thought. In the top window, a dull light flicked on. He saw many shadows pass by, until the lights were cut off.
As he gazed like a child to an abnormally large lolly-pop, rain was stabbing his face and eyes with pain. In the shadows, many blood-red eyes shot open simultaneously, and the treacherous jeer of ravens echoed over the rain.
He had to carry on. This section of Mars was renowned for its bad living areas. It was obsolete when compared to the other colonized areas of Mars; and with a shrug, Spike shut his sharp eyes and walked on down his shadowed path.
His senses raged from within him as a deep explosion rumbled ahead. He heard calls, and he stopped in his tracks. The pistol was tightly gripped in his hand and was drawn at once. In the long blanket of showering rain, he perceived a red beast, or so it seemed; it was charging at killing speed. He flipped in mid-air and flew off to the side, firing thrice at the "beast." Naught happened, and it twisted about violently, sending its enormous weight into a building. The building acted as butter and was scraped through easily. Bricks and the like shot by Spike's confused face, and dust had flown by alongside the rain.
Rising from the puddles slowly, Spike walked towards the building, fueled only by his undying curiosity for strange phenomenons, which would often get him injured. As he walked into the now cavernous and destroyed area, he saw two kids shoot by him, laughing devilishly. He gave not a thought to the children and brought himself face-to-face with the red construction.
That child-like grin was present upon his face once more as the shelter from the rain comforted a bit. He slid his thumbs along the dented surface of the slender fighting ship, and a whistle came from his mouth. He seemed truly impressed.
"Whew! Amazing! This is a sight. The Swordfish II. They say Doohan himself built this baby.."
His love for fighting ships was astronomical. He leaned himself upon one of the shattered wings, sighed complacently, pushed a cigarette to his lips, and it flicked as a flame kindled it.
"Maybe you can take the place of that celestial being.."
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, and ~ denotes voices in someone's head.
Chapter IV: Rhythm of the Rain
Fiery eyes glinted in the gloaming of the glass walls. Flecks of painful scarlet were wrapped about in the cold breeze of air from above. In solitude, the lanky figure of a man resided. Forest green strands of careless hair flapped slowly; the eyes changed their focus to a long bed of roses that were specked with the twilight's sweet dew. With the fire of powerful rubies, the red eyes caught in them the sight of many flourishing trees that were entwined with the enamoring touch of an avid florist.
Silence had long settled. Melancholy was the air of the green house, and the man clashed with the thriving surroundings; all of him except his hair. Not oft did the man feel such emotion, and to contest it, he smirked broadly as his eyes shut.
"Spike, you've been standing in that same spot for at least forty-five minutes," a woman in her prime called from the only source of light, which was far-off into the shadows. Spike wheeled around quickly with pursed lips. Anyone who saw his lips pursed would know that he was about to smoke.
With the sigh and chuckle of a smart aleck, the board-like structure came walking towards the short woman at an indifferent speed. Smoke came from his lips; as this happened, the glass became pelted with clear shards of freezing rain. From the opened heights of the greenhouse, the rain tried endlessly to get through, and some droplets did. Each drop that plastered itself to Spike's thin face made him grimace.
The woman smiled wryly as her long hair billowed slightly in the rain's corresponding wind. Her round face was kept at ease as Spike came into clear view, gripping his sides. Eyes closed, he sat upon a chair in the only non-thriving part of the whole area. He was trying not to grin himself as he idly tossed a pack of glistening cigarettes up and down to at least give a response of his care to the woman.
Utter silence had rested over them, save the relaxing patter of rain, which acted as their words. With her black pupils that seemed like ice, she did not cease her eyes' embracement of the figure. His off-blue suit was thoroughly drenched, and still dripping; with all due thanks to the rain, a pistol sparkled briefly from his pocket. Breaking the silence, he spat the lit-cigarette from his lips and flicked it in mid-air. With one crimson eye open, he laughed aloud as the burning paper was doused in the shadows.
"Come on, Spike. I've told you to quit smoking." With one corpulent hand upon an orange-tinted, fine-glassed bottle of rum, her grin faded. The other hand held a shot-glass close to her breast; the liquid flowed into the cup. Both eyes closed, she downed the liquid. A bead of sweat dripped from her nose as she tried to accept the harsh alcohol.
With a sly grin, Spike's natural visage had been painted definitely upon his face.
"And I've told YOU to quit drinking that stuff so fast."
Lightning crashed through the midnight-blue sky, searing whatever air it traversed; it lit all of the greenery, and Spike's eyes flamed greatly in the flash.
"Anastasia."
"Spike! Oh.. How many times do I have to tell you NOT to call me that?" With that, she despondently finished the bottle herself, using only her large lips.
With another glare of lightning, Spike had already risen from his seat. There's that odd silence again.. He thought. As his feet met his previous spot in the greenhouse, he felt at home; he also felt that he had left imprints upon the cement.
A thick mist tied itself about his ankles, and he kneeled slowly, observing the world of roses as he did so. With his hair plastered upon his face, he slid his fingers into the mist. Seconds later, he pulled out a glistening rose. Upon his face was a triumphant smile. His other long hand dug into his pocket; out he pulled a vial that glowed with crimson. At the sight of this, the woman gasped silently.
"Don't worry, Annie. I'd never take this stuff."
He flipped the vial quickly in his soaked fingers and caught it in a firm grip. With a short click, the vial shot out red mist that blanketed the rose. It seemed to wither, but it flashed gold briefly and remained the color. Spike pocketed the golden rose and forced his foot over the vial, crushing it utterly. Crimson dripped from its shards.
"But it's so expensive, Spike.. And you're wasting it! At least sell it!"
As usual, Spike cocked his head back indifferently and yawned, taking the freezing rain into his mouth. He frowned and passed Annie slowly, who rose from her seat with trouble.
"Have..have you seen.. Mao?" Annie said hoarsely, in a race with her senses, and her breath.
Spike was ever silent, until he laughed silently, his hair shimmering in the rain.
"Mao.. Yenrai? Heh. I saw him last week. He's working himself too much."
As Spike's fingers slid along the deathly cold glass of the exit, Annie said silently, "She must be a special girl."
With wide eyes, Spike turned slowly; he looked as if a specter had possessed him. Hands across his thin chest, he laughed facetiously.
Remorseful over the rude chuckle, Spike quickly brought himself outside of the greenhouse. He was now enclosed by towering, though aged buildings. The rain had brought about many puddles, all of which caused Spike to view his waterlogged body. In those murky puddles, he saw clearly the rose in his pocket. It haunted him and his mind as he carried on down the sidewalk silently.
Many streetlights flared up at his passing, and at last he came to a highway. His beaten feet could find no rest upon the uneven sidewalk, and he sighed carelessly at this whole ordeal. She never even saw the bandage on my leg. Those words flowed through his mind.
He knew he had to figure out who sent that freezing steel along his body.. Because of the wound, he had a slightly noticeable limp, and crimson droplets fell from it at times. But the room of combat and judgment, also known as the Trianko, was thoroughly caught in darkness, and his assailant could not be made out.
His feet plunged deep into the deathly cold puddles that formed about his legs. Vehicles shot past like bullets, and they only soaked him further. The water had nigh made him wonder if life could ever be dry again. The quilt-like, purple sky seemed to slice itself open with lightning. Seeking a bit of relaxation, Spike drew the golden rose from his pocket. Rain merely ran down it, so it was not wet at all.
As he met the curb of the highway, he stepped from the ankle-high waters. It was in this moment that all life seemed to empty from his body, and he nearly let loose the rose. His eyes followed a vision of heaven; a woman with a bowed head, whose blond hair ran for ages. She was clad in a skin tight and shining leather suit, and she paid no heed to anything.
For aught Spike knew, she was but a divine figment of his imagination which would soon seep into the depths of forgetfulness. From inside, he heard cries.. Cries telling him to meet the woman. But it seemed as though broad arms held him back. In the flurry of feelings, he pricked his forefinger upon the rose, and crimson beads dropped from him, mingling with the rain.
Before long, the woman had passed into a beat-down building. So, she was real. He thought. In the top window, a dull light flicked on. He saw many shadows pass by, until the lights were cut off.
As he gazed like a child to an abnormally large lolly-pop, rain was stabbing his face and eyes with pain. In the shadows, many blood-red eyes shot open simultaneously, and the treacherous jeer of ravens echoed over the rain.
He had to carry on. This section of Mars was renowned for its bad living areas. It was obsolete when compared to the other colonized areas of Mars; and with a shrug, Spike shut his sharp eyes and walked on down his shadowed path.
His senses raged from within him as a deep explosion rumbled ahead. He heard calls, and he stopped in his tracks. The pistol was tightly gripped in his hand and was drawn at once. In the long blanket of showering rain, he perceived a red beast, or so it seemed; it was charging at killing speed. He flipped in mid-air and flew off to the side, firing thrice at the "beast." Naught happened, and it twisted about violently, sending its enormous weight into a building. The building acted as butter and was scraped through easily. Bricks and the like shot by Spike's confused face, and dust had flown by alongside the rain.
Rising from the puddles slowly, Spike walked towards the building, fueled only by his undying curiosity for strange phenomenons, which would often get him injured. As he walked into the now cavernous and destroyed area, he saw two kids shoot by him, laughing devilishly. He gave not a thought to the children and brought himself face-to-face with the red construction.
That child-like grin was present upon his face once more as the shelter from the rain comforted a bit. He slid his thumbs along the dented surface of the slender fighting ship, and a whistle came from his mouth. He seemed truly impressed.
"Whew! Amazing! This is a sight. The Swordfish II. They say Doohan himself built this baby.."
His love for fighting ships was astronomical. He leaned himself upon one of the shattered wings, sighed complacently, pushed a cigarette to his lips, and it flicked as a flame kindled it.
"Maybe you can take the place of that celestial being.."