Hey everybody! I'm back with my sequel! But, so far I've only written one
chapter so I can use all the help that I can get on writing the next
chapter! Suggestions are welcomed!! Bring 'em on! Oh yah, this fic is
dedicated to D.Angel. She read this first chapter for me so that I know
that it's not total sh*t and she reviewed my first story with such
enthusiasm. I thank you very much D.Angel. Now then, on to the disclaimer!
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Vicious laid back on his bunk, his leg draping over the edge, swinging slightly for no reason at all except for boredom. It had been nearly six months since his last encounter with Spike, since Spike had sent him to this horrible, filthy place where a guy couldn't even take a shower without being slightly nervous.
Why, you ask? Vicious was in prison, you know the score. Needless to say, Vicious had spent a little less time being concerned with body hygiene since he had come here. Vicious glanced up at eh clock in his cell, 11:15 A.M. "Only 2 more hours in this hell hole," Vicious thought to himself. "Only 2 more hours."
Vicious had had that bounty that put him here put on his head for assassinating that presidential candidate, but luckily for him he was as good an assassin as he thought, and the police weren't able to get much on him. Unfortunately it was still enough to put him in prison, and the past six months had crawled by like a sleep-deprived snail.
He had definitely not been the most popular man in the prison during his half-year stay. He refused to be anyone's bitch and anyone who tried to make him one had limped away with more then a few bruises.
"Hey! You! Old man!" one of the guards called from outside his cell. "Time for you to go!" Vicious pushed off his bunk. He had the top one, so he did a little flip in mid-air, landing squarely on his feet. He smirked as he walked to the door and the guard opened it with a shocked look on his face. "Sorry man, but with the hair.," the guard started.
Vicious walked down the hallway of cells, men hanging their hands through the bars on either side. A few men whistled at Vicious as he went by. "Horny bastards," he thought to himself. Just then, a hand reached out from the bars and grabbed his right arm. He reacted by punching the guy in the nose with his left hand. The guard made a very loud and obvious cough, telling Vicious to move on.
Vicious chuckled to himself, rolling his shoulder as the guard led him through a door at the end of the hallway. Despite being dirty and grubby and being completely full of men who were either gay or had been in there so long that they had become gay, this prison insisted that all inmates be at least fully mobile. The first month that Vicious had been here, he had gone into surgery for his shoulder, and by the forth month, it could no longer be used as a weakness against him!
The guard directed him over to a counter where another guard sat, reading a Playboy.
"Name?" the guard asked, flipping the magazine sideways and raising his eyebrows.
"Vicious." Vicious replied.
"Name?" the guard asked again, not believing him.
"That's his real name Stan." The first guard said, snickering a little bit as he said it. Stan shrugged, seemingly reluctantly put down his magazine, and disappeared through a door. A few minutes later, the guard reappeared carrying what looked like a small laundry basket.
"Clothes," the guard said, handing Vicious his coat, shirt, tie, suit, and shoes. "And what do we have here?" the guard said, lifting Vicious's katana out of the basket.
"I'll take that," the first guard said, grabbing it out of Stan's hand. Vicious glared at him and clenched his fist. "I'll give it back before we release you," the guard said, taking the katana out of its sheath and swinging it around idiotically.
"Is ever true, I'm surrounded by fools." Vicious mumbled to himself. The guard pointed Vicious over to a dressing room and then continued swinging the sword around like a kid at Halloween.
Inside the dressing room was a full length mirror and a few hooks. Vicious hung up his clothes and then looked at himself in the mirror with disgust. He wore a yellow T-shirt that had originally been white, but God knows how many people had worn it, and an orange pants/jacket onsombel. The orange made Vicious look even more pale and grey then he was, and the baggy-ness of the outfit made him look like a weak twig of a man. Looks can definitely be deceiving and Vicious quickly shed his garments for clothes that he'd waited what seemed like forever to wear.
As he finished tying his shoes, he looked into the mirror. He's like to see one of those guys back there try to make him their butt-monkey when he looked this menacing. He smirked at his reflection.
"Ready or not Spike, here I come!" he thought to himself as he walked out of the room.
"Well, don't you clean up right perdy?" Stan called from behind his counter with a smirk.
Vicious shot him a glance that wiped the smile off his face, went over to the other guard and grabbed his katana, and walked out the door.
*****
Vicious had been lucky, he'd been sent to a small local prison instead of one of the space rehabilitation centers. He began walking down the street, looking around trying to get his berrings. His apartment was about six blocks from here.
Then the thought occurred to him, was it even his apartment anymore? He dug in his coat pocket and pulled out his key.
"Would the land lord have taken this back if it wasn't mine anymore?" Vicious thought to himself. He decided that he may as well try and headed for his apartment building.
He came to a cross-walk, and just then the red hand popped up. Cars came streaming from both ways of the street. Vicious leaned against the light pole, in no particular hurry.
A child and her mother came up to the cross-walk from a different direction. The girl looked up at him and smiled.
"Are you my daddy?" the girl asked. Vicious glared at her.
"No Missy," the mom said. "That man's not your daddy." Vicious turned his head back to the traffic. "I'm sorry about that. My husband died while I was still pregnant and just recently she started asking about her dad and I couldn't bring myself to tell her, so I just told her that he left, so now she's looki." the woman started.
Vicious turned his head to look at her and she immediately shut up. Her eyes became wide and she clutched her child to her. She then turned the other way and ran.
That woman did look very familiar, Vicious guessed that he had killed her husband at one time or another, maybe it would be one more thing that he could blame on Spike.
The red hand turned into the green person walking and Vicious started off again for his apartment.
That's all I have so far. Questions? Comments? REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! Minor note: my friend Valkyrie says that I'm the Anti-Christ of punctuation, do you agree?
L8ter Dayz!
Life is but a Dream2000
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Vicious laid back on his bunk, his leg draping over the edge, swinging slightly for no reason at all except for boredom. It had been nearly six months since his last encounter with Spike, since Spike had sent him to this horrible, filthy place where a guy couldn't even take a shower without being slightly nervous.
Why, you ask? Vicious was in prison, you know the score. Needless to say, Vicious had spent a little less time being concerned with body hygiene since he had come here. Vicious glanced up at eh clock in his cell, 11:15 A.M. "Only 2 more hours in this hell hole," Vicious thought to himself. "Only 2 more hours."
Vicious had had that bounty that put him here put on his head for assassinating that presidential candidate, but luckily for him he was as good an assassin as he thought, and the police weren't able to get much on him. Unfortunately it was still enough to put him in prison, and the past six months had crawled by like a sleep-deprived snail.
He had definitely not been the most popular man in the prison during his half-year stay. He refused to be anyone's bitch and anyone who tried to make him one had limped away with more then a few bruises.
"Hey! You! Old man!" one of the guards called from outside his cell. "Time for you to go!" Vicious pushed off his bunk. He had the top one, so he did a little flip in mid-air, landing squarely on his feet. He smirked as he walked to the door and the guard opened it with a shocked look on his face. "Sorry man, but with the hair.," the guard started.
Vicious walked down the hallway of cells, men hanging their hands through the bars on either side. A few men whistled at Vicious as he went by. "Horny bastards," he thought to himself. Just then, a hand reached out from the bars and grabbed his right arm. He reacted by punching the guy in the nose with his left hand. The guard made a very loud and obvious cough, telling Vicious to move on.
Vicious chuckled to himself, rolling his shoulder as the guard led him through a door at the end of the hallway. Despite being dirty and grubby and being completely full of men who were either gay or had been in there so long that they had become gay, this prison insisted that all inmates be at least fully mobile. The first month that Vicious had been here, he had gone into surgery for his shoulder, and by the forth month, it could no longer be used as a weakness against him!
The guard directed him over to a counter where another guard sat, reading a Playboy.
"Name?" the guard asked, flipping the magazine sideways and raising his eyebrows.
"Vicious." Vicious replied.
"Name?" the guard asked again, not believing him.
"That's his real name Stan." The first guard said, snickering a little bit as he said it. Stan shrugged, seemingly reluctantly put down his magazine, and disappeared through a door. A few minutes later, the guard reappeared carrying what looked like a small laundry basket.
"Clothes," the guard said, handing Vicious his coat, shirt, tie, suit, and shoes. "And what do we have here?" the guard said, lifting Vicious's katana out of the basket.
"I'll take that," the first guard said, grabbing it out of Stan's hand. Vicious glared at him and clenched his fist. "I'll give it back before we release you," the guard said, taking the katana out of its sheath and swinging it around idiotically.
"Is ever true, I'm surrounded by fools." Vicious mumbled to himself. The guard pointed Vicious over to a dressing room and then continued swinging the sword around like a kid at Halloween.
Inside the dressing room was a full length mirror and a few hooks. Vicious hung up his clothes and then looked at himself in the mirror with disgust. He wore a yellow T-shirt that had originally been white, but God knows how many people had worn it, and an orange pants/jacket onsombel. The orange made Vicious look even more pale and grey then he was, and the baggy-ness of the outfit made him look like a weak twig of a man. Looks can definitely be deceiving and Vicious quickly shed his garments for clothes that he'd waited what seemed like forever to wear.
As he finished tying his shoes, he looked into the mirror. He's like to see one of those guys back there try to make him their butt-monkey when he looked this menacing. He smirked at his reflection.
"Ready or not Spike, here I come!" he thought to himself as he walked out of the room.
"Well, don't you clean up right perdy?" Stan called from behind his counter with a smirk.
Vicious shot him a glance that wiped the smile off his face, went over to the other guard and grabbed his katana, and walked out the door.
*****
Vicious had been lucky, he'd been sent to a small local prison instead of one of the space rehabilitation centers. He began walking down the street, looking around trying to get his berrings. His apartment was about six blocks from here.
Then the thought occurred to him, was it even his apartment anymore? He dug in his coat pocket and pulled out his key.
"Would the land lord have taken this back if it wasn't mine anymore?" Vicious thought to himself. He decided that he may as well try and headed for his apartment building.
He came to a cross-walk, and just then the red hand popped up. Cars came streaming from both ways of the street. Vicious leaned against the light pole, in no particular hurry.
A child and her mother came up to the cross-walk from a different direction. The girl looked up at him and smiled.
"Are you my daddy?" the girl asked. Vicious glared at her.
"No Missy," the mom said. "That man's not your daddy." Vicious turned his head back to the traffic. "I'm sorry about that. My husband died while I was still pregnant and just recently she started asking about her dad and I couldn't bring myself to tell her, so I just told her that he left, so now she's looki." the woman started.
Vicious turned his head to look at her and she immediately shut up. Her eyes became wide and she clutched her child to her. She then turned the other way and ran.
That woman did look very familiar, Vicious guessed that he had killed her husband at one time or another, maybe it would be one more thing that he could blame on Spike.
The red hand turned into the green person walking and Vicious started off again for his apartment.
That's all I have so far. Questions? Comments? REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! Minor note: my friend Valkyrie says that I'm the Anti-Christ of punctuation, do you agree?
L8ter Dayz!
Life is but a Dream2000