The Real Folk Blues
She sighed. Half a year. She died half a year ago. She supposed she was still alive but. It was as if she wasn't really there. She hardly cared for anything anymore. She would spend hours just sitting in bed staring up at the ceiling. She would just sit in the shower and let the water pour down her face and into her slightly gaped mouth. It was as if she wasn't really alive.
And who was to blame? Personally, she blamed him. He shouldn't have left. He shouldn't have left the Bebop. Shouldn't have left her. But he did. He sauntered off and got himself killed. They said the only one that could kill one of them was the other. It was true. Only he could kill him. Only he could have killed Spike. Vicious.
She had left close after Spike, trying to prevent him from doing the stupid. Trying to prevent him from dying. She showed up too late. She got there and there was nothing. No Spike, no Vicious. Of course there was some henchmen there to clean up. But where was he? She sure couldn't just saunter up and ask where they were, she probably be killed instantly.
But she knew he had to be dead. He would have returned otherwise. She had waited at the Bebop at first, but the pain got to be too much. She would walk by his room and almost break down. Who'd have known she loved him? She had kept it secret from herself even. She refused to love anyone. Love only led to complication. Look at Spike, after all. He was gone all because of her. All because of Julia. She supposed she should blame Spike also. He had after all gone after his best friends girl. Who would have thought they would end up killing each other?
Now she hardly felt anything. She was still a bounty hunter, more ruthless now than ever. She was less careful now. She had gotten shot more times in three months than ever before. She had scars now. So many scars. All because of him. He killed some of her when he left. He killed her when he went off and died on her. There was only half of her now. The only guy she couldn't get was the guy she had to fall for. The only guy..
Damn you Spike.
Her voice echoed off of the still room. She had left the Bebop. She had left her other life. Who was she now? She definitely was no longer 'Faye Valentine.' Who was she then? Good question. She was. She was no one. Absolutely no one. And all because of him. How had he managed to sneak on her like that? How had he managed to hurt her like that? Never again. Never again.
She sat on the barstool at the rank bar. She had gone to Callisto. Why? She didn't know really. The only thing for her here was trouble. But she was so used to trouble. What would she have without it? This was the same club that she had met him at. He was someone she just wanted to pour her heart out to. She wasn't in love with him but. He just seemed to be the type of guy that would understand everything you told him. The kind of guy that didn't ask questions but was a good listener. Mr. Saxophone. Gren.
He died too though, didn't he? Vicious. She should blame him for Gren's death. She should blame him for Spike's as well. Why'd they both have to die-
"Scuse me miss," a drunken voice slurred and a hand landed roughly on her shoulder. "Me an my boys was wonderin' how much you charge."
"Fuck off."
Laughter was heard behind her. "That ain't the right answer."
Hands grabbed out and caught her shoulders and waist. She pulled out a 'concealed' gun and fired once behind her, hitting the man that held her straight in the stomach. She rolled out of his grasp and fired at his friend who charged her, nailing him right between the eyes. His five other friends all pulled out guns and aimed at her. She pulled out another gun and shot for their knees while dodging gunfire. She cursed as she ran out of ammo. She didn't have time to reload. She threw her guns hitting one man in the face as she rolled and landed a swift kick to his stomach. She connected an elbow to another man who snuck up from behind her and then a swift punch to another man. The two men left unbattered picked up their friends and decided a chick wasn't worth the trouble.
The commotion in the club had ceased when her first shot was fired. Now they looked at her as she picked up her guns and sat back on the barstool to reload them. The bartender walked over.
"Scotch on rocks," she said, putting her guns back where she pulled them.
The bartender nodded before hesitantly looking at her again. "You're shot, you know that right?" Faye looked down. She had a bullet hole in her side. She stared at it as if she didn't believe it was really there. She felt no pain right now. She was dead after all.
"Yeah. I know." The bartender nodded. "Give me some Sake, too. In a bottle not a glass." She probed the bullet hole with her finger and winced. There it was. There was the pain. She savored the feeling a second. It made her feel warm in a strange way. She had felt nothing for so long, she had been cold for so long. She could barely feel anymore. She no longer had anything to feel for. But now. She knew she would feel something when she had to pull the thing out, though. That would hurt like hell.
"Look what you did to me, Spike," she whispered before downing the Scotch in one swing and grabbing the bottle of Sake. She set the money on the counter and left, still looking at the hole in her side. It was bleeding. She had gotten so used to seeing her own blood, but not feeling, oh no, not feeling. Her blood ran down her side. It was going to stain, she was sure. She smiled looking at it. It was so odd in contrast to her fair skin. Red truly was a pretty color.
Why had she come here, she wondered as she headed toward the blue apartment complex where she had a room. Why had she come here, to a city with virtually no women and scum everywhere? She guessed. she expected, that they would be here. She just felt that Spike and Gren would be here, waiting for her. But, they were both dead, weren't they?
"A shower," she muttered. "A shower is what I need."
And besides, men only led to heartache.
~*~*~
Why had he come here? Back to this desolate planet? He had no where else to go, nothing else to do with his life. Life. What a cruel word. Why did life have to be so trying, so hard? He had died before. He supposed he was still alive, but at the same time he was dead. He had no life anymore, really. He was just another shadowless bounty hunter, disappearing among the crowds. He had died twice now. Twice had he picked up and disappeared, leaving no trace of himself.
They're better off without me anyway.
How much of him believed that? Enough of himself to keep from going back. It was too late now. Six months had passed, they would kill him. He wanted to know what happened to them, but he restrained himself. No use getting caught up again. Faye was probably still bounty hunting, catching someone then blowing her money all in one place. Jet would have some kind of work, be it a bounty hunter or a cop, and he would still spend hours staring at those shrunken trees of his. Ed would. well be Ed somewhere, with the mutt with her. So what was he stressing about? Besides, Callisto was a great place to hide out. The only people here were fugitives anyway, which meant the hunting was good. For once in a long while, he had spare cash, and lots of it. He had a good place to stay, and even a garage for his ship. So, why was he so paranoid?
Blang, bang!
He looked up. Those were gunshots. Near him too. Sounded like they were coming from where he was headed, one of the only bars on this planet that didn't lace their drinks with anything. He sighed. Hopefully no one gunned down the bartender, and the place was still running. He picked up his steps. But if the bartender got shot, there would be free drinks. He entered the bar to find that no, the bartender hadn't been shot, and he sighed, just a little bit. But the bartender was staring out the door that he just walked through as if he was hoping for something. He looked back at the door but all he saw was a puddle of blood. Maybe he was dazed by something that had happened.
S'not like it matters though.
He took a seat at the end stool, where Julia sat when she was here, and tapped the counter. "What'll it be?" the bartender asked.
"Scotch on rocks."
The bartender stared at him as if he was mad. He returned the look for a second, then it became frustration.
"What the hell's wrong with you?"
The bartender blinked and apologized. "It's just that she just ordered the same thing, in the same tired voice as yours, not to mention you're sitting in her seat." The bartender quickly turned away but returned soon after with his drink.
"She? There was a woman in here?" He asked, not really caring.
"Yeah. Pretty thing too. Had this violet hair and these green eyes, not to mention that figure she was showin off under those skimpy clothes of hers. She looked upset though, didn't help none that those guys were hassling her."
He froze. No, it couldn't be. her. It couldn't be Faye. But the bartender had just described her. The violet hair, the green eyes, the clothes. Who else could it be? But if it was Faye then.He had to get outta here before she saw him, before she heard he was here. But if Faye was here alone.
"Hassling her? Was that her gunshot I heard?"
Bartender nodded. "Yeah. She whipped em pretty good though. Got herself shot too. She didn't even seem to notice it though, till I pointed it out to her. But she had quite a few scars now that I think about it. That's her blood on the floor."
He was on his feet in an instant. What the hell had the girl done to herself? She had been shot and was hurt bad enough that she had to leave. Where had she been shot anyway? His last excuse, his last resolve to keep himself away from her was broken. She was on this planet, but for how long? And what had the bartender said? That she had scars? He knew Faye was quite the troublemaker but. he never saw any scars on her. None that were visible anyway, and she showed off a whole lot with that outfit she wore.
"Which way did she go?"
The bartender looked at him. "What, you know her? Or you just want her?"
He gave him a look telling him to shut the hell up and tell him what he wanted to know. He couldn't help but get a feeling that this was his fault. He wanted to argue, he wanted to tell himself that he wasn't responsible. He just wanted to live for himself. He didn't want the responsibility that others brought on him, the responsibility that they brought on him. He thought that by keeping dead that the responsibility would go away, that if he were dead that they would forget he existed and move on without him. And look at what was happening now.
"That way," the bartender pointed out the door. "If you don't find her know that she comes here around ten everyday just come then."
He nodded and headed out, what he was once determined to get away from, he was now determined to find. She couldn't have gotten all that far anyway, he had just heard the gunshots. He hoped that he was right.
~*~*~
The door shut behind her, automatically locked. Faye walked into the bathroom, still leaving little drips of blood on the floor with every step. Rummaging under the sink she pulled out a medical kit, a worn plastic box with a snap off lid, that was once white but was now a dingy gray, with a cheap red cross, drawn with a marker, to symbolize its purpose. She grabbed it and with a few purposeful strides, arrived in her living area where she started off.
Faye slipped out of her clothes and covered the couch with a ratty old blanket before sitting down, with the medical kit and sake in her lap, in her underwear and bra. She looked at the bullet hole, a few inches left of her naval, sighed, and pulled out a pair of brownish stained needle nosed pliers. Taking a quick sip of Sake, she set it on the floor and set in to work. A lot of wincing and probing later, the tip of the pliers touched the bullet imbedded in her. Biting back a small shout, she fixed the pliers around the bullet and with a mighty yank, tugged it free. Her eyes went wide as the effects of what she did hit her. She then squeezed her eyes shut, muttered something about fucking idiots, and lifted the bottle of Sake to her mouth once more. She muttered angrily when she realized she hadn't had much of the Sake, due to the small size of the bottle, and decided that she couldn't drink the pain away this time, she had work in the morning.
With more grumbling and an exceptional amount of pain, Faye managed to sew her side shut with fishing wire and a sewing needle, clean her blood off of everything, and hobble into the bathroom to take her long awaited shower. The water felt so good. The treat that she had managed to buy for herself was a nice large bottle of shampoo that smelled of French Vanilla, was rubbed into her hair and she almost groaned with the pleasure of it. Even the dead need something nice, she decided. She finished washing but just sat there, enjoying the heat of the water, with her mouth slightly gaped, and her troubles miles away.
Click, click.
Her eyes shot open. That was the sound of her door being picked. She jumped out of the shower, wrapping a towel quickly and sloppily around her exposed flesh, but still managed to show a lot of leg. Grabbing a gun she had hidden in a box under the sink, she hustled into the living room with her gun pointed at the door. The door clicked with a pop of defeat and slowly creaked open.
The intruder thrust his head through the door and their eyes met. She had her gun up, ready to fire, but she just stood there, staring. Staring and not able to pull her eyes away. No, it must be an illusion, she told herself, but once she rubbed her eyes he was still there. The one she had loved, the man she had cried for.
But no, he was dead.
"Faye," he greeted in his casual lazy voice.
She sighed. Half a year. She died half a year ago. She supposed she was still alive but. It was as if she wasn't really there. She hardly cared for anything anymore. She would spend hours just sitting in bed staring up at the ceiling. She would just sit in the shower and let the water pour down her face and into her slightly gaped mouth. It was as if she wasn't really alive.
And who was to blame? Personally, she blamed him. He shouldn't have left. He shouldn't have left the Bebop. Shouldn't have left her. But he did. He sauntered off and got himself killed. They said the only one that could kill one of them was the other. It was true. Only he could kill him. Only he could have killed Spike. Vicious.
She had left close after Spike, trying to prevent him from doing the stupid. Trying to prevent him from dying. She showed up too late. She got there and there was nothing. No Spike, no Vicious. Of course there was some henchmen there to clean up. But where was he? She sure couldn't just saunter up and ask where they were, she probably be killed instantly.
But she knew he had to be dead. He would have returned otherwise. She had waited at the Bebop at first, but the pain got to be too much. She would walk by his room and almost break down. Who'd have known she loved him? She had kept it secret from herself even. She refused to love anyone. Love only led to complication. Look at Spike, after all. He was gone all because of her. All because of Julia. She supposed she should blame Spike also. He had after all gone after his best friends girl. Who would have thought they would end up killing each other?
Now she hardly felt anything. She was still a bounty hunter, more ruthless now than ever. She was less careful now. She had gotten shot more times in three months than ever before. She had scars now. So many scars. All because of him. He killed some of her when he left. He killed her when he went off and died on her. There was only half of her now. The only guy she couldn't get was the guy she had to fall for. The only guy..
Damn you Spike.
Her voice echoed off of the still room. She had left the Bebop. She had left her other life. Who was she now? She definitely was no longer 'Faye Valentine.' Who was she then? Good question. She was. She was no one. Absolutely no one. And all because of him. How had he managed to sneak on her like that? How had he managed to hurt her like that? Never again. Never again.
She sat on the barstool at the rank bar. She had gone to Callisto. Why? She didn't know really. The only thing for her here was trouble. But she was so used to trouble. What would she have without it? This was the same club that she had met him at. He was someone she just wanted to pour her heart out to. She wasn't in love with him but. He just seemed to be the type of guy that would understand everything you told him. The kind of guy that didn't ask questions but was a good listener. Mr. Saxophone. Gren.
He died too though, didn't he? Vicious. She should blame him for Gren's death. She should blame him for Spike's as well. Why'd they both have to die-
"Scuse me miss," a drunken voice slurred and a hand landed roughly on her shoulder. "Me an my boys was wonderin' how much you charge."
"Fuck off."
Laughter was heard behind her. "That ain't the right answer."
Hands grabbed out and caught her shoulders and waist. She pulled out a 'concealed' gun and fired once behind her, hitting the man that held her straight in the stomach. She rolled out of his grasp and fired at his friend who charged her, nailing him right between the eyes. His five other friends all pulled out guns and aimed at her. She pulled out another gun and shot for their knees while dodging gunfire. She cursed as she ran out of ammo. She didn't have time to reload. She threw her guns hitting one man in the face as she rolled and landed a swift kick to his stomach. She connected an elbow to another man who snuck up from behind her and then a swift punch to another man. The two men left unbattered picked up their friends and decided a chick wasn't worth the trouble.
The commotion in the club had ceased when her first shot was fired. Now they looked at her as she picked up her guns and sat back on the barstool to reload them. The bartender walked over.
"Scotch on rocks," she said, putting her guns back where she pulled them.
The bartender nodded before hesitantly looking at her again. "You're shot, you know that right?" Faye looked down. She had a bullet hole in her side. She stared at it as if she didn't believe it was really there. She felt no pain right now. She was dead after all.
"Yeah. I know." The bartender nodded. "Give me some Sake, too. In a bottle not a glass." She probed the bullet hole with her finger and winced. There it was. There was the pain. She savored the feeling a second. It made her feel warm in a strange way. She had felt nothing for so long, she had been cold for so long. She could barely feel anymore. She no longer had anything to feel for. But now. She knew she would feel something when she had to pull the thing out, though. That would hurt like hell.
"Look what you did to me, Spike," she whispered before downing the Scotch in one swing and grabbing the bottle of Sake. She set the money on the counter and left, still looking at the hole in her side. It was bleeding. She had gotten so used to seeing her own blood, but not feeling, oh no, not feeling. Her blood ran down her side. It was going to stain, she was sure. She smiled looking at it. It was so odd in contrast to her fair skin. Red truly was a pretty color.
Why had she come here, she wondered as she headed toward the blue apartment complex where she had a room. Why had she come here, to a city with virtually no women and scum everywhere? She guessed. she expected, that they would be here. She just felt that Spike and Gren would be here, waiting for her. But, they were both dead, weren't they?
"A shower," she muttered. "A shower is what I need."
And besides, men only led to heartache.
~*~*~
Why had he come here? Back to this desolate planet? He had no where else to go, nothing else to do with his life. Life. What a cruel word. Why did life have to be so trying, so hard? He had died before. He supposed he was still alive, but at the same time he was dead. He had no life anymore, really. He was just another shadowless bounty hunter, disappearing among the crowds. He had died twice now. Twice had he picked up and disappeared, leaving no trace of himself.
They're better off without me anyway.
How much of him believed that? Enough of himself to keep from going back. It was too late now. Six months had passed, they would kill him. He wanted to know what happened to them, but he restrained himself. No use getting caught up again. Faye was probably still bounty hunting, catching someone then blowing her money all in one place. Jet would have some kind of work, be it a bounty hunter or a cop, and he would still spend hours staring at those shrunken trees of his. Ed would. well be Ed somewhere, with the mutt with her. So what was he stressing about? Besides, Callisto was a great place to hide out. The only people here were fugitives anyway, which meant the hunting was good. For once in a long while, he had spare cash, and lots of it. He had a good place to stay, and even a garage for his ship. So, why was he so paranoid?
Blang, bang!
He looked up. Those were gunshots. Near him too. Sounded like they were coming from where he was headed, one of the only bars on this planet that didn't lace their drinks with anything. He sighed. Hopefully no one gunned down the bartender, and the place was still running. He picked up his steps. But if the bartender got shot, there would be free drinks. He entered the bar to find that no, the bartender hadn't been shot, and he sighed, just a little bit. But the bartender was staring out the door that he just walked through as if he was hoping for something. He looked back at the door but all he saw was a puddle of blood. Maybe he was dazed by something that had happened.
S'not like it matters though.
He took a seat at the end stool, where Julia sat when she was here, and tapped the counter. "What'll it be?" the bartender asked.
"Scotch on rocks."
The bartender stared at him as if he was mad. He returned the look for a second, then it became frustration.
"What the hell's wrong with you?"
The bartender blinked and apologized. "It's just that she just ordered the same thing, in the same tired voice as yours, not to mention you're sitting in her seat." The bartender quickly turned away but returned soon after with his drink.
"She? There was a woman in here?" He asked, not really caring.
"Yeah. Pretty thing too. Had this violet hair and these green eyes, not to mention that figure she was showin off under those skimpy clothes of hers. She looked upset though, didn't help none that those guys were hassling her."
He froze. No, it couldn't be. her. It couldn't be Faye. But the bartender had just described her. The violet hair, the green eyes, the clothes. Who else could it be? But if it was Faye then.He had to get outta here before she saw him, before she heard he was here. But if Faye was here alone.
"Hassling her? Was that her gunshot I heard?"
Bartender nodded. "Yeah. She whipped em pretty good though. Got herself shot too. She didn't even seem to notice it though, till I pointed it out to her. But she had quite a few scars now that I think about it. That's her blood on the floor."
He was on his feet in an instant. What the hell had the girl done to herself? She had been shot and was hurt bad enough that she had to leave. Where had she been shot anyway? His last excuse, his last resolve to keep himself away from her was broken. She was on this planet, but for how long? And what had the bartender said? That she had scars? He knew Faye was quite the troublemaker but. he never saw any scars on her. None that were visible anyway, and she showed off a whole lot with that outfit she wore.
"Which way did she go?"
The bartender looked at him. "What, you know her? Or you just want her?"
He gave him a look telling him to shut the hell up and tell him what he wanted to know. He couldn't help but get a feeling that this was his fault. He wanted to argue, he wanted to tell himself that he wasn't responsible. He just wanted to live for himself. He didn't want the responsibility that others brought on him, the responsibility that they brought on him. He thought that by keeping dead that the responsibility would go away, that if he were dead that they would forget he existed and move on without him. And look at what was happening now.
"That way," the bartender pointed out the door. "If you don't find her know that she comes here around ten everyday just come then."
He nodded and headed out, what he was once determined to get away from, he was now determined to find. She couldn't have gotten all that far anyway, he had just heard the gunshots. He hoped that he was right.
~*~*~
The door shut behind her, automatically locked. Faye walked into the bathroom, still leaving little drips of blood on the floor with every step. Rummaging under the sink she pulled out a medical kit, a worn plastic box with a snap off lid, that was once white but was now a dingy gray, with a cheap red cross, drawn with a marker, to symbolize its purpose. She grabbed it and with a few purposeful strides, arrived in her living area where she started off.
Faye slipped out of her clothes and covered the couch with a ratty old blanket before sitting down, with the medical kit and sake in her lap, in her underwear and bra. She looked at the bullet hole, a few inches left of her naval, sighed, and pulled out a pair of brownish stained needle nosed pliers. Taking a quick sip of Sake, she set it on the floor and set in to work. A lot of wincing and probing later, the tip of the pliers touched the bullet imbedded in her. Biting back a small shout, she fixed the pliers around the bullet and with a mighty yank, tugged it free. Her eyes went wide as the effects of what she did hit her. She then squeezed her eyes shut, muttered something about fucking idiots, and lifted the bottle of Sake to her mouth once more. She muttered angrily when she realized she hadn't had much of the Sake, due to the small size of the bottle, and decided that she couldn't drink the pain away this time, she had work in the morning.
With more grumbling and an exceptional amount of pain, Faye managed to sew her side shut with fishing wire and a sewing needle, clean her blood off of everything, and hobble into the bathroom to take her long awaited shower. The water felt so good. The treat that she had managed to buy for herself was a nice large bottle of shampoo that smelled of French Vanilla, was rubbed into her hair and she almost groaned with the pleasure of it. Even the dead need something nice, she decided. She finished washing but just sat there, enjoying the heat of the water, with her mouth slightly gaped, and her troubles miles away.
Click, click.
Her eyes shot open. That was the sound of her door being picked. She jumped out of the shower, wrapping a towel quickly and sloppily around her exposed flesh, but still managed to show a lot of leg. Grabbing a gun she had hidden in a box under the sink, she hustled into the living room with her gun pointed at the door. The door clicked with a pop of defeat and slowly creaked open.
The intruder thrust his head through the door and their eyes met. She had her gun up, ready to fire, but she just stood there, staring. Staring and not able to pull her eyes away. No, it must be an illusion, she told herself, but once she rubbed her eyes he was still there. The one she had loved, the man she had cried for.
But no, he was dead.
"Faye," he greeted in his casual lazy voice.