I'll be ready for the funeral;
Who: Spike Spiegel (gottaknockhard), Vicious (neverdream)
What: A quiet evening at home...
When: Around now.
Where: Room 705.
Rating: R is likely.
The afterlife had a funny way of repeating itself. A few months and Spike thought he just about had it down. Even when the jokes the castle played turned lethal, and even though it rarely made any sense to him -- between all the bullshit, it hadn't taken him that long to fall back into a routine he was familiar with. Now that Jet was there, it wasn't all that different from being back on the Bebop, endlessly drifting through space and living more out of habit than any sense of purpose. It wasn't as bad as it sounded. Sure, he was out of a job again, but that couldn't come as much of a surprise. His interest was so selective, it was a wonder he hadn't been fired long before his employer disappeared.
Easy come, easy go. What else was new?
Must have been the quiet that was getting to him, then, as he sat in his assigned room and contemplated the smoke coming off of his cigarette. Why else would he be so curious about an invisible stalker sneaking in and touching things he didn't own to start with? Spike wasn't paying for the room, it was free for anyone to enter if they were that curious. He just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he was missing. Like there was actually a reason why anything happened in that place. (And like he'd understand it if there was.)
The ashtray Spike used to crush out his last cigarette was overflowing, and he thought about hanging around to see how many more he could fit. That wouldn't keep him entertained forever though; as pointless as it was, eventually he'd get bored enough and go out again. They knew him too well. And it wasn't long before he decided he might be hungry, and languidly got to his feet.
As he left, he seriously considered not coming back. Wasn't for the first time. That was always an option, and it'd probably do a lot for his mental health, but when did he ever do what's best for him? Part of him always wanted to choose the opposite just to spite the ones keeping track. Whoever that was.
He'd find out sooner or later.
What: A quiet evening at home...
When: Around now.
Where: Room 705.
Rating: R is likely.
The afterlife had a funny way of repeating itself. A few months and Spike thought he just about had it down. Even when the jokes the castle played turned lethal, and even though it rarely made any sense to him -- between all the bullshit, it hadn't taken him that long to fall back into a routine he was familiar with. Now that Jet was there, it wasn't all that different from being back on the Bebop, endlessly drifting through space and living more out of habit than any sense of purpose. It wasn't as bad as it sounded. Sure, he was out of a job again, but that couldn't come as much of a surprise. His interest was so selective, it was a wonder he hadn't been fired long before his employer disappeared.
Easy come, easy go. What else was new?
Must have been the quiet that was getting to him, then, as he sat in his assigned room and contemplated the smoke coming off of his cigarette. Why else would he be so curious about an invisible stalker sneaking in and touching things he didn't own to start with? Spike wasn't paying for the room, it was free for anyone to enter if they were that curious. He just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he was missing. Like there was actually a reason why anything happened in that place. (And like he'd understand it if there was.)
The ashtray Spike used to crush out his last cigarette was overflowing, and he thought about hanging around to see how many more he could fit. That wouldn't keep him entertained forever though; as pointless as it was, eventually he'd get bored enough and go out again. They knew him too well. And it wasn't long before he decided he might be hungry, and languidly got to his feet.
As he left, he seriously considered not coming back. Wasn't for the first time. That was always an option, and it'd probably do a lot for his mental health, but when did he ever do what's best for him? Part of him always wanted to choose the opposite just to spite the ones keeping track. Whoever that was.
He'd find out sooner or later.