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Lost & Found
Sep. 25th, 2004 08:17 pmIt's a nice room. Nicer than his compartment on the Bebop, but that was all his. No one went back there: not Ed, not Ein, not Faye. Not even Jet went back there and messed with his shit. None of them would have dared.
And this is... a room. Although it surprises him from time to time when he shows up and finds something new he didn't have the day before. Like a change of clothes or a carton of smokes or a set of repair tools, the one he had for the Swordfish.
He's surprised Faye didn't steal those, too. She owes him money. He ever sees her again, he's not gonna let her forget it. 'Cause one day his credit here is going to run out and then he'll be fucked.
Because there's nothing else to do -- not even an episode of Big Shot to watch -- he takes the Jericho out of his jacket pocket and cleans it like he has every day since he got here. Well, except that time he missed for sleeping two days solid, just like after...
Ah, screw it. He doesn't want to think about that shit now. Instead, he focuses on the gun because with it he's more complete and without it he's vulnerable. Even when there's no way to use it because the magazine is empty.
All clean, all perfect, he reassembles the semi-automatic and opens a pack of cigarettes and puts one in his mouth and reaches in his jacket pocket for his lighter and:
What the fuck?
He comes up with a loaded magazine for the Jericho and he knows it wasn't there yesterday or the day before or any other day since he's been here. 16 rounds of 9 millimeter fury, at his disposal. Just in case Vicious shows up, back from the dead. Because Spike knows that's the only way Vicious is coming back. He killed him, with this same gun. Poured every round into him, and the truth of it is simple: bullets are faster than swords. Not more deadly, just faster.
And then he lights the cigarette and stands and tucks the gun back into his pocket. He has no intention of using it unless there's some life-or-death situation and he's pretty sure the bar downstairs isn't going to break out into attack by the Red Dragons tonight. But if it is, he'll be ready.
He wasn't going to go to the bar, but he changes his mind. He can practice his forms another time. Spike pats the gun through his jacket. Thanks, room.
And this is... a room. Although it surprises him from time to time when he shows up and finds something new he didn't have the day before. Like a change of clothes or a carton of smokes or a set of repair tools, the one he had for the Swordfish.
He's surprised Faye didn't steal those, too. She owes him money. He ever sees her again, he's not gonna let her forget it. 'Cause one day his credit here is going to run out and then he'll be fucked.
Because there's nothing else to do -- not even an episode of Big Shot to watch -- he takes the Jericho out of his jacket pocket and cleans it like he has every day since he got here. Well, except that time he missed for sleeping two days solid, just like after...
Ah, screw it. He doesn't want to think about that shit now. Instead, he focuses on the gun because with it he's more complete and without it he's vulnerable. Even when there's no way to use it because the magazine is empty.
All clean, all perfect, he reassembles the semi-automatic and opens a pack of cigarettes and puts one in his mouth and reaches in his jacket pocket for his lighter and:
What the fuck?
He comes up with a loaded magazine for the Jericho and he knows it wasn't there yesterday or the day before or any other day since he's been here. 16 rounds of 9 millimeter fury, at his disposal. Just in case Vicious shows up, back from the dead. Because Spike knows that's the only way Vicious is coming back. He killed him, with this same gun. Poured every round into him, and the truth of it is simple: bullets are faster than swords. Not more deadly, just faster.
And then he lights the cigarette and stands and tucks the gun back into his pocket. He has no intention of using it unless there's some life-or-death situation and he's pretty sure the bar downstairs isn't going to break out into attack by the Red Dragons tonight. But if it is, he'll be ready.
He wasn't going to go to the bar, but he changes his mind. He can practice his forms another time. Spike pats the gun through his jacket. Thanks, room.
