incomplete
Who: Spike Spiegel (7livesleft) and Jet Black (bitemeissp)
What: Badly timed reunions.
Where: The church.
When: Oh, shortly after this.
Some days it was hard to tell if he was on the good or the bad side of karma. After the life he'd lived, he sometimes wondered how much it took to balance them out. Maybe things had just been going too well for too long and the scales needed to be tipped back. Whatever the reason, it hadn't been shaping up to be a good week. He could shrug off the dreams about death -- hell, they weren't entirely uncommon for him -- but it seemed like someone was getting desperate for his attention. Spike had developed a tactic of ignoring anything he couldn't control until it went away, but when they started physically affecting him, it made a little more difficult to sit out.
In the months that he'd been living in Nuadoria, Spike had memorized the streets well enough that he could find his way to the church without an upward glance. Instead he kept his eyes to the shadows, searching for a glimpse of... whatever that was in his vision. He found it ironic that he still had to go everywhere on foot. If he really was a ghost, he figured he should be able to teleport or fly. Something useful. Instead he took comfort in the fact that if anything did jump out at him on his way there, it would pass right through him.
Comfort. Right.
Although if he wanted proof that he had died, turning into a ghost seemed like some pretty strong evidence. Usually he couldn't bring himself to care either way, yet not being able to do as much as light a cigarette disturbed him on a level he rarely reached. Everything felt distant. The ground he was walking on, the occasional wind blowing through his body; for someone who always felt like he was living in a dream, he had never felt so disconnected from reality.
Unless he wasn't dead. The same sort of thing happens to matter trapped in hyperspace. He could be stuck in some kind of temporal hole that was on a different wavelength from everyone else... Except that didn't make any sense. How the hell did he manage to get in hyperspace in his sleep?
Maybe Jet could figure it out.
Jet. And he just so happened to show up less than a day after Spike developed this little problem. It was almost embarrassing. He didn't need his old partner taking care of his messes as soon as he got there. Worse was that he didn't know what point in time Jet came in from. But Jet wasn't Faye. Spike wouldn't have to put up with the endless blaming and accusations this time; Jet understood why he did what he did in a way that she never could.
When he came to the church door, he reached for the handle and swore under his breath as his hand passed through it. Of course it had to be closed. He debated walking around the back, but it wasn't like he could cover up the fact that he was transparent. Might as well make it easy on him. So he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked on through.
"Hey, Jet," he called out in a casual monotone once he was on the other side. He hadn't spent a lot of time in the church, but somewhere along the way he'd developed an aversion to them. Something about falling out of a stained glass window will do that to you.
"Let's go."
What: Badly timed reunions.
Where: The church.
When: Oh, shortly after this.
Some days it was hard to tell if he was on the good or the bad side of karma. After the life he'd lived, he sometimes wondered how much it took to balance them out. Maybe things had just been going too well for too long and the scales needed to be tipped back. Whatever the reason, it hadn't been shaping up to be a good week. He could shrug off the dreams about death -- hell, they weren't entirely uncommon for him -- but it seemed like someone was getting desperate for his attention. Spike had developed a tactic of ignoring anything he couldn't control until it went away, but when they started physically affecting him, it made a little more difficult to sit out.
In the months that he'd been living in Nuadoria, Spike had memorized the streets well enough that he could find his way to the church without an upward glance. Instead he kept his eyes to the shadows, searching for a glimpse of... whatever that was in his vision. He found it ironic that he still had to go everywhere on foot. If he really was a ghost, he figured he should be able to teleport or fly. Something useful. Instead he took comfort in the fact that if anything did jump out at him on his way there, it would pass right through him.
Comfort. Right.
Although if he wanted proof that he had died, turning into a ghost seemed like some pretty strong evidence. Usually he couldn't bring himself to care either way, yet not being able to do as much as light a cigarette disturbed him on a level he rarely reached. Everything felt distant. The ground he was walking on, the occasional wind blowing through his body; for someone who always felt like he was living in a dream, he had never felt so disconnected from reality.
Unless he wasn't dead. The same sort of thing happens to matter trapped in hyperspace. He could be stuck in some kind of temporal hole that was on a different wavelength from everyone else... Except that didn't make any sense. How the hell did he manage to get in hyperspace in his sleep?
Maybe Jet could figure it out.
Jet. And he just so happened to show up less than a day after Spike developed this little problem. It was almost embarrassing. He didn't need his old partner taking care of his messes as soon as he got there. Worse was that he didn't know what point in time Jet came in from. But Jet wasn't Faye. Spike wouldn't have to put up with the endless blaming and accusations this time; Jet understood why he did what he did in a way that she never could.
When he came to the church door, he reached for the handle and swore under his breath as his hand passed through it. Of course it had to be closed. He debated walking around the back, but it wasn't like he could cover up the fact that he was transparent. Might as well make it easy on him. So he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked on through.
"Hey, Jet," he called out in a casual monotone once he was on the other side. He hadn't spent a lot of time in the church, but somewhere along the way he'd developed an aversion to them. Something about falling out of a stained glass window will do that to you.
"Let's go."