enjoy the silence [1/1]
he thinks he hears footsteps, but there's no one there. [jet]
cowboy bebop; drama; pg; 600 words
Jet’s grown used to silence.
It was rough at first, all those years ago, when he quit walkin’ to the beat and started living on the edge, coasting along the decrepit fringes of society. It shocked him how quiet life could be for a bounty hunter - occasional bouts of excitement, yeah, but in between? Nothing. Nothing but the soft whir of the ship’s engine and the snip, snip of his bonsai trimmers and the muted voices on the television, talking about things that no longer concerned him (because what do politics matter when you’re drifting aimlessly from planet to planet, searching for that next pack of cigarettes?).
And when Spike came along, things stayed just about the same. Sure, he had someone to yell at when things went to shit (as things always, always seemed to do), but by nature Spike was a man of few words. Even when they talked they never really talked, and when they spoke they never really said anything, especially not about themselves. It was like living with a ghost of a long-lost love - a comforting presence when situations turned sour, but intangible all the same, unable to be reached through mortal means. (Sometimes Jet wondered if Spike might actually be a figment of his imagination. He always disappeared so suddenly, and his eyes were always remote, like cold, dead stars.)
And when the kid and the dog and the flighty broad with the full red lips came along, things stayed about the same. Sure, Ed was a handful at times, always spouting nonsensical bullshit and calling him obnoxious nicknames. Sure, the dog sometimes got underfoot, tripping him up on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, pleading for extra food with those sickeningly adorable eyes. Sure, Faye was a nuisance, always off conning some unlucky sap and getting herself in a fix. But they were never connected. Jet and Spike and Faye and Ed were never one single entity - they were always apart, even when together, always ruled by separate ambitions. The Bebop was quiet, most of the time, because Spike would be on Mars searching for a past that could not let him go, and Faye would be on Venus searching for a past that evaded her still, and Ed would be lost in the depths of the net, searching for a past that had forsaken her.
And Jet? Jet doesn’t care about the past. Never has, never will. What’s done is done, he says, no point in looking back.
(This is a lie. He will think about her later, just as he does every night.)
So, there was silence aboard the Bebop, and Jet was used to it. Welcomed it, even; embraced it.
Now, Spike is gone. Faye left hours ago after waiting days for his return, her dark eyes smudged and her hair in disarray. Jet knows he will never see either of them again. Even Ed and Ein have gone, data dog and its master vanished into the ether, as if they had never been there at all.
And Jet is once again the lone bounty hunter, enjoying the subtle snip, snip of his bonsai trimmers and the muted voices from the television, telling him things he doesn’t need to know (because what do politics matter when you’re drifting aimlessly across the universe, searching for…?).
He thinks he hears footsteps, glances up with a wry smile and a sarcastic “welcome back” on his lips.
But it’s just his imagination. Jet frowns. Shakes his head. Continues trimming.
No, he thinks. He doesn’t mind the silence at all.
cowboy bebop; drama; pg; 600 words
Jet’s grown used to silence.
It was rough at first, all those years ago, when he quit walkin’ to the beat and started living on the edge, coasting along the decrepit fringes of society. It shocked him how quiet life could be for a bounty hunter - occasional bouts of excitement, yeah, but in between? Nothing. Nothing but the soft whir of the ship’s engine and the snip, snip of his bonsai trimmers and the muted voices on the television, talking about things that no longer concerned him (because what do politics matter when you’re drifting aimlessly from planet to planet, searching for that next pack of cigarettes?).
And when Spike came along, things stayed just about the same. Sure, he had someone to yell at when things went to shit (as things always, always seemed to do), but by nature Spike was a man of few words. Even when they talked they never really talked, and when they spoke they never really said anything, especially not about themselves. It was like living with a ghost of a long-lost love - a comforting presence when situations turned sour, but intangible all the same, unable to be reached through mortal means. (Sometimes Jet wondered if Spike might actually be a figment of his imagination. He always disappeared so suddenly, and his eyes were always remote, like cold, dead stars.)
And when the kid and the dog and the flighty broad with the full red lips came along, things stayed about the same. Sure, Ed was a handful at times, always spouting nonsensical bullshit and calling him obnoxious nicknames. Sure, the dog sometimes got underfoot, tripping him up on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, pleading for extra food with those sickeningly adorable eyes. Sure, Faye was a nuisance, always off conning some unlucky sap and getting herself in a fix. But they were never connected. Jet and Spike and Faye and Ed were never one single entity - they were always apart, even when together, always ruled by separate ambitions. The Bebop was quiet, most of the time, because Spike would be on Mars searching for a past that could not let him go, and Faye would be on Venus searching for a past that evaded her still, and Ed would be lost in the depths of the net, searching for a past that had forsaken her.
And Jet? Jet doesn’t care about the past. Never has, never will. What’s done is done, he says, no point in looking back.
(This is a lie. He will think about her later, just as he does every night.)
So, there was silence aboard the Bebop, and Jet was used to it. Welcomed it, even; embraced it.
Now, Spike is gone. Faye left hours ago after waiting days for his return, her dark eyes smudged and her hair in disarray. Jet knows he will never see either of them again. Even Ed and Ein have gone, data dog and its master vanished into the ether, as if they had never been there at all.
And Jet is once again the lone bounty hunter, enjoying the subtle snip, snip of his bonsai trimmers and the muted voices from the television, telling him things he doesn’t need to know (because what do politics matter when you’re drifting aimlessly across the universe, searching for…?).
He thinks he hears footsteps, glances up with a wry smile and a sarcastic “welcome back” on his lips.
But it’s just his imagination. Jet frowns. Shakes his head. Continues trimming.
No, he thinks. He doesn’t mind the silence at all.