Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction / Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Once More, With Pirates ❯ I am the Walrus ( Chapter 1 )

 

A/N: “Once More, With Pirates” is the sequel to “Gotta Knock a Little Harder”; however, as “Gotta Knock” is currently undergoing revisions, you might find a handful of things that might seem confusing. I don't anticipate any serious inconsistencies between this story, and the currently posted version of “Gotta Knock” for awhile, yet. But if you have questions, and you've read “Gotta Knock” already, please don't hesitate to email me, and I'll be happy to explain. However, any explanations will not make it into the A/N, as there would be problems with spoilage. Some people don't like that a whole lot, you know. ;)

 

The reason I'm going ahead and posting this as I go, is because this is November, and for those not in the know, that means it's National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. This is my NaNo novel, and with luck, I'll hit that 50K word count before the 30th, while I get the revisions on the other story completed. For those familiar with NaNo, you will also be familiar with the “Dares” that goes on, as well. I've managed to work in three of them in this chapter. The title, “Once More, With Pirates”, is one; the penguin, and the mime are the other two (spec. “A mime is a terrible thing to waste”; which is an incredibly BAD pun, but it was part of the dare)

 

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 3113

Words Left: 46,887

Moments of Insanity (Dares Used): 3

Number of Mimes Killed: 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once More, With Pirates

LJ Harris

 

 

“I am the Walrus”

 

Expert textpert choking smokers, Don't you think the joker laughs at you? See how they smile like pigs in a sty, See how they snide. I'm crying. -- Lennon - McCartney (“I am the Walrus” - Magical Mystery Tour)

 

Spike Spiegel decided the day was going to go straight to Hell the first time he saw the penguin on Morocco Street.

 

He'd been strolling through the open air market; hands in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and an air of indifference that enabled him to blend in with the rest of the tourists swarming the area. That no one could see his eyes behind the dark glasses just added to the impression.

 

He was scanning the crowd carefully, and the dark glasses did more than just shade his eyes from the daylight. With the movement of a brow or the twitch of an eyelid, the glasses would change focus, or compare a face to the one he was searching for. Of course they also worked very well as protection for tender, hung-over eyes.

 

He'd received a private message early this morning, from a personal contact, about a bountyhead that was not public. No legitimate Cowboy was going to be coming after this one. This one was wanted alive… or dead. It was little more than a call for a hit, and wasn't on the normal networks. It was also worth 150 million woolongs.

 

His target, a woman dressed in a long tunic, hijab, and a veil covering the lower half of her face, had been within his sights for about ten minutes, and he was fairly certain, on a gut level, that it was who he was after. But he wasn't getting a good enough capture for the glasses to verify a match, and so he continued to follow her from a distance.

 

He yawned lustily and silently wished he'd taken the time to stop for a Prairie Oyster when he watched her stop at yet another produce booth. He had to admire her confidence, though. She never looked around once, but continued her shopping with the single-mindedness of a native. Now if I can just get her to look this way for more than a microsecond, he thought. We can get this over with, and I can go back to bed.

 

Instead, she paid for her purchases, and continued on through the market. Spike sighed, and followed.

 

And that was when he saw the penguin.

 

He didn't think much of it at first. He had, in fact, thought it was just a remarkably well-crafted stuffed toy someone was using to attract attention to their booth. Then it shook; the wave starting from its head, and ending at its tail. It gave a little squawk, and waddled in Spike's direction.

 

This was no ordinary zoo-kept penguin either, but a damn big-assed penguin that came nearly up to Spike's chest. The bird stopped right in front of him, looked up at him with purpose, and squawked again. Then it nodded as if whatever it had said was the most profound thing ever uttered, and it waddled off on its way. Spike just stared after the bird.

 

An instant later he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, spun back in the direction he was originally headed, and nearly bowled over a street mime. He raised his hands and gave the mime a sheepish grin in apology, as he stumbled backwards a few steps, then he got his feet back under him, and jogged off after his target.

 

He'd only gone a few more steps when he came to the inescapable conclusion that he'd lost her. He silently cursed and slowed his pace as he scanned the throng. The whole area around Morocco Street was a rabbit warren of alleyways, and it was possible that she's turned down one of them. But Spike knew if he wasn't looking close, he could easily miss any number of them, and his quarry would be lost for good.

 

He found one such alleyway just a little ways past the last known position of the target, and stopped at the entrance to scan. It was barely wide enough for an average man to walk straight, but the hard trampled dirt told Spike it was a well-used thoroughfare. It was also dismally empty.

 

“Dammit,” Spike muttered, as he started scanning the crowds again in the main promenade. He seriously doubted that she could have disappeared down another alley; she wasn't out of his sight that long.

 

Then he remembered who he was after, and what she was capable of. He groaned and rubbed his aching head, as he slumped against the wall just inside the mouth of the narrow alley. A very long list of bad words danced through his mind, as he lit a cigarette and considered his next move.

 

He heard a familiar squawk, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the big-assed penguin again. It hissed at him, and flapped its wings, and slowly advanced in his direction. Spike dropped the cigarette, and sidled down the alley with his back still against the warm, mud-brick wall; keeping his eyes on the bird.

 

A shadow fell across the bird, and Spike spared a glance up. A man he'd never seen before was blocking the entrance, and pointing very large gun right at him. Instinct took over. He pulled his own gun out, and pointed it back at the stranger.

 

The penguin squawked again, and Spike aimed down at the bird, then back up at the man with the gun. He quickly assessed the threat level. Either be gored by the beak of the big-assed penguin, or have his chest filled with hot lead. Neither prospect seemed pleasing.

 

His eyes flicked rapidly between the two, as he slowly backed down the alley, and he silently prayed that somewhere back there, was at least a modicum of cover for him to get behind; and quickly.

 

A flash of red and gold just over the shoulder of the gunman and just out of Spike's main point of focus triggered something in his idle memory, and his eyes jumped to it instantly. Shock-widened gold eyes met his, and Spike forgot how to breathe. Another face, unknown but still familiar, also stared in shock.

 

His attention was quickly brought back to the more urgent matter at hand however, when he heard the click of a hammer being pulled back. Spike didn't hesitate. He pulled his trigger, first.

 

Unfortunately, the street mime chose that moment to get in the way. Too late to release the trigger and stop the gun from firing, Spike yanked it upwards and the shot went wild. The gunman didn't react quite as quickly, and Spike watched in horror as the innocent mime stared at him with accusing eyes, a red bloom spreading across his black and white striped chest. His knees buckled and he fell forward without ever uttering a sound. It was only then that Spike noticed the mime had been carrying a small, red collar with a matching leash attached to it.

 

A small part of his mind mourned the loss of the mime. He'd never openly admit it, but he actually enjoyed watching them on occasion, and they didn't annoy him nearly as much as they did most people. A small barking laugh escaped his lips, and he quickly clamped down on it. But he couldn't stop the incongruous thought from forming; A mime is a terrible thing to waste.

 

The penguin started to squawk in a panic, and flap its wings as it ran around in a circle looking for escape. It bent down, grabbed the leash, and waddled out of the alley, complaining the entire time.

 

The gunman was taking aim again, but before Spike could react he felt a small, firm grip on his wrist and someone said, “Hold on.”

 

He had the sudden sensation of sliding backwards, and then Morocco Street was gone.

 

0o0o0

 

Jet entered the lounge carrying four plates piled high with pancakes and sausage. For once they had a decent amount of food and could afford a rather elaborate breakfast. At least it was elaborate for the crew of the Bebop.

 

Ed was on the deck next to the table, wearing her VR goggles, submerged in cyberspace; Ein was in his usual place next to her, and Faye…

 

He cocked a brow and had to chuckle. Faye was stretched out on the couch, holding a cold, wet washcloth over her eyes. I'm not surprised she's hungover, he thought. She and Spike both downed a lot of whiskey last night.

 

He set the plates down on the table, and said, “Breakfast is ready.”

 

Ed surfaced and pounced on hers with gusto. Faye slowly set up, took one look at the food on the plate, then ran for the head covering her mouth.

 

He shook his head, and chuckled. She should've known better than to try to match Spike drink for drink. But he didn't blame her. There was reason for both of them to celebrate.

 

Their most recent bounty had not only paid well, but was done with minimal damage. They actually had woolongs to spare, for once. But last night was more of an anniversary of sorts. It was about a year ago that Faye had her memory return, Ed found her father, and Spike had finally dealt with his personal demons. Over a period of a month, a lot of things happened. A lot of things changed for all of them. Even Jet.

 

He had the anniversary of the reuniting crew to celebrate; but there was a loss he mourned coloring the mood. He spent most of last night with his own bottle of scotch on the bridge, in quiet contemplation.

 

At one point, Ed had crept in and startled him with a sing-song query about his absence.

 

Ein leapt into his lap, and he scratched the dog behind the ears. He looked at the girl; still a string-bean, even at fourteen; and considered another kid named Ed he'd had the privilege of knowing for a brief time. The only thing the two Eds had in common was the name. But Jet couldn't help wondering how the boy was doing whenever he heard the name uttered. You don't forget about someone like him or his brother very easy, he thought. He then launched into a fairy tale of a knight in shining armor, and a young wizard. Ed had listened with rapt attention.

 

A pathetic moan brought him out of his musings. Faye had returned, and was staring pitifully at the plate in front of her. “You'll feel better if you eat, you know,” Jet said.

 

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head, threw the washcloth back over her eyes, and lay down with a whimper.

 

“If Faye-Faye doesn't want her pancakes, can Ed have them?” the girl asked. Faye waved at them weakly. Ed took that as a yes and dove in.

 

In a fit of mischief, Jet decided that he needed to call Spike in for breakfast, rather than politely knocking on his door. The result was that Faye curled up and whimpered again.

 

“Spike-person isn't here,” Ed said around a mouthful of pancakes.

 

“Oh?” Jet said. “Do you know where he went?”

 

She said, “He told Ed that he was taking a trip to,” she paused for dramatic effect, then finished with a flurry of gestures and her patented spooky-voice, “The Twilight Zone… OooooOOOOooooo!”

 

Jet and Faye just stared at her.

 

The girl groaned and grabbed her stomach. “Ed is full!” and then she flopped over landing on poor Ein. The dog yelped, then resigned himself to being a pillow. He gave Jet a long-suffering look.

 

Faye had set back up and stared at the plate that was supposed to be Spike's for a moment. She pulled it to her and started picking at the pancakes with the fork. “Hey Jet,” she said. “Why didn't you join us last night?”

 

“Wasn't really in the mood for it, I guess,” he said.

 

She leaned forward and looked hard at him. “Something happened to you two while I was gone last year. But neither of you want to talk about it. Why not?”

 

Jet made it a point to concentrate on the intricacies of a well-made cup of coffee, instead of answering. “Don't know what you're talking about.”

 

A thin brown arm shot up into the air, and Ed sang, “Ed knows what happened!” She jumped to her feet and zigzagged around the lounge with her arms out at her sides, and sang, “Jet-person and Spike-person crashed Bebop in an enchanted kingdom, and a knight, and a wizard rescued them!”

 

Jet grimaced, and gripped the handle of the coffee cup tightly. That damn kid's too perceptive sometimes, he thought.

 

Ed wandered off, warbling something about the drama and tragedy of it all, and Jet felt a pair of eyes on him. He looked up from the coffee that he suddenly had no stomach for, to see Faye smirking at him.

 

He slammed his cup on the table a little harder than he'd intended, sloshing some over the rim and all over his flesh hand. He barely noticed the heat, as he started gathering the empty plates. “Don't be obnoxious,” he said, and took the dishes to the galley.

 

He was elbow deep in soapy water washing the dishes, when he felt Faye's eyes on him again. He didn't look up; he just sighed, and shook his head. “There's nothing to tell.”

 

“Really?” she said, and held her open palm in front of his face. Sitting on it was a small metal replica of the Bebop.

 

Jet's eyes went wide, and he snatched it out of her hand. “Stay the hell out of my stuff, Faye,” he said, and he shoved it into his pocket.

 

She leaned back against the counter, and crossed her arms. “I didn't get into your stuff,” she said. “I find it in the dryer about once a week. And if it isn't there, you're off somewhere else while you stare at it. What's so special about that thing?”

 

He cut the air between them, slinging soap on her. “Nothing. It's the past. Now can it!”

 

He went back to washing the dishes, and making a point of ignoring her. After awhile, she left the galley, but Jet knew she wasn't going to just give up on this. And if she knew, she'd be convinced that Spike and I were both fruitier than a nutcake, Jet thought. If it weren't for that little memento from Ed, I'd be half convinced Spike and I shared a few magic mushrooms, myself.

 

He didn't hear Faye leave the galley, but he heard her shriek and cuss from the lounge a moment later. He was about to pass it off as Faye in one of her moods, but immediately after that, Ein started going nuts, and Ed was unusually quiet.

 

Jet sighed, and wiped his hinds on his apron. Time to play mediator, again, he thought, as he headed into the lounge.

 

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Faye wide-eyed, and holding her gun out with both hands. He followed her aim, and there was Spike, looking stunned and disoriented; and supported by woman in a hijab pointing her gun at Faye. It took an instant for him to wrap his brain around the sight, and another for his knees to feel like rubber.

 

“McKenna,” he growled.

 

She glanced over at him, and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry about showing up like this, Jet. We were in a bit of a hurry.”

 

Spike peeled himself away from McKenna's support, stumbled, and fell into the chair. Faye kept her gun on McKenna, but the other woman was practically ignoring her. “You okay, Spike?”

 

He shot her a dirty look, and said, “I really hate it when you do that.”

 

McKenna just smiled.

 

“Faye, you can put the gun down, now,” Jet said.

 

Her eyes never left McKenna. “They just appeared out of nowhere.”

 

Jet came the rest of the way into the lounge, and gently took the gun out of Faye's hands. “Yeah, she tends to do that.”

 

Faye just stared up at him, uncomprehending.

 

“Long story,” Spike said, as he lit a cigarette.

 

McKenna was still standing conspicuously in the middle of the lounge, and was being stared at intently by Ed. She pulled off the Hijab, and the tunic; and Jet noticed there was a definite difference in her look. She wasn't the same scared, conniving, pain in the ass she was before. She looked harder. Tougher.

 

Jet ground his teeth, and said, “What the hell are you doing here, McKenna?”

 

She gave him a startled look, and appeared almost wounded. Then he saw a mask fall over her face, and she was no longer readable. “You don't know, yet,” she said. Her brow furrowed in annoyance, and she cursed softly in a language Jet wasn't familiar with. Then she grabbed at the silver band about her wrist, and disappeared.