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Oct. 1st, 2004 07:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timepiececlockAll people who watched Cowboy Bebop!
How's my character voice? In the snippet below, does Jet sound like Jet and does Faye sound like Faye?
I'm cross-posting my question to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fayeandspike.
A random chapter of my as-yet-still-WIP Cowboy Bebop fic, Orpheus Child. It's short, actually meant as an interlude of sorts, to give some backstory to Jet in the time after episode 26. Spoilers for the end of the series.
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Orpheus Child
Chapter #Unknown (but somewhere in the middle):
Walk Beneath the Door
Jet turned the enveloped over in his fingers, the pads of his fingers running along the edges in amazement. It was a letter, handwritten, thin but weighty. It'd been ages since Jet had received a handwritten letter from anyone, not since he was a teenager, probably. Then again, Faye had been raised on Earth that was; old habits died hard, he supposed.
He woke up one boring day nearly two months after his best friend commited suicide-by-mob, and discovered that all his petty cash was gone, and someone had hacked into his savings account. The same someone had taken a full half of the money he'd put aside for retiring some day, and the brazenness of it sent Jet into a skyrocketing fit of anger. He wasn't even surprised when he slammed open that woman's door and found her room as empty as it had been a year ago. Now he was down two partners. Some fucking friends they were, the both of them.
He slid his leaf-cutters underneath the paper flap and then set them aside. He tipped the envelope to one side and spilled the contents onto the table in front of him.
One sheet of paper. One photograph. And, most surprisingly, one money card. Jet raised his eyebrows and picked that up first. The number on it was familiar: it was the exact amount she'd stolen from him three years ago, plus one woolong. Jet could later say that few things in his life surprised him as much as that one money-card did, sitting in his palm as if its existence weren't a complete mystery to every person who had ever known or even spoken to the infamous Faye Valentine.
The picture was a plain one, taken of Faye in profile, with a backdrop of tall buildings and a hazy stretch of desert. Could be one of a thousand cities in the solar system, on Mars or Earth or dozen various moons. He could see the top of her shoulders in the photo, and she wore a black tank top under the same red jacket he remembered. She looked a little bit tipsy, and was laughing like she had just scored the biggest hustle the galaxy would ever see. Jet smiled a little, and set the photo aside, picking up the letter.
Hey old man,
That's one woolong of interest. Quite generous of me, I believe.
Jet lit a cigarette and sent a glare to the paper in his hand. The bitch had stolen money over and over again from them and now he was supposed to be grateful at her generosity?
You didn't think I was going to pay it back retroactively, did you? My my, you have gotten complacent in my absence. How like a man.
"Bitch," he muttered.
Speaking of which, Jet, I know you're still by yourself on that damn cold ship growling at the computer and fussing over your little plants. Put those molly-coddling tendencies to better use and get yourself a lady-friend to pester.
Thanks for the loan, comerade. As they used to say where I came from: Carpe diem.
Faye
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
end of chapter.
How's my character voice? In the snippet below, does Jet sound like Jet and does Faye sound like Faye?
I'm cross-posting my question to
fayeandspike.A random chapter of my as-yet-still-WIP Cowboy Bebop fic, Orpheus Child. It's short, actually meant as an interlude of sorts, to give some backstory to Jet in the time after episode 26. Spoilers for the end of the series.
--------------
Orpheus Child
Chapter #Unknown (but somewhere in the middle):
Walk Beneath the Door
Jet turned the enveloped over in his fingers, the pads of his fingers running along the edges in amazement. It was a letter, handwritten, thin but weighty. It'd been ages since Jet had received a handwritten letter from anyone, not since he was a teenager, probably. Then again, Faye had been raised on Earth that was; old habits died hard, he supposed.
He woke up one boring day nearly two months after his best friend commited suicide-by-mob, and discovered that all his petty cash was gone, and someone had hacked into his savings account. The same someone had taken a full half of the money he'd put aside for retiring some day, and the brazenness of it sent Jet into a skyrocketing fit of anger. He wasn't even surprised when he slammed open that woman's door and found her room as empty as it had been a year ago. Now he was down two partners. Some fucking friends they were, the both of them.
He slid his leaf-cutters underneath the paper flap and then set them aside. He tipped the envelope to one side and spilled the contents onto the table in front of him.
One sheet of paper. One photograph. And, most surprisingly, one money card. Jet raised his eyebrows and picked that up first. The number on it was familiar: it was the exact amount she'd stolen from him three years ago, plus one woolong. Jet could later say that few things in his life surprised him as much as that one money-card did, sitting in his palm as if its existence weren't a complete mystery to every person who had ever known or even spoken to the infamous Faye Valentine.
The picture was a plain one, taken of Faye in profile, with a backdrop of tall buildings and a hazy stretch of desert. Could be one of a thousand cities in the solar system, on Mars or Earth or dozen various moons. He could see the top of her shoulders in the photo, and she wore a black tank top under the same red jacket he remembered. She looked a little bit tipsy, and was laughing like she had just scored the biggest hustle the galaxy would ever see. Jet smiled a little, and set the photo aside, picking up the letter.
Hey old man,
That's one woolong of interest. Quite generous of me, I believe.
Jet lit a cigarette and sent a glare to the paper in his hand. The bitch had stolen money over and over again from them and now he was supposed to be grateful at her generosity?
You didn't think I was going to pay it back retroactively, did you? My my, you have gotten complacent in my absence. How like a man.
"Bitch," he muttered.
Speaking of which, Jet, I know you're still by yourself on that damn cold ship growling at the computer and fussing over your little plants. Put those molly-coddling tendencies to better use and get yourself a lady-friend to pester.
Thanks for the loan, comerade. As they used to say where I came from: Carpe diem.
Faye
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
end of chapter.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2004-10-01 11:07 pm (UTC)And the fic? I likes.
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Date: 2004-10-02 02:30 am (UTC)::deep breath out::
That's good. I had this secret fear everyone would go "That's not Jet!" And then I would panic because Jet is the hardest for me to think for.