Whoops Already Fell Behind On Posting Here

Whoops already fell behind on posting here 🤷‍♀️

Here's the prompt from Day 2: Summer Nights

***

[Spoken:]

[Boy:] On a hot summer night...Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

[Girl:] Will he offer me his mouth?

[Boy:] Yes

[Girl:] Will he offer me his teeth?

[Boy:] Yes

[Girl:] Will he offer me his jaws?

[Boy:] Yes

[Girl:] Will he offer me his hunger?

[Boy:] Yes

[Girl:] Again, will he offer me his hunger?

[Boy:] Yes

[Girl:]And will he starve without me?

[Boy:] Yes

[Girl:] And does he love me?

[Boy:] Yes

[Girl:] Yes

[Boy:] On a hot summer night…Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

[Girl:] Yes

[Boy:] I bet you say that to all the boys

The drums crashed and sent the song into a straight jam as Spike and Julia, laughing and falling over each other, began to dance wildly on the stage. The music drowned out the cheers and jeers of the crowd and everything dwindled around them until there was only the two of them. Spike, clad in jeans and a plain button up shirt and tie, dropping down onto his knees on the stage as he stalked towards Julia, in her dark leather pants and short white dress-turned-shirt with a belt cinched at her natural waist, as she baited him by shimmying her entire body.

Their jackets were long forgotten in the booth where Vicious still sat, nursing a bourbon and smiling his Mona Lisa smile at his associates. Their antics were the highlight of the night for many of the patrons of Renee's Respite. Not quite a property of the Dragons but not exactly clean of association with the syndicate either, it was one of a handful of bars where the fledglings were welcome as long as things didn't get too out of hand.

Naturally, Spike and Vicious had been kicked out of this place a time or two for getting into brawls. Not the way Vicious preferred to fight, but Spike was a fan of letting off some steam with his fists and feet, and Vicious would always back him up. Besides, technically the last time they'd been made to leave had been Vicious's fault. The issue had been another patron - not a regular - who simply wouldn't say the bar's name right no matter how many times Vicious had corrected him. Reh-spit, not re-spite. Eventually he'd had to remove the man's tongue when it became clear he'd never say it properly.

[Sung:]

It was a hot summer night

And the beach was burning

There was fog crawling over the sand

When I listen to your heart

I hear the whole world turning

I see the shooting stars falling

Through your trembling hands

Meanwhile on the stage Spike was singing along word for word with the karaoke song, gesturing out over the crowd as if to build the scene of the lyrics. Julia obligingly raised her hands in front of her and towards the heavens, shaking ever so slightly, her eyes wide and full of delight as she pretended to gaze at the sky.

You were licking your lips

And your lipstick shining

I was dying just to ask for a taste

We were lying together in a silver lining

By the the light of the moons

You know there's not another moment

Not another moment

Not another moment to waste

Acting out the song, Julia stepped into Spike's personal space as he rose up from the crouch he'd been in to lean heavily over her. As if in a call-and-answer, he then tilted back as she pressed forward to lean over him in turn. The crowd hooted and hollered as they strutted across the stage with not an inch of space between their heaving chests.

You hold me so close that my knees grow weak

But my soul is flying high above the ground

I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do

I just can't seem to make any sound

Julia ran her hands up Spike's arms to cradle his face between her palms and Spike lifted his own hands to cover hers as he continued to sing, first to her and then he turned slightly to shift his focus on the crowd as if singing now to the audience.

And then you took the words right out of my mouth

Oh it must have been while you were kissing me

You took the words right out of my mouth

And I swear it's true

I was just about to say I love you

And then you took the words right out of my mouth

Oh it must have been while you were kissing me

You took the words right out of my mouth

And I swear it's true

I was just about to say I love you

By now some of the other patrons had begun to sing along. Vicious shook his head in amusement and raised his tumbler of liquor to quietly toast his partners as they ate up the attention they were getting. Julia was grinning ear to ear, not nearly as breathless as Spike who was both singing and dancing.

Now my body is shaking like a wave on the water

And I guess that I'm beginning to grin

Oh we're finally alone and we can do what we want

The night is young

Ain't no-one gonna know where you

No-one gonna know where you

No-one's gonna know where you've been

You were licking your lips

And your lipstick shining

I was dying just to ask for a taste

We were lying together in a silver lining

By the the light of the moons

You know there's not another moment to waste

Letting his body quake and his lips spread into a smirk to rival the one on Julia's face, Spike dropped back to his knees and then rose up as he sang, hands tracing up Julia's leather clad calves, thighs… his hands gripped her hips briefly, squeezing and eliciting a sharp laugh.

Vicious knew Spike would pay for that later. Julia hated to be tickled.

And then Spike was kissing along her neck in between words of the song, still swaying against her as Julia danced her way backwards toward the brick wall behind them. Teasingly, she grabbed his tie and yanked his face to hers, taking him in a dominating kiss before releasing him so she could spin him around and shove him away all in the same smooth move.

And then you took the words right out of my mouth

Oh it must have been while you were kissing me

You took the words right out of my mouth

And I swear it's true

I was just about to say I love you

And then you took the words right out of my mouth

Oh it must have been while you were kissing me

You took the words right out of my mouth

And I swear it's true

I was just about to say I love you

Once again breaking the fourth wall, Spike sang to the onlookers. Julia crept up behind him, hands reaching around his ribcage to grasp him in a sort of hug as her chin came to rest on his shoulder while the song drew to a finish. Then Spike and Julia both collapsed to the stage floor together, laughing uproariously, as the crowd thundered with appreciative cat calls and stomping feet to indicate the intensity of their approval.

Tripping over themselves as they made their way back to Vicious, Julia slipped into the space beside him as Spike settled in across from the white-haired man. Draping herself half onto his lap, Julia snuck the bourbon from his grip and tipped it back to drain the remaining contents while Spike, still breathing heavy, pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.

Grabbing the smokes from the green-haired enforcer, quick as a snake, Vicious drew out his own lighter to bring one of the cigarettes to life before passing it off to his winded comrade. Spike gave him a wink and half a grin as he accepted the lit smoke graciously.

"Those things will kill you one day," Vicious said then, letting a hand creep up Julia's thigh to splay possessively upon her upper leg.

Exhaling a noxious cloud, Spike shrugged. "You feel this to be true and yet you help me on my way to the grave,"

"Vice is nice, and sin is in." Julia interjected then, flashing a toothy smile at both men. "Let's blow this joint, the scene is dead."

Vicious raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "And you've some better idea of how we ought to spend our time?"

"Our incredibly valuable time," Spike threw in. "We're highly important men, you know."

She scoffed. "You boys? Surely you jest." Drumming her fingertips on the tabletop, she frowned prettily as she thought. "Oh! I've got it! Let's go crash the soirée at the governor's mansion. We'll find out real quick who Mao's favorite is when he's gotta come bail us out."

"Of the three of us, only Vicious comes close to meeting that dress code," Spike demurred, waving a hand negligently at the man himself, clad in a pale three piece suit with a lilac colored silk scarf upon his shoulders.

Julia grinned fiercely. "Aww you don't think you can make it past the gate, hey? Shame, shame… what kind of syndicate man can't access places he should not be?" She touched her own chest fleetingly, adding innuendo to her taunt.

Spike rolled his eyes over to Vicious who shrugged elegantly.

"Nothing quite like pissing off the Elders," Spike muttered then, giving in to the inevitable.

Snatching the still burning cigarette out of Spike's mouth, Julia slid from the booth and hooked her jacket on her free hand. Stepping a few feet away towards the exit, she turned back to give them a hard stare as she puffed on the cigarette and set a hand jauntily on her hip. "Well?"

Sharing a look which communicated their situation as 'damned if you do, damned if you don't,' the pair moved as one to follow.

Day 14: New Beginnings

***

Nervous energy thrummed through him as he waited in the alley. Rain poured down from an overcast sky, a cold stinging rain with tiny drops that hit like bullets from a BB gun. There was a slim overhang above the section of wall he was leaning against but all it really served to accomplish was to pool the water into several icy streams which cascaded down onto his head and shoulders.

It was a terrible vantage point given the weather but it was the best spot to see Julia's window and the door several floors below which Vicious had just exited.

Anxiety compelled him to smoke cigarette after cigarette.

Movement at the window brought a wave of relief that was almost immediately lost in the dismay he felt as he watched her tear up a piece of paper and toss the remnants out into the downpour. It could have been anything - a shopping list, junk mail - but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was the scrap of paper where he had written some of their dreams… the whispered promises of “someday…” that had always been merely pillow talk and never anything so concrete as a goal.

By writing those fantasies down on paper, he was trying to bring them into reality. They could meet at the graveyard, escape in a hail of bullets so devastating that no one could expect either of them to survive, and then be free to pursue the dreams so impossible they’d never done more than breathe them softly into each other’s ears under the cover of darkness and the solitude of Julia’s bedroom.

To see her destroy those words… It pained him deeply. But on the other hand, having that sort of evidence was dangerous. He had left their plans intentionally vague, but even so it would have been enough to give the syndicate an idea of how and where to track them down someday. She was right to rip that note to shreds. No doubt she had committed the words to memory anyway - she never had to read a book twice to remember all the information contained therein.

Resolutely, he turned his back on Julia’s apartment and made his way slowly towards the graveyard where Julia was due to join him. 

Vicious’s unexpected visit made Spike very uneasy. He knew they hadn’t been sleeping together in a long time, not since before Vicious went to Titan to solidify the syndicate’s presence within the army and upon a new territory. The other man hadn’t even seemed upset when he returned and found that Julia had moved on with Spike. No, if anything he’d been more worried about how she might ruin Spike than jealous over his previous partner getting together with his ex. Then again, Vicious had never trusted anyone save Spike himself.

They had saved each other’s lives more times than Spike could recall. They were the syndicate’s top team of enforcers and the first to be put on any crucial assignment. Sure, the body count was usually pretty high wherever they were sent, but the job got done and the message got across. Mao was grooming them to be candidates to take over the Van someday far in the future, not that Spike was at all interested in that sort of responsibility.

A sinking feeling was dragging Spike’s heart down into his churning gut. Vicious showing up to Julia’s apartment could not mean anything good. Was she being sent out on a mission? Was Vicious suspicious of their intention to run? Spike had only broached the idea to her this very morning so that seemed implausible but… Vicious had always been very good at reading people. Had Spike accidentally given something away when he’d seen the other man last?

There was nothing to be done for it now though. He was running out of time. The White Tigers were expecting him at the church in a few hours to act as an envoy to discuss trade terms. The Red Eye that the Red Dragons had stumbled upon was replicable using materials found almost exclusively in Red Dragon territory. The fact that the White Tigers, in the portion of Tharsis they ruthlessly controlled, had a lock on some of the ingredients that the Dragons required to brew more of the stuff… Well, it made logical sense that both syndicates could benefit from an arrangement to work together on cultivating and selling more of the drug. The Tigers certainly didn’t realize that the Van had no interest in setting up an alliance. And for all the Dragons knew, Spike was on a personal mission to wipe out as many of the opposing syndicate members as he could, in a show of good faith to his employers. The greed of the Tigers had led to their tentative acceptance to meet with Red Dragon agents in a neutral territory.

Naturally, the only thing Spike was going to offer would be death and destruction. Which was exactly what the Dragons demanded - though certainly not at the cost of Spike’s life. It was a testament to his brutality that they trusted him to accomplish this undertaking on his own. But if all went well… if Julia met him at the graveyard in a bit and came with him to the church so they could “meet their end” and eradicate any sign of their actual survival…

Her presence hadn’t been a part of the plan he’d explained to Mao, but given her skill set it would make sense for Spike to call upon her to aid him in this task. Her presence would ease the tension that Spike’s presence alone would inspire. The Tigers knew that Julia was not a killer. Not a combatant in any physical sense. Her purpose was to beguile, to entice, to distract. They would be expecting her to be involved in any realistic bartering situation. The only thing that didn’t initially make sense was for Spike to leave Vicious out of it entirely. Though even that was excusable when Spike reminded the Van about their own fears that Vicious was out of control these days. His use of Red Eye had made him volatile in ways they were beginning to dread. Having beasts on leashes was all well and good until the animals turned on their masters. A rabid pet was never tolerated for long.

Running from the syndicate now was the only way Spike could avoid being called upon to kill his partner, his friend. It was the only way to free himself, to free Julia, to give Vicious a chance to live.

Rain continued to drop from the heavens, soaking Spike and the bouquet he held. It was a bone chilling rain but it was welcome. It numbed him to the task ahead, quelling his misgivings and silencing his fears of all the ways it could go tremendously wrong.

The rain would wash away the sin on their hands. It would wash away the blood spilled today. It would wash away the secret betrayal of Spike Spiegel.

Night would fall as he and Julia made their getaway and then the sun would dawn on a new day.

A day of new beginnings, far from Tharsis… far from the Red Dragons, far from the duties that had been eating away at his soul for too long now.

Day 4 prompt Beach

***

Truck stops intimidated her. Most of the people using those waystations were men, and even the occasional woman that she’d seen looked far too imposing to approach. She wasn’t built for combat. She was frail. At least, in comparison to nearly everyone she’d seen heading in or taking off from the truck stop she’d spied on from the treeline quite a distance away. No, there was too great a chance of being overpowered if she tried to use those showers.

Motels and hotels were out of the question as well. She’d tried to sneak into a room or two, but the doors all automatically locked whenever a person entered or exited, and none of the windows opened from the outside if they opened at all.

There had been a mall in the town she’d just left… it seemed too busy for anyone to notice one young woman perusing the wares. But something about her must have screamed out to the authorities because she was being chased away before she could even pick up the clothing she intended to steal to replace the rags she had been wearing since her second escape from the hospital.

So now here she was, lurking outside the changing rooms of the beach that she had reached last night. Fortunately it was hot these days and warm in the evenings - she’d been able to sleep curled up in the branches of a tree across the street from the shoreline.

She had tried to sleep out in the open a few times. It felt better being able to stretch out, even if you were just lying on the concrete or hard packed earth. But every time she’d been disturbed by one thing or another. Raccoons or rats skulking around, creeps leering at her, the cops responding to some welfare call because her presence freaked someone out. No, all things considered she’d take the discomfort of being basically invisible in the protective cradle of tree limbs and thick leafy branches.

And now she was about to see what she could rustle up for garments. This changing room had no lockers - though she felt reasonably confident she would have been able to force her way into them if they did - so she was trying to be stealthy and snag a few items while folks were changing into swimsuits or wetsuits depending on their goal here at the beach.

While she was at it, she helped herself to whatever snacks she came across in the multitude of oversized bags that rested on the floor of nearly every changing stall in the place. It was a dangerous task, all of it, so she endeavored to be quick and silent. The last thing she needed was some grumpy old broad to look down and see an arm snaked under the stall door with a hand attached that was rooting around in her beach bag.

Scoring a sundress that was only a few sizes too large - perfectly acceptable as a swim cover - and a pair of tennis shoes that pinched slightly, Faye made her way to the exit with a granola bar in one hand and a peach colored purse hanging from her other arm. The purse acquisition meant she had to move FAST to avoid being caught - but it had been impossible to resist. For one thing, it enabled her to stuff juice boxes and a container of cubed fruit into the confines, and for another it might have a wallet inside which would mean money.

She didn’t particularly like robbing people, but she tried to look at it from a logical point of view. The cars she’d watch pull into the parking lot for this stretch of beach were all nice looking vehicles. The dress she had slipped into felt like it was made of decent material. And really if these people could afford to take a day at the beach during the week - did people still adhere to a workweek now that they’d conquered the stars? - well, suffice it to say no one was hurting here the way Faye herself was.

Besides, she didn’t intend to make a habit of it. She just needed a hand out and she was far too proud to ask for one. Anyway she didn’t know how to go about it aside from posting up on a street corner with a sign begging for change. Probably there were ways people like her could find assistance, but she was still trying to lay low. She was on the run, after all.

She started jogging away from the changing room, staying in the damp sand near where the waves crashed upon it, acting as natural as she could manage. Then, when she was too winded from her slow-speed flight from the scene of the crime, she hastened to take off the shoes and dangled them from her right hand, using the shoes as a cover for the purse hanging at her side.

Now she waded a bit further out, letting her toes dip into the surf as she walked at a more sedate pace and gazed out over the sea. Or… ocean? Lake? There was no visible shore in view opposite her location so the answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming. Much like the end to her own dilemma… how could she possibly pay down that debt? Or fight it? Whitney was a lawyer, yet he’d been killed while helping her flee the insurance company. In a world where lawyers could be offed as negligently as anyone else, who was there to stand up and fight for the underdog?

She had no connections. No material goods except the clothes on her back and shoes in her hand. Nowhere to go…

Tears began to stream unbidden down her face. She kept her eyes resolutely on the beautiful blues of the water as she moved along the beach. Sounds drifted to her - gulls crying, children shrieking, someone had turned on a stereo behind her and was blaring surf rock. It all passed over her as gently as the breeze that was coaxing the waves to shore. Time stretched on endlessly… the water stretched on endlessly… her money woes stretched on endlessly…

And yet… the sun was shining. The water surging against the shore was making soothing sounds. She was no one, just a solitary woman out for a stroll along the beach with just her thoughts for company. Nothing more than that. Not a renegade. Not a thief. Not a victim of circumstance.

Just another beachgoer making the most of another beautiful day here on…

Where the fuck even was she?!

Written in response to a request & also (almost as an afterthought but it just fell into place so nicely) as a writing challenge using as three word prompt of 1) Faye 2) dry martini 3) red ☺️

***

Her perfume smelled like roses.

He remembered that from their first meeting. In an overcrowded casino that reeked of spilt booze, sweat, air-conditioning, and money - cutting through all the standard human scents and manufactured ones, like a breath of fresh air. Roses.

He'd always been a sucker for that aroma. Julia had found it amusing. She'd been pleased enough with the bouquet when he presented it to her, but she'd later admitted that it wasn't her favorite scent. Marigolds. Lovely enough but the scent was acrid. Reminded him of fires. But she thought his affinity for roses was endearing. Truth be told, sometimes he felt like a child when he'd offer her a red bloom - like a little boy playing at big emotions and being condescendingly coddled as a way of keeping him happy.

It had been the meaning behind the flowers that he was trying to convey to her, something she had to understand. Love, passion, romance and desire. All things that she had ultimately been indifferent to.

Letting the last bouquet drop carelessly to the concrete, letting his heart wash away down the street with the petals that fell from the bud, he gave up on love. On the silliness of romance. On the instability of desire. On the pursuit of a passion that gave life meaning.

Then, unexpectedly, the sweet smell wafted softly back into his life.

She'd been coy and charming at first, saucy and sassy afterwards, and then she made off with the money and he felt his heart tug as if to chase after her. It had been exciting, amusing, and overall refreshing to have her grace his life with her exuberant presence.

And then suddenly she was back again - all the money gone, along with her fuel, and stranded in space until they'd decided to pick her up. Well, Jet had suggested bringing her in for the bounty she had on her head and Spike had gone along with that plan just for a chance to verbally spar with her again.

Then she'd gone and flipped their tentative plan on its head. She'd put her butt on the line, risked her own life - for the reward? Maybe. Spike didn't think so though. Whatever her motive, it swayed Jet enough to let her stay instead of collecting woolongs by turning her in.

Delightfully, disturbingly, his world was now awash in the soft, heady aroma of roses. Whether it was her shampoo, her conditioner, her lotion, her perfume… all were rose scented. It should have been cloying, overpowering, enough to gag a man.

He couldn't get enough.

So he let her take first showers. He took advantage of opportunities to sit next to her on the couch. He'd stand downwind of her when they were on the deck of the ship.

And then, after he'd laid all his ghosts to rest, he decided to take it all a step further.

It started with a yellow rose that he left in the cockpit of her zipcraft, along with a pack of her preferred brand of smokes. She came in wielding it like a sword and demanded to know why it had been left there.

"Figured by now we were friends," He'd replied honestly with a shrug. It was enough to placate her, and he watched as she buried her nose in the bloom to inhale deeply before wandering off to her room without another word on the matter.

Then, a few weeks later, he left an orange rose on the birthday gift he'd gotten her - one of the trashy paperback novels she secretly adored. This one garnered no verbal response, but she did blush deeply before sneaking off to her room with the book in hand and the rose held to her nose.

After that he couldn't wait any longer. He left a purple rose in front of her door the very next day and then he went to the bridge and bribed Jet to take Ed to the museums in town. Fortunately, they were in Alba City and there were plenty of those - history museums, aircraft museums, museums of science and space. With luck they'd be gone the better part of the day.

Working quickly, Spike set a trail of petals leading up the stairs to the bridge and then scattered more in a path to the windows at the front of the command room. He arranged a bouquet of seven roses in the middle of a square fold out table upon which he'd placed several take out containers, a pair of plates, and their drinks. A dry martini for her, garnished with a lemon twist, and a whiskey on the rocks for him.

Finally, to really set the mood, he fiddled with the Bebop's radio until he found a station playing jazz. The soothing notes of Ahmad Jamal's 'Soul Girl' filled the air just before the sound of Faye's heels rang out as she ascended the stairway.

"You know, a person could read a lot into all this," Faye called out as she sashayed into the bridge proper. She was wearing one of his button up shirts, the purple rose tucked into the button hole between her breasts, with one of his ties affixed around her trim waist like a belt, and her heeled white boots. Spike's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he regarded her.

Licking his lips, Spike gestured at the table laden with food and flowers.

"No need to strain," He managed after a moment, brain catching up to her words. "Everything is spelled out pretty clearly, I'd say."

"Mm," She murmured in reply, slinking her way closer. "You're a changed man these days. Coming back from the dead seems to agree with you."

He rolled his eyes skyward. "I went there to see if I was really alive, not to die at all." But then he fixed his mismatched eyes on her. "I don't see the past out of one eye anymore, Faye. I see you, right now, in this present moment."

"I remembered my past, Spike." She replied as she reached him and slipped past him to tuck herself into one of the seats and began opening the take out boxes. "Mmm, dumplings, rice balls, noodles, wontons, Peking duck, and moon cakes?!" Faye reached out for the martini glass and took a generous sip.

"Admittedly the Peking duck was mostly to appease my own appetite, but I know you love the rest." Spike confided.

Faye set down her drink and smirked at him, then moved closer to the roses to inhale deeply. "Ohhh, roses are my favorite. Their scent is just so rich, so sinful…" Her gaze lingered on the blossoms for a moment before lifting up to peer at him over the top of the red blooms. "As I was saying…my memories came back. Nothing useful really, nothing that changes where I belong at least. But I do recall something about flowers. Quite a bit about flowers in fact. Did you know there's a whole language of meaning in flowers?" She leaned back in the chair to toy with the purple rose still snugged in the button hole.

"I may be fairly well versed in that language as a matter of fact." Spike said as he slid into the seat across from her and began dishing up the food onto their plates.

"I suspected as much after the orange one. The yellow didn't have to mean a thing but by the time the purple one showed up… well…"

"You've got some thorns, Valentine. Didn't want to get myself pricked… but you're also impossible to resist I hope you know." Picking up her martini glass to hand to her, relishing the smoothness of her skin as she let her fingers shift along his before claiming the stem of the vessel within her own grasp, Spike nearly shivered with delicious anticipation. Taking his own tumbler in hand, he tilted it towards her with a sincere look on his face.

"A toast, my dear, to…exploring urges…and perhaps seeing what may come of this spark between us." He held his breath as she raised an eyebrow and considered him for a long minute.

At last she tipped her own glass to chime against his in salute.

"To pursuing the potential…as long as we remember to stop and smell the roses from time to time." Her smile at him then changed from seductive to something warmer, touched with a more meaningful type of promise.

Perhaps romance, desire, passion and yes even love were still destined to be a part of his life.

Day 5 prompt: Ed-centric fic

WARNING! This is a sneak peek!!

(this is written in the world of "Music Keeps Us Together" and will appear later on A03 in one of the next parts of that series)

***

The sounds of the various aircraft and zipcraft arriving and departing was entirely muted by the windows and walls of the Admiral's Club in which Ed found herself.

It was not the first place one would think to look for a person nursing a broken heart, or so she assumed anyway. But it did feature a bar and wallowing in misery where drink flowed was basically a rite of passage into adulthood. Right? Certainly her companions had frequently found themselves belly up to a bar and imbibing whatever could wash away hurts - physical or emotional - and while Ed had long been curious about whether drowning one's sorrows actually helped anyone feel better… she just couldn't bring herself to wander into the type of pub that the others would enjoy.

For one thing, she was trying to avoid her family. For another, she felt there would be some opportunities for people watching which would be a far better distraction from her woes than getting drunk.

So, abandoning the oft-used alias of Marshall Banana, which would have immediately caught Jet's notice as he himself had used that pseudonym frequently when online, she had instead snuck into the Admiral's Club under the name of Majel Kirk.

With Spike and Faye presumably busy with the kiddos (and for all that Spike had long claimed to hate kids, he was sure doing a fine job of bringing them into the world) it was only Jet that she really had to watch out for. Aside from personal pleasure, the others often traipsed into alcohol joints in the quest for bounties or information, but the odds of one of them choosing the more expensive option of an airport lounge, of all places, were slim to none.

Undoubtedly she would be able to elude anyone who knew her.

Of course, just because there wasn't anyone who would recognize her didn't mean there was no one that she herself recognized. It was as she turned from the bartender with her double shot of whiskey - nothing she was familiar with, aside from having heard Faye order it countless times before when she listened in over the comms - that she was immediately distracted by a bright flash as the sun came out to gleam on a head of pale hair.

The blond woman was wearing a pair of hot pink stilettos that perfectly matched the hot pink power suit tailor made for her trim figure. The suit itself seemed to consist of only two pieces… wide legged trousers that led to a tapered waist and a pocket less jacket that had padded shoulders and a gaudy crystal rhinestone button just above the navel holding the two sides together. It was the glimpse of cleavage afforded by the professional get up that helped Ed to put a name to the face.

"Judy?!" She hadn't meant to voice her realization but her mouth moved quicker than her mind sometimes.

The woman, sprawled elegantly in a well-cushioned armchair next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, glanced over at the hail. She raised her eyebrows in a silent inquiry and Ed, blushing, made her way over to the chair nearby to plop down. Judy rolled her blue eyes heavenward and gave a soft sigh.

"Look kid, I don't carry a pen on me," She gave a shrug and brought her martini glass to her mouth to take a sip.

Ed shook head vigorously, nearly spilling the liquor she held. "Ed doesn't want a signature. It was just the shock of seeing you, in real life, after watching you on TV for so long."

Judy snorted. "That was years ago, honey. To be honest I'm surprised you recognized me. Hardly anyone does. Big Shot was exactly prime time." She eyed the glass Ed held. "Tall drink of water for a little thing like you. You even old enough for that?"

Ed bristled. "Of course!" As if to prove a point, she slammed the entire dram in one go and immediately began to cough and hack, eyes watering.

Her mouth burned, her nose burned, her eyes burned. How was this a flavor or experience anyone enjoyed? Judy was chuckling at her plight, but was also kind enough to offer her a napkin from the small table tucked between her chair and the window.

"Okay, sweetheart. Clearly you're an old hat at this. Need another, then?" She inquired with a smile.

Still coughing weakly, Ed shook her head less enthusiastically than before. "No, no," She begged off.

"Well shucks, sugar, what bruised your banana anyway?" Judy glanced around at the room, gesturing vaguely with her martini glass at all the people in business suits or pretty dresses. "Not exactly the usual haunt for folks who look as sad as you."

Ed frowned. "Sad? Ed looks sad?"

"Mmhm," Judy nodded. "Something in your eyes. I've seen that look gazing back at me out of the mirror a time or two. Not many good prospects here so I might as well let you sob your story out."

"Prospects?" Ed did not particularly want to explain her own situation so she decided to tease more information out of the former TV star.

Judy gave a low throaty laugh. "Sure, darling. I'm between husbands at the moment. A pilot seems like a man who can take me places. Or maybe one of these suits. I wouldn't mind marrying into money this time."

"Ohh. You're looking for love."

At that Judy let out a shriek of laughter. "Love? Ohhh you dear child!" Between snickers, she managed to take another sip of her drink. "I wouldn't be adverse to such, I suppose, but it's not really one of my goals. See, I'm an independent woman," Judy must have seen the look Ed was giving her because she laughed again before going on. "You can be independent in a marriage, you know. And independent while in love too, for that matter."

Ed thought about Faye and Spike's relationship and slowly nodded in agreement with Judy's words.

"You're a lot smarter than you seemed on the show, Judy." Ed noted, earning a beaming smile from the other woman.

"Damn straight, sweetie! That was all an affect. The ditzy bimbo gets more attention than the brainy broad. Not my choice, but I didn't make the role up. Showing these off was though," She cupped her breasts through the suit jacket with a grin. "And, truth be told, Judy isn't my given name. Chose that to hide my real identity, just in case. See, there was a time when I worried that I'd regret having the girls out on display. But you know what? I was never ashamed. Hell, I'm proud of my body! It's good to have an out though, you never know if you'll change your mind someday."

"Ed isn't Ed's given name either," Ed revealed in a whisper. "Ed was born as Françoise."

"Me, I was named for two great women of yesteryear. My mother loved Lucille Ball and Betty White, but she didn't like the name Betty all that much so when I came along she settled on Lucille Bethany Ricardo." Judy smiled brightly. "Guess I was set on my path before I was even born. Don't know if it's because of the name or what but I was always inspired by film and media and women of entertainment. Bold and brilliant and beautiful women. You could do worse for role models, I'll tell you that."

"Faye-Faye is a woman like that," Ed told Judy excitedly. "She's one of Ed's role models."

"Well all right, little lady, you're on the right track then." She drained her drink and then lifted her glass to shake it in the air, prompting the bartender to give a nod of acknowledgement as he began to make her a fresh beverage. Within moments she was accepting the drink from the man as he delivered it to her seat and it was then that she ordered a pair of waters for herself and Ed as well.

"Oh I'm not thirsty!" Ed protested, though the bartender-turned-waiter paid her no mind.

Judy's eyes flashed wickedly. "Not now perhaps, but there's a story in you just dying to be told. So fess up, my dear, what put that hangdog expression on your face? You can tell me, I don't know you from Jack and I don't judge. It'll feel better to let it loose in the world. Keeping unhappiness close to your heart can poison you if you're not careful."

She thought then of Jet and Spike and Faye, all of whom had skeletons in their closets (more than skeletons really, damn near cemeteries if you got right down to it) and while they'd once been very tight lipped about their past lives… there was no denying that they'd all begun to open up in recent years. Ed had seen for herself the alleviating effect it seemed to have on the others. Sharing grief somehow made each of them seem younger, lighter, brighter. It wasn't something Ed had ever needed to do herself, but now that she had the chance to hoard disappointment and despair, she was suddenly afraid of being weighed down by it. Being shadowed.

She wanted to stay light and bright.

And so, she decided to tell her tale to Judy.

written in response to the two part prompt from the Bebop Wheel of Death challenge... spin one resulted in: Doc. Spin two resulted in: Mars. Enjoy!

* * *

It was the end of the day and Doctor Quinn John-Henry McCoy was more than ready to be done. Cosmetic surgeries were simple enough as far as the work itself went, but dealing with the individuals who wanted things augmented or enhanced was exhausting and irritating.

 On the other hand, the pockets of the folks who wanted that work done tended to be very deep indeed. Living on Mars wasn't cheap. Well, living decently on Mars wasn't cheap. You could technically live anywhere without money but it wouldn't be a very good life.

 It's not like there were no soup kitchens or halfway houses available for those down on their luck - there were plenty of good Samaritan organizations that did what they could to help their fellow man. It's just that there were a lot of expenses to everything on Mars. And the systems that governed the crater colonies had all been set up to directly benefit the wealthy and perpetually widen the gap between the elite and the common man.

 Most jobs advertised as hiring full time employees but then never scheduled workers for long enough shifts to count as full time. Most food or health benefits were set on a sliding scale so no matter how much or little you made as a typical worker, you somehow never quite qualified for benefits. There was no universal health care so you'd have to trust in your employer to provide something adequate or else shell out a good portion of your paycheck for a deductible that wouldn't do much towards your bills.

 Just about everything on Mars was a racket. Though of course no one really had much of a choice about it. The selling point, from what Doc had heard from older folk, had been a simple slogan: Poor Men Will Be Rich, Rich Men Will Live Like Kings!

 That kind of enticement, along with the colossal destruction of habitable sections of the planet, had led the majority of Earth's population to flee to the fledgling cities and colonies of the other planets. Fortunately, Mars had been one of the well established ones, chock full of able-bodied men and women who had been brought over as a labor force prior to the Gate Incident.

 Doc's grandfather had been one of those men - lured by the promise of a phenomenal payout for services rendered. Of course there had been a catch. Or, well, several. Employment was at-will and severance meant a loss of everything accumulated towards that retirement stipend. The rich folks who had been footing the bill for the construction of the colonies had realized that they could endlessly shuffle employees back and forth between this company and that, firing people for minor transgressions most often, and could therefore avoid ever having to actually honor the offers that had been extended when they signed up to work.

 The other catch, of course, was that the labor was literally back breaking. People were pushed to the limits of their endurance to build the foundations, to set up the biosphere, to lay out the tracks for the train systems that would eventually connect all the crater colonies to one another.

 Naturally, in an environment where people were being exploited and becoming more and more aware of this, there came a point where certain factions started to rise up. Not in rebellion exactly but rather as mediators after a fashion.

 Syndicates began to carve out a foothold in each of the colonies. Delivering truckloads of food stuffs to the poorest neighborhoods, setting up mobile medical bases, and laying down the law more effectively than the beleaguered police force that had been charged with serving and protecting the wealthy upper class.

 Doc's father had been one of those. Low enough to be involved without recognition, high enough to be in-the-know for all sorts of shady business particularly that which related to politics. His father ran campaigns for many years and for many people. It had been a valuable position and the Red Dragon syndicate benefited greatly over the years from his connections.

 His mother had gone into nursing after her father - Doc's grandfather - had become too physically disabled to continue working. With no retirement funds to speak of, there was no money for hospital care, but Doc's mom took it upon herself to be a caretaker for the old man, in addition to working long hours at one of the biggest hospitals in Tharsis.

 Doc himself had been raised in Tharsis. Had been inspired by his mother's skills enough to pursue a career in the medical field as well. Had been quietly and subtly insinuated into the syndicate thanks to his father's ties there. Not quite a member, not quite a free man, Doc had made a pretty good life for himself thanks to the behind the scenes work that the syndicate required of him.

 Eventually though he'd begun to subtly drift away. Oh, he still took on cases whenever it was asked of him - there was no way to actually escape a syndicate after all, not alive at least - but he made excuses for why Tharsis wasn't the place for him anymore and - very openly, to ensure no one thought he was fleeing - moved his practice over to Alba City instead.

 Syndicate jobs were far fewer over here as the Red Dragons didn't have much of a reach to Blue Snake territory. Still, they considered it a good thing to have someone like Doc settled in, should they ever need his capabilities or whatever connections he (much like his father) may have made in otherwise uncharted territory. Not that he’d bothered to branch out and make many new friends or acquaintances. He had enough people in his life to worry about - namely, his own damn self. Venturing on dates, befriending neighbors, these prospects held no interest for him. Life consisted of going to work, going home, getting lost in a movie or book.

 Enjoying adventure vicariously was his preferred method of getting the most out of living.

 Of course, having syndicate ties usually meant that adventure wound up finding him more often than he’d really like…

 He winced at the sound of the door to the lobby banging open and leaned back in his chair, content to let the secretary out there handle whatever was going on. For all he knew, it was the woman’s boyfriend back to pick up her from work - the man tended to barge places and slam things as if he’d never learned to control his own bodily movements beyond achieving the success of whatever his goal might be.

 “Ya gotta give us a chance here!” A man’s voice argued with the secretary. “The smog in Tharsis was choking us! So we came here…” The rest of the man’s story faded into the background as a high pitched whine filled Doc’s ears. Smog. Smaug. A reference to a dragon from some old Earth fantasy novel, a clandestine way for a syndicate man to make his allegiances known. A demand for attention that Doc could not shirk without facing terrible consequence.

 He shot to his feet and made his way to the lobby with only a touch of haste. Pushing open the door, he looked first to the secretary who was giving a level glare to the newcomers.

 “Doc, these jerks are –”

 Waving his hands at her in a shooing fashion, Doc shot a pained grin over his shoulder to the pair of men standing in the doorway.

 “Don’t worry about it, Nurse Houlihan. It’s all good, there weren’t any more appointments scheduled for today anyway. Why don’t you go ahead and take off? I know your boyfriend likes to get here early on the weekends, I can handle these gentlemen here. Perhaps recommend a good lung doctor for any issues they’re suffering thanks to the awful air over in Tharsis. Still the best move I ever made, leaving that city.”

 Nurse Houlihan raised an eyebrow at him as she moved to gather up her things. “You sure you’re good, Doc?” The glare she gave to the men was fierce.

 Doc chuckled. “I’ve handled worse from tiny little old ladies.” He assured her, making her grimace in recollection of just such a bitchy case from earlier that very day. In no time - though not without another dark look cast at the syndicate men - she departed and Doc finally turned fully to the men to give them his full attention.

 Oddly, they weren’t what he expected. Most syndicate men - particularly Red Dragons - tended to wear black suits and red ties. It was an idiosyncrasy of the organization that he’d frankly never understood. Then again, who cared about advertising your affiliation if the folks you were affiliated with happened to rule the majority of the city you were in? So perhaps it made sense that these fellows were otherwise attired.

 One, who was mostly supporting the other, had on a rumpled blue suit with a blood-stained yellow button-up shirt and an undone tie. The other was in some sort of flight suit with a t shirt underneath - his clothes also rather bloody - and, rather curiously, a metal arm. It was very unlike the syndicate to leave one of their operatives without proper replacement surgery for whatever injury might befell them in their daily lives. That was what most of the work Doc himself had done for the syndicate. Reconstructive surgery was his bread and butter, and throwing a new arm on someone was far easier and often cheaper than going the route of robotic limbs instead. Very puzzling.

 There was a significant gash sweeping over the face of the man in the flight suit on the right side of his face. The rest of his face - that side in particular - looked very painful indeed. Sections were already purpling and swelling and, from the look of agony in his good eye, making his life very uncomfortable.

 The other man settled his companion on a chair in the lobby and stood back up to stare at Doc.

 “Came to the right place, yeah?”

 There was something about the hair of the fellow that seemed to trigger a memory in Doc’s mind but whatever it was… it wasn’t coming to the forefront of his thoughts right now.

 “Lock the door, would ya? Don’t need some janitor popping in to clean up. Come on back, I’ll get you sorted in a jiff and back out on your merry way.” Doc replied tersely, turning around to lead the way through to the examination room.

 The man in the flight suit gave a groan as his companion hoisted him back to his feet and helped steer him in the right direction. In no time Doc had the hurt man laid out on the examination table and was peering at the images from the x-ray machine.

 “Classic zygomatic fracture. You can see here that the socket and cheekbone are what suffered the brunt of the impact.” Doc did not bother to inquire what had struck the man’s face so brutally to do so much damage to the bones. “Normally I’d say a front lift would take care of it but… well, to be honest I don’t think the cheekbone will stay in place on its own. It’ll be weak going forward as well. There’s an implant we can use to bolster the bones. Some small metal plates and screws will take care of the issue. Minor surgery, easy peasy.” He nodded to himself. “For a little extra I can ensure that gash doesn’t scar either.”

 “No. Let it scar.” The injured man finally spoke in a gruff no-nonsense voice.

 Doc glanced at the man’s metal arm. “Sentimental type, I see.”

 This time there was only a grunt in response. Doc looked over to the man in the suit, struck again by a niggling thought that he knew that head of hair, and the lanky fellow shrugged.

 “Well, suit yourself. All right, I’ll knock you out and we can get started –”

 “No. Don’t need to go under.” The gruff man interrupted.

 “If you’re conscious you’ll only make my work harder on me and more painful for you,” Doc advised him.

 “It’s fine, Jet. I’ll make sure he only does the job he’s supposed to.” The lanky man said then to his comrade. “Doc knows what happens if he doesn’t do his job right.” The ominous threat was entirely unnecessary but apparently it appeased the injured man enough for him to give a curt nod - which, from the wince of pain, he immediately regretted - and closed his good eye as if to will himself to unconsciousness for the surgery.

 With his back to the two men as he readied his tools, Doc rolled his eyes to himself. Brutes like this guy were some of the toughest patients to deal with simply because they thought they could handle anything by sheer stubbornness. It almost made the attitudes of the persnickety aging actors enjoyable by contrast.

 Sighing, Doc turned back around with a needle and injected the knockout drug into the flesh arm of the gruff man. He slumped on the examination table almost immediately and his companion chuckled as he moved from his casual lean against the wall to sit on the lone chair in the examination room.

 “Work your magic and we’ll be outta your hair in no time, Doctor…”

 But Doc shook his head at the lanky man. “We don’t bring names into this. Doc is fine.”

 The lanky man shrugged indifferently. “Works for me, Doc. Do me a favor and wake me up before he comes around, yeah?”

 Blinking in surprise, Doc nodded. After all that showiness of making threats on his life, this upstart was just gonna take a cat nap awkwardly on the chair here? Of course, Doc knew his life was forfeit if he killed - intentionally or otherwise - a member of the syndicate while trying to patch them up. Which made him even more confused about this duo. The lanky man was undoubtedly a Dragon, but the guy in the flight suit seemed like a civilian - definitely not a man in the know and obviously with no idea how procedure went in situations like this.

 But he wasn’t paid to puzzle out oddities like this pair, and he wasn’t keen on finding answers to questions he maybe shouldn’t be asking, so Doc ignored the burning curiosity inspired by these men and got down to work.

 Only one thing remained clear: Alba City wasn’t far enough away from the tangled mess that was Tharsis.