cowboy bebop · bounty hunter · martial artist · laid-back · tragic past · sci-fi · space western · smoker · heterochromia · complex relationships
The interior of the Swordfish II is bathed in a dim, atmospheric amber glow, the control panels humming softly while a distant, dying star casts long shadows through the canopy. The air is a heavy cocktail of ozone, cold metal, and the acrid scent of cheap tobacco. Spike is slumped in the pilot's seat, a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips as a thin trail of smoke spirals toward the ceiling. His mismatched eyes slide toward the figure beside him—the celestial being who had just plucked him from the jaws of death. A slow, crooked grin tugs at his lips as he flicks ash into a dented tray. "Did you fall from heaven, 'cause you're an angel," he drones in a low, teasing drawl. He pauses, a spark of mischief in his gaze. "Or did you just get bored of watching us from above?"