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Description
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Forever Broke

by Sprained

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"I'm going to start making you fix your own damn mono-racer from now on."

Jet's voice was messy with static over the Bebop's intercom system, and Spike ignored him in favor of perusing bounty listings. They were two days out from Mars and he was eager to have a job waiting for them when they got there. If he was forced to endure any more servings of Jet's beef-less beef and bell peppers stir fry he was going to go on a hunger strike.

"I mean it, Spike," Jet's voice continued to snap, the clink of tools in use carrying over the comm with it.

Spike smirked and scrolled a little slower, speed reading the names and rewards as they flashed by. Ten thousand woolong, thirty thousand woolong; the bounties were getting pretty pitiful. Spike blamed the economy. On the floor beside him, Ein rolled over onto his side and gave a piteous whine.

"Go find Ed," Spike said, nudging at the canine with his foot, "I don't have time for you."

A longer whine met his words and the dog scrambled to its feet and waddled away as on a corgi could. A minute later, carrying from the bowels of the Bebop, Ed's voice bellowed out a dramatic, "Eeeeeeein," and he heard the mammal yip. Poor little beast.

Twelve thousand woolongs flashed on the screen, and Spike scowled, moving on immediately. The next screen was just as depressing.

"Are you listening to me?" Jet's annoyed voice continued to harangue him over the comm, and Spike gave a slight shake of his head, "I don't think the Swordfish can take much more of this abuse. The thrusters are completely shot."

A two hundred thousand woolong reward popped up, and Spike ignored it. The problem was that no one was doing any serious crime; like all the big game had decided to take the same weekend off to golf on Venus. He frowned, pulling out a cig and holding it, unlit, between his lips.

"You should take a desk job somewhere," Jet groused, "Get you out of my hair and cost less in repairs."

Spike's mouth curled into a grin, and a two point five million woolong reward grinned back at him. He pulled out his lighter and clicked it open, inhaling a deep breath as the tip of his cig began to burn. Leaning in close to the intercom box he exhaled a long string of smoke.

"No way."

Description
+++

Forever Broke

by Sprained

+++

"I'm going to start making you fix your own damn mono-racer from now on."

Jet's voice was messy with static over the Bebop's intercom system, and Spike ignored him in favor of perusing bounty listings. They were two days out from Mars and he was eager to have a job waiting for them when they got there. If he was forced to endure any more servings of Jet's beef-less beef and bell peppers stir fry he was going to go on a hunger strike.

"I mean it, Spike," Jet's voice continued to snap, the clink of tools in use carrying over the comm with it.

Spike smirked and scrolled a little slower, speed reading the names and rewards as they flashed by. Ten thousand woolong, thirty thousand woolong; the bounties were getting pretty pitiful. Spike blamed the economy. On the floor beside him, Ein rolled over onto his side and gave a piteous whine.

"Go find Ed," Spike said, nudging at the canine with his foot, "I don't have time for you."

A longer whine met his words and the dog scrambled to its feet and waddled away as on a corgi could. A minute later, carrying from the bowels of the Bebop, Ed's voice bellowed out a dramatic, "Eeeeeeein," and he heard the mammal yip. Poor little beast.

Twelve thousand woolongs flashed on the screen, and Spike scowled, moving on immediately. The next screen was just as depressing.

"Are you listening to me?" Jet's annoyed voice continued to harangue him over the comm, and Spike gave a slight shake of his head, "I don't think the Swordfish can take much more of this abuse. The thrusters are completely shot."

A two hundred thousand woolong reward popped up, and Spike ignored it. The problem was that no one was doing any serious crime; like all the big game had decided to take the same weekend off to golf on Venus. He frowned, pulling out a cig and holding it, unlit, between his lips.

"You should take a desk job somewhere," Jet groused, "Get you out of my hair and cost less in repairs."

Spike's mouth curled into a grin, and a two point five million woolong reward grinned back at him. He pulled out his lighter and clicked it open, inhaling a deep breath as the tip of his cig began to burn. Leaning in close to the intercom box he exhaled a long string of smoke.

"No way."