[FF] Memento Vita
Posted: October 13th, 2012, 3:52 pmA/N: I wrote this for Tune4toons' birthday- it's the type of story she would write or read herself, although it spins off in my own style, based off of my own hopes and fears and emotions. It's another Smash Fanfic, this I know... but I'm certain it's my best.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, regret nothing and let them forget nothing.
Chapter 1
Two Years, Two Weeks and Two Days
I hate being here. I never wanted to be here. All the same, I should have expected this. We're bounty hunters. We were born to die. I suppose it was inevitable.
Yet, I still can't believe it.
I've never been in such an intense quiet before, and yet the silence is deafening. We're downtown in Junction City, in a formal hall where the memorial will take place. It's been sixteen days since it happened, and they've felt like sixteen years.
Oh, goddamn it. It's been too slow. It's almost inescapable.
I didn't ask for this.
Everyone's dressed up so nicely. It's almost universally black. No one knows what she would have dressed like if she were here. I know that she probably wouldn't bother.
"I don't do funerals," she says, needlessly defensive, staring me straight in the eye. "I think the excess amount of death I've witnessed should excuse me from at least a handful." That comment incites a long stretch of silence that she usually instigates when she thinks she's said too much. A year, eight months and four days ago.
Well, the funeral already passed, as it happens. I sat through the whole thing uncomfortably, too. There were no tears and little emotion, but there was respect. Many people respected her with very good reason. She was a warrior beyond comparison. Nothing could stand in her way... except, of course, for the final thing. She made a difference and she protected Junction City. People called her, and eventually us, heroes for it. Some said that she represented the good bounty hunters stood for. I know she didn't take such compliments to heart. Being a bounty hunter was just what she did. She was good at it and she didn't know how to do anything else.
That's what she said, at least.
But I knew better.
"I didn't choose the bounty hunting life. The bounty hunting life chose me." She chuckles dryly. The memory is almost a retort.
I still knew better, I argue back. Even two years and sixteen days ago.
She was more than a bounty huntress. Sometimes I think she knew that and simply denied it.
I know about bounty hunting. I am a bounty hunter. It's how we became acquainted. We figured that putting our skills together would help us succeed more. I knew that wasn't the only reason, though. She was finished with being alone. She had spent nearly three decades on her own and decided it was enough.
She spent nearly three decades alone, and barely over two years afterward with someone she could trust. I've never heard of anything quite so unfair happening to someone so undeserving of it.
This hall we are in now, in our stuffy suits and formal dresses that insist this is a special occasion, is nearly suffocating me right now. There is little special about this. In fact, it makes me angry. You want to honor her now? You want to pay your dues now? You at Junction City, a city she owed nothing to and yet gave everything for, have just figured out that she deserves your respect? Well, thank you for waiting until she died for you to give it to her.
"People need someone to look up to, a small reassurance that the world won't fall today." She looks at me, and for once her smirk is a smile. She adjusts her gun in her holster and says with alarming sincerity "I guess we'll have to do."A year, three months and twenty-one days ago.
Many famous names and faces showed up to pay (belated) respect to her. Even government officials that had spoken against bounty hunting showed up despite (perhaps because of) their own agenda. Even some of the more volatile or controversial hunters were wandering around for whatever reason. Still, no one here truly cared for her.
No one... except for me. That's because I earned her trust, and because I was the only one who cared to.
"The hardest thing I could ever do is trust." The confession is rushed, as if she hopes I'll miss it. Two months and five days ago.
Of course I'll never forget it.
I avoid people at all costs. The last thing I want to do is talk to any of them. They don't feel real. They're not as invested. I should have known what I was getting myself into with her. Maybe I did ask for it, in a sense. I should have sensed this inevitable misery when my own life and safety began to take a second priority to hers.
"Don't kill yourself on my behalf." It's a snappish comment she delivers with a smirk, but she means it. Three weeks and four days ago.
I should have told her the same.
It still seemed inevitable, though, like waiting for the pin to drop and trigger an avalanche to take us both out.
I'm hungry, so I find one of the nearby tables and pick a couple of deviled eggs off of it. I feel uneasy about the fact that I'm eating party favors at her memorial service, but she'd probably kick me in the shin if I were to say something as nonsensical about that, so I grab a third for good measure.
It's not that I'm fasting or anything because of her death. I just hate how they're turning it into a party, as if her death is something worth celebrating. I know what they say about not mourning her death but celebrating her life, but again, why didn't they do that while she was still alive?
I know that I was glad she was alive.
I know that I'm miserable now that she's not.
"Well if I've done anything to make my existence worth something to you..." she never finishes. She turns away and remains silent for a half hour. A month and three weeks ago.
It's okay. I never quite understood it all either.
I see someone intentionally heading my way, and I prepare myself for a wooden conversation. To my surprise, it's yet another bounty hunter, albeit one we never associated with. He was different than us. We strictly went after the ones harming Junction City. Rumors went around that worked for anyone who paid him, hero or villain . Never proven, never denied. He was good at his job, but it certainly wasn't a clean one.
"I highly doubt what we're doing is exactly clean," she says, looking down at the dashboard as I slow the car down. "Try necessary. Try defensive. Try brave, or even helpful, if you're feeling frisky. But never clean." Seven months and a day ago.
And I suppose she was right, but even then, he was further away from righteousness than we were. I suppose it's all relative though.
He walks to me, bent over slightly as though it's a struggle to completely stand. He stops just short of arms' length. "Hello, Captain," he greets me. His voice is dry but not disdainful.
I nod and curtly say "Wolf O'Donnell." I'm not overly polite because I'm hoping he gets the hint that I'm in a very conversational mood.
To further clarify this, I stand there quietly, wondering when I can leave and swipe a few more deviled eggs without looking like a jerk. It's about half a minute of restless silence before Wolf speaks up again. "This is ♥♥♥♥."
I don't know what he's speaking of, yet I already agree. Still I ask "what is?"
"This whole thing. I mean, is this a party? Are they glad she's dead? Cause they seem in pretty goddamn good spiritsl."
My heart skips a beat because he's right. Again I hesitate. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb. You're looking over everyone thinking about how full of ♥♥♥♥ they are. Half of these people, the city officials, were never invested in even the slightest thing that Samus Aran ever stood for. I doubt they even fully understood. In fact they probably ♥♥♥♥♥ about it beforehand."
"People don't care much to understand. They just want to draw their own conclusions." She swirls her spoon around her small cup of coffee, making sure the sugar and cream are well applied before adding with a small blush "I suppose if they want to make a big fuss about me, though… hey." A year, six months and fourteen days ago.
Even someone like her needed a bit of appreciation, even if you could never convince her that she earned it.
I snap back to Wolf. "And you did?" I reply tersely.
"Not entirely," he admits shamelessly, "but at least I don't go around acting like it. I'm here out of respect, just like everyone else says they are."
I'm silent for a few moments. This conversation has a lot more meaning than I anticipated. Eventually I bitterly reply "Define 'respect'."
He jerks his head over to the crowd of black-suited souls mingling around us. "I don't know about them, but if you want to hear about some actual respect, I turned down five different hits on you two."
I'm astonished. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "Ton of money lost on that one, so don't take that lightly."
"Don't worry." I've been zapped into animation. "I very much appreciate it." I sober up significantly as I add offhandedly "It didn't help her much, but thank you anyways."
He scowls. "You're still alive, aren't you? Act like it. I mean…" he stops just short of an angry rant after he takes a look at me (I'm honestly not sure what expression is on my face). "Look, I know you're taking this hard and I get it, okay? This kind of thing happened to me too." He pauses and takes a breath, considering himself. "Not the same, not different. Fact is that you're not dead yet, so I'd like to think I made a wise investment."
"The hell is wrong with these people? They should be giving you a lot more credit." She seems genuinely flummoxed that it's her name making headlines much more than mine nowadays. A year, six months and fourteen days ago.
I don't reply to Wolf just yet.
He looks me dead-on, calm as the eye of a storm. "Honestly though, if I knew she was going to die anyways, I still wouldn't have done the hit."
I nod. "Thank you."
"I'll talk to you later." It's not a request, and he doesn't give me time to argue, but I have a feeling that I haven't seen the last of Wolf O'Donnell.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, regret nothing and let them forget nothing.
Chapter 1
Two Years, Two Weeks and Two Days
I hate being here. I never wanted to be here. All the same, I should have expected this. We're bounty hunters. We were born to die. I suppose it was inevitable.
Yet, I still can't believe it.
I've never been in such an intense quiet before, and yet the silence is deafening. We're downtown in Junction City, in a formal hall where the memorial will take place. It's been sixteen days since it happened, and they've felt like sixteen years.
Oh, goddamn it. It's been too slow. It's almost inescapable.
I didn't ask for this.
Everyone's dressed up so nicely. It's almost universally black. No one knows what she would have dressed like if she were here. I know that she probably wouldn't bother.
"I don't do funerals," she says, needlessly defensive, staring me straight in the eye. "I think the excess amount of death I've witnessed should excuse me from at least a handful." That comment incites a long stretch of silence that she usually instigates when she thinks she's said too much. A year, eight months and four days ago.
Well, the funeral already passed, as it happens. I sat through the whole thing uncomfortably, too. There were no tears and little emotion, but there was respect. Many people respected her with very good reason. She was a warrior beyond comparison. Nothing could stand in her way... except, of course, for the final thing. She made a difference and she protected Junction City. People called her, and eventually us, heroes for it. Some said that she represented the good bounty hunters stood for. I know she didn't take such compliments to heart. Being a bounty hunter was just what she did. She was good at it and she didn't know how to do anything else.
That's what she said, at least.
But I knew better.
"I didn't choose the bounty hunting life. The bounty hunting life chose me." She chuckles dryly. The memory is almost a retort.
I still knew better, I argue back. Even two years and sixteen days ago.
She was more than a bounty huntress. Sometimes I think she knew that and simply denied it.
I know about bounty hunting. I am a bounty hunter. It's how we became acquainted. We figured that putting our skills together would help us succeed more. I knew that wasn't the only reason, though. She was finished with being alone. She had spent nearly three decades on her own and decided it was enough.
She spent nearly three decades alone, and barely over two years afterward with someone she could trust. I've never heard of anything quite so unfair happening to someone so undeserving of it.
This hall we are in now, in our stuffy suits and formal dresses that insist this is a special occasion, is nearly suffocating me right now. There is little special about this. In fact, it makes me angry. You want to honor her now? You want to pay your dues now? You at Junction City, a city she owed nothing to and yet gave everything for, have just figured out that she deserves your respect? Well, thank you for waiting until she died for you to give it to her.
"People need someone to look up to, a small reassurance that the world won't fall today." She looks at me, and for once her smirk is a smile. She adjusts her gun in her holster and says with alarming sincerity "I guess we'll have to do."A year, three months and twenty-one days ago.
Many famous names and faces showed up to pay (belated) respect to her. Even government officials that had spoken against bounty hunting showed up despite (perhaps because of) their own agenda. Even some of the more volatile or controversial hunters were wandering around for whatever reason. Still, no one here truly cared for her.
No one... except for me. That's because I earned her trust, and because I was the only one who cared to.
"The hardest thing I could ever do is trust." The confession is rushed, as if she hopes I'll miss it. Two months and five days ago.
Of course I'll never forget it.
I avoid people at all costs. The last thing I want to do is talk to any of them. They don't feel real. They're not as invested. I should have known what I was getting myself into with her. Maybe I did ask for it, in a sense. I should have sensed this inevitable misery when my own life and safety began to take a second priority to hers.
"Don't kill yourself on my behalf." It's a snappish comment she delivers with a smirk, but she means it. Three weeks and four days ago.
I should have told her the same.
It still seemed inevitable, though, like waiting for the pin to drop and trigger an avalanche to take us both out.
I'm hungry, so I find one of the nearby tables and pick a couple of deviled eggs off of it. I feel uneasy about the fact that I'm eating party favors at her memorial service, but she'd probably kick me in the shin if I were to say something as nonsensical about that, so I grab a third for good measure.
It's not that I'm fasting or anything because of her death. I just hate how they're turning it into a party, as if her death is something worth celebrating. I know what they say about not mourning her death but celebrating her life, but again, why didn't they do that while she was still alive?
I know that I was glad she was alive.
I know that I'm miserable now that she's not.
"Well if I've done anything to make my existence worth something to you..." she never finishes. She turns away and remains silent for a half hour. A month and three weeks ago.
It's okay. I never quite understood it all either.
I see someone intentionally heading my way, and I prepare myself for a wooden conversation. To my surprise, it's yet another bounty hunter, albeit one we never associated with. He was different than us. We strictly went after the ones harming Junction City. Rumors went around that worked for anyone who paid him, hero or villain . Never proven, never denied. He was good at his job, but it certainly wasn't a clean one.
"I highly doubt what we're doing is exactly clean," she says, looking down at the dashboard as I slow the car down. "Try necessary. Try defensive. Try brave, or even helpful, if you're feeling frisky. But never clean." Seven months and a day ago.
And I suppose she was right, but even then, he was further away from righteousness than we were. I suppose it's all relative though.
He walks to me, bent over slightly as though it's a struggle to completely stand. He stops just short of arms' length. "Hello, Captain," he greets me. His voice is dry but not disdainful.
I nod and curtly say "Wolf O'Donnell." I'm not overly polite because I'm hoping he gets the hint that I'm in a very conversational mood.
To further clarify this, I stand there quietly, wondering when I can leave and swipe a few more deviled eggs without looking like a jerk. It's about half a minute of restless silence before Wolf speaks up again. "This is ♥♥♥♥."
I don't know what he's speaking of, yet I already agree. Still I ask "what is?"
"This whole thing. I mean, is this a party? Are they glad she's dead? Cause they seem in pretty goddamn good spiritsl."
My heart skips a beat because he's right. Again I hesitate. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb. You're looking over everyone thinking about how full of ♥♥♥♥ they are. Half of these people, the city officials, were never invested in even the slightest thing that Samus Aran ever stood for. I doubt they even fully understood. In fact they probably ♥♥♥♥♥ about it beforehand."
"People don't care much to understand. They just want to draw their own conclusions." She swirls her spoon around her small cup of coffee, making sure the sugar and cream are well applied before adding with a small blush "I suppose if they want to make a big fuss about me, though… hey." A year, six months and fourteen days ago.
Even someone like her needed a bit of appreciation, even if you could never convince her that she earned it.
I snap back to Wolf. "And you did?" I reply tersely.
"Not entirely," he admits shamelessly, "but at least I don't go around acting like it. I'm here out of respect, just like everyone else says they are."
I'm silent for a few moments. This conversation has a lot more meaning than I anticipated. Eventually I bitterly reply "Define 'respect'."
He jerks his head over to the crowd of black-suited souls mingling around us. "I don't know about them, but if you want to hear about some actual respect, I turned down five different hits on you two."
I'm astonished. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "Ton of money lost on that one, so don't take that lightly."
"Don't worry." I've been zapped into animation. "I very much appreciate it." I sober up significantly as I add offhandedly "It didn't help her much, but thank you anyways."
He scowls. "You're still alive, aren't you? Act like it. I mean…" he stops just short of an angry rant after he takes a look at me (I'm honestly not sure what expression is on my face). "Look, I know you're taking this hard and I get it, okay? This kind of thing happened to me too." He pauses and takes a breath, considering himself. "Not the same, not different. Fact is that you're not dead yet, so I'd like to think I made a wise investment."
"The hell is wrong with these people? They should be giving you a lot more credit." She seems genuinely flummoxed that it's her name making headlines much more than mine nowadays. A year, six months and fourteen days ago.
I don't reply to Wolf just yet.
He looks me dead-on, calm as the eye of a storm. "Honestly though, if I knew she was going to die anyways, I still wouldn't have done the hit."
I nod. "Thank you."
"I'll talk to you later." It's not a request, and he doesn't give me time to argue, but I have a feeling that I haven't seen the last of Wolf O'Donnell.