I Don't Smoke (Spike Spiegel x Oc)

Session #3: You're a LOT of work, Cowboy...A LOT

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'...Ha...I usually don't favor silence...but...it's pleasant on occasion...'

A drowsy shadow tossed and turned on the mattress floor. It wasn't a luxury brand, but it was certainly better than a cold, metal floor. With a deep breath, they sighed contentedly in their slumber, anticipating the beginning of a wonderful Saturday morning.

'...Oh, that's right, I need to do the laundry. And let's see... it's Luna's turn to make breakfast. Oh, I hope she's preparing her grandma's French toast with grape juice. I'll do some shopping for next week. Hmm, that means I should finish the milk before it spoils...'

As they went through their usual Saturday routine, a small droplet of drool formed at the corner of their mouth at the mere mention of the French toast their roommate prepared every weekend. While most people might grumble about their roommates, they felt quite the opposite.

Hey, don't misunderstand them. They may argue occasionally, but they've learned to never go to bed angry. They end up speaking their minds, alone in the dark room.

"...Ah...wake me up...when your done with your French toast...okay, Luna..."

A few moments of silence should have lulled them back to sleep... that's what should have occurred.

*BAM*

"You did WHAT--! Uhhh! Do you have any idea how much that outfit cost!?"

Throwing herself off her back, a young woman emerged from her dreams into reality. Her hair was as disheveled as Anna's from the Disney movie "Frozen," known for its predictable plot akin to another one of their films. She drew her legs in, rubbing her face to dispel the remnants of sleep.

The amusing part is that this isn't her apartment; it's a spaceship. And those aren't her roommates. Being on a spaceship means everything vibrates, allowing even the faintest sounds to travel... right into this very room.

Combing her hair with her fingers as if they were a hairbrush, she thought it best to make a list, hoping her identity remained unclaimed. The woman grimaced, feeling the unpleasant consequences of not brushing her teeth. There's nothing she detests more in the morning than the sensation of an unclean mouth.

She pulled on her pajamas, the ones she found at the store, feeling as if she were on another planet with Spike. Outside, the commotion persisted, a distant yet distinct clamor.

"Spike! You did that one purpose!! How could you use my dress on your stupid ship!?!"

"...Oh, get off my back! Unlike YOU I like my ship cleaned. Not trashy like yours."

Once the woman was fully dressed, she contemplated asking another woman on the ship to borrow her hairbrush. However, the harsh tone of the other woman's voice suggested she might snap at anyone who approached her. Resigned to this, she decided on plan B: pulling her hair back into a ponytail. As she left the room, she was met by the sight of a man and a woman engaged in a heated argument.

As a young teenager observed the heated exchange between two adults, another individual was present but completely engrossed in the TV, which was broadcasting the latest news from the bounty station about the upcoming head bounty for all bounty hunters, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, seemingly oblivious to the children.