First post. . .   huzzah.  I feel that this moment deserves a celebratory post.  Unfortunatly it's 12:48 am right now and I need to sleep.  Really the only reason I'm making this Xanga site is because my friend Kang-Kang told me to and since I have no free will to speak of, I complied. . .

Ummmmm, here, have a Cowboy Bebop Fanc fic that I'm working on.  I'll post the first part and then post the other part later. 

But first, some legal crap.  Cowboy Bebop and all of its Characters are not my own.  Oh how I wish they it were.  So without further ado and no more delay (and a couple more redundancies) here is "Cup o' Noodles"

“I swear, I can't take another bite, Jet.”
“Really? You full already?” Jet looked over to where Spike half sat and half sprawled over the couch.
“No, I mean I'll get sick to my stomach if try and eat any more of this shit.” Spike prodded half-heartedly at the matter of questionable content that sat steaming in front of him.
“Hey now,” Jet said more than a bit defensively, “it ain't that bad.” At least it hadn't been the first few times he had reformatted the leftovers into something that vaguely resembled a new meal.
Spike made a face at his portion which stared despondently back. “Yeah? Well how come I don't see you eating any of it?”
Jet sighed heavily. He turned his back to Spike and made his way to the room that commonly served as the galley to the Bebop. Truthfully, it was nothing more than a glorified broom closet with a sink and a stove that worked or not depending on what mood it was in that day. He selected a plate that was relatively clean and a pair of plastic chopsticks. “You haven't even given me a chance to serve myself yet, Spike,” he said over his shoulder. “You shouldn't be so quick to disapprove of things.”
“I gave it plenty of time to gag me,” Spike scoffed.
Jet came back into the common room carrying a large serving of the food in question. “Well, you'd better eat up. This is all there is until breakfast.”
“Really?” Spike glanced up and watched the large man settle himself into a chair across from him. It was a difficult task for the man. Everything seemed to be made too small for him and this chair was no exception. Jet sat down and his knees nearly obscured his face. Spike waited for him to balance his plate across his knees. “What's for breakfast?”
“This stuff.”
“Figures."

END.  or IS it?  No, no it's not.