I think Kami's proud, though not in a very arrogant way. He respects others, though he respects himself above all, something that I believe was brought upon him with this position of Guardian of Earth. It doesn't get him in trouble like it does with, say, Vegeta, though pride is never good in any quantity, seeing as it's not quantitative. ;)
I am considering your request, J.W. Appel, to write a story about Garlic Sr. and the Nameless Namekian - it's something I've meant to do for a while, just haven't had the inspiration to do. I hope this satisfies for the moment while I figure out just what to do about that particular piece. Any ideas on what to address the Nameless Namekian as, considering he doesn't know of his origins?
"Do you know what I saw the other day?"
Mr. Popo's voice cracked slightly with the morning, rising across the wispy clouds of morning's break. It resonated clearly across the majestic lookout, one end of the sky an innocent pink, the other the purple of a dying night. It crossed stone and tile and trees it had so gingerly whispered to, flowers it had tended to with its soothing undertone. But here was his voice, cracking with worry as his passiveness faded into the retreating darkness.
"What is it, Mr. Popo?" And Kami's voice crackled with his age, coming across as only slightly perturbed by the genie's wariness. Each word came assertively and with pride long lost during his split of good and evil. He glided with each slow step, stopping abruptly as his wooden cane hit the floor.
The Guardian of Earth's eyes were sharp and transfixed on his servant, scrutinizing the nervousness crossing those red lips. The single, white tooth gleamed with the saliva in his mouth as he mustered his courage, prepared to tell his master of this warning sign. It was necessary he tell Kami, yet how? He was no fortune teller, though that had never stopped lurches of that immortal stomach from coming forth and aching. There was something that only the genie seemed to possess, and that was an uncanny ability to sense danger even Fortune Teller Baba missed in the sheen of her crystal ball.
Though Kami was patient if anything, Mr. Popo couldn't help but hang his head in shame and allow those round eyes to drift towards his feet. He murmured guiltily, "It was a butterfly..."
"A butterfly?" the Guardian of Earth inquired, only to see the servant bob his head with the slightest motion. His veined hands tightened on the knob of his staff, the brow of that wrinkled head of his furrowing with confusion. "It was only a butterfly?"
The incredulous tone prodded Mr. Popo to elaborate, "A butterfly with a broken wing."
There was silence before Kami asked, "And so?" A butterfly with a broken wing was nothing to him. There were dozens that lived up here, even at such a high altitude, flitting from flower to flower that Mr. Popo tended to so well. It may have been uncommon to have had one damaged in such a way, though the Guardian of Earth had difficulty seeing just what was bothering the genie to the point of bringing this matter up to his superior.
Mr. Popo's eyes drifted upwards, chancing a peek at his master's expression. His face was taut, a mere slit of a frown sufficing for his mouth. There was not a hint of humor in those dark eyes to comfort Mr. Popo, and yet there lacked a seriousness that he needed his master to display. He needed Kami to understand exactly what this meant, and so he explained urgently, "I was watering some of the plants when I found it on the floor. I picked it up and saw its wing, useless now on the floor."
"So, Mr. Popo? Your point?"
This repetition, incredulous at best, only drove a slight anger through Mr. Popo's heart. He lifted his black head and asked, "Do you not see it, Kami? There is more to that butterfly than meets the eyes, just as there is more to you than I see."
At the response of silence, Kami's eyes widening slightly with surprise, he furled his dark fists into balls, clenching the pale palms tightly to restrain himself. This thought was so cutting, and yet Kami was brushing it aside with such ease? It pained him. Still, he continued, "I found the butterfly after Piccolo's training up here. His meditating creates an electrical field, as you well know, which zaps anything that comes within contact of it. And I found this one particular butterfly, the one with a broken wing, right by my foot later on. And there was its wing, unable to help it any longer."
Nothing revealing crossed Kami's face as Mr. Popo plowed on, "I scooped it up, and it immediately made me wonder. Was the wing useless to it, or was it useless to the wing? Neither could work without the other, I reasoned. What made one any more important than the other?"
"Mr. Popo..." Kami began slowly, though he was cut off by a guttural noise.
"Tell me, Kami," he insisted, looking straight into his master's face now. "What is it that makes the butterfly more important than the wing?"
"Tell me what this is about. I cannot help you unless you tell me," Kami demanded calmly, his voice not alluding at all to his worry for his genie friend. Something was wrong with Mr. Popo, and yet he would not explain exactly what it was. The genie chose to talk in riddles, and it was at times such as these that he was forced to put his foot down on these little games.
"You know what I'm talking about, Kami."
"I'm sorry to say that I don't, Mr. Popo..."
"But you do."
And there was that silence again, one that seemed more shattering than any violent thunderstorm that occasionally shook the Lookout. Kami was left to scrutinize the genie as he placed a hand gently into one of the pockets in his red vest. He clenched his cane with the curiosity tingling through his bony fingers as Mr. Popo extended his hand, displaying a slightly crumpled white butterfly and the remnants of a torn wing. It shone with that dying sun, reflecting light with the genie's magical touch.
"This is you," he said, using a pudgy finger to gently prod the dead butterfly's body in his hand. Then, with his finger trailing towards the broken wing, he said, "This is Piccolo." And Kami could only watch as Mr. Popo picked up the bit of wing and placed it by the parent body, explaining, "And this is you two, together. Now tell me - who is the more important one of the pair?"
"I-I don't know what-"
"You know." Mr. Popo cut off his stammers so readily that Kami could only blink as he continued, "Neither of you is as important as the other. You are Guardian of the Earth, but what are you without him? Nothing. You are confined to this place, bound by somebody else's rules, much as this poor butterfly was for the rest of its life. But look! Piccolo seems to be even more of nothing than you, but he is still nothing. And nothing is not quantitative - there are no amounts. It either is, or it isn't. And here, as a wing, he is nothing. He may flit with the breeze pushing him, yet there is nothing more to him than there is to you."
The unexpected lecture took Kami by such surprise that all words left his mouth as his eyes moved back up to the genie's face, having never heard such a cold truth escape those warm lips. Yet the face was gentle and caring, and those eyes seemed weak as he said, "You were destroyed, and yet you have a chance to reunite. It's coming, Kami. I know it is. Neither of you are of any asset without the other. There is nothing left for you alone to do here."
"Mr. Popo..."
His words trailed off, though, as he saw the sad expression on his servant's face. "You and Piccolo will merge soon," he stated somberly, shaking his head as he did so. And the absoluteness of his tone only shocked Kami, who could find nothing to say. Finally, though, after fidgeting with the staff in his hand, he broke.
"But what about the Earth, Mr. Popo?" he exclaimed, unable to bear this.
"The Earth is much the same without you guiding it," Mr. Popo countered. "There are now unofficial guardians protecting it, able to combat physically. And Piccolo is now one of its many defenders."
"The Dragon Balls, though! They would disappear if I merged with Piccolo!"
"There are other Dragon Balls to be consulted, Kami."
"But... but... what about you?"
This last question, this last feeble attempt to defend himself in this fruitless argument, stung Mr. Popo. The genie's frown became more pronounced as he shook that large head of his, sighing, "There is me, but I am not above the good of the world. There are other dangers, Kami, that are already here. There is no point in evading them. We must stamp them out, and the only way for that to happen is for you to become your whole being."
"Mr. Popo..."
But there was nothing to be said. Mr. Popo only shook his heavy head and sighed, unable to fend off emerging tears. "I can sense so much potential in you, Kami, though it's not in you alone. I know you and Piccolo will merge into one being for the good of the Earth, which is the only purpose for your existence. And my only purpose for existence is to serve the Guardian of Earth, whether it be you or somebody else."
With this, the genie turned away, shifting his whole body so that he was not facing the aged Namekian. Instead, he walked towards the palace and left Kami to watch after him as he carried the broken butterfly away, unable to utter another word. The green man's mouth slipped open as his lingering vision moved from the retreating genie towards the threat meditating on the far end of the Lookout, and his grip loosened considerably on his wooden staff as he regarded his opponent shrouded in an energy barrier.
A broken butterfly... It was ridiculous for the genie, merely a humble servant, to have come to terms with something from which the impressive Guardian of Earth had turned away. He had avoided this topic to great lengths in hope that it would simply vanish, though that was childish thought. There would be no avoiding this consideration of a fusion while the androids were about.
The prospect frightened the Namekian, and with building pessimism, his brain jumped from this inconvenience to the matter itself. How would they go about making this transition from two beings to one? Whose body would their minds inhabit? Would they create a new one likened to that of old, or would the two simply possess a body of their own?
But this last question brought about the most terrifying question of them all, born from the curiosity of just which half had lived a life of greater achievements. Whereas the terrifying Piccolo who had once threatened billions of lives had set out on the conquest of purifying his soul through saving those same lives, Kami had simply rested in his own good heart, content enough with himself to not improve. With the cleanliness that had already filled him upon their splitting, Kami had grown comfortable in doing nothing besides merely existing, as though his presence would grace those lives below him. Yet Piccolo had proven himself courageous, compassionate, and selfless, all traits that were intensified when set beside Kami's lacking resume.
And so this terrifying question was brought on as Kami watched his calm counterpart hover over the glazed tile, and his breath shallowed as he recalled the broken butterfly Mr. Popo had shown him just a moment earlier. The genie had described him as being the larger, more fulfilled part of the insect, though now Kami couldn't be certain. He ignored the genie's words of how neither was greater than the other when the two were separate, and allowing his hidden pride to blossom, he lowered his head and filled it with the one question Mr. Popo would have greatly disapproved of.
Just who was the butterfly, and who was the wing?