DISCLAIMER: I don't own DBZ. If I did, things would happen I say, things would happen!!!!!!
Authory note: This is something I thought up after soaking up some creative input. I don't own anything in the DBZ world, but I do own Me (if that makes any sense). Yes, that is me in this fic, no pretensions… I've had this idea like for a while now but it's only just come to me to write it in the form of a story. And in no way is it gonna be a Mary Sue in the sense that I write myself being good at simply everything.. you'll see. its gonna be a hard slog… and don't worry, I'm still working on Voices too! ^_^
** Is thinking ** and :: Is dreaming ::
THE GAMES WE PLAY by `InSaNe`/Schizophrenic Eggplant
Chapter 1: Welcome to My Life… sit down, have a cup of coffee… its not gonna hurt – much.
It was the small hours of the morning, and most people were asleep. Most sane people that was. The youthful 24 year old woman stared at her computer with bleary eyes. She had been working ever so hard to fill in a gap in her growing fanfic about all that had happened to her in her internal DBZ universe. Her subconscious was a bitch to her in her dreams, and she so wanted to write about a particular scene to come later in the fic, but although there were a lot of close calls, it never came, not yet. So far, over last night and most of this morning, she had written a total of three sentences. With increasing irritation overriding her tiredness she bashed the ergo-keyboard.
"This isn't good enough!!!" She shouted.
"Sarah, it's 3 in the morning!! Keep the noise down!!" Her mother, woken by her daughters impulsive outburst, drawled loudly from the opposite room.
"Oh, shut up.." Sarah muttered under her breath. Oh, how she wanted out. To get away, to live the solitary life for a while, withdrawing from reality when she could. Her parents were better than others, sure, they even accepted her Vegeta obsession to a degree (although they probably thought it was a phase… they should know its not by now) but her house was so small and constricting there just wasn't enough space to do anything. Most people are happy with a well-paying job, money, a car, and freedom. Sarah had pretty much all that, and she was happy to an extent, but what she truly wanted, was out of reach.
** An escape from reality, drug-free, just running on pure mindpower. A virtual immersion in a 3-D Dragonball Z world. Where not just your sight and hearing fools you into being there, oh no, with this, EVERYTHING is involved, all the senses are indulged to their limits and beyond. Taste, smell, touch… everything. **
She snapped out of it, to think about this too much bordered on an extreme form of torture. Wiping away a puddle of drool that had accumulated on her desk during that brief daydream experience, she forlornly gave her fanfic yet another once-over, and still couldn't wrack her brain for any more creative output at this time. Feeling somewhat defeated, she declined to read her book or anything else, just switched her computer off and went to sleep. Thank Kami it was the weekend and she didn't have work. With a small sigh she transgressed across the bridge of consciousness and over to the realm of dreams.
**********
8 am or thereabouts.
:: She entered her room, or was it her room, the wallpaper was the same, but it was tidier, and roomier, and devoid of the DBZ posters and computer and most other things. Her bed was bigger than the normal brass and painted wrought iron 'hammock' which she usually slept on. She didn't pay much mind to the differences, for all she knew this was the room she'd always had. Except for one thing. The occupant on the bed, reclining, and… and reading(!) Her conscious mind would be quite alarmed at this, because reading would be the last thing on this individuals mind. Training yes, reading no. Although it had looked like he Had done training earlier, judging by the sweat (or un-dried water-drops) beaded on his smooth calves.
Currently, he was unaware of her presence, and she was fine with that, as she studied his body, in those snug blue spandex bicycle pants and tight blue sleeveless muscle shirt. Gingerly, as not to cause that image to shatter, she reached out and stroked a hand along one prominent calf muscle. In a blur the scenery changed and in the blink of an eye she found herself now on the bed, pinned under the compact muscular form, his face in her face. Unable to breathe, she took in every detail – the rough flame of hair, the widow's peak, the eyebrows forming a permanent scowl, the regal nose, broken so many times but miraculously not out of place, and his mouth, which was the usual indicator for his moods, those lips gave away more than his eyes ever did, but strangely, not now. It seemed they had somehow changed roles, just for this brief moment. His mouth was a thin line, neither a sulk nor a smirk, just flat. She then looked in his eyes, and became frozen. Not with fear, but with wonder, and just knew that those eyes would haunt her waking moments once she realised she was only dreaming. They were intense, burning coals, corroding her resolve, challenging, inviting, with a hint of predation, deliciously trapping her in their void of obsidian.
She ran her hands tentatively up and down the hills and valleys of corded muscle along his back, so familiar in some ways. Then her concentration was broken, and foolishly she broke the stare, and again became aware of where she was – in her bedroom still, and the door was open. She didn't particularly welcome the idea of her parents interrupting her in this embrace to conquer all embraces, so she thought aloud:
"Argh… I need to shut the door.." At once, the gorgeous warmth atop of her disappeared as Vegeta wordlessly got up off the bed, and walked to the door, kicking it shut with a small movement of his foot. It was then he flashed her a small smirk, before peeling his shirt off and sauntering back to the bed. She gritted her teeth in frustration, cursing him silently to hurry up and get his battle-scarred body back where it was before. Once again, she was crushed beneath him, and the two of them began to prepare for the timeless dance… ::
The noise of an motor could be heard in the far distance, and the clunk of the small metal bridges over the gutter pierces the dream, causing the fabric to waver a little, as an ominous black van parks over the driveway outside the house. The 'bitchy subconscious' chose this small distraction of sound to quickly operate.
:: All of a sudden, and instead of being ground mercilessly against the mattress in first person, the perspective switches to third person and in place of the spellbinding scene in front of her, words appear, and she only reads what happens between the two locked together in pure passion. She can hardly make out the words, only picking up random snatches of sentences. Is she making this up, or is it from some greater dream force placing them there on the page. She is separated from the scene, as if it never existed, the words on the page burn into her as she reads, forgetting them after her brain absorbs the sentences. She wants to get back, back to how it was… ::
RINGARINGARINGARINGARINGARINGARINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!
** Curses!!! So much for that… **Next Chapter: Something unexpected to top off a usually boring and unproductive weekend.
Shall I continue? Or am I wasting my time… -_-