1Disclaimer - The DBZ universe belongs solely to it's creator. Yes, and I have created a delicious way to have peanut butter on toast. Mmmmm, toast.
Demolition Woman
Chapter 1
She straddled the iron rafter, her blue eyes wandering restlessly to the concrete below. The wind would break hard on the catwalk and with her lithe body there was always a danger of falling, but for some reason she'd never felt unsafe on the bird jobs. Up here was where her true passion lied. A passion that went far beyond human fear and measure.
Short strands of cobalt hair brushed her forehead from underneath a battered hard hat. The split ends she spotted reminding her she would need to make an appointment for a trim when she got home.
Home.
How many times had she found herself musing over the exact definition of that word? Millions maybe. It was a place to eat, sleep and shit she would venture, but somewhere deep inside she knew that couldn't be all. Not entirely.
I'm going to be twenty-six years old next week and I still don't have a home.
Sometimes it would come to her in dreams. Dreams of another world full of smiling faces and soothing tones that murmured, warm brushes of a hand or a brown...a brown...something. But like water cupped in her hands, the images would quickly slip away into nothing, leaving her strangely hollow inside.
"Briefs! Snap out of it babe!" A harsh, masculine voice called out.
Bulma blinked and smirked at the man comfortably situated on the criss-crossing frame below. He had angular features, a scar from a freak welding accident marring his cheek, and an intrinsic need to flirt with anything that had tits. A typical posing male to her mind.
"What the fuck have I told ya about callin' me babe, Yamcha? Watch it or I'll slap a harassment suit on your ass!" She shouted irritably.
"What the hell crawled up your butt? Except for me of course." He gave her a lopsided grin.
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah right Ham-head! Maybe when hell freezes over!" She popped him the finger and giggled.
Yamcha slowly shook his head and couldn't help his sharp intake of air when she jumped to her toes on the steel girder. The woman was one of the best pigeons(1) he had, but her carelessness with heights was unnerving. Even after ten years he still had nightmares of his brains splattered on the pavement.
Cat like, she walked to the end of the rail and shimmied down the pole which connected it to the larger building frame. The scarred man hurried over, puffs of white breath issuing from his mouth as he went. It was cold this time of year in East City, and not very pleasant for the privately contracted workers of Chestnut Construction.
Yamcha lifted a thermos of hot chocolate in lieu of a white flag, his nerves lessening when she granted him one of her heart skipping smiles. Though he'd out grown the heart skipping since he'd realized she was of much better use on the scaffolds than in his bed, he still couldn't help admiring how deathly beautiful she was. Like a fine piece of artwork. Her skin reflected in golden tones, her features elegant, almost regal, and a sweetly curving figure to top it all off. A hundred on a scale of one to ten.
She snatched the drink from his hands, leaving Yamcha to remember how she'd screamed him partially deaf for a week. The feeling of regret quickly disappeared.
"You're back in my good graces, Ham-head. You wanna go level(2) and grab a bite to eat?" She grinned.
He felt a piercing gust of arctic air stab his lungs and quickly nodded his head. He was freezing his nuts off.
About twenty minutes later found them in a rinky-dink dinner, crowed around by fancy looking office buildings. Bulma ordered herself three plate fulls of pancakes, sausages and eggs, making her breakfast companion gawk at how she managed to keep the body of a run-way model.
Sipping his coffee, Yamcha eyed her food. "Where the hell do ya pack it, Briefs?"
She mumbled around a mouthful of egg and pancake. "Mm-welsh I dushno."
"Come again?" He snickered.
She rolled her eyes, and gave him a look that clearly said 'Fuck you.'
"Well, anyway," he shifted his mug a little. "I wanted to discuss something with you that's just come up. Something to do with the future of Chestnut Construction." A sudden gravity had routed his winsome tone of voice.
Bulma gulped down her hot chocolate to wash away the sticky food clogging her throat. Yamcha was never serious unless he had to be, so her attitude quickly sobered in response.
"B, we're barely afloat working for the cities. I can just afford the specialists we have on sight right now." He sighed. "Earth has gotten offers from off planet for builders, and you know how I'm friends with ol' man Roshi, right? Well he put up my name for one of the jobs." He stared straight into his friend's eyes.
"That's fuckin' great Yamcha! I don't know what got's you down! They'll probably pay you a shit load of money if it's post-industrial!" She giggled and genially slapped his shoulder.
He scratched the back of his neck nervously. Bulma felt a slight inkling of realization crawl up her spine at the action. "There's something else, isn't there?"
"B...Only half the men on my crew will go. They're all paranoid about going to...where we're going. I don't have enough time to do all the interviews and paper work to find new ones in replacement." He tapped his fingers on the table. "I need you to come with me, you're the only pidge who I know ain't scared of shit. I need you to train a couple more to do the job."
She gaped a little. "Yamcha, honey...Gods, leave Earth? I mean, I've never left in my entire life!"
Not that you remember at least.
Bulma shook her head at the errant thought. This had nothing to do with that at all.
"Yamcha...How can you jump this on me! No warnin!" She snapped her fingers under his nose. "Maybe if I'd time to think about it, but...Come on!"
He raised his hands in defense. "Beautiful, babe, B, look I'm sorry! I just found out about all this a week ago myself, but, B, we are talking about thousands here! Possibly millions, if it's a big job! You know I can't do it without you!"
She felt a chink in her armor grow at his ego petting.
He smirked a little. "Come on babe. You're the best. The best pidge there ever was."
She placed her head in her hand and growled softly, her blue eyes shooting fire at him.
Yamcha swooped in for the kill. "Whatever you want, I'll pay it, I'll provide it. You want a sex toy I'll go out and hand pick one myself. You want the snow from Mt. Everest, I'll Sherpa my ass up the side and down the other with a bottle. Just please come."
How the hell could she say no? Yamcha was one of her best friends, damnit, he was one of her only friends.
There was nothing on Earth holding her back either, just...familiarity, and a fear of the unknown. She couldn't help snorting at that. Bulma the 'bird' was afraid of something in-existential. She sighed and shook her head, glancing despondently out the window. The trip could be just the distraction she needed though, for a nearing birthday and all the rampaging thoughts that accompanied it.
What was the worst that could happen?
Everything.
Bulma refused to linger on that possibility however, smirking darkly at her friend.
"I won't go for less than thirty five."
"Fuck, B! An hour?" He tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt.
"Take it or leave it, Ham-head." She laughed.
Yamcha rubbed the bridge of his nose and softly acquiesced. "Fine. Thirty five."
"Deal. I also want to be put up at a nice place. You know, with those little hot dogs, and guys who open your door even though you're quite capable of doin' it yourself." She mused.
"Yeah, yeah." He grunted.
Bulma picked at her sausages with a fork, the sudden unease of forgetting something washing over her conscious.
"...What planet?" She asked quietly.
Yamcha cleared his throat and brought the coffee mug to his lips for a long drink.
"What planet, Ham-head?" She ground out a little harsher this time.
"Vegeta." He rubbed his cheek and avoided eye contact with his volatile friend.
"WHAT!" She screamed.
Nervously glancing at one of the pink aproned waitresses, Yamcha motioned for their bill. If Bulma was going to have a melt down it would do better out in the cold, where people weren't looking over your shoulder.
She felt her vision go red and in a sudden fit of rage, grabbed the scarred idiot by his lapels. She then shook him. Hard.
"YOU MUTHER FUCKIN' IDIOT!" Bits of egg went flying, while a sausage got stuck to Yamcha's shirt. "PLANET VEGETA! I'M GOIN' TO DIE, BECAUSE I WAS TOO STUPID TO ASK MY FRIEND ABOUT WHERE WE'RE GOIN' FIRST! AHHHH!" She proceeded to slam his head into the table.
"...Uh, ma'am you're, kind of, um, disturbing the customers." A blonde waitress finished in a rushed whisper.
Bulma turned her wrath filled countenance upon the poor woman.
"I'LL YELL IF I DAMN WELL FEEL LIKE IT, HONEY! AND BY THE WAY, THOSE SHOES WENT OUT OF STYLE ABOUT A HUNDRED FUCKIN' YEARS AGO!"
Yamcha scraped himself up off the floor and proceeded to slap down thirty bucks for the bill and the lady's trouble. He cringed in fear at what had to be done next. Grabbing his friend around the waist, he hoisted her over his shoulder and sadly endured her screeching wails out into the frozen air.
He finally put her back down about the time they reached main street, where he'd been unable to deal with everyone's staring.
She glared up at him and bared her teeth. "What, the, fuck, Ham-head... Tell me exactly why I shouldn't castrate you right now!"
"I'm really sorry Bulma! Please, please, please, forgive me!" He mewled.
The stupid fool looked so pathetic, like a kicked puppy really, that Bulma felt all the wind whoosh out of her sails. It wasn't worth it.
"I should quit right now for this." She growled.
"You can't B! You gave your word!" A sudden panic sprung up in his eyes.
She sighed. Fucking honor and loyalty bullshit. She had no idea how they'd developed in her psyche in the first place.
Slowly, her eyes wandered towards the newspaper stand to the left, magazines and paper pages fluttering in an icy breeze. One headline on the Intergalactic Gazette seemed to capture her attention particularly:
VEGETA-SEI PLAGUED BY STRIFE, CIVIL INSURRECTION
Gods, this was all she needed. Bad enough she'd heard horror stories about how they pirated the universe, kidnaping at will for slaves and pleasure toys, but now there were uprisings?
"Bulma, please, you're the only one I got..." Yamcha's desperate voice tugged at her heart strings.
"Did I ever say no, ya damn fucktard!" She hissed in response. Oh, how she despised feeling guilty, and over nothing to boot!
His face split into a huge smile and he enveloped Bulma in a bone crushing hug. Sighing, she gently patted his back. She then craned her neck to gaze up at the frozen raindrops making their dizzy fall earthward.
What was the worst that could happen?
Everything.
--End Chapter 1--
(1) - pigeon means someone who does the dangerous, high up work in construction. This is my own slang that I made up for the story, but I'm not sure if it has been used before in the same context.
(2) - level means ground level. Again I've made up this slang, and I'm not sure if it has been used else where in similar context. For both words, if it has, than credit goes to them of course.
How do you guys like the first chapter? A little ambiguous, I know, but that was sort of what I was going for. It would make me feel really happy if I got at least one review, please. Oh, and I'd like to know how people like this kind of premise for a Bulma Vegeta fic.
Sweet dreams everyone.