let everything happen to you
beauty and terror
just keep going
no feeling is final
. . .
The first time she saw him was on television.
The first time she saw him was the last time she believed in the comfortable world they had created for themselves. It was the first time she realized that Goku was not invincible, that they were not alone, that they were not to be innocent any longer.
He was savaging her best friend, but there was beauty in it. She had known battle all of her life, but his violence was different. Studied, methodological, precise... passionate? Goku fought for the opportunity of a challenge; this Vejita fought for the feeling of destruction.
She watched until her boyfriend was killed, then collapsed into her friends' arms. As she cried, she knew that things would never be the same.
Bulma was terrified.
. . .
Namek was the worst adventure she had partaken in yet. And she had been dragged along on some horrible adventures. She would never tell any of them, but she regretted insisting on coming. She could have taught one of them to fly the ship... perhaps.
She had thought she would never see the Saiya-jin Prince Vejita again, had put his malevolent presence from her mind as best she could. Goku was back from the dead, on his way to save them, back on his pedestal where they needed him. They none of them liked to be reminded that he had nearly been defeated.
Krillen and Gohan had left her alone. She had a definite problem with it, but was trying to not let it show. She was a perfectly self-sufficient woman, and she had her technology to protect her. Why would any of the powerhouses running around take any notice of a power signature as insignificant as hers? She busied herself tinkering with spare parts, trying to create something to aid their cause.
As she deftly fitted parts together, she thought of him – the killer who had shattered their peace, who haunted her dreams.
. . .
He landed not far from where the human sat. He could not see her, but Vejita could sense her, as tiny and weak as she was. He approached slowly, silently. Her sneaky little friends had stolen his dragonballs, this he was certain of, and he was going to get them back at any cost.
She was in the entrance of the cave they were holing up in, leaning against the rock. She was intent on the objects in her hands, muttering to herself. He was going to move to scare her, but he hesitated.
He hated the way she was unabashedly perched outside her hiding place, as if the whole world were hers, as if monsters like him weren't roaming about. He hated the paleness of her skin, which had never endured the elements or abuse, and he hated the silky hair that partially concealed her naïve little face.
He hated her, but it did not make her any less beautiful.
. . .
She hated him, but that did not mean she did not think he was beautiful. Not traditionally handsome, but venomously beautiful, like a villain in a fairy story.
He had been living at Capsule Corp for months, but she had not had much chance to study him. He had been locking himself in the gravity room night and day, and when she did see him it was fleetingly, on the way up to bed or into the kitchen. It was just as well – if he had spoken to her, she would have had nothing productive to say.
When they did speak, they fought, and damn could the man fight. He was no less cunning in verbal combat than he was in physical, a lesson she was learning the hard way. She didn't want to admit why she rose to the occasion; he was looking for a reaction, and she gave it to him, gladly.
She continually reacted, because she wanted to see his face transform in anger and amusement.
He only really showed himself when he was fighting. He was like a statue the rest of the time, emotionless and unreadable. She could only see him when she peeked in the gravity room windows, or was screaming at him about dirty dishes. In those moments, she knew terror, and something perhaps more potent.
Bulma had been numb since their idyllic world was shattered, but at least when she felt that terror, she felt alive.
. . .
In his previous life, he had not been allowed near beauty.
He was always being punished for something, and if he was not, he was steering clear of anything good. He was tainted. He was the harbinger of death, a force of darkness in the universe. What right had the likes of him to beauty? The only beauty he knew was the vibrant glow of ki, the harsh light of an alien moon, the rich color of blood.
Now, on this planet, this frivolous backwater paradise of a planet, he was constantly surrounded by it. Wildflowers, sunsets, serene forests... it was as if he were in a dream he could not wake up from. He should have been grateful, but in reality he was uncomfortable.
He thought about when he had watched his hostess on Namek, before he had used her to ransom the dragonballs back from her cowardly friends. He had thought her innocent then, and she still was relative to someone like him, but she was changing. He saw her watching him, following him with her bright eyes when she thought he wouldn't notice. She was more brooding, quieter, less free with herself, and he knew it was his fault. He was tainting her; he was the snake in the grass of this Eden.
They fought often and explosively, and he would be lying to himself if he said he did not enjoy it. He liked watching her get worked up. He liked seeing her innocence marred with anger. It was an impulse – he had found something beautiful, and now he had to twist it.
He was sitting outside, as far away from her and her friends as he could manage while remaining in the courtyard. He was always on the edge of their group, where everyone would feel wary but somewhat comfortable. Bulma laughed with them, twirling a blade of grass between her fingers. Her blue eyes met his for a short second before she looked away, but he still caught the fear in them.
She was so beautiful, and it terrified him.
. . .
Lady Rhapsody
Another chapter will follow. For followers of "Camouflage", do not worry – I'm working on it.
The opening poem is from Rilke.