Here is the first chapter! Please send reviews! Is there anything you like? Don't like? Tell me! Don't worry, it will get more exciting. This is just a base . . .

YES!! I OWN DBZ!! EVERYTHING IS MINE!!!

No, no I don't. Please don't sue.

The time is one year after the visit of future Trunks.

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"Bye, Yamcha!" Bulma waved. "Call me!" After waving again at the receding headlights, she closed the door and slumped against it. "Whew! I'm beat! That much dancing can really wear a girl out." Bulma flapped her shirt. "Oh!" She smiled sheepishly to herself. "You can really work up a sweat, too—better go take a shower." As the woman headed toward her room, she noticed a sliver of light under the kitchen door. It was almost three in the morning—her parents would have already gone to bed. Though more curious than scared, she picked up a hall lamp and cautiously crept towards the door.

Horrible grunting and slurping noises came from the room, reminding Bulma of a ravenous bear. She relaxed and placed the lamp on the dining room table. "Pig! He's at it again! Let's see if I can catch him in the act!" With finesse one might not have thought she had, Bulma crept closer to the door and began to open it just a crack. "Yes!" she whispered to herself, and flung it open.

"Aha!" Bulma shouted. "Vegeta, WHAT have I told you about eating directly out of the refrigerator? Don't you have any manners? Look at yourself! You're disgusting!"

Vegeta started and instinctively sent an energy wave at the source of his surprise. Bulma screamed and he managed to divert it just in time—it only singed her hair.

"Woman! What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that! Next time, I'll make sure it hits you!" He meant to scare her, but the effect of his fury was somewhat dampened by the natto he had spilled all over his front.

"You wouldn't. Dad would shut down the gravity room, and then where would you be?" Bulma grumbled. She stood up and examined the annihilated door behind her. "That the third one you've destroyed this month;" she said disapprovingly. "Can't you relax for a second?"

Vegeta laughed. "A true warrior is always on his guard! Always ready to defend himself against his enemies if they should ever—"

"Oh, shut up." She rolled her eyes. What a moron. "I'm in a good mood and I don't need you it anymore than you already have." She spun around and began to walk out—then stopped to look back at Vegeta, focusing on the mess of food on his clothes. "Tch. Clean yourself up before you go to bed—wouldn't want the sheets to get dirty."

Veins bulged out of the Saiyan's forehead. Gritting his teeth, he fought back the urge to melt the fridge behind him. Can't she see who she's talking to? He strode after her to find her starting up the stairs. "I am a Saiyan Prince!!! I will not be talked to like a child!"

"If you're such a great prince, then why are you living in my house? Where's your palace? And your servants? And the queen, huh? I bet you've never even been out on a date . . ." Bulma smirked.

"I have no need for such things! There is food, a bed, a servant girl, and a training room here—that is all I need! And as for queens and dates—using up my valuable time to go to some snotty restaurant to pay to wait half and hour to be served low-class food, while all that time expected to make pleasant" – he growled this word out in disgust—"conversation with some whiny, emotional woman! What is the point?" A triumphant smile spread across his face, but quickly faded at Bulma's incredulous look.

"Poor boy! You really have never been taken out!" A glint came to her eye. "Well, fear not!" she cried, striking a heroic pose, her fist upraised. "Bulma will save you from the life of a social outcast!" She moved toward him. Vegeta blinked at the finger pointed at his nose. "Tomorrow, I shall take you on—A DATE!"

"WHAT?" He pushed her hand away from him. "I refuse! I will not be ordered by some low-class weakling human female to follow her tail wherever she wishes me to go—"

Bulma winked. "Too late. Tomorrow is a Saturday night and Yamcha is busy! We'll go eat. Oh, I know just the place . . ." The woman clapped her hands in delight. The "servant girl" remark had really pissed her off, and she thought this would be the perfect way to humiliate Vegeta without him suspecting her true motives. I'll crop him down a few notches! Take him to one of the fanciest restaurants in town and watch him make a fool of himself with his manners—I bet he can't even tell a dessert fork from a salad fork. Some prince he is! Hopefully, they'll ask him to leave… Noticing the ball of energy gathering at Vegeta's fist, she snapped her fingers in his face. "Oh, and don't think of locking yourself that training room—Dad's going to be upgrading it tomorrow night to give it the 500-g capability you were asking for. And if you think of staying home and just watching TV—well, we wouldn't want an accident to happen to your lovely playpen, would we?" Giggling, she ran up the stairs.

"You DARE threaten me?" Vegeta screamed. He was answered by the sound of a slamming door.