Author: Flotilla
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Characters may be OOC. Now read and review, Flotilla commands you!
***
A very bored Bulma Briefs decided to skim over the science newspaper. No upcoming projects at Capsule Corp. interested her, and the heiress found herself extremely unsatiable. Work held no more joy, not at least now. So here she was, sitting outside on the porch in a wooden swing with revered scientists writing about their work in front of her.
It was an early evening, and the sunlight was soft although it still held an impact for her as she slid on a pair of sleek sunglasses. "I'm so bored…" She sighed, propping her sandaled feet up against the handrail.
"For Dende's sake, what are you doing outside woman?" A voice snapped irritably.
Bulma did not have to wonder who spoke, for the tone itself said volumes. "Oh great… I have the grand Prince of all Saiyans joining me outside." She said sarcastically and rolled her eyes.
Vegeta snorted, appearing from the side of the large Briefs mansion. "I was outside first, woman, looking for your fat ass. Your damn machine has broken itself again."
"EXCUSE ME?! BROKEN ITSELF?! Y-YOU... YOU PRIG!" Bulma practically snarled, spit flying, and got off her seat. The velocity caused the chair to hit her somewhat lightly and she tottered before regaining her balance against the rail. Papers fell, and her glasses became crooked on the bridge of her nose. "How dare you!" She exclaimed, outraged.
The Prince stared at her, a superior smirk on his face. "Perhaps if you had any real mechanic skills, the gravity machine wouldn't be have to be repaired so often," he said coolly.
Bulma turned bright red. "I'll have you know that I won first place in the Regional and National Tech Awards for ten years in a row!"
"Yet you screw up the internationals huh? Must be that gravity." Vegeta retorted.
The blue-haired woman sputtered angrily. There was truth to the cruel words, as the international contest always had to do with space. Constantly, she ended up with third or second, but never first. Never. It was really rather sad, but there was that last little bit of alien coding she did not fully understand. Of course, no one knew or was intrepid enough to travel the galaxies to help her out- save for Vegeta. But that itself was a dream best ignored. "Oh SHUT UP!"
Vegeta smugly folded his arms. "Why should I? This is rather amusing."
"I am not some entertainment!" Bulma screamed.
"Then perhaps you should button your shirt," the Saiyan Prince smirked.
"Wh-?" She looked down and became horrified. Hurriedly, she buttoned up her whole shirt, totally humiliated that Vegeta should see her bra or her chest for that matter. It was more than enough skin she ever dared to bare towards the malicious Saiyan.
Clucking his tongue, Vegeta glanced around. "So. When are you going to get your fat ass repairing the machine? I need to train."
"Training is ALL you do! Don't you have a life?!" Bulma snapped. "Or is that precious gravity machine all you care about, dream about, blah blah?! Well?"
"I'll have you know!"
"Why should I care? For that matter, why should I even bother to if all you do is insult me and gripe?! I deserve some common courtesy and gratitude for postponing more vital matters just to fix up the machine! You should be groveling, you insignificant, stuck-up monkey!!!" Bulma screeched.
This tirade led only to an even more amused smirk on the alien's face. "Woman, you are like those owls that constantly screech in the forest."
"YOU!! Oh my god, I HATE YOU!" Bulma screamed and began to cry. Quicking picking up the fallen papers, she ran inside and left Vegeta, who was quite surprised.
"I didn't really mean it.." he murmured.