It had been made apparent to him, once, that he was not what one would consider "graceful."

His knuckles, already worn and calloused from training relentlessly, strained against the soft cloth of his bed sheets. He tugged sharply and the covers fell from the mattress in a billowing sprawl, pooling in a mess at his feet.

He wasn't "stealthy."

The sheets were flung awkwardly from his hands and snagged tightly in the middle, where he draped them over his shoulder with a nod. He wasn't very tall, either, and thus most of the sheets remained on the smooth sandstone of his bedroom floor, but it would do for transport. He gathered his pillow and a few pairs of his pajamas, wrapped them in his comforter, and set off to execute his plans with the bundle slung awkwardly across his other shoulder.

He'd show them. He'd show them all.

It was a short walk to the kitchen, but he was handicapped with his gentle burden, and it took him a bit more time than he would have admitted to make it to his desired area. Surveying the spotless room, he considered very seriously the consequences of selecting the incorrect location. A bit of math in his head revealed that the kitchen table would be ideal, and without further ado, he set off to work. It would take little more than an hour, he figured, to complete his masterpiece, and then he would wait.

And then, at the right moment, he would go for the kill.

First, however, he maneuvered his tiny form to a dark spot behind his father's chair. There were a few notches taken from the worn wooden legs, but they were quickly covered when tight fists formed around the chair limbs. With a grunt, he pushed the chair to the corner of the small square table, and then pulled it a small distance from the table's edge. His palms were sweating with anticipation of a plan so great, so flawless, and he wiped them on his bare thighs as he stepped back to supervise his progress.

It was going well.

He pushed and shoved the other three chairs into line with the first, cursing his small stature. If he were as tall as his father, this would have been no problem, but as it was he was hardly as tall as the chairs themselves. Relentless, he persevered, gathering his bedclothes from where he had abandoned them.

It's a hefty climb to a table top, when one's feet are encased in furls of soft cloth.

Putting his hands on his hips, he sighed deeply before getting to work. He quickly distinguished his pillow among the folds and sentenced it once more to the floor below. His comforter, however, he spread out across the table so that it could drip over the sides in a thick, creamy waterfall. His tail smoothed over the delicious cloth for a moment, sending comforting tingles throughout his body, and he shivered.

He had to finish this. He'd come too far to quit.

His sheet, crumpled underneath the mattress, found its way to daylight as he wrestled it from its prison. Flaring it roughly, he pulled half of it onto the tabletop as well, smoothing the edges so that they blended with the comforter. The rest of the sheet dangled innocently over the backs of the chairs, wavering a mere inch above the floor below him.

He dusted his hands needlessly, and then attempted to hover to the ground, wobbling uncertainly overtop his new white fortress. His feet touched ground once more, and his lips split into a wide smirk.

It was time.

He knew that his father would be home quite soon, and so he gathered his pillow into his arms and dove under the white bedclothes. It was his castle now, shadowy and sinister, and he was assured that between the thick, creamy comforter, the finely woven sheet, and the confusing mass of chair legs, his kingdom was also completely impenetrable. He smoothed the pillow onto the ground, and then lay, resting his chin on the padding. He could just see out of the gap the sheet allowed, and it made his blood sing with triumph. His plan was flawless.

He rested his hands atop his head, tail wagging in impatience, as he waited for his father to arrive. It would be any second that his hulking tower of a dad walked through the door, glistening with sweat and blood from his day's workout. He'd glow with power and dominance, his tail tightly kept around his rippled waist, and he'd prowl as if he were light as air to the kitchen table to begin his evening meal.

But tonight was no ordinary night!

Nay, tonight his untimely demise was awaiting him in his own home. Stealthy! Graceful! Slinking in the shadows beneath the man's own furniture, he was intelligence embodied. He'd wait, quietly, until he saw the green-tipped boots approach the table, and then he'd strike—lightning fast power from the recesses of his fortress. He'd have his hands as claws sunk into his father's thick shoulders, his teeth like fearsome canines at the vulnerable, pulsing jugular inside the man's powerful neck. He'd let out a mighty roar as he tore the flesh away from bone, as he showed the world just how "graceful" he could be. Just as he struck, his father would call out—

"Radditz?"

He opened his eyes.

"R—"

His enemy had sighted him! He had to act fast. Using one fist to rub the sleep from his eyes, he propelled himself from his castle with his feet, snarling as menacingly as he could. He hadn't stopped to locate his enemy, however, and instead of sinking his teeth into soft, supple flesh, he bit down on plated armor. His forehead hit a broad chest hard, and he sunk to the floor. Rubbing his other eye now, and not to be deterred, he began to gnaw instead on a muscled calf, punching a booted foot relentlessly. He was convinced he could feel his enemy begin to surrender, but really, he was just being picked up.

"Radditz, what…?" The voice, normally so gruff and commanding, was bemused and somewhat gentle. "What are you doing?"

Refusing defeat, white teeth set into a meaty forearm with renewed vigor, and a child's voice growled out, "I'm being graceful. And stealthy." The consonants were thick and muted through the rippling limb.

"I—" there was a pause, and he shook his arm free, "I'm not sure I even know what to say here." Bardock gathered the bedclothes from his table and his son in his other arm. He chuckled as he felt Radditz begin to chew on him once more while he walked down the hallway to a small bedroom. "Though, I must admit, it was an interesting plan." He deposited his son onto the floor and made the bed quickly, then dropped the young predator unceremoniously into bed. "Get some sleep, son."

Radditz curled underneath his comforter, dejected.

Plan A was a failure.

However, he was not yet finished…