The Saiyan stood proudly before her, hands on his hips. His tail swished impatiently. "Well?" he demanded, unable to read the appraising look in the woman's eyes. She kept him ignorant to her intentions for now, and it infuriated him.

She uncrossed her legs and stood, circling him and inspecting him from head to toe.

"He'll do," she sighed to his handler, her tone bored like this was a task on her to-do list alongside repairing her hoverjet or doing the laundry.

"Excuse me? I'll do? Do you not know who I am?" Vegeta asked, indignant, before his collar let out a small electric shock and his handler glared at him darkly.

Of course the woman knew who he was. The title "Prince of all Saiyans" was why he fetched such a high price compared to other former nobility. In fact, that title had cost her nearly half of her project budget for this purchase. The only reason he wasn't going to cost her firstborn as well was, as his dossier put it, his 'untameable and flippant attitude toward his superiors and owners.'

She gripped his tail in her hand and he hissed and tried to pull away. Paying him no heed, she ran her fingers down its length to the very tip, surprised at its silky texture. She had been expecting coarse, thick fur, like that of an ape. Saiyans were known as the monkey race, after all.

He shivered as she massaged the end of his tail between her thumb and forefinger before letting go.

"Yes," she said, finally addressing him directly. "You'll do."

She turned to his handler, a mean-looking brute of a lizard-alien.

"I'll take him."

The handler nodded silently and handed her the transfer documents on a tablet. Once she had entered her credentials and the transfer was approved, she turned toward her new acquisition.

"Follow me, Prince Vegeta. We have an appointment in my bedchamber."

"Straight to the chase, I see," the young Prince muttered as he followed his new Mistress down the hallway.

Upon reaching her chambers, she motioned for him to go first. Once inside, she closed the door quietly behind them.

Vegeta heaved a sigh and looked toward her. Something about her human face - at least, he was pretty sure she was a Human - seemed almost kind. But Vegeta second-guessed himself.

Was that kindness on her face? Well, whatever the hell it was, it made some of the tension dissipate from his shoulders. And it was weird.

"How would you like me?" He asked as he moved to disrobe.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, head quizzically turned to the side. "What do you mean?"

"How would you like me?" He repeated. "Clothes on? Off? Is there an outfit you demand I wear for your perverse enjoyment?"

"Oh," she said, ignoring his bitter tone. "Are those clothes yours?" She asked, indicating his simple shirt and loose pants, which were held to his hips with a rope belt.

"Yup," Vegeta said, insolently enunciating the 'p' with a loud pop and ignoring the discomfort of her pitying scrutiny.

"It's all I've owned ever since that lizard bastard Frieza sold me because I was useless to him as a lackey."

"Then I'll get you some proper clothes," she said. "But it'll have to be tomorrow morning, if that's okay."

Vegeta looked up at her sharply. "Did you just ask me if that was okay? You do realize you own me, right?" he asked.

But hey, if the broad didn't know the first thing about owning a slave, why should he be the one to educate her? If she gave him this small freedom of being asked his preferences, he'd take it.

"Yeah. Well, is it okay?" she asked.

Vegeta blinked at her and then shrugged.

"Yeah, that's fine. Whatever."

He had no idea what her angle was. Was he to be some sort of sex slave? A weird pseudo-butler? Arm candy? He'd been all three and more in the past several years.

She smiled gently. "Okay, great. I'm afraid all our other quarters are currently unavailable, but the master's chambers are empty for the time being so you can sleep there tonight."

She led him to his sleeping arrangements, giving him directions as they walked.

"There's a bathroom, some extra towels, and nightclothes. The door locks for privacy, too."

What the hell kinda backwards planet is this?

Vegeta stared at the mirror. His pajamas were clean and loose-fitting, he had his own toothbrush, and he had a huge bed. All to himself.

What.

The.

Hell.

It was almost like these past ten years had been one long terrible dream. But he knew that wasn't the case; some days it was hard to separate the bad dream from the living nightmare.

Staring into the mirror, Vegeta got the first good look at himself in eons. His eyes were gaunt, hollow in their expression, and they stared back at him from a face that looked far older than his 19 years. His stomach growled, reminding him that the woman had promised a late dinner after noting that he looked a little skinny.

It was embarrassing. And true. He prodded at his sides for a good five minutes once left alone, disappointed that he wasn't nearly as beefy as a Saiyan of his age and rank should be.

Upon exiting into the common area between the two chambers, Vegeta was expecting a small plate of leftovers, maybe a cup of water if he was lucky. What he got was his mistress in her pajamas, a full three-course meal, and a glass of wine. She raised her own glass as he entered and motioned for him to sit down.

"Bon appetit," she said.

"Wassat mean?" Vegeta asked in confusion. His mouth was already stuffed full of the first bite because manners can go to hell, and it was delicious.

"It means 'enjoy your meal' in one of earth's languages," she informed him.

Vegeta swallowed. That first bite was like heaven; the abundance of flavors and the fact that it was fresh and warm made his mouth water for more. He dug into the rest of his meal, wolfing it down before the woman was finished even a quarter of her plate.

"I guess they really didn't feed you too well, huh?" she asked sympathetically once he finished his meal.

Vegeta shook his head as he picked up his wine and washed down his dinner with a large, unseemly gulp, followed by a belch.

"Um, excuse me," he said as an afterthought, cheeks warming. His mistress was a lady, after all.

She laughed.

"You're lucky we don't follow the typical rules of propriety in this house," she said, a smirk lifting the corner of her mouth, and let out a belch of her own that rivalled his in vulgarity.

Once they finished dessert (he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had such a delicacy), his mistress stood.

"Well," she said, hands on her hips. "I guess it's time for bed. I'll see you tomorrow morning and we can go over the logistics of what I need you to do."

Instinctively, Vegeta followed her to the door of her chambers. He stopped short when she turned to look at him and cocked her head to the side. "Yours is that way," she said, pointing a slender, pale finger over his shoulder.

"Oh, you don't want me to…?" Vegeta began, before realizing, no, of course she didn't.

She had some other weird-ass task in mind for him that he got to find out tomorrow. He wasn't sure if he should feel dread or relief.

"To what?" she asked, prompting him out of his thoughts.

"To, you know, come to bed with you."

The mortification of being treated in that way had long since worn off for the young prince, but now he could feel the blush of shame rising to his cheeks.

"It's what people like you usually want," he added quietly, unable to muster his usual venom and unable to look away.

"People like me?"

There was a mild touch of offense in her voice, but there was curiosity, too.

"Tch. You know. Wealthy. Beautiful. Sometimes not so much, so I guess I'm lucky this time around-"

"I think you misunderstand," she said, cutting him off. "That's not the reason I made the purchase. For now, get a good night's rest. We have work to do in the morning."

Vegeta turned away to walk in baffled silence to his room. Just as he reached the door, an explosion rocked the house, hurling him violently to the floor.