It's been twenty or so years since the world's mightiest hero has left the Earth. The aging warriors that are left must now deal with a diminishing saga that is slowly dwindling in number. How will they deal in this brave new world, even now?
The smoky haze of the bar is comfortable now. A blanket made of carcinogens with a bed made of alcohol and forgetfulness. A lit cigarette dangles between two fingers of a tanned hand as dark eyes rove over the cut outs from yellowing pages of past newspapers and media articles.
"Baseball Legend slams another Homer for the Taitians!"
"Eligible Bachelor up for grabs, ladies- is Capsule Heiress making a mistake?"
"Boy from Nowhere becomes Baseball Great!"
He snorts softly as he allows his eyes to travel over each and every article, picking out words, and of course his name. Ice rattles around as he picks up the tumbler, sipping the searing fluid down his throat. He's grown his hair back out again, refusing the cropped and cut off look and preferring the long style of His youth.
His youth.
Damn it all to hell, what happened to it?
He remembers hot days and frigid nights in the desert where he and Puar used to rob and pillage. Hot nights and cool days in West City with her warm body beside him- smelling of strawberries and sex. Azure hair, pale skin, gentle hands with the oddest callouses on her fingers and palms from working on her inventions. He remembers being so in love with her.
Or was it just what she was?
An adventurer like him, wild and carefree?
A wanderer, a nomad not willing to settle down.
Things changed as they always do, and he settled. He gave in to her pokes, her prods, her wheedling, her demands and look where it landed him. He doesn't blame her, however. He blames himself. For giving in, for not standing his ground and for being dazzled by a woman who was, and still is made out of blue fire.
He sighs, pushing away the now-empty tumbler and tossing the necessary funds onto the polished wooden bar top. He nods to the bartender, a short portly man who nods to him back and calls out as the lean warrior departs.
"See ya later, Yamcha."
A two fingered wave is his response, and with that- the man disappears into the deepening shadows of dusk, headed on his way. His hands find their way into the pockets of his blazer, face tucked down against the chilling wind. There's a sharp nip in the air, heralding the onset of winter to the fair city. He never has a destination after his occasional bar-hop, just wandering around the city and seeing where he finds himself. His last big cameo game netted him enough funds to tuck away comfortably, and financial advice and investment help from his ex-girlfriend provided him a sound base.
It may be these thoughts that guide his feet, as three hours go by- and suddenly he finds himself at the gates of the Capsule Corporation Mansion. He won't venture going in, of course- Vegeta is a lot more efficient as a security system than an actual automated version.
That and the short psychotic saiyajin happens to be more than just a little territorial.
Speaking of which...
"Daddy, I don't understand why you won't just let me go." A voice, haughty and hauntingly familiar.
"You know why. I've already told you." Vegeta's voice, deep and raspy with a snarling tone.
"Yeah, and you're just old fashioned and stupid."
Bra, had to be Bra. That girl is the only other woman besides Vegeta's own wife that could speak as brazenly to the volatile saiyajin and not get either killed, or incinerated on the spot. However, he'll admit it wasn't ready for the sudden pop of a hand on flesh- and the subsequent squeal of indignation that followed.
"Daddy! How could you?"
"I already told you once, brat. I'm your father, and don't give me shit. You disrespect me again and I'll pop more than your ass."
The former ball player had to give him that one. The alien may be a former mass-murderer, but he knew how to put a leash on his kids.
"Ooooh. You… you are such a dork, daddy!"
The stomp of a foot is heard, right along with the retreating footsteps back towards the main dome. This let the human fighter know right off hand who had won the fight, and who had won the war. He allows a chuckle to escape, half turning to continue when a secondary voice stops him.
"Hn. I suppose you saw that?"
Even now, as many years that has passed, and as many battles that have been fought together- that cold rasp still has the effect on him. A cold shiver up his spine, coupled with a slow turn on his heel to face the adversary-turned-ally.
"… Kinda hard not to," he admits, shifting his weight to one side unconsciously. "She's a bit loud."
A faint snort, both derisive and amused.
"Takes after her mother in that respect."
The former athlete cannot help the laugh that burbles forth from that, and he allows himself a grin.
"Yeah, well… Bulma always did resort to yelling first, and then getting even second."
The gate trembles a little as the shorter man puts his full weight against it, his back to Yamcha. He's traded the body suit and armor for a pair of worn black jeans, a black button up shirt and a brown belt that is actually his tail. A black pair of calf high combat boots completed the picture of domestic warrior. The tip of the tail is tucked into the back, but from here he can see the faintly irritable twitch. It puts him in mind of a tiger in repose.
"… Hmph. Tell me about it."
A faint sigh, and the saiyajin leans his head back. He stares upwards at the sky with eyes so dark they appear to be black. They're brown, with faintly oval pupils. He'd know, he's stared down the man enough times to have his face memorized. He shifts his weight again, half leaning against the gate as well and takes a quick peek to the sky. He doesn't see anything interesting past the clouds and the slowly burning sunset. Dark brown eyes flit back to the prince, noting now that his eyes have closed and doesn't appear to be going anywhere any time soon.
He swallows after a moment, and finally asks the question that's been eating at him for the past few minutes.
"So… uh. Why aren't you threatening me, or… y'know, trying to reach my throat through the gate?"
"Have you tried to hit on my wife?"
"Well… no."
"Or my daughter?"
"Vegeta! What? God, no!"
"Then I don't see any reason to pursue you and waste my time and energy."
The former bandit blinks at this, obviously caught off guard. It was the last response he was expecting. Still, it's also a testament to how much the other male has mellowed out in the past … twenty or so years now. It also reminds him that neither him nor Bulma are getting younger. The saiyajin in front of him, however, hasn't appeared to age a day since he arrived. He's gained a little height. The residual effects from the machine that helped both the prince and last remaining saiyajin defeat the corrupted dragons, also allowed the older man to retain some of his youthful traits. The tail, for one- and if the rumor mill could be believed… the stamina and libido. He just snorts softly at that last thought, allowing the oddly companionable silence to fall between them again. The only sounds now are the city around them, murmur of voices, the soft hum of low-level life energy that thrums through humanity.
"You should visit her."
The gate rattles as he literally falls to one side, surprised not so much by the voice- but by the words.
"Wa-ah… what?"
"… Are you deaf, or stupid?"
Ah, there it is- the question tempered by an insult. That is something he's a little more used to.
"Well… n-neither, but… did I hear you right?"
The human warrior blinks quietly as the saiyajin monarch brings a glove clad hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritated consternation. He huffs softly, then drops his hand- eyes slitting open. He repeats himself slowly.
"You. Should. Visit. The Woman."
"I-I got you, Vegeta. I just.. d-didn't expect it."
A grunt is his only response as the other man pushes up from the gate and walks over to the keypad. The bandit doesn't even see his hand move, but in less than a breath- the gates are parting and the way is clear to the main dome. Vegeta's eyes are on him as well, challenging him to take that step into the yard- measuring him to see if he's man enough to step into his territory.
It feels like the first time in the desert, where he taught himself how fight and intimidate.
How to survive.
A cold shiver of fear travels up his spine, dancing about his chest, but he refuses to be made of the past.
The strongest remaining human warrior sucks in a breath, looks forward.
And takes a step.
Then another.
He turns to stay something to the saiyajin, a snarky comeback or some insult he'd had brewing on the tip of his tongue, but finds it gone. Time seems to stretch, to slow and to hold in for a moment like a freeze frame image.
The saiyajin is watching him, arms crossed.
The barest flicker of respect flitting across his eyes, just before it… and he disappears.
Yamcha shakes his head, turning to head back towards the dome.
He feels as if he's passed some test, some rite of passage.
He doesn't understand why this should seem so important, but it does- and even as he enters her lab, taking her cheerful smile and the arms around his neck and shoulders. He doesn't understand half of what she's talking about, taking in her presence and the animated air she has about her. For a woman in her sixties, nearing her seventies- she still looks surprisingly good for her age. He can still appreciate her legs and her ass, and giving her the compliment that makes her teeter like a girl all over again.
He tells her of the odd conversation with Vegeta, and she smiles at him- shrugging it off.
"I don't understand half of what he does, or what he says. Vegeta is like climate, where as Goku is like a force of nature. Vegeta sticks around, and eventually you learn predictable patterns. What he'll say or where he'll go. Occasionally, he'll surprise you. Goku though?"
Here, she shakes her head.
"… A force of nature, that one. Strong, wild and unpredictable. Funny, isn't it? Goku used to be the one we depended on to always be there, and now that's Vegeta."
He has to agree with that. Goku was always one of his staunchest companions. He remembers helping search for the dragonballs, now a sore subject due to Goku's disappearance and Shen Lon's warning. A subject of fond memory, and now of fancy since they no longer exist on this planet. Their talk lasted longer than he thought it would as they moved from one room to another. Now and again, as they walked- he'd see flashes of the Prince. Only glances, nothing solid. He glances over to Bulma as they walk, waiting to see if she notices as well.
She only smiles enigmatically, reaching out to brush empty air now and again as if reassuring.
Oddly enough, it reassures him as well.
It feels like acceptance, and maybe a bit of grudging admittance.
He may not be blood family, but the Prince has accepted his presence because it makes Bulma happy.
For an old dog, that's not a bad trade off.