I admit it, I'm weak. Here I am with a story to be continuing and I start a new one, I don't want to be this pathetic but I can't help it. I'd rather work on something with an end in sight. Anyway.
While it wont be short, I don't intend for this story to drag on too long. Updates may be sporadic but I'm going to try and dedicate myself to this one. I like the idea, hopefully you will too.
A stout pinkish figure stepped gingerly into the kitchen, blinking in the bright golden glow of dawn as it burst through the open windows. Moving slowly, every noise amplified by the silence of the new day, it pulled open the refrigerator and extracted a glass of milk. Turning, glass held in the crook of one arm, the figure concentrated and was suddenly over six feet tall with spiky black hair and muscled limbs.
Using the sudden increase in height, the figure easily managed to open the top cupboard and pull out a bowl. Closing the door and laying both objects on the kitchen table, ever so slightly, the figure turned and concentrated again; this time reverting back to his stout, pinkish figure. Another cupboard, this one on ground floor, was pulled open to reveal an empty space.
Where a box of cereal should have been.
An empty space.
The figure sighed expressively then, snout twitching in irritation, drew a deep breath and shattered the silence.
"You used the last of the cereal again, didn't you Roshi!"
Deaf to the cries of protest – and muffled explosion of energy – Oolong transformed again and searched for the bread.
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Far from the broken peace of Kame House, deep in the cold expanses of space, a monstrosity approached an unsuspecting space station. Large, ungainly, surrounded by an aura of rust and battered from all sides; the only impressive part of the ship's design was the fact that every square inch that wasn't covered by engines and shielding was encrusted with armaments. Indeed as the Chief of Docking looked out upon it he wasn't sure whether to be afraid or in hysterics.
"Name and registration.." correctly interpreting the silence of the ship, he added the perfunctory "please?"
There was another moment of silence, then a proud – if reedy – voice crackled across the radio.
"My name is Lord Pilaf; I have no registration but I believe these-" all available guns on the ship lit up and focussed on the Chief's workstation, "-speak for themselves."
Making a swift calculation between the amount his own life was worth and the worth of his position in the station, the soon-to-be-former Chief bypassed the security measures and extended an access port.
"Welcome to the Station 2-OY of the galaxy-"
"Save it," snapped the voice of the irate owner of the ship, though in truth he sounded more weary than annoyed, "Just repair it so I can be on my way."
A second deduction revealed to the Chief what honour was worth; he took the offensive alien's advice and kept his mouth shut. As soon as the procedure was over he signed off and, packing what little essentials he had, departed from the Station as quickly as possible. Something about that 'Pilaf' made him want to be as far away as possible. Besides, when the Chief of the Station discovered what he, lowly Chief of Docking, had done, the excrement would really hit the air conditioning.
As the Chief of Docking boarded the next passenger ship, Lord Pilaf was steadily getting himself drunk. Thanks to some freak named Buu the Earth was gone, along with his two loyal servants – he had wanted to take them but there hadn't been enough.. something or other, he forgot what – and the Dragon Balls. Not that they would have been any use; Pilaf had been interested in controlling Earth alone and that was dust now.
Sitting there, half-stuck to some alcohol soaked bar stool in the middle of nowhere out in the dead ends of space, Pilaf reflected that all this came down to one thing. To one person.
This and every blasted thing that had gone wrong in his life was somehow connected to that monkey-tailed, black haired, completely witless little wild boy.
He didn't know how, he didn't know why; but this was all Son Goku's fault.
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This is all Son Goku's fault.
Things had, once, been a lot easier than they were now; or so believed one stout under-appreciated, under-educated, under-foot pig. There had been a palace with dozens of pretty – reasonably attractive at least – loving – when in a good mood – women – kinda – but those days were over. And no matter how he thought about it, he couldn't escape from the impression that it was all Son Goku's fault.
He was the one that had shown him up in front of the town's people, revealing what he was to the whole world. He was the one who had dragged him along on his adventures which – to his mind – had been one long embarrassment. The fact that he had recently saved the world a couple of times couldn't make up for the fact that he had ruined his life.
"Uncle Oolong!"
The pig glanced down from the kitchen table towards the beaming face of Maron; Krillen's only child and the relationship was very obvious. Her small pudgy arms waved at him, fingers that seemed eternally sticky grasping at him to be lifted up.
"Up!"
On an impulse Oolong concentrated, his teeth going from flat and unimpressive to huge and sharp, his eyes beadier, his breath full of angry, demonic pow-
"Up!"
The illusion faded away and Oolong, rolling his eyes, reached down and grasped the child under the arms – lifting her up onto his lap easily enough before awkwardly continuing to eat his burnt toast.
"Mummy 'n daddy sleeping."
"That so?"
Selecting a lighter slice of toast, Oolong bit down on it gingerly then swallowed the whole thing; transforming always made him peckish. Maron chose a much darker piece of toast and bashed it off the side of the table with a distressing clunk.
"Maron hungry?" asked Oolong after extracting the toast before the girl could do any irreparable damage to the furniture.
"Hungry," agreed Maron.
"Wake Mummy and Daddy then."
Oolong could actually hear the pout though he couldn't see it, Maron's stubby arms folded in disgust at her parents' laziness.
"Too sleepy."
He could see where this was going easily enough as the two of them had the same conversation every morning. Krillen and Android 18 were naturally late sleepers – mostly because the two of them had, in their own ways, been very regulated in their risings in earlier life – while Oolong went to bed much earlier and Maron still had the sporadic naps that meant she needed less sleep at night. Still he wouldn't have been himself if he didn't at least try to avoid doing something.
"Wanna try Roshi?"
Maron swivelled around on his lap and glared at Oolong, a glare so much like the one her mother used that he gave a mock yelp – half amused all the while - and gave up his seat in order to make the little girl some toast of her own. He changed twice through the whole ordeal, once to the form of Gohan to get the bread and another time into that of Piccolo, who's gravelly voice commanded the little girl to make a decision between jam and marmalade.
The little girl giggled but apart from that didn't appear bothered by the changes.
Once, reflected Oolong as Maron dug into her meal, I struck fear into the hearts of a whole town. Now I can't even scare one little girl.
Outside of the hour or two that Maron and he spent alone together, Oolong rarely changed his shape at all. He viewed those few hours as a sort of early morning exercise, he hadn't pushed the limits of his abilities for years now. He suspected that, if he wanted to, he could do it just as he had done before. Maybe a little better. What was it the teachers had kept harping on about?
'Transforming is, more than anything else, about understanding that your shape is determined by you and you alone. Get that and you can be anything.'
What a crock.
Sometimes he considered asking Puar about it but dreaded the 'You'd Know This if You Had Stayed In School' lecture that seemed to haunt their every meeting. There was one thing he couldn't blame on Goku, he had left the Academy all by himself. He wasn't even sure why any more..
His musings were disrupted by the clatter and subsequent smash of Maron's plate, her overexcited playing with her leftovers knocking the plate from table to floor. From his seat Oolong finished off his tea, already resigned to his fate, and reluctantly accepted the girl's hug in order to avoid the water works.
Here I am, Oolong thought not five minutes later, on my hands and knees, cleaning up after a girl that isn't even my own, in a house where I don't belong all because I have nowhere else to go. And it's all your fault, Son Goku.
I don't know how you did it, but you ruined my life.