~Gala~
The meat was tender, hot juices bleeding into his mouth. Vegeta wasn't especially choosey when it came to food, but he had to admit Earth knew its cuisine. The chicken skin crackled, cooked to perfection, seasoned with a sauce that burst with pleasing flavor. He hungrily eyed the oven where Panchy was pulling out another similarly roast bird.
She caught his look. "Sorry, sweety. This one is for the party."
Party? Ah, so that explained why Panchy was dolled up a little more lavishly than usual, and why there were a lot more people buzzing about the complex. Pests. More bodies meant more security risk. Not that the Briefs seemed to care for such things but for Vegeta, old habits died hard. He had glowered and snarled at each worker until the temporary staff learned to birth a wide radius around him. Still, if putting up with them meant he could reap some tasty benefits, then maybe it wasn't all so bad.
"You're coming, aren't you Vegeta honey?"
The only parties Vegeta had much experience with were the galas Frieza threw, horrible things filled with brown-nosing sycophants and a bout or two of torture on some wretched soul that had displeased his Sliminess. Too well Vegeta remembered the sting of laughter as he was whipped for Frieza's entertainment. Not even glazed meat could tempt him to voluntarily endure that again.
"No."
"Mom!"
Vegeta and Panchy looked over to the doorway. It took him a few seconds to recognize who the woman was.
She was swathed in a navy gown that dripped over her porcelain curves like honey. It was cut deeply too, showing off ample cleaving and the entirety of each voluptuous leg as she walked. Even more stunning was the cape she wore, made entirely of gold-dusted feathers. Her hair had been tamed from its wild curls into a smooth elaborate braid that wrapped neatly about the back of her hair, little glittering pearls and diamonds sparkling amongst her teal tresses. Bulma…
She looks like a queen.
The thought hit him as powerfully as a ki wave. He couldn't help staring, his meal all but forgotten.
"Where are the caterers I hired?" Bulma tsked as she breezed into the kitchen to rescue her mother. "You shouldn't be doing this. You'll get your dress dirty."
Panchy just tittered. "Oh Bulma, you know I love doing this myself. My, don't you look a treat. Is Yamcha coming?"
"Only if he wants my stiletto up his ass." Bulma snapped, her ruby-red lips curling up with distaste at the man's name.
Holy shit. Beautiful and fiery.
She was perfect.
Blue eyes dancing with electric fire turned on him and narrowed. Her manicured fingers drummed against the jut of her hip. "And you. I hope you don't intend on coming in that."
Vegeta rarely felt self conscious in his training shorts, but he found himself feeling so now. What the fuck did she want him to say? The only respectable outfit he owned was half beat-up from several near-death experiences.
Bulma appeared to come to the same conclusion, and she let out an aggravated sigh. "I'll have someone send a suit to your room. Please change before the guests arrive." With that she turned her attention back to her mother, dismissing him as though he couldn't annihilate her entire race on a whim. Bulma forcibly removed Panchy from the kitchen and left him alone with his half eaten bird.
Now what? He could finish his meal, slink off to the GR and ignore this whole fiasco for the night. Or, he could put on some ridiculous outfit and endure hours of horrendous small talk and shoulder rubbing, just for a chance to watch Bulma crush self-aggrandized simpletons under her royal heel.
It was an easy choice. Vegeta dropped his chicken and headed up to his room to snatch a suit out of a cowering attendant's hands.
~xo0xo~
AN: For Doakes88 who requested: Bulma getting ready for some gala before they're together and he notices how regal she looks.
