Vegeta tugged at the high neck of his ceremonial armor, the black fabric chaffing his skin from little use. His fiery red breast plate gleamed in the bright light of the ballroom, the seal of the royal house of Vegeta-sei emblazoned over his heart. His favorite black cloak, interwoven with silvery threads, was draped over his massive shoulder pads.
He tried not to show any discomfort on his face as he gently rotated his shoulder in its socket. Every move the muscle made sent screams of pain rocketing up his neck, straight to his head, which now housed an ache that had gone from mild to uncontrollably throbbing within the last half hour.
It was as if some sort of biting insect had left a throbbing welt underneath his armor. The urge to scratch was almost unbearable. But he stood in a ballroom full of foreign dignitaries, a representative of the Cold Empire, forced to swelter and itch without any source of relief. Frieza sat, rampant on his floating chair, simpering dignitaries flocking to his side. Per his station, Vegeta stood on the lizard's left, behind Jeiyce and Recoome of the Ginyu Force.
Jeiyce fidgeted like a girl with his hair, and Vegeta couldn't help but notice the infatuation that washed over Recoome's face every time the red and white skinned alien fluffed his platinum mane of hair. Fucking freaks. The big one had the brains of an intergalactic roach and the smaller the libido of a Cenatarian bull. No wonder they were attracted to one another. At least the universe had done itself a small favor by making sure the two couldn't create progeny biologically.
A commotion at the doorway signaled the arrival of the Chikyuu-jin delegation. Preoccupied with his shoulder, Vegeta barely took notice of the petite, elegant woman that glided from the massive open doors to the throne dais, extending one porcelain white hand to Lord Frieza. The lizard raised the soft skin to his mouth and humored the human delegate with a soft kiss.
She turned and walked diagonally away from Frieza, a massive weight of softly curling locks cascading down her bare back to her buttocks. The vibrant blue color of her hair was enough to distract Vegeta from his inner musings, and he narrowed his eyes towards her as she passed him, her fragrant odor like a balm on his soul.
Who was she?
Two burly humanoid warriors accompanied her. One was the vibrant green color of the Namekian people, his power level dormant, but potentially enough that he could have gone toe to toe with Frieza in his first, untransformed level. Her other escort looked almost Saiyan in appearance, a massive scar cutting his face, wild spiky black hair hanging in a pony tail past his ribcage.
Compared to Vegeta, both were weaklings. Although, if his shoulder didn't stop aching it was possible that either of the two could easily take him in a fight.
Scowling even deeper, Vegeta glared invisible daggers at Frieza, who was laughing gaily at something Dodoria had murmured into his ear.
Gods, Vegeta hated cotillions. Whether it was the absolute moronic behavior of Frieza's coven or the ridiculous vomit-inducing fawning that those wishing to gain favor with the Cold Empire spewed upon meeting the lizard, the entire atmosphere reduced his control to an angry hairsbreadth, ready to snap at any moment.
Frieza stood, sweeping his ceremonial fur cape over his shoulders to trail behind him, a train of white pelts from the Cold Empire's home planet. Vegeta sighed in relief. Once Frieza left his dais, his soldiers were free to do as they wished.
Following protocol, Vegeta waited, loathsome, as Jeiyce and Recoome left in front of him. Satisfied that he would not unintentionally offend someone - not that he gave two damns about whether he did or did not - Vegeta strode masterfully towards his own people, sequestered away from the dithering crowds now swarming, attempting to touch the damnable beast that swept towards the refreshments table.
Catching his mother's hand, Vegeta squeezed her fingertips gently, wincing as the simple motion sent fiery waves of agony rushing up his arm, settling in the festering shoulder.
"Are you alright, my son?" Celere asked, poorly hidden worry evident in narrowing of her eyes and the arch of her brow. Vegeta couldn't help but admire the fine gold ornaments woven into her spiky hair, the one-shouldered gown she wore spilling around her in a burgundy torrent to pool on the floor in waves of silk. A thick arm cuff bearing the insignia of the House of Vegetasei adorned her upper arm, her regent's ring prominent on the third finger of her left hand. Zarbon had done very well dressing his mother.
"Nothing a little time in a regen tank won't fix, I assure you. You look lovely," Vegeta replied, offering her arm and leading her towards her guards, Bardock and Radditz, who hovered like intimidating dark shadows only a few feet away from the Queen in either direction.
"Your shoulder?" Bardock rumbled, lifting a brow quizzically, "It shouldn't be bothering you after two days in the tank not even twenty-four hours ago."
"Perhaps something residual, then?" Radditz asked, snagging a plate of food from one of the many wandering slaves serving meals and offering it to the Queen and Prince.
Vegeta's stomach rolled at the sight of the simple bread, cheese, and wine displayed before him. Grimacing and trying not to reveal his discomfort, Vegeta reached forward and deftly snatched a roll, handing it to his mother.
Celere beamed as she sank her teeth delicately into a fluffy bite of the croissant, her lips beaming upwards into a delighted smile, "The center is sweet," she explained. Her pleasure at obtaining such a rare treat made Vegeta's heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest. His mother was of the great house of Bracyla, her blood was that of thousands of elites who had come before her. She did not deserve to be treated as some sort of ornament in Frieza's court, dying slowly due to lack of medical care and proper nutrition.
She was a Queen. She deserved to be treated as such.
A growl rumbled from Vegeta's chest as Nappa approached, Zarbon trailing silently after him. The cotillion had moved to the dance floor, a clear sign that the Saiyan delegation's presence was no longer required for propriety's sake. The small party melted into the gloom of the many surrounding antechambers, removing themselves to their quarters some three levels above.
After clearing the room with a super-sensory sweep, the Queen slunk towards her chambers, Vegeta following, as the others unceremoniously left the main room of their suite, bits and pieces of ceremonial regalia clattering to the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs. Zarbon rolled his eyes and began picking up the bits and pieces, piling them all on the center table. The quarters provided to the Saiyans had not been selected by Frieza. Instead, they were courtesy of their host world, Emerahld, which had once been a valued trading partner of the Saiyan-jin Empire. They were kind to provide these weary warriors with lavish accoutrements for the duration of their stay.
One by one, the Saiyans returned to the main room. Bardock had abandoned his full armor for a loose pair of black shorts. Radditz, on the other hand, had tugged on a pair of bikini style training briefs, hardly enough fabric to cover the giant Saiyan's assets, leaving him practically naked as he sprawled across a leather chaise settled in the corner. Nappa returned, wearing shorts as well, followed shortly by Celere, who had tugged on a large tunic made of soft jersey weave that fell past her knees. She curled up in a chair next to the fireplace, settling her head upon her bent arm.
Vegeta was the last to return. He too, like his men, had also participated in their general disregard for a clothed state. Unlike the rest, Vegeta did not seem particularly healthy or well-rested. Instead, the normally surly, temperamental Prince sank into a leather, high-backed chair. He winced visibly when the skin of his shoulder encountered the leather, leaping up and presenting his back to the group as he moved to another, backless chair. Zarbon snarled angrily at the sight presented to the group. Vegeta's shoulder had a large, pustule growing beneath one of the fresh, pink scars from Frieza's nails. Dark blue veins crept away from it, crawling up his shoulder and down onto his bicep in one direction, and in the other, spreading gradually from his shoulder blade towards his spine.
"Holy shit, Ouji-sama," Nappa's voice was thick with anger, "What the fuck is going on with your back?"
"Leave it, Nappa," Vegeta snarled, baring his teeth at the older warrior. He walked towards a nearby cabinet, kicking it open to reveal training bandages. Sitting on the floor, Vegeta began methodically tearing them into strips, then wrapping them tenderly around his ribs and shoulder, "Speak, Zarbon!"
Zarbon shuddered as the infected area disappeared underneath the bandaging, then began to speak, "Goku will be arriving at Redzin within the hour. The Princess will not be in attendance, which means that he most likely will be there to enjoy himself, as well as escort her entourage."
The Queen nodded, her lips clenched tightly, "Will he meet with us as you presume, or is this some fool's errand?" she asked, her tone terse and calculating.
"Goku, as I said, owes me a favor. He is not renowned for being cruel, an audience is the least he can arrange," Zarbon replied, firmly.
"An audience?" Bardock asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "I did not think this 'Goku' so important that we had to request audience with him."
"Not an audience with him, persay, but with his mistress," Zarbon said, smiling wanly, "The Princess of Chikyuu-sei."