A/N... Here's the next chapter. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too too long.
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ.
Enjoy!
Bulma passed her pen from knuckle to knuckle as she carefully mapped out the activities for the respected days of the trip. It wasn't an easy task. The heiress knew with powerful friends the courses and activities she'd plan would barely serve as a challenge. Sooner the trip would become dull and unbearably boring if she'd stuck to the cliche races. She needed something even a saiyan would find impossible to do. And with Vegeta on board—"Mr. I rather train all day" — he wouldn't allow their son to partake in senseless human activities.
"Maybe a few spars," the heiress mused, but then as quickly as she wrote it erased the idea. There was no way she'd allow any forms of fighting happen on her vacation. If anything happened they'd be banned, or worse, people could get hurt and sue. She didn't need that sort of bad publicity.
After an hour of idly sitting on her chair scrimmaging little notes, the heiress grew bored and irritated. Bulma never thought planning would be far challenging than getting her stubborn husband on-board. She brought her gaze back to the clock, resolving that planning for a saiyan was futile, and letting things unfold spontaneously was the better option. The chair skidded back as she stood up. The place was calm. The only audible sound was the sound of the bots she had ordered to repair the damages she and Vegeta had done last night.
Since that night, the silver orb had since inhabited the dusky inside of the coffer. Although a fun, risky twist, it caused too much destruction and noise. Poor Trunks escaped the house in a start. The boy was absolutely startled. So much so, he ran for the hills, or rather the house on the hills-the Sons house.
"Bra." Bulma slipped into the toddler's dimly lit room. It was time for breakfast. "Come here baby." She stretched her hands out to her daughter. Bra's face lit up, and with impeccable balance and agility for a two year old, jumped into her mother's arms. Bulma cooed affectionately as she rubbed faces with her toddler daughter. With their faces still pressed together, Bulma asked, "how did my little girl sleep last night?" Bulma was hopeful the little girl actually did sleep considering the storm erupting from her and Vegeta's room. The two made their way to the kitchen. Playfully, Bulma bounced the small girl in her arms while humming an unknown melody.
The kitchen was unusually bare and quiet. Usually, Bulma's mother would overtake the kitchen with her sweet humming, concocting little tiny deserts to serenade any impromptu guests with. If not her mother occupying the kitchen, her father would overtake the large wooden breakfast table. Tinkering with a few last model gadgets. He'd have a steaming cup of Joe, and Scratch the black cat beside him. Ever so often, when anyone would walk in, he'd keep his gaze staunchly on the gadget he was working on and greet them without a moments glance. The empty kitchen stirred something within Bulma. Just as her son had abandoned deck after hearing the distance cries of her and Vegeta's memorable night, her parent's might have done the same. Bulma's face reddened at the thought.
"Strawberries." Bra pointed to a bowl of washed berries. Her enunciation was remarkable. Proud of her daughter's growing mind and vocabulary, Bulma placed a kiss on her daughter's round cheeks. She sat Bra on her high chair and went to fetch the strawberries.
"Anything for you princess," Bulma crooned. She took the bowl and placed it in front of her daughter. Normally the little girl would cheer, but this time the small girl stared blankly at the bowl. Bulma stopped in her tracks, confused at the less than enthused expression on her daughter's face. "What is it, Bra?"
"Trunks?" The little girl let out. Even at her age, Bra was aware of her surroundings. She had grown accustom to her older brother's presence at the kitchen table. Though, it was hard to forget the boy's usual morning breakfast antics? Trunks was hardly the type to sit still and eat his meal. He'd either ruffle his baby sister's nerves by stealing food from her bowl, or barricade his parent's with questions to which his father would only reply in threats or insults.
Bulma sighed and went to her daughter, she stroked Bra's baby soft cheeks with the back of her four fingers, "He'll be home later...He's with Goten." The little girl's mood still seemed dampened by her brother's absence. Bulma frowned and decided the best way in cheering up the little girl was to offer up some more sweets. Normally the idea of invoking her kids into a potential sugar high would be categorized in the "Never do it" category, but the pouting look her daughter was giving her went through her like silver bullets.
"How about some chocolate syrup and whip cream on those strawberries?" The little girl's face lit up. Bulma with a light smile shook her head slowly, "Oh Bra. If I hadn't known you planned this all along, didn't you?" She ruffled the little girls long blue locks, "brains like your mommy." Bulma turned her back and walked to the fridge. A loud contenting screech from her daughter prompted a quick turn. She turned to see Vegeta. He was dressed in sweats for training. Bra, forgetting her promised sweets, raised her hands up to her father. Her fingers curleing and uncurling as she beg her father to pick her up. She was truly enthralled by her father. His presence never failed to string a giggle or smile out of her. Although he wasn't the type to coo or spoil her with kisses and hugs, like Bulma, he did however offer his daughter a warmer approachable temperament. Bulma smiled at the two, watching as the man—known to eradicate an entire planet— was capable of being an attentive daddy.
Bulma, as promised, pulled out the chocolate syrup and whip cream, "I know I'll regret this, but I'm feeding her sweets. The little munchkin misses Trunks," said Bulma, her back still turned.
"Where is the boy?"
Bulma felt rising to her cheeks again at the recollection of last nights events. "I think we scared him off." Vegeta, always one to find humor in other's distress, smiled slightly at the news. With her back still turned she could feel his amusement and scolded. "It's not funny, Vegeta." She turned and went to the table where Bra's bowl of strawberries were, and began coating the red berries with chocolate and whip cream. "I'm hoping this trip can erase his trauma."
Vegeta's smile waned. He had forgotten about that stupid trip, and the reminder of it had brought back his sour feeling of losing the argument with his wife.
The idea itself was terrible. There were many things that could go wrong:
1) The earthlings would trudge on his nerves and with his short fuse and inability to repress his resort to violence, he'd possibly twist them into a pretzel.
2) He absolutely hated the snow. He wasn't bothered by the cold; that could easily be adjusted, but the feel of snow and its overall appearance brewed anger in him. Most people found it majestic and beautiful, he found it insufferable and an inconvenience. He dared for a soul to throw a ball of snow at him. That action was enough for him to blast the culprit straight to hell.
And finally, Vegeta would have to spend two weeks isolated on the snowy alps with kakarot and his brood of idiots. Nothing worse for the prince that to swallow his frustration and discomfort when surrounded by the so-called martial artists. The prince wondered why the woman had to invite the ingrates. He'd be less inclined to say no if it were just him, Bulma and their kids. Hell, he'd even tolerate her parents. Give the old man a heap of metal and a sanctuary of animals and he'd barely be noticed. Give the old woman a package of flour, and she'd be out of his hair. Anyone but the Z-losers. Despite his unnerving irritation and reluctance, the prince decided not to aggravate the issue. He didn't care enough for another long-winded lecture.
"I started packing your bags," Bulma let out, she could tell from his face he was fretting the trip. "I also made sure to pack the thing you liked," Bulma's eyes hooded coquettishly. Vegeta's face remained the same, as if the words intended to arouse desire had no effect. But it did, inwardly he felt the ravaging desire course through his saiyan blood. Never had something man made could equate to his strength. Albeit this device wasn't man made. It was Bulma made.
"What?" He said, playing it coy. Bulma cocked one brow and bit her lips impishly. When he offered her silence and an unfazed expression, she dropped her coy act and adopted a slightly bothered expression. Finally after a few more minutes of silence, she huffed, " The silver ball..." With that she turned her attention back to her daughter whose face was glued to the bowl.
"Oh slow down, Bra." Bulma tried inserting a small plastic fork into the equation. But Bra rejected the offer and continued eating with her face. Bulma looked on a bit disturbed, but Vegeta seemed more than proud that his daughter was displaying a saiyan mannerism. After breakfast, the family broke apart into their own activities. Vegeta went to his training, Bra went back to her room and passed the extra time with her toys, and Bulma decided to call up everyone and inform them of this plan.
The first person to call was Krillin; for he was the easier candidate in pushing to say yes. Her tactics with him would be proposing a plan and then forcefully intimidating him into acquiescing. Since her grit worked well with him, the call would be quick and successful.
"Hello," his familiar voice came could hear a small girl's voice in the background. Krillin, briefly pulled the phone from his lips and contended with his daughter's need, and then returned his attention back to Bulma. "Sorry about that."
"No it's fine..." Bulma unknowingly started wringing the cord around her fingers. "Trunks bought his first ski boots, and I wanted him to try them out on the slopes..." The cord was now looped around all five of her fingers. "So I thought why not make a vacation out of it." Bulma's voice rose up a few octaves at vacation. "You and your family are welcome to come..." the heiress paused but then quickly added, "and by welcome I mean you have to come, and I won't take no for an answer."
The other line was silence for a prolonged second, prompting Bulma to pull the phone from her ear and inspect it. Krillin's voice came back, but lacked the enthusiasm and tone she was looking for. "I don't know...money is a bit tight right now," said the tiny man skeptically. His daughter's voice was still audible, and seemed that the small girl was growing restless.
"Nonsense!" the heiress blurted, "It's all expense paid vacation. All on me. Did you really think I'd invite you and make you pay?"
The small man laughed from the other line and with a little more insisting from Bulma agreed. Bulma checked out Krillin's name on the paper before her and sent him off. Onto the next name.
"Goku and his family," Bulma muttered as she played out the conversation in her head. She knew he'd be hardest candidate, but getting Vegeta on board had inflated her confidence enough—getting Goku on board would be a piece of cake. Cake. The heiress considered the thought of offering cake as a form of invite for the saiyan.
A woman's voice came through the line.
"Hey," Bulma managed, she was still a bit embarrassed by how her and Vegeta's pastime actions chased her son to the raven-haired woman's house. "Is Trunk still over," she decided to start with that instead of heading straight to the ski idea.
"Oh those two..." Chichi began, with a slight playfulness to her tone, "They're with Goku...I think sparring." Bulma let out a sigh of relief one which was caught by her friend on the other line. "By the way, Bulma, what happened last night..." The younger of the woman asked knowingly.
Bulma stiffened at the acquisition, and her silence was all the answer Chichi needed. Taking the brief silence as a segue to a new topic, Bulma inserted, "So I'm planning a ski trip for Trunks. You have space in your calendar?"
"Hm, let me see," the wait wasn't too long, after a seconds pause, Chichi responded, " Of course I do. Don't I ever!"
"Make sure to convince Goku," Bulma cheered over the phone.
As if barely a challenge for her, Chichi snorted, "Oh please, just mentioning boatloads of food will be enough to convince him."
The two remained on the line for a few more minutes discussing smaller, trivial matter. "Well, just don't tell Trunks about it yet, I want to be the one to tell him." Said Bulma before ending the call with her friend.
Trunks was home just a few hours before dinner. Once stepping foot through the door, the young saiyan prince evaded his mother's eyes. With his cerulean irises taking interest in his shoes rather than his mother's eyes, the boy greeted his mother bashfully. Bulma felt chagrin stir within her. She tried at opening greeting with her son, but the boy seemed to dismiss it with a brusque hello. Bulma pouted at her son's surly attitude, and before the boy could make his away to the kitchen Bulma let the news of the trip slip.
"We're going to the slopes this friday..." The boy stopped on his track, his back still turned. Slowly he swiveled on the heel of his left foot and faced his mother. His eyes finally meeting hers. His eyes widened progressively as his mouth went agape.
It didn't long for the boy to burst with excitement, "REALLY!?" He beamed. Bulma nodded, satisfied by his reaction. It was clear whatever trauma he had suffered was now erased...hopefully. "Can goten come?"
"Of course he can, son!" she scratched the top of his head playfully and motioned for him to go start packing. He ran so fast upstairs, his body became a transparent blur. "And make sure to pack your ski equipment," she called out to him.
Friday came fast. Trunks couldn't contain his excitement. Spending every waking moment chanting about his trip all to his father's dismay of course. Bulma done the necessaries for the trip by calling the cabin and renting the needed space for the brood of people she would bring. One instance, one person from the cabin, a woman with a distinctly uncommon vibrato to her voice, denied the heiress of the ten rooms she ordered. Of course the woman was served with the heiress's explosive temper and a threat to bring the whole franchise down. Once her formidable identity was exposed to the stingy worker, the woman deplored in quicken words her apology.
It was only 7 am, and the heiress was up and about checking to see if her children had properly packed. Bra, naive as to what is formal for the cold airs of the slopes only packed her dolls and their clothes and a few mismatched clothing. Bulma sighed at her daughter; she should have known better than to think a two year old could properly pack for herself.
"Okay," Bulma knelt down to level her eyes with her daughters, "You can only bring one toy." And to that the little girl's face twisted into a stubborn pout. Her eyes moistened with tears, but she held them back as her mother wagged her index fingers disapprovingly at her. Bra relinquished her pouting face and let her mother clear out all the dolls in the suitcase. The little girl surveyed her room looking for a formidable toy worthy enough to company her for the entire week. The teddy bear given to her by her father caught her eyes and incited her to run and grab for it. The great about the plush toy was not because it was the most apt toy in her room; it was just the sentimental values in it. Seldom did Vegeta find it necessary to go out of his way to buy his kids sappy toys from the kid store. Not because his kids didn't deserve it, but because the prince placed his kids on a higher plateau. Anything owned by them should not be owned by the other snot-nosed earthlings out there. (Mainly because a basic toy could never withstand his children's strength) but he got Bra that plush toy despite his own feelings about them. He knew how happy it would make her, and he was willing to recant his own ideas on the matter just to please her. From that day on, the child treated the plush toy with the respect, ruling above all her other toys.
"I choose this one," she handed the toy for her mother to pack it. Bulma grabbed the push and threw a sunny smile at her daughter. It took Bulma 30 minutes to pack Bra up, and once she finished, she instructed the little girl to be a big girl and freshen herself up. Trunks was next for inspection.
The boy was more than ready. His room was unusually clean, and all his luggages were stacked neatly in the corner. The boy was transparent. His excitement could not be repressed. He sat on the edge of his bed, legs crossed and arms pinned on his folded kneecaps. "Is it time to go?" The boy jumped from where he sat and went to grab his bags. Bulma shook her head at her son, prompting him to slouch in disappointment.
"When can we go," said the young prince running in place. Bulma squared her arms on her hips and advised her son to be patient. The boy stopped jogging in place, but standing still patience was far beyond his ability. After checking to see if her children were prepared it was time to check on the one last person: Vegeta.
The heiress found her prince leaning on the wall in the balcony of their room. He had on his characteristic scowl and stance. The prince clucked lightly in annoyance when Bulma approached him. She offered him a warmer look than he offered her
"You ready hun?" She simpered.
"I packed if that's what you're asking..." His said curtly. She took no offense to his sour mood. It was to be expected that he'd act this way. All she really cared about was him going that's all. She didn't expect for him to be jumping in absolute glee—that she expected from Trunks and got it.
"Good." She walked closer to him, standing face to face, forcing the very peeved Vegeta to make eye contact. When their eyes finally meet, he rolled his gaze up to the sky above. Noticing his detached behavoir, she cocked her head to the side feigning a hurt look. "Aw, is my little prince mad?" She said in a voice she usually used with the kids whenever they were mad. A vein of discontent and annoyance materialized in the Prince's forehead. But not wanting to spoil things, Bulma relented on her teasing and grabbed his hands. He didn't pull away, but he also did not reciprocate any effort in the hold. His hands remained limp in hers.
"Thank you," her tone was soft and appeasing, and before releasing her hold on his hand she placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand. Still the Prince offered no reciprocation, but he did offer her one gaze. Bulma left him soon after and went to prepare the ship.
She was due to pick everyone up and leave for the mountains by noon. If they left at noon, they'd arrive late evening at around six or seven. Just in time for a large dinner at the very famous restaurant bridged in the resort. It was called Amamata. And from the reviews she read online everyone raved about the live entertainments and the exquisite plates of food offered. That was something for the saiyans partaking—the food would surely convince them to stay.
It was now 8am, and everyone in the house stood outside waiting for Bulma to throw the capsule. But before her thumb could press down on the cap, both Trunks and Vegeta's attention shot to the sky. The look on their eyes were marked with anticipation and shock. They weren't the only ones who had sensed the danger. Abruptedly, Goku materialized in front of them with the same look shot towards the sky.
"I felt it too," Goku said, his focus now on Vegeta. The two exchanged a curt nod as if the only ones able to understand their nonverbal without a moments wait, the two rocketed up to the sky leaving a swirl of dust behind. Bulma's eyes popped out of her head as the two disappeared into the early blue sky.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU GUYS THINK YOU'RE DOING!" She hollered after them, fuming with a lethal anger. Trunks whose eyes was still placated on the sky gave his mother an apologetic look before following suit.
"Trunks," Bulma rasped slowly and partly to herself. He had been so excited for this trip. She felt her shoulders slump down at the rising disappointment. Bra tugged at her mother's pants to grab her attention.
"Mama," the small girl offered, her voice on the brink of crying. Bulma bent down and hugged her daughter with her eyes still on the sky. Whatever or whomever had called forth Goku, her son, and her husband's attention, had to be something urgent. She couldn't imagine Trunks sacrificing this trip for something trivial. She felt her heart sink at the possible doom that stood before them. More doom drowned her sullen heart as she thought of how the trip she spent weeks planning and planning could be a ghost memory of the past that never occurred if the threat confronting them was not contended with...successfully. And as more worry traveled into her being she felt her stomach drop. What was worse and most discomforting was that she had no idea who this potential was and how useless she was at this moment. She'd plan everything, but she had not planned for a fight—let alone one detrimental to the survival of her loved ones.
A/N... Well I hope you enjoyed that chapter: It was a bit long, and I hope I didn't drag anything out.
If you thought they'd simply go to the resort without any hindrance than you were sadly mistaken. I had to add a little hindrance to the plot...What's a plot without conflict in the DBZ universe, huh?
Drop me a review!? I'd like to read your feedback!
Stay tune for Chapter 7: The Enemy From Space
Find out who this mysterious opponent is and if the Z-warriors can defeat in time for the Ski trip. Find out Next Chapter!
-Spoiler: This enemy and Vegeta go way back...Circa Frieza's reign.