A/N: Sooo... Long time no see. Found this on my computer today and inspired to finish it off, having long since lost the original!
Chapter 9
Bulma pursed her lips, eyeing her reflection critically in the mirror. Her makeup was simple, only a touch of colour on her cheeks and a few deft strokes of eyeliner that enhanced the wide oval shape of her eyes. A clear gloss slicked her lips, making them gleam invitingly as she smiled. Her hair was piled atop her head, baring her throat and the midnight blue ribbon that spanned it, the centrepiece of which was a lone Mazarin cut diamond. With a frown she teased free a couple of curls, which fell to frame her face. Performing a final inspection, she smiled smugly to herself. She looked elegant and sophisticated, not at all like the defeated little girl they were expecting to see.
As a gentle alarm trilled somewhere in the bedroom, she grabbed her cane and made her way towards the door. As she crossed the room, light footsteps made their way down the hall. Bulma paused to close her eyes. Kami, please let Vegeta behave himself tonight. The struggle had started that afternoon, when he'd discovered the tuxedo she'd had the robots lay out for him.
"Woman!" The enraged bellow echoed through the halls.
Bulma paused in the last minute adjustments of her cane. "What is it, Vegeta?" she bellowed back.
The Saiyan obviously locked onto the direction of her voice. She could hear scientists scattering as he stormed into the labs, unerringly homing in on her where she sat half-hidden behind an enormous screen. She hurriedly smacked a key and the screen went blank just in the nick of time. Hurricane Vegeta whirled to a stop just behind her desk, a vein throbbing in his temple. In his hand he clutched a classic black tuxedo.
"Woman," he snarled, "What is this?"
"It's your outfit for the ball tonight," she replied calmly, gritting her teeth to keep her temper in check.
"I will not wear this Earthling costume! I am a prince of the house of Vegeta; I will not appear in public unless I am dressed accordingly!" He folded his arms, his voice icy. "You will procure for me suitable garments or I will not attend this ball."
Bulma gave an exasperated sigh, slamming the cane down onto the desk and bracing her weight on both hands. "Look Vegeta, that outfit is perfectly suitable by our customs. You'll be better dressed than every other man there, okay? I wouldn't have the first idea about appropriate Saiyan clothing anyway and it would be far too late to get any made."
A low growl built in his chest. "Fine. You may attend the ball alone."
Even as he spun around to leave, Bulma lurched to her feet. "Fine! But don't expect me to make your armour, oh mighty prince. If you're going to abandon the deal, then so am I!"
Vegeta stopped. His fists clenched, further crushing the clothing he carried. After a moment he spun to face her and Bulma felt her anger draining away. There was rage in his eyes, but there was something else too, something dark and hollow.
"Woman," he gritted out, "It is a disgrace on my house for me to appear in anything other than the colours of Saiyan royalty. If that means forsaking my battle armour, so be it."
He turned to leave and Bulma lifted a hand before she could stop herself. "Wait!"
He came to a halt but remained facing away from her. Her voice softened. "Look Vegeta, I wasn't lying when I said it would be nearly impossible to get anything else for you to wear at this short notice. But we can make some adjustments to a tuxedo. What colours do you need to wear?"
For a long time silence stretched between them. Then, without looking at her, he replied, "Blue and crimson."
"Okay, I can work with that. I'll have the robots lay it out for you when it's done, okay?"
Vegeta responded with a grunt, disappearing from the lab with a surge of energy.
A knock on the door brought Bulma out of her reverie. With a last wish for luck, she crossed the room and opened the door.
"Okay, we're on time so far," she began, only for her voice to trail off into silence, her mouth remaining slightly open in a little 'o' of surprise.
Vegeta stood outside her door, scowling ferociously. He was dressed in the tuxedo she had ordered adjusted to his requirements. It was extremely severely cut, the tailored lines accentuating the broad strength of his body and the harsh planes of his face. The suit itself was so dark a blue it was almost black, the rich material gleaming against his olive skin. He wore a slender tie of the same colour, stark against a crisp white shirt. Beneath the jacket he wore a silk waistcoat in a deep crimson. When she'd seen the outfit, she'd been worried it would look odd, as used as she was to black and white formal wear. However, on him it looked absolutely right.
Vegeta too was stunned, his scowl easing as his eyes trailed over the woman's figure. She wore a dress in a similar colour to his suit, a contrast against her pale skin. The tightly fitted bodice clung faithfully to the contours of her torso, the square neckline saving it from indecency and turning it instead into sexy sophistication. The skirt dropped away from her waist in a smooth column, overlaid with a light, semi-sheer material that swirled around her legs as she walked. A streak of tiny diamonds began at her right hip and swept up between her breasts towards her left shoulder. They were scattered down the right of her skirt too, forming swirls and stars. She leant on her cane, now a dark blue to match her dress with a single diamond atop the handle.
They stared at each other in silence until Vegeta gave a grunt. The spell broken, Bulma blushed.
"What are you looking at?" she snapped, self-consciously brushing at a loose curl.
Vegeta raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. "You look less disgusting than usual, Earthling. That at least lessens the shame of appearing beside a human."
Temper roused, Bulma clenched her fists. "Let's just get this over with. And for Kami's sake, Vegeta, don't do anything to embarrass me."
His sneer abruptly faded, his expression suddenly cold. "Woman, I am a prince of an ancient royal line. I was trained to diplomacy from the cradle."
"Oh yes, you can easily tell," Bulma responded sweetly. "Why, I've never met such a polite and diplomatic man in my life!"
His eyes narrowed, suddenly burning with rage. "Do not mock me, human. If I was to die at the hands of my enemies, it was to be fighting for the honour of the Saiyan race, not cowering like some mewling weakling about diplomacy and fairness. Fairness! Pah."
Deliberately looking her in the eye, he spat at her feet and turned away, stalking ahead of her down the hallway.
Oh Kami, what have I gotten myself into? Bulma thought, stepping around his saliva with a disgusted curl of her lip.
They walked down to the entrance in stony silence. Bulma thought he was going to continue that way outside, but to her surprise he stopped at the door and waited for her. As she drew level with him, he held out one arm in an old-fashioned gesture. When she just stared at it, he growled and grabbed her free hand, yanking it up to rest in the crook of his elbow. Bemused, Bulma was still staring at him as he opened to door and escorted her outside.
The Capsule Corp. grounds were lit up with hundreds of tiny lights, flickering flames captured in little glass spheres that floated a foot above the ground. Bulma eyed them with a smile. Sometimes it was nice to make something for no other purpose than pleasure, and the little lanterns were a project she had completed soon after their return from Namek, when she had needed a reminder of the beauty the world could offer.
Vegeta led her through the gardens along the path lined by the lanterns. As they rounded the final corner, the marquee came into view. The massive white tent was decorated with more of the fairy lights. Climbing plants spread delicate fingers up its side, silver and green ivy made beautiful by the moonlight. Either side of the door miniature gardens lined the path, made up of dark, leafy green ferns and delicate snowdrops.
As they approached, an impeccably dressed butler appeared outside the tent. He smiled as he saw Bulma; the man had been serving as the Capsule Corp. major-domo since she was a child.
"Miss Briefs, you look beautiful," he murmured.
"Thank you, Peters."
"May I announce you?" he enquired.
"Of course," she responded with a smile.
He waited for a moment, then, "And your escort?"
"Oh, of course!" Bulma laughed. "What an idiot, huh? My guest is Prince Vegeta."
Peters started to move off, but Vegeta shot out an arm and caught him by the shoulder.
"The correct way to announce me is as Prince Vegeta, of the house Vegeta," he rumbled, casting a glare at Bulma that dared her to disagree.
Bulma smiled at him, touching his arm lightly in apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was wrong. Peters, it's Prince Vegeta, of the house Vegeta and Miss Bulma Briefs."
Although he didn't look at her, she could feel some of the tension ease from Vegeta's muscles under her fingers. She had deliberately put his name first, knowing that he was very sensitive to that sort of nuance.
Peters slipped inside the tent. After a moment the ring of his voice cut through the murmur of conversation from inside.
"Prince Vegeta, of the house Vegeta and Miss Bulma Briefs."
She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. Leaning more of her weight against Vegeta's arm, she took a step forward. Vegeta matched her and they glided into the fringes of the crowd.
Her smile instantly became strained. It felt like every eye had instantly riveted to the cane in her hand; her knuckles turned white where she gripped it. Vegeta felt the slight tremble of her fingers against his arm and turned his head to look at her, ignoring the plebeian masses gawping at them. He frowned when he saw her shoulders begin to hunch defensively.
For her ears alone, he growled, "Do not embarrass me, woman. Lift your chin and stare them down. You are the consort of a Saiyan prince tonight. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Bulma's smile eased, becoming more natural. Her fingers smoothed the creases she had made in his sleeve, her posture straightening. When she met the stares of those around her with a coolly raised brow, they sheepishly looked away. Vegeta smirked and led her out into the crowded room.
The night passed magically for Bulma. True to his word, Vegeta was impeccably behaved. His natural haughtiness only served to persuade the gossipmongers of his royal lineage; it would have been inappropriate, they blithely agreed, for royalty to treat them as equals. Nobody wanted to be the first to admit that they had never heard of Vegeta or his family.
Although he didn't deign to converse with those mingling around them, he remained steadfastly at Bulma's side. At one point, however, he noticed her easy smile suddenly tighten. His sensitive ears picked up the creak of her champagne glass as her grip around it increased. With a roll of his eyes, he plucked the abused item away from her before she humiliated them both by breaking it.
"Mrs O'Grady," Bulma chirped in a tone of voice all too familiar to the prince, "How lovely to see you at our party. I didn't realise you had been invited."
Vegeta looked up, directly into the overflowing bosom of a middle-aged woman. She was encased in a snugly fitting red dress that boosted her assets considerably, highlighting both her admirable chest and her long, slender legs, as the dress ended just above her knees. Her lips, also painted bright red, stretched into a smile. Vegeta was perturbed to see that the rest of her face remained still.
"Why Bulma, how lovely you look! And what a fetching walking stick," she simpered with a girlish giggle. "I wouldn't worry about it, my dear. I'm sure you'll grow out of that bothersome clumsiness as you get older."
Bulma's smile became even sweeter. "If I have any questions about the ageing process, I'll be sure to ask you, Paula."
Vegeta had, of course, caught on to the fact that Bulma intensely disliked their brash visitor. With a bored expression on his face, he murmured, "Perhaps we should move along before you are reduced to brawling, woman."
Mrs O'Grady gave another tinkling laugh, leaning towards Vegeta to rest a bold hand on his chest and turning her back to Bulma, effectively shutting her out of the conversation. "Oh your Highness, how very droll! I would never be so uncouth, I assure you."
Vegeta allowed his eyes to trail over her tight dress, pausing at her readily exposed bosom. When he met her eyes again, he raised one eyebrow meaningfully. Her smile abruptly faded and she stepped back.
He turned to Bulma with an indifferent shrug. "Woman, why did you not mention to me that your father had procured such entertainment for this infernal gathering? I could have advised him that he was wasting his money on spoiled goods."
Bulma had to bite back a snicker of laughter. With a straight face she replied, "I'll be certain to mention it to him, Vegeta, but I'm fairly certain no money would be required in exchange for those services. She looks ready to offer them for free."
The woman gave an outraged gasp, her cheeks mottling with embarrassment. "Well, I've never been subjected to such rudeness in my life!" She pointed a quivering finger at Vegeta. "You sir are no gentleman!"
He tilted his head, giving her a cool stare. "I am not. However, gentlemanly conduct is only required when you are addressing a lady. Shall we, Bulma?"
And with a final benevolent smile, the heiress was borne away on her unexpected champion's arm.
