Disclaimer: Yeah, so, I kind of technically own this fanfic, but I only own one of its characters and none of the background stories of all the other characters. So in a way, I don't even really own this fanfic. Sort of, if that makes sense. But it probably doesn't all that much in the logical way of thinking of things, so if that's going to be the case, then I'll just assert with a heap of confidence that yes, I own this fanfic, and just get the hell on with the chapter.
The Conceit of a Happy Life
Chapter 11
Going Crazy, Losing Poise
"I still don't see why I have to go," Vegeta grouses as Bulma busies around gathering the supplies we'll need. "You're so proud of how fast you can find the damn Balls—why don't you go?"
"Because," his wife snaps, "this is something Chiru has to do. She caused this problem, and she's going to fix it."
"And what is it you think I have to do with any of this?" he growls back.
"You, Mr. High and Mighty, have to go because she"—she jabs a finger in my direction—"obviously can't control herself. So you're going to make sure she doesn't do anything she shouldn't. You know, like kill someone again."
"I AM NOT A BABYSITTER!" he roars, slamming his fists down on the counter, leaving two huge dints.
"Oh, for Dende's sake—" Bulma rolls her eyes in exasperation. "Look, our family is in deep shit right now. If we don't make things right, the reputation of Capsule Corp will be at stake. Whether people think Chiru's an alien, android, human or whatever, it doesn't change what she did. People are not going to want to invest in or support a company connected to a killer—not in this age of peace. If we're going to get out of this unscathed, we need those Dragon Balls, and we need them six hours ago. Otherwise, you can kiss your rich and pampered lifestyle goodbye, Prince of all Saiyans."
Vegeta's eyes have narrowed dangerously as his own anger subsides enough for him to absorb his wife's assessment of the situation. He turns that deadly glare on me, and I register the hatred he has for me, which, if anything, has intensified as a result of my actions tonight.
"And to ensure we keep the refrigerator stocked with all your favorite treats," his wife continues, "you are going to listen to me and do as I say."
That's odd. I think I'm having déjà vu.
"Now listen," Bulma says, turning now to me. She holds up a circular palm-sized machine in her hand. "This is the Dragon Radar. It will show you the location of each Dragon Ball. This is the only thing you can use to find and collect each one."
Okay…? I raise an eyebrow slightly, not giving her the satisfaction of me asking outright just what she means by "the only thing".
"That means no ki attacks and no other machines."
What the hell kind of stipulation is that?
"You need boundaries, Chiru. First and foremost, no killing. People, animals, plants—do not hurt anything. I'm serious about this. You can't just go psycho and destroy everything around you all the time. Self-control: learn it. If you don't, we can't trust you. Plain and simple."
What the—! Like I give a damn about your trust, you blue-haired piece of—
"…and you may not use any machines. And Vegeta can't help you. You have to fly everywhere and do everything by yourself. Within the next forty…"—she checks her watch—"…seven hours from now."
I involuntarily pale as all of this begins to sink in.
"I know your body's sore, and I know you're tired," she tells me, tucking the Dragon Radar into my jacket pocket. Then she looks solidly into my eyes. "But I don't care about that. These are the consequences of your actions, Chiru, and you are going to feel each one of them acutely until you clear up this mess you've made."
I don't know why I'm not strangling her right now. I don't know why I'm letting her boss me around like this. This is all absolutely ridiculous. She—
"I've packed all your things now, so you're good to go," she says, tossing a backpack first to Vegeta, then to me. "Don't kill each other, stay safe, and get back here quick as you can."
Vegeta grunts in response as he swings the pack over his shoulder and heads for the door.
I stare at the bag in my hands, not moving.
"Clock's ticking," Bulma says curtly, tapping her watch.
I look up at her.
"If I'd wanted to kill him, I would have," I say. I don't know why I need to say it, but there it is. Something about these people makes me say things I would never say, would never want to say. I gnaw on my tongue, disgusted with myself.
Bulma hesitates, slightly taken aback by my abrupt disclosure.
"I need to know I can trust you," she finally replies.
I look away as I shrug on the backpack.
"Okay."
Why am I bothering?
I head off after Vegeta.
Not until Vegeta and I are well on our way to the first of these Balls does it strike me how ridiculous this scenario is. Tracking down seven "Dragon Balls," so I can placate the police by making some stupid wish so they feel better about some 7-Eleven-manager-by-day, pimp-by-night guy they technically killed with their firearms? This is utter bullshit. It's absurd. All of these creatures are insane, and this entire situation a farce.
So why am I playing along? How did my life come to this? I've trained since infancy to be a killer. My life's goals have been restricted to survival and patricide. What the fuck am I doing here, now, flying after some arrogant Saiyan, having to stare at his spandex-plastered ass for hours on end, just to find a bunch of mystical lizard nuts because a weird-haired middle-aged woman told me to so she can, of all things, trust me?
A sharp-toned laugh bursts from my mouth. It's so out of place and disturbing that Vegeta looks over his shoulder at me.
"Are you utterly deranged now?" he sneers, not bothering to hide his disgust.
Not that he ever does anyway.
"Yes!" I shout. "How could I not be? You people—this entire planet—you're all crazy, and you've turned me crazy, too!"
His following chuckle carries through the air, and when it reaches my ears, it startles me into silence.
"If you think you've lost your mind now, just wait. You haven't seen anything yet."
He is not wrong.
This world is far more bizarre than I thought,I have to admit as a huge scaly tail sweeps in front of me, threatening to knock me aside. I leap away from it and charge between the beast's back legs, aiming to snatch the orange ball just below the trunk of its tale and—
A surprised yelp erupts from me as the beast suddenly sits down on me. In the next second the air from my lungs has burst from my mouth, and my arms scramble wildly at the ground trying to pull my body free.
Vegeta—the useless prick—is hovering a good hundred feet above me.
Cackling.
"Conquered by a mongrel so soon, bitch of Frieza? This monster's not even one of the biggest on this planet, and it's already kicked your ass—with its own!"
As far as I'm concerned, anyone who laughs that hard at his own jokes is a huge loser.
The beast won't budge, so I grip dirt and start to exert ki, but Vegeta descends in a second, one of his feet purposefully landing on the back of my head, which is, fortunately, not trapped under the multi-ton ass with the rest of my body. At the Saiyan's appearance, the beast whips its tail around at the new threat, but Vegeta deflects it easily and holds his ground.
"You know the rules," he reminds me gloatingly. When I open my mouth to curse him, his foot forces me to eat dirt.
God damn…
"HREAUGH!"
I bellow as I gather enough strength to shove off from the ground, knocking back both the Vegeta-sei-made and Earth-made monsters. Vegeta looks startled and pissed at the same time, and the monster roars behind me as it accidentally kicks one of its eggs from the nest and its parental protection. The egg rolls down the side of the hill, heading toward the lake. I touch back down to the ground, straightening my back and trying not to wince as bones that shouldn't make noise release an audible pop.
My eyes narrow dangerously at Vegeta. "Touch me again, and my foot will shove those damn rules so far up your ass, there'll be a word-for-word imprint on your brain, you son of a bitch."
Not a bad line and not a bad delivery, if I do say so myself. Good enough to put that asshole in his place.
So why is he smirking?
"Don't lose focus on the task at hand, lowly novice," he mocks.
Ah!
I turn and lunge for the orange ball again, this time keeping an eye out for mommy monster's leathery bulk of ass, but it's no where to be seen. I scoop up the Ball, but stop short of a quick retreat to look around for the missing threat.
"Where'd it go?" I ask, wary and confused.
"After its egg," Vegeta replies curtly, glaring at me with his arms crossed. "Which has sunk to the bottom of the lake by now if its shell hasn't broken. Either way, the life of the offspring in that egg is your responsibility. I could overlook your little outburst, but if that overgrown lizard's baby dies, then show's over, you failed."
"That's not my fault!" I shout, balling my fists.
"Why don't you tell me why nothing is ever your fault? I'm sure I'll get a laugh out of your pitiful excuses."
"Did you see me kick that egg? No! Did I piss me off? No!" I yell. "The beast kicked the egg, and you provoked me on purpose! And what kind of dumb ass animal lays its round, roll-able eggs at the top of an incline? It's clearly too stupid to live, and if one of its offspring dies, I'm doing the entire species a favor!"
"This is no different from what happened in that store yesterday."
Oh great. Now he's preaching.
"You lost your temper, and it had negative consequences. Bulma decided to play god and send you out here to learn a lesson, and if she's ever going to let me back in that house, I have to make sure you learn that lesson, you sniveling brat. NOW GO RETRIEVE THAT GOD DAMN EGG BEFORE IT CRACKS, OR I WILL BE CRACKING YOU!"
Now I look startled and pissed. For a second I consider arguing with him, but think better of it. The sooner I'm done with all of this the better. So I drop the Dragon Ball and jet off down the slope toward the water.
No good bastard toppin' my line…
By a freak stroke of luck, the egg is still in one piece, and I manage to salvage it, much to the distressed delight of its mother, who was unable to pursue its young once it landed in the water. The big lizard growls lowly at me, wanting to attack, but hesitates lest it hurt its child. By using its own egg as incentive, I gently coax the brute back up the hill to its nest, setting the egg down amongst the dried grasses and surreptitiously swiping the Dragon Ball behind my back. Before the monster notices the switch, I'm up in the air, taking my backpack from Vegeta to store the orange orb inside.
"That took long enough," I grumble, rubbing my tired eyes with a sweaty dirt-stained palm.
"Indeed," Vegeta says. "And only six more to go."
"Six more?" I blurt out, disbelieving.
"That's right," he smirks. "Because six and one is seven. Didn't Frieza teach his little bastard child basic math?"
I bare my teeth at him and do not respond, instead examining the Dragon Radar for the next Ball. The last thing I need is his pompous ass trying to provoke me again, and I'll be damned if I play into his attempts. I locate the nearest Dragon Ball on the radar and head south before the Saiyan has a chance to say anything else.
It appears that the silent treatment will not be enough to dissuade Vegeta from what appears to be his new favorite topic of discussion: my parentage.
"The others are wrong, you know," he shouts down at me as I manually dig through piles and piles of sand for the Ball the radar claims is right below my feet. With infuriatingly arrogant amusement, Vegeta reminded me that I must do this by hand, so I do not harm or kill any scorpions or snakes or whatever the hell else might dwell beneath the surface in this miserable place. "You look more like Frieza than any who have seen him dares admit."
Shut up shut up shut up!
"Not just those murderous blood red irises," he continues, not even noticing—or more likely not giving a damn—that I've just unearthed a rattling reptile.
"But the feline slant to the eye. It evokes him, too."
I hold the snake's gaze, waiting for it to make the first move. Daring it to.
"I've never liked cats—too stuck-up and self-satisfied for their own good. Especially as it only takes one half-witted dog to run them into the ground and crush their pitiful skulls with its much stronger canine jaws."
The snake strikes out, but I bat its fanged head away, returning its subsequent furious hissing with my own.
"And speaking of skulls, you have the same ball-shaped head as Frieza. Not like a Dragon Ball, but more like those dark orange ones humans play with…basketballs. Your head resembles his in that way: round, hollow, essentially an empty sphere with a weak chin and ridiculous ears."
Again the snake lunges, and with a swift flick of the wrist, I catch it this time, grasping it by the neck, its dagger-like teeth mere inches from my face.
"…would love to bounce that skull off a gymnasium floor. Better yet, a concrete court…."
I throw the snake out of the hole and resume my excavation of the Dragon Ball, trying my best to stay busy enough not to listen to the hateful voice above me as it tosses down insult after insult.
"…the same pint-sized mooshed up nose. It looks like you were both too stupid to wear a spacepod strap, and every time you landed, the pod stopped but your face kept going…"
Anger escalating, I increase the rate of my digging, willing the force of my exertions and my ragged breathing to drown out his words.
"…slight stature for a so-called warrior, a good head shorter than even the most diminutive of Saiyans…"
Looks who's talking? Particles of sand fly into my mouth and grind against my tongue. I spit.
"…raspy voice. You sound more like a man than your asexual son of a bitch father did…"
My fingers strike something hard, and a growl escapes my lips.
" …but not so asexual if he could rape your Saiyan mother..."
I swipe away the last handfuls of sand, finally unearthing the Ball. The weight of it feels good in my hand. Perfect, in fact, as I turn and aim.
And throw.
"…must have been a shameless wench to birth a loathsome half-bree—AUGHG!"
I smirk, amused and grateful he decided to position himself in front of the burning midday sun. He unintentionally enabled me to lock onto his position and connect the Dragon Ball soundly with his gigantic forehead. And he was foolishly too busy having his fun insulting me to be on proper guard. Arrogant Saiyan bastard made it all too easy.
And his pride will save me the trouble of a brutal punishment.
"Why didn't you catch it?" I call up to him, acting as guiltlessly as possible.
With something other than your face? I snort to myself.
"I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT, YOU VILE BITCH!"
"Look who can't control himself now?" I taunt with a sneer.
The Saiyan descends in a flash and stands threateningly before me. I meet his glare evenly, but say nothing more. Now that he is at my level, he will be the first to say something.
But the next thing I know, I can't breathe as my torso slides across his forearm and to the side. The spit I emit now is not deliberate, but rather the result of gravity and surprise as I drop to my knees, doubled over clutching the dent his fist has left in my abdomen. His foot connects with my side, flipping me over, and I lie on my back in the sand, the sun's light blinding me but for the flame of black hair obscuring the edge of this galaxy's greatest orb. He places his foot onto my stomach over my hands and applies pressure.
"You have a lot of fight in you." How I've come to hate his voice cannot be put into words. "Bulma said you can either learn to control it or get the fuck off this planet."
He presses his foot down even harder, and I'm pinned to the ground, helpless.
"You have one other option: learn to control it"—The force is too much; I squirm feebly as bile rises to my throat—"or I will beat it out of you. All of it."
And with that he removes his foot and kicks me over again, just in time for the bile not to choke me as it burns my esophagus on its way out. I lie panting and sick on the ground and feel the vague vibration of his footsteps as he walks away. How did I crumple so quickly? I lost before I could even realize it. I'm facedown next to a soggy patch of sand when moments before I was standing confidently, thinking I'd turned the tide my way. No, I'm not at my optimal energy level, and I haven't been since I got here, but I'm really starting to wonder…
…if I were, would the outcome be any different?
Something tells me that no, it wouldn't. And that realization hits me in the gut far harder than Vegeta's fists did.
Fuck, I hate this world.
To Be Continued…
A/N:
I meant for this chapter to be mostly comedic, but it took on a bit of the dramatic as well. Overall, I'm pleased with the chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed the one-on-one alone time between Vegeta and Chiru. And I swear to, swear to, swear to Kami this is NOT a Vegeta/OC fanfic. Vegeta and Chiru sort of have sparks flying between them (in that Saiyan "I hate you, you hate me, we might screw" sort of way), but they're a purely I-hate-you-and-you-hate-me-because-we're-far-too-alike-in-too-many-respects kind of relationship. Which is simply fun and does not at all encroach upon the Veggie/Bulma luv luv. ; )
And I miss Trunks and Goten, and I hope you guys miss them, too, so I will try my best to take care of the next parts of the story as quickly (and efficiently) as possible, so we can get them back in the picture. How's that sound? Good? I hope so. : )
Best to all,
Niach
P.S.
Longest chapter yet (I think). Shabam.