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Chapter 12: Hoi Poi

He felt like a sitting duck. Vegeta overheard his cook chortling the phrase at him one day, and although he had little clue as to what it meant, he nevertheless felt the inflection behind her words.

The farm woman had taken to letting Vegeta help in her garden, as work in the slate mines was on hiatus until he felt better. Of course, everyday he would assure her repeatedly that he was capable; that he could handle his own. The woman would just look back with her toothy smile and nod, all the while pulling him behind her house for some needed weeding. The job was effortless and boring to him. The rigorous labor at least got his mind off things. Away from the fact that he unable to leave.

He knew better than to argue with her, though. She was his source of food and no one should mess with that. And in truth, he was beginning to think that she enjoyed his company in all its surliness. His shortcomings in agriculture were evident, and often she had to fix his errors as he pulled out a vegetable by accident. Still, she would chatter away about aimless things. Her family by the river and the countless generations that lived there. How big the village was before the dam breached long ago. Occasionally, she would ask him little questions. Unthreatening queries, like she was testing the ground around her guest. When something became too personal and Vegeta snapped, she never took offense, merely humming a tune and randomly changing the subject again.

Stewing in the afternoon sun, he had to remind himself of Bulma's intentions. She promised to return, so he let her leave. Again. Without any knowledge of how long he would have to be stuck out here.

"Ya know I can't stop you from leaving once you're near the ships, so what I'm asking is really an act of charity." That was what the woman finally said as an attempt to make him feel better about the whole debacle. She tried every way of luring his cooperation, down to the most direct. He liked that tactic better than manipulation. But still, "You can make this as easy or as hard as you want. I can tell you though, the sooner I get back to the city, the sooner I can make arrangements for you to leave. It's that simple."

A long delay, "How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know."

He exhaled through his nose, "How do I know you will be back?"

"I returned this time, didn't I?" The sweet manipulation resurfaced in the way she simpered at him. The way her eyes sparked betrayed a hidden sense of desperation. She needed this from him, "It wouldn't do either of us any good to leave you out here forever."

He closed his eyes with a grunt, "Well, at least we have something straight."

All he could ask himself now was why it was so damn important for her to understand the remains of his struggle. Bulma had an explanation for that too, but it failed to fit. She proclaimed that this was a golden opportunity to better her race. What race would wish to embrace this technology? Suddenly, the concept of the Planet Trade made Vegeta falter, angry that he ruffled the memory. Out there was an evil place, he decided. A species so utterly useless should count their blessings they were not yet discovered.

"Careful," his cook chimed over from her side of the terrace. Her doting smile just frustrated him more.

Muttering a foreign curse, he threw the green tangle of roots down between his thighs. This is bullshit. Contemplating the risks of defying his orders, Vegeta snapped up and began to walk down the path to the main trail.

The farm woman sat there for a minute, trying to settle on whether she should chase after him. Then, a small mumble escaped her lips as she grinned down at the cabbage. He would back for lunch. He always returned.

High pitched metallic sounds emanated from the surround sound speakers in the upper corner of the room, and the fast-paced tempo of background drums was soon accompanied by equally fervent movement on the screen. Cars zoomed past the camera as it panned streets in downtown Tokyo, following a fashionably dressed Asian woman on her way to work. As directed, she carried the empty briefcase as though she would lug a piece of furniture, the thick grip of the classy handle just a bit oversized for her petite hands. Foot traffic all around, she nearly tossed the leather bag forward on the jaunt, her white-powdered face lighting up with fake worry and eccentric pose. And with prediction, contents magically spilled out on another clipped shot, all of which included the daily needs of the average business man. A phone, papers, and of course the ever expensive electric tablet crashed to the sidewalk and into the ushering breeze that followed, leaving the baffled supermodel standing within an uncaring horde.

Then, the scene stopped, an exuberant Japanese voice intervening with his sound advice, "Don't let this happen to you!"

Rewind.

The camera went back a few takes, opening up with the same woman sauntering down the street, her hands free this time aside from a light blue purse. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk where her mythical items just fell, and she smiled into the wind with a knowing glance.

The bustling music became even more excited as her smirk widened and she turned toward the camera. Refined fingers lifted, wrapped around a narrow blue capsule to showcase the word 'CC' printed on the side, as she finally spoke her two crucial words in concert with the concluding notes of the guitar, "Hoi Poi!"

After a moment, the file ended and the computer blipped to a standard interface, motioning the lights to come back on command. Two young men immediately replaced the view with self-assured confidence as they eagerly awaited a response from the row of older gentleman and sole woman pondering over the curved table. Bulma sat at the very back of the ellipse, a delicate hand playing a pen against her temple. She hated the advertising group and their constant replication of the stereotypes. Noting the discrepancy between the type of 'business' woman carrying the bag and the contents inside was only part of the issue she had with it. But according to the all of the studies conducted via the previous ten-year census, these sorts of commercials still sold all over Asia and that was all that mattered as far as the company was concerned.

"I like it," she spoke first, cutting off any opportunity for the rest of the committee to make a decision. Their input was just for show anyway. "Publish it."

With that, the meeting was adjourned. The fellow members at the top of the Capsule Corp. food chain gathered their things, and chatting resumed on either side of them. These conferences were a rarity, merely scheduled to update the progress of the capsule patents from each department. Advertising and promotion was only one of them, the senior advisor patting his two lower ranked on the back for a fine job. There was also the patent department that oversaw securing their design through each step in the process as well as administration that set deadlines for its official release. Research and development was her division, and although she was technically a part of the administration as a corporate executive in chair, she also chose to take the report over the senior engineers from the Fidel Group. The last thing she needed was their opposition while she tried in vain to argue for what she wanted.

Bulma followed suite, keeping to herself and the mountain of paperwork before her. The advertising was on its way with no true working product. This was a real dilemma.

"Taking the initiative, I see. I think that's great."

The loving voice did not deter her resolve. A feminine frown reached her cherry lips as she looked up to the fatherly figure across the table, "No, you dropped the ball. I'm just picking it up for you."

The slender man cocked his chin, and a wrinkled smile tried to ward away ill-effects from the unexpected remark, "That's a little blunt, don't you think?"

"It's the truth."

Everyone sensed her casual tone, a looming sign that Bulma Kobayashi was not in a good mood, and silence slowly dampened their business talk. Mr. Kobayashi glanced up at the worried faces directed at him. If there was a serious problem, no one seemed willing to mention it during the meeting. With a nod, "If you all wouldn't mind, I think we would like to speak privately."

For the next minutes, Bulma watched as the other men left, her fingers flexing subtly around one of the folders containing her list of complaints. For some reason, anxiety knotted her stomach and she had to think more avidly why she was here so late in the game. Her father sat in a relaxed pose to one side; a studious expression emplaced, ready to analyze why she was upset this time and what he needed to do to mollify it. These sorts of stages were common place in the Briefs family. Most people knew when to stay away.

"So what's wrong, Princess?"

She hated being called that. Grinding out, "We have serious issues with the patents."

Graying eyebrows raised and a sigh ushered forth, "Tell me something I don't know. Why didn't you mention this in the meeting? I was waiting for you."

"Wai-" she shifted toward him sharply, brows knit down, "Since when is it suddenly my problem to fix your mess? If you know there are problems, then make an executive decision."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

How was this so hard to comprehend? Bulma flattened her hands on the report in a huff, "Push back the release date."

"That's not possible," he said with a kind smile that only seemed to anger the younger more, "I promised a deadline and I intend on sticking with it."

With that, she raised her arms up in defeat, "You see that's the real problem. You are always making these promises that are unrealistic."

"That's not true-"

"And every time we come into crunch time, it's an ordeal to get the half-assed finished product out on the market."

"Now wait a minute-"

"And then its years of fiddling out the bugs, dealing with disgruntled clients because we can't get our act together."

"Bulma, calm down."

"We cannot afford to do this with the capsules!" She finished vehemently, "Financially or otherwise."

"Wait." Mr. Kobayashi leaned forward, an intent look in his eyes, "No one is suggesting that we rush this product beyond the scope of what we are capable."

"That is exactly what you are asking me to do," she replied with an emphatic gesture, "If you had just given me the project in the first place, this never would have happened."

"Really. And where have you been?" Suddenly the tables were turned. His daughter slid a glare between her lashes as she leaned against in the chair. Her defiance was enough to egg in some more, "In the last year, you have been handling your own affairs outside this company. Times when we needed you, you have been avoiding opportunities to take the central role. It was here the entire time to take."

"Right." The glower intensified, "Right. Place that responsibility on my shoulders, the Vise Chair of this company in training. You know as well as I do that one, I am not in the position to take over projects commissioned out to other companies-"

"You needed to step up to the plate then. I waited as long as I could for you to tidy your issues and come to me."

"I did," she hissed lowly before continuing with her rant, "and two, my personal life has nothing to do with the affairs of this company."

"Of course not. You are very good at keeping it separate."

The furtive comment was meant to slip under her skin, and it seemingly worked as she turned heatedly to an intern standing in the doorway, "What!"

The young man nearly dropped his report in shock, unknowingly walking in on them. Bulma continued to seethe from the table, frustration radiating from her as vibrantly as the sunlight that reflected against long scarlet strands curled snuggly into her French twist. When the intern failed to immediately respond, another verbal lashing was attempted before Mr. Kobayashi interjected with business savvy, "Darling, there's no reason to bite his head off just because we're having a little exchange."

Successfully diverting the time bomb with a slack-jaw from his daughter, the elder man skillfully turned to the student with a renewed smile, "I'm sorry. Now, what can I help you with?"

The young man grinned sheepishly, a burning wish at the base of his scalp that he had not forgotten the disk in this room. His supervisor was always echoing at how he needed to keep better track of his work, "Uh, I just needed to collect a tablet left here from last night."

Mr. Kobayashi nodded with a continued positive disposition, "Ok. Can it wait a few minutes?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course," the intern replied, wobbling his head and backing away. It was unfortunate he did not fully take the hint, "Oh, and uh, Mr. Kobayashi, I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for this opportunity. It's been a great three weeks so far, and I just really wanted to express that."

It was no secret that flattery was one kind of fast-ticket to stardom here. The charismatic smile widened for show and his superior chuckled for full measure, "Well, good for you. May I ask your name?"

"Alright," before the boy could nosh another compliment, the heiress rousted herself to a standing position. Plastering a beam that looked both fake and intentionally demeaning, a petite hand reached for the intern's shoulder like a mentor ready to pass down the most important advice he would likely ever hear, "Mister … Takashi, let me help you out with something. When the real business people are talking, you just nod and smile and do exactly what they say. You get that?"

A numb smile and nod responded.

"Ah, see you're learning already," saccharine dripped from her lips, "Now, if you excuse us, we real business people have some real business to discuss. So, if you would be so kind as to wait out here until we are done, that would be great. Thanks."

The door shut in the young man's face before he could even reply, and the wealthy woman on the other side turned with satisfied conscience that there would be no more distractions. Mr. Kobayashi, however, did not look so pleased.

"What is your problem?" Irritation subtly lined his words.

"My problem," she shot at him with fire, "My problem is that we have a product exploding on people. My problem is with a company that can't seem to work with the prototype we designed. Now, I'm back to the drawing board with a deadline that I cannot make and a committee fighting me every step of the way! You look at these reports and tell me what the fuck I'm supposed pulled out of my ass to make this project a success."

Stunned would have been an understatement, although he was able to withhold dropping his jaw at her outburst. He was already aware of the problems without her order to acquiesce, but pulling out one of the manila articles from her stack gave him some time to mull over the valid complaint.

After a stretched moment, her father spoke in a low tone, "How much time do you need?"

Bulma continued to stand near the door, now suddenly red-faced from her aggressive behavior. This was not how she planned on presenting her case, "I need at least another six months to a year. It has to go back to blueprinting."

He shut his weary eyes behind the folder and sighed, "That's too much time."

"Why?" Bulma's balked expression deepened as she threw her hands out in utter exasperation, "Why? The product has been in the works since its inception fifty years ago. What is six months difference on its release date doing to make?"

Throwing down the report, Mr. Kobayashi's hardened gaze somehow managed to cut her boisterous attitude to the core, and Bulma relaxed her arms to analyze the uncharacteristic motion. The elder man paused though, his words carefully articulated to not seem so harsh. An understanding look accompanied them as he could see, and at least admire, her tenacity to get the job done right. She was a Briefs, after all, "Bulma. This project is the culmination of my entire career. Of our family legacy. I would like to see it revealed to the world before I retire."

"Excuse me?" She quirked a brow with this, "What the hell are you talking about? You told me at the beginning of the fiscal year that you had at least another five years with Capsule Corp."

Her father's expression slowly matched his eyes as he focused on the table again in effort to find an appropriate rebuttal. Months passed since that conversation, when he offered to place her as a corporate executive so she could act in his stead overseas. It was supposed to be part of her training before eventually taking his position fully. But things had changed.

"Come with me."

The silence set the younger woman on edge, and it was at this moment that Bulma realized her last face-to-face conversation with him had actually been at the beginning of the fiscal year.

With this in mind, the situation unexpectedly made her feel further apprehensive as Bulma followed her father into the adjoining office. Tracing her fingers along the wall, she had to think hard to remember when she was last in the main corporate office. All of the deadlines in the past couple of years forced her to travel so much. They grew apart.

"What's going on?" She asked tentatively.

The older man took a longer pause than necessary, unsure quite how to bite the bullet. Wringing his fingers against the soft leather of his high-back chair, "Two months ago, I was diagnosed."

The truth lodged in his throat when he saw her blink with recognition and he had to coughed out his courage, "It's cancer."

Bulma stood there in shock, unable to draw a sentence with her breath. Suddenly now, she could see how fatigued he appeared. How much his hair had whitened and thinned in the passing seasons. He lost weight. This was all too reminiscent.

"No one knows."

And then slowly, her brows tightened together, rapidly wetting eyes narrowing, passing concern for some deeper betrayal. She uttered it in a whisper, "When were you going to tell me?"

"Ah, now." His compassionate smile would win nothing with his child, the one who perfected the loving manipulation as a toddler. There was no easy way, and they both knew it, "I wanted something more personal than this when we both had time."

She bit her lower lip from retaliating in a manner she knew would only seem immature. As her heart ache grew, small memoirs of her mother came to mind; a reminder of how things turned out the last time this happened. It was not fair.

"Is it terminal?"

"We aren't sure," a composed, rather sensitive answer came, "But, it's was caught early enough, so hopefully treatment will ensure a successful remission."

"Ah." A small smirk crossed her face with a compliant nod.

"Do you now understand why I want this done, Bulma?" His smile was a reward for her enduring strength as Mr. Briefs finished their rare family moment with his own subtle of plea, "I want to see this to its end, in case the worst should happen. And you are the only one who could possibly pull this off. You're my little genius and I'm counting on you."

Bulma swallowed the lump and regained self-control, albeit with less stability as she looked up into her father's eyes. She had been away for too long.

His pace slowed once he reached the white stucco building. He was getting a migraine again, and all the socialization with the surrounding residents had him convinced that he was slowly degrading his intelligence. Bulma suggested that he stayed in her home while she was gone, but in the end he refused. It seemed too sterile. It evoked memories he would rather forget while on the mud ball. Besides, he got the impression that the woman was offering more out of guilt than for his benefit, and the alien was more comfortable with familiar settings anyway. He did not like change.

The light hit at just the right angle to impress a sneeze and quick shift before he regained his vision. He looked up to the small patio with a hitched sigh as weary eyes caught the intruder. The youngest of the imps sat next to the step, her face slumped and hidden by the mass of unruly black hair. Sad little eyes peeked from between her fingers, and Vegeta swore he could hear a sniffle.

"Go away." The foreigner muttered in passing. They never listened, of course. But that never stopped his broken record for the one day they should happen to obey.

The rascal immediately stood up, bee-lining for the entry. A deep growl escaped him, missing the dried lines down the girl's tanned cheeks. Side-stepping the runt was easy enough. The door shut with a loud groan in her face.

Vegeta motioned to sit down, kneading his temples in agitation. Bulma kept giving him medication to recede the pain. She told him it kept the inflammation down. When she departed, she handed over a small box of supplies, full of all sorts of things he guessed were medically related. Avoiding the substances for as long as he could, the migraines would just keep returning if he stopped taking the most important drug she called an 'antibiotic'. The last thing he needed was another collapse.

The saiyan heaved to his feet again, locating the container near his bedside. When he returned to his seat, the predictable flash of black in the corner of the window beckoned him.

"Xiansheng," the child began, but he quickly cut her off.

"I said, go away."

A set of beady eyes penetrated the residence. This was becoming a routine for them. Almost every afternoon, an imp would be lodged somewhere near his doorway. The oldest was usually the most polite, stopping by to simply check on him or deliver something from the cook. The middle would lounge around on his porch after school, asking ridiculous questions and spewing trivial facts about her world to him. The youngest, the most pestering, would usually just watch quietly from the window. The peeping tom always held this probing gaze about her; never approaching, yet willful enough to still invade his personal space.

"Please," she whimpered.

"Aren't you gone yet?!"

Why won't she take the hint?

There was a long pause, but Vegeta knew the child was still there. Her small body eventually slouched down against the wall as she began to cry softly. Flat sobs grew in volume as they racked against stunted snorts when she tried to quiet herself.

His headache was never going to go away at this rate. He needed to get back for lunch; otherwise the cook would be knocking down his door with added concern and more inane chatter. Like an annoyed older brother, Vegeta flounced open the entry on his trespasser.

"What."

The imp gulped in some air for a reply, wiping at the waterfall.

"What do you want?" He pressed aggressively.

For a moment, he was unsure if the wailing was going to resume. Her large brown eyes flooded forth, her slur almost unrecognizable.

Yelling was getting him nowhere. Vegeta crouched down to her level, pinching his fingers in a poignant gesture that instantly seemed to silence her, "Stop!" Satisfied, he continued more calmly, "I don't understand you with all the sobbing."

Biting her lip, the girl mumbled a somber explanation, "They are going to make me throw it away."

Eyes narrowed as he cocked his chin, "Throw what away?"

"I just wanted to keep it. She's nice," the girl implored, "Jiejie said that I wasn't old enough, and mama told me that we don't have the space. So-" she caught herself before she could finish. Staring off toward one of the brush trails, she turned the facet back on.

"Stop crying."

But it was futile by this point. The youngest imp took the opportunity to grab one of Vegeta's free hands and lean into it for comfort. He fought the urge to push her away, instead refocusing the child with a quick jab to her shoulder. The move only fueled her angst though, the wail more insistent. Sighing exasperatedly, he admitted that he lacked the know-how to deal with this sort of confrontation. What was he supposed to do, leave her alone to scream all day? It would only worsen his headache.

"What do you want from me?" The tone was not the most pleasant, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice.

Instantly, the child ceased her sniveling to look at the alien square in the eyes. It was like she was boring into his soul, her gaze was so intense. And the gesture was somewhat unsettling for him, so the saiyan drew back on his knees to observe more keenly.

Swallowing over and over, the troublemaker had a plan rumbling in her little brain. A determined expression crossed her after another minute. She stood up, dragging his sodden palm as she went. She would show him. Then maybe he would understand.

Vegeta did not want to go, but he was willing to sacrifice a little if it would shut her up. They headed down one of the many narrow trails, cross-cutting a creek and meandering around random trees. Some of the branches were almost too low, but for all of his famed strength, Vegeta could not pry himself from her tiny fingers. Too little too late, they stopped suddenly in a clearing. Another trail hooked up with theirs on the other side; one he knew led to her home.

An impatient huff disrupted their peaceful setting. Glaring down out of the corner of his eye, the elder had no need to ask what was on his mind. The child turned to him with a pleading gesture, her squeaky voice hoarse from all of the trauma, "I just don't want to throw it away. I don't know what to do…"

She pointed to a small bag at the base of a tree. Vegeta frowned in confusion before addressing her, "It's a sack."

But before the girl could respond, he caught minor movement beneath the yellowish weave. His scowl deepened as he turned to her, "What is it?"

The child started to cry again, mumbling her repeated phrase of how she refused to follow through with her family's wishes. Vegeta stood there, shifting back and forth between her and the bag in frustration mixed with curiosity. Did she want him to get rid of it for her?

He chose the course of action, waltzing toward the minuscule parcel and pulling it up to eye level by one of its cloth ties. In the moment, he found it quite odd that a child would seek him to carry out such a task. He was well aware of his role in society. Still, he never considered that an innocent brat would be able to pick up on it so readily. Something was living in there; his expertise was yet again sought after to extinguish it. Like all things in this universe.

"Go home." He did not bother to turn to the child.

However, the girl remained waffling in her spot, unsure of what he was going to do. She only wanted his advice.

Her presence was distracting, and unexpectedly he found himself unable to carry out the act in front of her. Turning, he was not so polite this time, "GO!"

She jolted as though just struck by lightening; a squeal accompanied her flee up the path. As easily as she asked him to finish the task for her, it was just as simple to frighten her away. The saiyan did not understand. It was never his job to care, anyway.

The bag shifted again, turning on its tie as the bundle within punched tiny claws into the stitching. Vegeta eyed the marks carefully, investigating with a wary finger. Whatever this was, perhaps he should do it quick. He would never get the chance, though. As he pulled his arm out to wrap the unknown creature against the trunk, a sharp high-pitched cry reached his ears. And it sounded familiar.

He retrieved his arm quickly enough, plopping the container onto his palm and detangling the string. Soft fur caressed against his sensitive skin before he was even able to get the top fully open, exposing large blue eyes and pointed ears. The mewling came again, this time with an equally pitiful expression to match.

AN: What do you think he found in that little baggie? You think he'll let it live? I swear he won't be staying in China forever! I hope that the duel names for Briefs/Kobayashi aren't too confusing. It will be more clear cut in later chapters – home life Briefs; business/public Kobayashi. Hope you enjoyed, and if you really care about the progress of this fic, please leave a review. Thanks.