A/N: I uploaded this, then forgot to actually publish this. My bad! Sorry! Nudge me when I forget if you want more.

Chapter 20

It was an hours long process pressing the pigment under her skin. The exhaustion came from entertaining her. Having to work to keep up with someone who maneuvered so quickly and skillfully around puzzles. Each stone was a puzzle, and each puzzle fit into a story; history of the saiyajin people.

They settled into a pattern in her mind; she solved the puzzles, he called up narrated versions of the stories from his childhood.

"You sound like your father." She says. It comes out loud, "look like him too."

He doesn't know what to say, so they remain in silence for some time while he works, and she explores the partially solved puzzle box.

"Did you speak with him?" His voice is even in her mind.

"Yes, we spoke a few times. Your father and I were figuring out a list for me to work on while I was here." Aloud again she responded.

There is another long period of silence. She was leaning forwards now, chest pressed into her knees while he worked further down her spine. More portions of the puzzle box are solved, but these ones he does not narrate, instead he only comments that it is part of the training all children go through. The next puzzle is simple to solve, an equation for the amount of thrust required to move an object of a set weight in climates of varying gravity. She mentally conjures and forces across a memory of her father teaching her about hover cars as a young child, and then the two of them manipulating vehicles to be adaptable to various scenarios.

He was intrigued, if she had those types of abilities at such a young age, that would make her a prodigy, like him. If this was true, what was on 'the list'?

Another puzzle. This one she cannot solve, it is too culturally specific for her to understand. The answer isn't revealed as the puzzle solves itself and allows her to move on. She misses the question and forcibly, if not unintentionally, pushes back against the link. His hot fingertips were pulling at the edge of her underclothes.

"Hooks under bow." She responds to the internal image of her garter belt closure; everything else around it blurred. She feels him undo it and peel the halves around her until they flopped forwards in her lap. The tapping continued.

He fed her another piece of the edible tape. She'd solved each of the little puzzles contained in each of the small stones on one side. It'd stopped and she'd breathed a sigh of relief, it was over.

"No, not yet. Solve the box." His tone echoed in his head. Her hair was being pushed over one shoulder, and the tapping started again. Some more time had passed, the tape had made her woozier. She could only force herself to focus on the box for so long before having to surface and regain a connection to her body once more. She had to make a solid connection to stop herself from feeling ill. There was a lightheadedness that overshadowed everything when she looked around herself; the light from the fire wasn't placed for her use. Sometimes the sensations of sickness would cross the barrier and manifest in her mind as well.

When he finished he reached for the ribbon that bound the sticks. He creates a noose around his wrist, then ties the other hand around hers so they're bound. She doesn't remember much after that.

When she awoke she was lying prone, with her head cushioned on a soft pillow. They were still tethered, her fingertips resting on his. He however was facing upwards staring blankly into the dark ceiling while a woman hunched over his shoulder.

The puzzle box rattled in her mind, he was immediately aware of her. The magnetism it exuded before was lost on her. There was panic at the unknown, and so he manifested again, this time it was just a quiet contact in the dark, an idea pushed across the mental bridge - just lay there, and focus elsewhere.

The pain is too much to focus around, or to overcome. It burns, it makes her want to whither and squirm. She didn't agree to this. This wasn't part of their deal. An overwhelming sense of distress is becoming a growing cacophony in her head. She is forcing him out; the room where they are interacting is shrinking, compressing, and then slowly crushing its contents.

In her head he is capitulated from his feet. The ceiling creeps lower, and the walls closer. He sits on the ground and begins to calmly focus his thoughts, projecting over her panic. The idea appeals to him as much as rape; it disgusts him, and makes him lower himself unbecomingly. He makes it quick, a sharp reach forward and he has grasped her consciousness in his own mind and blocked the pathways that consciously process pain. He forced her to manifest herself mentally then pushed her down into the identical scene their physical bodies where in.

"Enough whining you weakling!" He roared from his place on his back in the mental world. It was just the two of them here, lying down. He faced upwards and her down. "Focus on something other then them." He sneered into the dim light.

"How?" She said after a long pause. Her physical body was beginning to sweat under the pain she was feeling. The pain was mounting in intensity, blooming in her brain and behind her eyes. Her breathing was hitching, coming faster and shallower. Panic was the beginning of the end if it could sink its slimy fingers into the alien woman.

He cleared his throat quietly before beginning, "The two sons of the Cold Empire are at war with each other and the head of the Cold Family, King Cold, is turning a blind eye to the situation. The younger brother, Freiza, his army has entered your planet's galaxy. Their conflict is a civil war, each side vying to conquer the other by any means. Right now Freiza's men are trying to secretly convince your government to side with them over us. They want your technology." She decided then that she liked his voice; it had a soothing quality to it that came from the timber.

"They will take away a select few from the planet, the rest is will be purged, the planet sold, the survivors enslaved." The admission made her grit her teeth.

"We get he is the bad one. We do…or at least we did. Why else do you think we'd align ourselves with you?"

They were quiet for some time afterwards. The mental strong-arming faded and reality returned. One of the women was tapping Bulma's cheekbone until she opened her eyes. They're all watching her carefully, inspecting her with sweeping eyes, speaking over and around her in the Saiyajin language. They had flipped her over, and one woman sits between the Queen and King, blocking her exposed chest from him.. One pressed her fingers into the horseshoe of her ribs and down her midline to her belly button; a finger tapped the two micro gems embedded there. They discussed her again, hissing whispers and sharp clicks of their tongues. They're tapping at her hipbones, seeing how many fingers fit between the ridges. Bulma turned her eyes to the only man in the room. He was watching the ceiling, ignoring everyone else it seemed.

The eldest woman of the set approached him and then all Bulma could see was him transferring something from his hand to his mouth. She watched him swallow, and slide his eyes closed. The woman then spoke to him, but her ears weren't good enough to make it out.

"Woman." A pause. "They wish to know if it is true that earthling hair re-grows." He sounds as if he is drifting off, his voice quieting at the end. There is something in his voice that she hears as i

A gulp, "yes. Why?" He never answers, his eyes are shut and his hand has relaxed under hers, their fingertips no longer in contact.

The older woman was in Bulma's vision. She tapped the earth woman's cheek again with her fingers so they made eye contact. A nod is exchanged amongst the saiyajin women, and one takes a seat near the Queen's head. She is the youngest of the set it appears, and she smells close to apples and cinnamon simmering on the stove. Bulma watches her upside down, the woman is beautiful she decides; her skin flawless, the dim light pulling out the gold tones in her olive skin.

She jerks upwards when there are hands on her hips, folding down the lace underwear, and it is making her nervous. The woman at her head is pulling her backwards until she is watching the ceiling, When the band is rolled down a second time she tries to sit up again, decidedly uncomfortable. Her fingers brush his as she tries to use her hand to help her sit up. Their palms come into contact and she squeezes his hand in her attempts.

The woman at her head is chattering at her. Bulma can't comprehend it, so she twists in her spot, to try and understand by peering at the priestess right side up. They played intergalactic trans-cultural charades for a time before the general message was conveyed; more makings for cleansing. She laid down, tensing only when she felt someone's warm fingertips drawing lines over her pelvis. The hand presses down slightly and the heat radiates in, relaxing Bulma. The calmness in the air was destroyed with the earthling's yelp of surprise – they were shaving her! She took a deep breath, and another, then one more still. A second set of warm hands were touching her face, the first woman at her head is looking for Bulma's attention.

The priestess leans forwards into the crook of the Queen's neck, "this is our most sacred of marks, it is not to be shared with those outside this ceremony. It instills fertility, virility in male offspring, and is part of the initiation rights of women." Her whisper is breathy and it heats the shell of the earth woman's ear. Bulma nods and lets the tension out of her frame.

Her mind drifted in the clouds of all the food and drink she'd ingested. She just couldn't process anymore of this whatever this was. It was just easier for her to lay down, relax and let this ceremony finish itself. The more she tensed up the more her body burned. The repetitive tapping faded into the background of her mind as she slid into a semi consciousness eyelids aflutter.

Bulma felt his fingertips twitch into hers, they felt nearly too hot on her skin. It was bringing her back into her consciousness, and back into the rhythmic sound of tapping, the sensation of pain and displaced skin had vanished, it was just sound now. Her arm was being moved, and then something was touching her skin, too firmly entrenched in the grasp of semi-consciousness to want to understand it.

More tapping on her cheek came later. The ash box was now bright with flames, and it was the first thing that came into focus for her. Dragging her blue eyes to the weathered face of the eldest Priestess was a difficult task. The woman was standing the dazed earthling to her feet, then pulling her, naked-chested to stand. The Priestess dips her fingers into a small bowl and with quick hearty taps deposits the contents onto the foreigner's body at all the major intersects of the ki pathways. The viscous liquid slides downwards with gravity. Once it finishes its journey, each path is covered with a piece of ribbon, the same that she'd consumed earlier it'd seemed.

Drink, Sleep, Eat, Bathe.

Bulma nodded at the soft voice in her head. Then remained standing as the two attendants began to wrap her with what felt like a long black scarf. They bound her chest comfortably, all Bulma could think of doing was crawling into a warm bed and sleeping for days. Exhaustion was overwhelming her senses, it was making her body heavy and cumbersome. She couldn't remember Vegeta joining them but he was suddenly standing in her peripheral vision.

The Eldest Priestess took Bulma's left arm and his right before clasping them together. She sobered when she felt the slight shudder roll through his fingers. They were using more ribbon to wrap their forearms and hands in a clasp. Her eyelids were succumbing to the gravity, the release into sleep felt wonderful and freeing.