Saiyan physiology, I have been assured by many doctors and questionable scientists, is the best there is. The way we bounce back from near-fatal injury is unique and I won't say it has not always been a source of pride and consolation.
And yet here I am, lamenting the fact that two weeks after waking up from my GR accident —with the most questionable scientist yet at my side— I am all but healed. Why? Well, first of all, sitting still is a lot easier when it hurts to move. Because apparently, that's part of what relaxing is. Not moving.
We're in a new room again. Capsule Corp is full of them. I think this one is specifically meant for this thing I've promised to try: a relaxing room. Or something. Recreation? Whatever.
There are two couches, another low table between us, and one of those big viewing slates fixed to the wall surrounded by pieces of canvas she calls art. The woman has taken one couch, stretched her legs out to the side and is leaning on her elbow as she flips through a remote's menu. I concede to sitting down on the vacant couch. It's a little low so I'm stuck with my feet planted apart as I stare at her with my arms crossed.
The second reason my recovery irks me: I can't blame this lapse of judgement on an addled brain. What in fuck's name made me to agree to this? Maybe I have suffered permanent brain-damage. I mean, that happens. Look at Nappa. It's kind of a nice thought. I could just, you know, go about and do whatever I want. 'Oh, don't mind him. He got knocked in the head too much.' Conduct unbefitting a prince? Can I eat that? No more responsibility for my actions… but then I'd just be a second Kakarot. And that's just sad…
She looks up at me from her side of the low table and sighs, the lowers the remote. "Sit back, will you? Relax."
I have to repress a snarl, because she was going to show me how. Because apparently I don't, so... I mean what the fuck? Also, what the fuck, brain? I know I'm naturally distrustful. It's served me well in the past, but ever since I've decided I can trust the woman... I'm going into hyper alert every time I'm around her. It's so stupid, but it only appears to be getting worse.
"I am relaxed," I grind, and instinctively dig my nails into my biceps before shoving my back into the backrest. It's not helping; now I have to tilt my head to my chest to keep looking at her. And I'm not about to look away from her, because that thing in the back of my head is screaming: danger, danger. Space-reality continuum anomaly.
Oh yes; it is very hard to argue with that voice. This whole stay on Earth has been a trip to lala-land. And she's right at the center of it all. That doesn't mean she forms, in any way, a danger to me. She's weak; she's harmless. Worry about the anomalies that are a danger, will you brain? Kakarot. The half-breed mystery-brat from the future. Cramps induced by late-night snack splurges. You know, real and actual dangers.
"Ok," she gives me a weird look, "so when I need to relax, I hang loose and go out with my friends." She drops the control on the table between us and stands to stretch. "But I'm not sure you're that comfortable with yours yet, so…"
Ok, let's try and make things clear to the woman. "I don't have any friends."
She smiles and saunters off to a corner, leaving with that throbbing tinge from behind as I follow her with my eyes. Why does she sway her hips like that? She's not wearing those ridiculous high shoes this time. Maybe it's the dress. "And I'm not really sure they're up for it either right now. You did beat the snot out of them, and they're all out training hard."
It is half-way relieving she was not talking about herself, but still, "what friends are we talking about exactly?"
She is bent down over what turns out to be a mini-fridge, and I have to look away or I'm stuck scowling at her ass. The dress is not short by her definition, but definitely too short for this kind of antics. She stands, then tosses me a can, which I catch on intuition, and I turn back to give her my best death glare. She seems set on disturbing me further, because I just get a smile. "Anyway, I've got some basics right here. Dim the lights, light some incense, play some relaxing music."
"Music?"
"Like, relaxing sounds?" She shrugs, opens her own can and, right on cue, we are surrounded by ambient sound. "Here, and try a beer."
Damnit. Now she thinks I don't know what music is... Though how it's supposed to relax anyone is beyond me. Beer is what I tried at the bar, though it was not put in a can like this. When I open the lid, foam surprises me, and I sit up in an attempt to minimize the damage, cursing under my breath.
The woman flutters around me, placing an assortment of cans and bottles and packages on the table, closing the blinds. As she plays around with her controller, the music swells, some flute in tones so low and slow I doubt the musician himself will be awake at the end of the song.
As I look through the assortment on the table for something serviceable as a towel to get the sticky beer off my hands she dives behind me, takes the opportunity to grab and fluff a pillow and places it against the side-rest. Then she motions me to lean into it. The alarm bells in my head are still ringing, and it takes me a while to figure out what she is doing, because her acts are so alien to me. It finally clicks when I think of the blond ditz she is related to. Oh, this will not do. "Stop mothering me. Saiyans don't do family. I told you this."
"You've told me a lot of things. I'm not convinced on most of them." She walks to my side, picks up a bag, offering me "chips?", and smiles that sickly smile at me. I can't help but think that's unfair of her to say, because I have been nothing but honest with the woman from the start. I tell her as such.
She laughs at me outright. "You misunderstand. I don't think you're lying. I just don't think any of it is true." Then she plops down next to me, and I find I do want to lean on that side-rest, just to get some distance. Rethinking the no-threat-to-me thing, seriously.
"How are you feeling now?"
That's it. I am not cut out for this. I should give it a fair chance, true. I do want to be a Super Saiyan. Yes, that badly. But I think a time-limit is in order. Ten minutes. And if I'm not convinced, I am never, ever trying this again. All and everything we're doing right now is going on my shit-list forever. Including the beer, just because of association. I blink at her. "Seriously freaked out."
"Ahh." At least she shifts away from me, rummaging through her wares. "Want to try a cigarette?"
It is probably the single most disgusting habit these earthlings have displayed to me yet. Both her father and she indulge in it, and I cannot imagine why. The trail of smoke, the ash and odor clinging to them all day. I curl my upper lip at her, and she gets the message. A weak laugh as she leans to the side. "Mind if I do?"
I should, but I can't be arsed to tell her. Nine minutes… nine more left. She lights up, then lowers herself down with a content sigh, crossing her legs and leaning on the back rest. "How d'you like the music?"
She seems to think me a liar, but I hardly ever do, unless I need to: "Sounds like a pair of geriatrics trying to fuck on top of a broken flute."
She barks a laugh. "Not your tastes." She picks up her remote and taps away on it. "How's this?"
The beat changes, picks up, and instruments are now accompanied by the screeching of a young female. "Now it sounds like the flute itself is fucking some bitch."
She laughs, sits up with me as I discard the now-empty can to the side of the table. Goes about sorting her bottles with her cigarette perched on her lips. "How about wine. Do you know wine?"
"Oh yes." If I was uncomfortable before, now I'm fuming. "I know. Pinon blue, Merlot's pink. Frieza loved the stuff, went through three bottles in one sitting." Then pretended to be completely smashed. Bastard. "They say the Cold Empire originally started because the Ice Planet only sustained the grapes for it around the equator and they needed more planting space. Oh, you can also cook with it."
She gives me a perplexed look, so I elaborate. "Drown a fowl in it, then cook it? Of course, that takes away the alcohol, so you need to replace that before serving. Oh, and there's wine veggies, wine pudding, wine ice cream."
Her expression turns cynical. "Seriously, wine ice-cream?"
I cannot help my delight. "What? You humans don't have wine ice cream? Haute cuisine on Frieza's ship." And eating it felt as good as waterboarding. "Brain-freeze and killing your taste-buds in one go. Two for the price of one."
She gives me another one of those sick smiles. "Wine's off the list then. And I guess no smokables? Can I at least burn some incense? Or maybe inject you with some mild sedatives?"
"Never letting you close enough for that again." Eight minutes left and counting.
"Hmm. Guess we'll have to do this naturally. Might even be better. Hey, you into movies?" She takes the stinking stick from her mouth, gives it a long look and puts it out. Looks up expectantly, like I should be happy about it. Like it matters now. The whole room reeks of the stuff.
On the plus side, now I can at least cut her off before she decides I don't know what movies are. I've seen both instructional and promotional material. I'm not sure why they would relax anyone either. "Only when I want to get inspired to kill the creators."
"Right, putting them on the back burner for now. So... you are into reading?"
She hands me a tablet slate with an expression like she's being really clever. Doubt resurfaces, suggesting I do have something to worry about, but I quench it. Take the slate from her, and give it a look over.
"I have books on here. Fiction, history, science. There's an internet browser. I have several interesting sites linked..." She tries to scoot closer and look at the slate with me, but I pull it close and turn it so only I can see. This is gold, and its setup is similar to a scouter. Easy enough to master. There is a lot more info here than accessible on the basic scourter database, though. I'm scrolling and searching and I find real and useful intel right away.
This internet is a truly beautiful thing. But, truly human as well. Information sharing? Nothing like the way the PTO hoarded its Information, accessible only from different databases close to Frieza himself. Needed data for your mission or task? Gather it up from the twelve different libraries and log rooms across the ship, and manually type in any data you need to take on the voyage.
I grunt, lost in the appliance while the woman loses interest and starts messing with her mobile phone. Suits me well enough. Oh, the stuff up for grabs in this place! Knowledge is power, don't the earthlings know this? And besides, why give anything away when you can charge for it or dole it out as if a favour? She's managed a look at my screen though, and takes in a breath. "What are you doing?"
"Research. Getting to know people? Piccolo is the devil," I deadpan, showing her the article. It seems a bit of an overstatement, but humans do like their dramas. Still useful. Piccolo: father, deceased. Strong points: can grow limbs back. Weaknesses: strong attacks take time and leave him stationary. But, even better: the brat. One of the articles suggest him training out in the desert with a child, and that could only be one. Though the article suggest it's actually a mythical spirit-being. The sources on the article are shabby, flagged as nonsense sites. But I know is such a good handle on him… I quickly move onto Kakarot next. There's less on him for some reason though. Perhaps spotting a flying monkey doesn't stand out here as much as a green lizard-thing in a turban.
Bulma sighs, laying down her phone and stretching her back as she sits up. "That is not what I meant with getting to know people." Then she sits back, breathing out long. "I know. Tell me a story," and then she puts her hand right on my leg.
I freeze, because the prickling is back, and perhaps I misunderstood my brain's anomaly warning. "What are you doing?"
"Hmm?" She has the audacity to pat my leg, then finally pulls her hand away to lean it against the backrest.
"This is stupid," I realise, and besides I've already spent over my allotted ten minutes, right? I can leave now. But it's worse; far worse. Because the smoke has cleared and I can smell her, and she's so close it's disgusting.
"Stupidest thing you've ever done?" She turns to me with a wicked twinkle in her eye. That near-black dress hugs the curves of her chest as she twists.
"No." Although it's close. Because she's right here, and she's an alien. A disgusting, inferior monster I should have purged a long time ago. Would have purged, if not for the daily meals and the perks of a warm place to sleep and training equipment.
She leans her head on her hand, the one on the backrest. Pulls up a leg, focuses on me intently, still with that mischieves tone. "What was the stupidest then?"
I bail, get up; move straight for the door. "Coming to this fucking planet." And it's true, because it gets worse every day. Worse in every way. There's an alien bitch I just let within three feet of me. And I'm not disgusted with her.
I'm not disgusted.