The din of the crowd below hardly registered as he took in concentrating breaths, the sweat cooling his skin where, underneath, his muscles screamed soreness from the evening's exertions. His skintight dark blue spandex glittered with tinseled accentuation at his abdominals, quads, and biceps although it was unnecessary as the twitching tissues had been honed over the years to the perfect embodiment of strength and power. It was the last performance of the season. He drew in a steady stream of thick, warmed air in relief while steeling himself to put on the best show he knew he could.
The small, short platform beneath his feet held sturdy as he adjusted his toes to curl over the edge while looking down as he always did to survey the enraptured audience, he thrust up his hand dramatically, flaring his fingertips to the ceiling as the neon blue and white lights beamed down at his place atop the tallest tower in the stadium. The crowd roared to life once more in suspense.
A trail of saline dripped from his dark hairline down the side of his face and he restrained the urge to wipe it, wetting his hands that needed to stay dry. He had one more for the night, the most daring and fear-inducing, although he hadn't felt fear from heights or his performances in years. The pride that bloomed with the watchful eyes of faceless admirers for his talent and acrobatic skill made it all worth it. He was able to do what he loved, entertaining others with his daredevil activities that often threatened his life if not performed to disciplined perfection.
He drew his gaze to centralize on the man across the ring, on a lower platform, patiently waiting for his cue. The taller and more robust man costumed in an accenting orange jumpsuit looked like a bodybuilder with his stature and heavy muscle tone but had a way of grace when necessary if not a little clumsy during practice. The blue-clad man, staring down, nodding his head with purpose, held no fear of misstep as the taller man could be absolutely dependable when the stakes were high.
His Adam's apple bobbed once as the jolt of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he raised his other hand, the mouths of those below held agape in wonderment.
The orange man unharnessed the swinging bar from its clip and tossed it evenly across the expanse of unnetted air. Lights followed it's slow progress to the man at the highest peak. He waited for his opportunity, his moment. He had fallen to the nets tens of times during training, but not tonight. Although he had done the feat a hundred times before, he never took the performance lightly. He wouldn't, he couldn't fall.
The bar swung away then made its gradual descent back to him. He saw the orange man's breath hitch then hunker on his haunches in anticipation of a safe execution.
The blue-suited man bent down with focus like a spring wound too tight, ready to burst from its resting state. A glimmer on the metal's textured surface ignited the synapses in his joints and muscles to fire as he found his opening. A thrill as he heard the familiar collective gasp from below.
Vegeta held out his deft hands, leapt. And soared.
He woke the next morning with jackhammers drilling on his skull and pulsed behind his eyes. Groggy from a night of celebratory drinking for another successful season past, the rest of his team lay around him in various states of post blissful inebriation, dozing in chaotic disarray around the hotel suite the troupe decided to rent at the last minute. The times when they all left their West city residences were at the beginning of the season for their nationwide tours. The excitement of returning home was felt throughout the whole troupe as the last couple of shows were held at their hometown stadium.
The only one to make it to a bed, Vegeta kicked off the sheet that tangled around his ankles, noted the smudges of eye makeup coating the white linen pillowcase smeared from the previous night's performance and went out in search of a caffeinated espresso shot although, at this point, he would have preferred an IV drip of the stimulant.
Typically first to rise, even after finally falling asleep only 4 hours prior as indicated from the '9 am' glowing on his phone's screen, he carefully ambled over the bodies of his partners strewn about on the floor. Krillin, their promoter, lay curled up in a ball on an accent chair, snoring with another acrobat Yamcha at his feet, half under the chair, a stream of drool puddling on the maroon carpet. Launch and Chichi, the group's best tumblers who did tandem trapeze, flopped over each other, seemingly fighting over a single pillow as they slumbered cheek to cheek. He furrowed his brows marginally noticing Piccolo, the only other acrobat more withdrawn than himself, had either evicted early or made the wiser choice in going home to his own bed.
Goku was the hardest to get around as he appeared to have barely made it into the suite before passing out right in front of the door. Vegeta managed to roll his drunken heft away from the portal as the big doofus grunted and exhaled about pancakes in his sleep, a goofy grin etched on his face.
Closing the door gingerly behind him, Vegeta swayed some as he found the inhouse cafe on the first floor and ordered a small mug with 4 shots of espresso. His vision blurred while rubbing the sockets blearily, attempting to wake up further, the waft of bitter coffee teasing his nose.
After some of the noise in his head died down, he looked down and thanked his sober self for having the forethought to dress in sweats, not to hit the street in his costume. Dumb choices he would have made in his early years while also parkouring haphazardly when the company was still young. It had been over six seasons with the main group, and while some had come and gone, finding success or failure with bigger names than theirs, the main six had stuck it out as a band of misfit talent within the modestly popular Master Kami's Dragon Acrobatics.
His phone rang as he took the last sip of coffee, dredging the final drops with a sigh. It was too early. Begrudgingly, he answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Vegeta, good, you're up. I tried the others. No answer. Listen, good job on the show. Great season, right?" The high spirited voice from the company's owner, Roshi, clipped in exuberance.
Vegeta refrained from verbally agreeing as the old man tended to drag conversations into unsavory territory if allowed. He merely grunted in acknowledgment.
"I assume you have the rest of the team with you?"
Another grunt as he got the eye of a passing cafe worker and waved his cup for more.
"Bring them down to the gym. There's someone new being added to the roster."
Slipping a ten across the table as the worker brought him another steaming mug, Vegeta rolled his eyes in irritation.
"We just finished." he voiced exhaustively, "We get a week off, remember?"
"I know. I'm not asking you guys to begin training for the next one but I want everyone to get reacquainted."
"Reacquainted?" He inquired.
"Be there at noon. See ya later." The call ended abruptly as the slow realization dawned on him that someone from before was returning. Probably with his tail between his legs, Vegeta surmised with a smirk. He picked up the mug and headed upstairs to the unfortunate troupe who would have a rude awakening once Vegeta threw open the shade on the window and let the new day burn all their irises.
They all yawned impatiently, waiting for the moment when they were dismissed to separate houses for much-needed physical recovery. The airplane hanger turned gymnasium housed a large blue mat that swept across the floor like a motionless sea and rested weights, balance beams, vaults, and ropes dangling from the ceiling. In the far corner, two identical platforms stood on red poles craning to the skylights with trapeze bars and highwire, a limp safety netting extended between them. The group's collective griping and sneers were aimed at Vegeta who stood a short distance away from his teammates, his arms crossed.
A door behind them opened loudly and echoed in the empty air as all heads turned to watch Roshi, a once remarkable trapeze artist, now slow-paced old man, amble over with a grin.
"Nice to see you all made it." He remarked, his hands behind his back as he hunched. He brought up a weathered hand to adjust the red-rimmed sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.
"Some of us would have liked to have this meeting tomorrow," a tired Chichi groaned while Launch rested her head on her partner's shoulder, her eyes closed.
"C'mon guys," a cheerful Goku exclaimed, always the optimist even on 4 hours of sleep. "We get a new person! Someone to train!" He shook Launch's arms with exuberance, annoying her in the process.
"I wish all of you had Goku's enthusiasm." Roshi chuckled. "I don't know if Vegeta told you but we do have a new person and they've been here before."
The collective all turned their curious attention to Vegeta. He, in turn, looked off nonchalantly.
Roshi laughed as the curiosity changed to glares at the withheld information. "She'll be here in a moment." He added but then glanced over quickly a the metal door snapped shut. "Or now."
A blue-haired woman beamed, her hand still on the worn chrome threshold. "Hi, guys." She said with hesitant excitement.
"Bulma!" Chichi screamed and raced over, clutching her past friend into a tight, giddy hug which was reciprocated earnestly. The rest of the groups ran to meet her with joyful welcome.
Only one hung back in stunned silence. Vegeta dropped his arms at his sides and observed the newest recruit. An old wound opened up as a lump stuck in his throat. She caught his eye through the frantic limbs of her old friends.
She gave a soft, tight-lipped smile. He frowned darkly at her unexpected reappearance.