Chapter: 3 \\ it's doubtless
Author: Flotilla
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Characters may be OOC. Now read and review, Flotilla commands you! Muchas gracias tierce, again. Lol. See, long chappie now.
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Having scrubbed her face, Bulma blinked twice in the mirror and looked at her reflection. Not so good, she thought half-heartedly. Her eyes were still red and her skin felt somewhat dry. Her throat was parched and Bulma mused about having sent her mother away with the tray. She placed her hand on the doorknob and the door swung open. What she saw made her gasp.
"Oh my god."
Bulma manuevered around the roses, tulips, daisies and such and instantly recognized them from her mother's prized garden. "Oh dear…" The irony was lying right in front of her. "Mom's gonna go ballistic when she sees budless bushes."
She couldn't help but feel happy though, that Vegeta had actually taken the thought to even try to express his apology, as fake as it may be. "An apology's an apology," she decided and began gathering the blossoms into a large pile. Thank goodness that silver basket for Dende-knows-what from ChiChi would finally serve a purpose.
Scratches and slight irritance later, Bulma had gotten all the willfull flowers into the large basket, the rose thorns rather sharp. "So his apology's not that sincere," she quipped to no audience.
A new grin on her face, Bulma jogged down the stairs towards her mother.
"Oh hullo honey- so nice to see you all happy again," her mother chirped.
"Yeah mom," Bulma grinned. "Where's Vegeta?"
Her mom shrugged while making a pie lattice. "Last I saw him skulking down the hallway griping about repairs or something. Do you want some pie to eat? It's cherry…"
The heiress flushed slightly. "Mommm! Now I see why Vegeta says I'm so fat." There was no anger in her words, just new humor from a new perspective. If Vegeta had a hidden softie side, surely she could forgive him and forget the earlier argument they had had.
"Oh Bulma, you're too skinny. One of these days a great big wind's gonna come gusting up and blow you to kingdom come." Mrs. Briefs jovially said, her hands sticky from the warm pie dough.
The blue-haired-woman laughed. "Where's daddy?"
"He's in his lab working now on that new translator chip. He said not to bother him for a few more hours, ok honey?"
Bulma nodded. "I'll be in the back if you need me mom." Strolling towards the supply closet, she pulled out a small toolbox labeled "GRAV. MAC. REPAIR KIT." Whistling a piece of a song whose name she had forgotten, the heiress went towards the gravity machine which lay unrepaired and abandoned outside. Looking at the damage, she couldn't help but stare shocked.
Spidery but potentially dangerous cracks ran along the base of the gravity machine, stretching towards the concave dome. The glass portholes were cracked, finely, like a spiderweb. Rocks lay astrew on the ground, crumbled. Bulma feared for the worst inside and got what she thought.
The machine itself was a mass of colored wires, circuitboards, chips and other electronic paraphernalia.
Bulma looked around for the Saiyan and figured he went off to some deserted area to vent his rage. "Probably because he couldn't believe what he did do before," she giggled. All joking matters aside, Bulma prepared for a nice few hours of work and pulled out her trusty blue wrench.
As predicted, on an uninhabited island…
"You're weak."
"You are not training as you should be."
"You have feelings for that baka woman."
Thoughts like the above haunted the Saiyan who was currently pissed off and rather on the deranged side. His ki blasts had frightened off any hungry dinosaurs, destroyed a bunch of rock cliffs and made a new little island on the island itself. To be blunt, all was not paradise.
"Moocher."
The word suddenly came into his mind and Vegeta blinked. He was a freeloader. Like the idiot baseball player Yamcha who sensed no wrongdoing in dropping by the Briefs' home to use their gym, tennis courts, pool or come uninvited during a holiday party.
Growling low in his throat, Vegeta let forth a massive ki blast which pretty much made grains of once looming boulders. "Rip-off of Easter Island." He sneered.
"Wonder if that baka woman's even bothered to see those flowers." He wondered aloud, a smirk playing on his face.
Sighing, he looked himself over and noticed fresh new holes. His face scrunched. Yet another indebtment to the Briefs' and what seemed like their infinite supply of money. Oh well. He had tens of other training suits exactly like the one he was wearing now, minus the rips and dirt.
"I should get back."
Back to where Bulma is, four hours later…
"That ingrate better be more than grateful." Bulma decided. She had spent a whole sixth of the day fixing his precious gravity machine, his alter-ego. "Wait a minute," she paused, "why am I even doing this?"
Vegeta, on return, would scoff in her face and storm right into the machine to resume training again even though it was night. It was in the Saiyan to train.
Just because she saw a new side to him meant nothing else. It could be all a joke, and maybe some disgusting worms were slithering in her room right now…
"JERK." Bulma ground out. Collecting her tools, she placed them hurriedly in the box and left to take a shower, grease all over her.