Chapter 8

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Moroshka muttered as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror of Bulma's dressing room. "This is the most ridiculous, superficial, petty, nonsensical, pathetic pass time-"

"Hold still," Bulma said as she zipped up the dress in the back. "There."

Her invective was cut short. Whoa… What a sight. Now that the whole ensemble was together, Moroshka could only stare dumbly at her reflection. The suede sandals somehow laced all the way up to her knees, and she wondered how in the world they were going to keep from falling. And the sepia brown, velvet dress was snug and comfortable, all right. As comfortable as an underslip, Moroshka thought timidly, and not half as modest. She could see more of her thighs than her calves, and more of her breasts than her thighs-not to mention the cool breeze she felt all the way down her bare spine.

"Wow," Bulma shook her head in silent admiration. "You do this dress more justice than I do."

"Where's the rest of the outfit?" Moroshka complained. "I feel like I'm ready to be marinated and barbequed."

"That's…it, I'm…afraid." Bulma was still giving her handiwork a good once over. She then fussed a little with Moroshka's hair, which was left down to accentuate the blue-studded choker on her neck, and though most if it was tucked securely behind her ears, wisps of it still tickled around her face.

The doorbell rang, and Moroshka felt her stomach lurch up into her throat. Great Kai. Am I nervous?

"Let Trunks get it. It's probably your date," Bulma said.

Moroshka's body went rigid, and trepidation made her palms sweat. Not only was the occasion completely unfamiliar, but the attire as well. She felt like hiding underneath Bulma's bed.

Lost in her anxieties, Moroshka gasped when heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs. She braced herself as she heard Trunks voice echo into the room.

"You just about ready? Tyus is down-" he stopped mid-stride when he saw her. "…stairs…" His jaw dropped, and his eyes flung open. A crimson-red flush immediately sprang to his face, and Moroshka could almost hear his heart palpitating in his chest.

"Whoa…"

Bulma just beamed, and after several uncomfortable seconds, Moroshka threw her hands up. "That's it. I'm not going," and headed for the bathroom.

"Roshka, wait!" Trunks ran up and grabbed her arm, his composure somewhat regained but the flush still colored his visage. When she faced him, scowling, he laughed nervously. "I just didn't know you were so…curvy."

"This is a mistake-"

"Give her a coat, mom," Trunks said, still holding her arm as he eyed Bulma rather seriously. "She should have a coat."

Bulma raised her mouth to protest but something in the way her son looked at her just then changed her mind. Moroshka felt like they were communicating telepathically-and it was a conversation that she wasn't privy to.

"She's going on a date, mom; not a catwalk…" Trunks finally said, though Moroshka had seen many of his past girlfriends just as scantily clad. Strange… He never defended their modesty…

With one last look over, Bulma went inside her stand-in closet and pulled off a chestnut jacket to match the dress and tossed it to her.

Moroshka caught it on reflex and gaped at them both. "I've been asking for something more modest since I stepped foot in here, and Trunks comes in, asks once, and you listen to him? What in the world is going on here?"

Bulma and Trunks both opened their mouths and then shut them, eyeing each other awkwardly.

"Oh, nevermind," Moroshka said. "Let's just get this over with." She slipped the jacket on and closed it securely in the front, noticing as she did so that Trunks relaxed visibly.

After all, he had finally stopped blushing.

* * *

With the concert over, Moroshka found herself shimmied up in the back of the limo with a none-too-subtle Tyus. She'd been battling blatant advances with blatant rejection all night. Undaunted, he thought it was a game and got bolder as the evening went on. Thank heavens the date was ending and they were on their way home.

She laughed inwardly. The concert. It was a classical bit, with a full string orchestra. Ethereal, uplifting…and boring as hell to three particularly well-dressed young men who'd been trying to impress their dates. Trunks, Goten AND Tyus had all nodded off during it, only to be nudged by the women sitting with them.

The women sitting with them… Moroshka's gaze landed on Babette, the buxom blonde that was resting her head clingingly on Trunks' shoulder. Bulma wasn't kidding about you, chick, Moroshka thought in alarm. Sure, every last spec of makeup was drawn on perfectly, and with the exception of a big ugly brooch pinned to her dress, her clothing was classy. Her conversation was both witty and pleasant, and by all practical standards the girl seemed like a good catch.

But she was fake.

Having been raised by the Supreme Kai, Moroshka was keen to contortions of reality, and this particular female had a façade-both metaphorically AND literally. It wasn't that she had a hidden storage of power, or an intrinsic gift invisible to the common eye.

The girl was a phony. Something was tweaking how she was visually perceived by others, and Moroshka found herself more than a little curious about what she really looked like underneath the mask. Of all the strange…

What hidden agenda do you have, Babbette?

Perhaps she was the cliché ugly girl who wanted to be pretty, having somehow stumbled upon the magic that could make image-altering possible. Or maybe she was hiding from some horrible past.

Moroshka winced. Hiding from past evils was something she was all too familiar with.

Babbette had noticed her stare, and nervously looked out the window. Trunks caught Moroshka's eye and pursed his lips, his eyes widening for emphasis. You're freaking her out again, Roshka! She could almost hear him say it.

Suddenly, an arm slid across her shoulders pulling her in. "I can't wait to get you on the dance floor, Ms. Body Karate," Tyus said seductively in her ear. "Hi-YA."

"What dance floor?" she sat forward, scooting away from him.

He grinned at her and winked. "The Keona Club. Our next stop."

"What? There'll be no 'dancing'!" She shot a fang look at Trunks. "You didn't say anything about DANCING!"

"Uh-Oh," Goten smirked behind closed fist.

Trunks fidgeted uncomfortably, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the limo pulled up to the curb and stopped. Moroshka glanced out the window. A big neon sign that said 'Keona Club' stared back at her. She sat back in her seat and glared at the lavender-haired Adonis across from her.

"No."

Tyus grabbed her hand and tried to tug her out with him. "C'mon, baby. I'll make it worth your while," he said as he eyed her hungrily. Trunks must have seen the look on her face just then because he reached up, and tapped Tyus' hand.

"Give us a moment, Tyus, will ya?"

Tyus sighed heavily, and met Moroshka's furious eyes. "Okay, but when you get out of the limo, the only direction I want to see you heading towards is mine." A wink, and he followed the others out of the car.

Moroshka flung her thumb in the boy's direction, and raised her eyebrows in keen aggravation. "Did you just see that?"

"Roshka, listen-"

"He's been outrageous all night! The last thing I need is a perfect excuse for him to have his hands all over me."

Trunks looked at her pleadingly, and placed a trepid hand on her knee.

"No, Trunks. Absolutely not. I went to the concert. I did my part. You can't make me go to a dance club." She got in his face. "That's TOO much to ask!"

Trunks' face shifted through an odd arrangement of expressions right then, ending in a surprised chuckle, his eyes crinkling in delight. "You just reminded me of my father when he'd argue with mom about taking out the trash."

She opened her mouth and then clamped it shut, feeling her resolve fade away. You had to go and bring him up, didn't you kid?

Trunks saw her lose momentum. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Tyus dances well. He can lead." At her pathetic, defeated look, he added, "Look, if he gets out of control, I'll jump in, okay?"

Almost scowling, she let him drag her out of the car and into line with everyone else. Tyus immediately fell back and slid up like a lizard beside her, already wrapping his arms around her as if she were his property.

"I knew you couldn't resist the Tyus man," he bantered down at her. She shrugged him off and rolled her eyes. Only a moron refers to himself in third person.

And the evening went accordingly. Moroshka thought she'd landed in hell when they entered, with all the blaring music and dizzying strobe lights. Just as she feared, the 'fast' songs provided an opportunity for Tyus to fling her about, grinning all the while like she was his own personal showgirl. But that didn't compare to the awkward hassle of the 'slow' songs, where she indeed had to spend most of the time shifting his hands back to the small of her back.

Goten laughed every time she caught his eye, the smart ass. Then finally, during the second set of slow songs, she searched for Trunks to come to her aid. When she found him dancing with Babbette, she was surprised to find him already watching her, and with a frown on his face.

He bent down and spoke in Babbette's ear. She nodded and walked off the floor, and he came up behind Tyus and tapped his shoulder.

Tyus turned and started to protest, but apparently got the hint when Trunks' hard expression didn't waver. Shrugging, he strode off the floor to go keep Babbette company. When he'd left, Trunks slid his hands around Moroshka's waist and pulled her to him.

She stood on her toes to speak in his ear over the blaring music. "It's too much, Trunks. He's crossing too many lines," she said angrily, recalling the first of many attempts made by the pubescent boy to grab her ass. "I'm not a hired escort, you brat. I'm Roshka."

"I know," he responded. "I'm sorry."

"I won't dance with him again."

He met her eyes and gave her a soft, rueful smile. "I don't think that I'd let you." He pulled her closer, almost protectively. "Dance with me."

Maybe it was the way that he said it, or perhaps it was the intensity with which he looked at her just then, but Moroshka felt a fluttering in her abdomen, which immediately spread throughout the rest of her body, leaving her short of breath.

What the…?

He curled her left hand in his own, and began to pace the floor. "Thank you for coming, anyway."

She nodded, but was too distracted by odd sensations to speak-like his breath on her ear, the heat from his chest radiating through his shirt, the tender way in which he held her hand, and pressed the small of her back… It felt like every square inch of her skin had become hypersensitive, wholly cognizant of his touch.

At what point did you become a man, little Trunks? And how is it that a Goddess of Moroshk suddenly feels so shy and vulnerable around you?

The sensation seemed to steal her speech, and she dared to look up at him, only to see him already pegging her with a stare that sucked the breath from her body. Damn… You've never looked at me like that before, boy.

He curled himself around her while somehow maintaining a inch of heated space between them, as if stretching the boundaries of formality without actually crossing them. "You…" he paused and his gaze dropped to her mouth and then back up to her eyes. "You're really pretty…tonight…Roshka."

She hadn't realized that she stopped moving until Tyus came up and stuck his obnoxious face between them. "Good. You're done. Can I have her back now?" he asked good-naturedly, having no awareness of what he'd just interrupted.

They parted reluctantly, and then Trunks shook his head abruptly and looked at her as if surprised to find her standing in front of him. "Ummm…"

She took a deep breath, feeling the weird stupor fade away. "No, Tyus. It's time for me to go," and with a curt nod to both the guys, Moroshka briskly walked out of the club.

Making sure no one could see, she hopped into the night sky, and as the chill nocturnal air cleared her thoughts and rinsed away the memory of his touch, she found herself wondering if she'd imagined the intimate moment.