The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men
Before, they had shared a room. Vegita had slept on the floor, which was carpeted very softly, and Serena had argued that they should call out for a bed, but Vegita had pointed out that since they didn't have any money and the trusting nature of everyone in this time of prosperity would run out eventually, he didn't want to bring any extra charges on himself.
Now they knew that it would be improper to stay in the same room, though they would have liked to. So, Vegita asked for the adjoining suite, and the next day they both went job hunting. Vegita ended up at a bakery and Serena got a spot dancing in a small theatre company. They made enough that they didn't have to eat at the public events and stock up on food by stuffing free samples into their pockets. They had both lost weight eating this way. Their new jobs would be able to pay for decent meals and their inn fees.
Vegita came "home," as they now referred to the inn, a bit more tired than usual on the third day of his new job. The day had been rough. The customers could be merciless when they were in a hurry. No less than four birthday cakes of such magnificence as a king would have demanded had been Vegita's pleasure to cook. He had no idea how he did it. All he remembered was that after separating his third or fourth egg white, his mind went blank and his body went through to motions like a robotic slave. He wasn't sure if they had come out okay, but it was hard to care when the three men and one woman had been completely impatient and rude to him.
"Ah well," he thought. "I'll see Serena in a bit, and that's good." With that comforting thought, he laid down on his bed and went to sleep.
************************************************************************
Serena was having a rough time in the ballet, but a different sort of rough time. It wasn't difficulty of the work- she had grace that made gazelle look like overweight hippopotamus. The trouble was the mixed feelings her company had about her. It seemed that practically all the males were keenly interested in her, while most of the girls were terribly jealous of her, particularly those whose significant others were among her admirers. She would often see a small ring of girls pointing at her and whispering with disdainful looks on their faces.
"Do they have any idea how painfully obvious they look?" she wondered to herself. As if she had just stage whispered to set up a joke, she would turn to see a knot of males giving her just as much eyeing with quite obviously different intentions.
"Ugh…" she groaned to herself. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't felt so alienated. She was either the enemy or the pin-up girl. Neither could get much conversation.
"Hi Charity!"
"Hi Serena," came the empty, quick reply, followed by a walk to the furthest place in the room.
To exacerbate the problem, she got the lead part. This was particularly egregious since she had joined the company late. She was shocked at the way the other girls would berate her to the director, right in front of her!
"I suppose I should be glad," she thought wryly, "At least they're not talking behind my back." But then, they were doing plenty of that too.
The lead male was a nice guy, who usually wasn't part of the ogle club. He was definitely Serena's equal on the floor, and he could act completely enthralled by her one moment (the play was, of course, a romance) then stop when the director called cut and laugh at the scene the next moment. He was very professional, very talented, and very good looking.
Serena would have lied to say she wasn't impressed by him, but that meant a lot less than most of the girls seemed to think. Being impressed was something idle, something passing, and Serena understood that with more maturity than most people do until they're 30. So she didn't give second thoughts to talking about these things with Vegita. He seemed very solemn, and she associated graveness with maturity. In fact, she looked up to him; he seemed so understanding and strong whenever things seemed unfair. He didn't complain, and he seemed to have the "trudge on" mentality that made it so much fun for her to cheer him. When she came home however, he was asleep.
The talk would have to wait.
************************************************************************
Vegita dreamed. He was walking through the mountains of ashes that had once been the inferno of his heart. As he walked, plants began to spring up- a dandelion here, a thistle there. Life was springing up where death lay. The hardy plants bloomed quickly, and soon there were patches of yellow turning to white, and popcorn that grew hot, popped off its stalk and then grew again. It was a wonderful display.
Then, a shadow was cast over the scene, but not a malicious shadow. Out of it stepped a young man, powerfully built and royally dressed. He stood, his arms uplifted, and out from where he stood, new plants grew: carnations, roses, tulips, and all sorts of beautiful flowers. The spread like fire on alcohol across the hills, and they were more beautiful than ever. Then his gaze turned to Vegeta, and it was one of righteous rejection. Vegeta looked at himself, and found that he was wearing rags, and that wherever he stood, the weeds and scrappy plants still grew, though with less intensity, and they were smaller. Then the stranger grew, becoming so tall that he cast a huge shadow over Vegeta, and all that could be seen of him was a black silhouette. The figure pointed a massive finger at Vegeta, and he was stricken with fear to the point that he was paralyzed.
Then, he was released from it, and he stood there, realizing that again, someone was greater, someone would beat him down and conquer his imperfect kingdom and remake it more beautiful than he ever could. The revelation filled him with sorrow, then bitterness, and finally a new kind of rage- not the red glow of fierce competition, but the dark black flame of one who is damned.
Vegeta roared, and energy swirled around him. He too grew to a great height, and there stood facing the figure that no longer seemed so terrible. With sweeping motions, he ushered his energy into a kamayamaya that would have leveled cities. Then he held it… held it for a moment of infinity, and looked at his adversary.
It was Goku. His clothes were different, but he had the same face, and his eyes held that maddeningly superior look, and Vegita hated him for it. The field of flowers erupted in flames. Then, with fury, Vegita launched his fireball into the heart of his adversary. He watched with grim satisfaction as his enemy fell and died on the field of flames. Then Vegita looked, and saw a universe without Goku. He saw Frieza dominate all existence, and put everyone under his dominion. He saw him obtain the Dragonballs and become omnipotent. He saw everything become evil and decay into darkness. Then he saw Frieza, sitting on his throne with mockery, turn to him. He saw the lips move, he heard the words, but he could not accept them, so they pounded into his being until he was eroded into stray fibers of soul and flesh. The words? Why, just a simple 'Thank you.'
Before, they had shared a room. Vegita had slept on the floor, which was carpeted very softly, and Serena had argued that they should call out for a bed, but Vegita had pointed out that since they didn't have any money and the trusting nature of everyone in this time of prosperity would run out eventually, he didn't want to bring any extra charges on himself.
Now they knew that it would be improper to stay in the same room, though they would have liked to. So, Vegita asked for the adjoining suite, and the next day they both went job hunting. Vegita ended up at a bakery and Serena got a spot dancing in a small theatre company. They made enough that they didn't have to eat at the public events and stock up on food by stuffing free samples into their pockets. They had both lost weight eating this way. Their new jobs would be able to pay for decent meals and their inn fees.
Vegita came "home," as they now referred to the inn, a bit more tired than usual on the third day of his new job. The day had been rough. The customers could be merciless when they were in a hurry. No less than four birthday cakes of such magnificence as a king would have demanded had been Vegita's pleasure to cook. He had no idea how he did it. All he remembered was that after separating his third or fourth egg white, his mind went blank and his body went through to motions like a robotic slave. He wasn't sure if they had come out okay, but it was hard to care when the three men and one woman had been completely impatient and rude to him.
"Ah well," he thought. "I'll see Serena in a bit, and that's good." With that comforting thought, he laid down on his bed and went to sleep.
************************************************************************
Serena was having a rough time in the ballet, but a different sort of rough time. It wasn't difficulty of the work- she had grace that made gazelle look like overweight hippopotamus. The trouble was the mixed feelings her company had about her. It seemed that practically all the males were keenly interested in her, while most of the girls were terribly jealous of her, particularly those whose significant others were among her admirers. She would often see a small ring of girls pointing at her and whispering with disdainful looks on their faces.
"Do they have any idea how painfully obvious they look?" she wondered to herself. As if she had just stage whispered to set up a joke, she would turn to see a knot of males giving her just as much eyeing with quite obviously different intentions.
"Ugh…" she groaned to herself. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't felt so alienated. She was either the enemy or the pin-up girl. Neither could get much conversation.
"Hi Charity!"
"Hi Serena," came the empty, quick reply, followed by a walk to the furthest place in the room.
To exacerbate the problem, she got the lead part. This was particularly egregious since she had joined the company late. She was shocked at the way the other girls would berate her to the director, right in front of her!
"I suppose I should be glad," she thought wryly, "At least they're not talking behind my back." But then, they were doing plenty of that too.
The lead male was a nice guy, who usually wasn't part of the ogle club. He was definitely Serena's equal on the floor, and he could act completely enthralled by her one moment (the play was, of course, a romance) then stop when the director called cut and laugh at the scene the next moment. He was very professional, very talented, and very good looking.
Serena would have lied to say she wasn't impressed by him, but that meant a lot less than most of the girls seemed to think. Being impressed was something idle, something passing, and Serena understood that with more maturity than most people do until they're 30. So she didn't give second thoughts to talking about these things with Vegita. He seemed very solemn, and she associated graveness with maturity. In fact, she looked up to him; he seemed so understanding and strong whenever things seemed unfair. He didn't complain, and he seemed to have the "trudge on" mentality that made it so much fun for her to cheer him. When she came home however, he was asleep.
The talk would have to wait.
************************************************************************
Vegita dreamed. He was walking through the mountains of ashes that had once been the inferno of his heart. As he walked, plants began to spring up- a dandelion here, a thistle there. Life was springing up where death lay. The hardy plants bloomed quickly, and soon there were patches of yellow turning to white, and popcorn that grew hot, popped off its stalk and then grew again. It was a wonderful display.
Then, a shadow was cast over the scene, but not a malicious shadow. Out of it stepped a young man, powerfully built and royally dressed. He stood, his arms uplifted, and out from where he stood, new plants grew: carnations, roses, tulips, and all sorts of beautiful flowers. The spread like fire on alcohol across the hills, and they were more beautiful than ever. Then his gaze turned to Vegeta, and it was one of righteous rejection. Vegeta looked at himself, and found that he was wearing rags, and that wherever he stood, the weeds and scrappy plants still grew, though with less intensity, and they were smaller. Then the stranger grew, becoming so tall that he cast a huge shadow over Vegeta, and all that could be seen of him was a black silhouette. The figure pointed a massive finger at Vegeta, and he was stricken with fear to the point that he was paralyzed.
Then, he was released from it, and he stood there, realizing that again, someone was greater, someone would beat him down and conquer his imperfect kingdom and remake it more beautiful than he ever could. The revelation filled him with sorrow, then bitterness, and finally a new kind of rage- not the red glow of fierce competition, but the dark black flame of one who is damned.
Vegeta roared, and energy swirled around him. He too grew to a great height, and there stood facing the figure that no longer seemed so terrible. With sweeping motions, he ushered his energy into a kamayamaya that would have leveled cities. Then he held it… held it for a moment of infinity, and looked at his adversary.
It was Goku. His clothes were different, but he had the same face, and his eyes held that maddeningly superior look, and Vegita hated him for it. The field of flowers erupted in flames. Then, with fury, Vegita launched his fireball into the heart of his adversary. He watched with grim satisfaction as his enemy fell and died on the field of flames. Then Vegita looked, and saw a universe without Goku. He saw Frieza dominate all existence, and put everyone under his dominion. He saw him obtain the Dragonballs and become omnipotent. He saw everything become evil and decay into darkness. Then he saw Frieza, sitting on his throne with mockery, turn to him. He saw the lips move, he heard the words, but he could not accept them, so they pounded into his being until he was eroded into stray fibers of soul and flesh. The words? Why, just a simple 'Thank you.'