Piccolo
He was floating in the air with his legs crossed indian style, his fingers interlaced, and his head bowed. He could hear Goku shout from all the way inside. He could hear him from the street. The humans couldn't, however, but this was expected. Being a Namek just gave you better hearing. Through the walls he heard pieces of what Goku said - something along the lines of:
"You.....nu.....FUCKING..ne!"
He usually didn't yell (or curse), but Piccolo knew sometimes you just had to vent your frustrations. Especially before band practice. That's why he was meditating.
They had a show in two days. In two days they would file onto a stage in some indoor building. They would go out into a room that would be hotter than the temperature outside. He thanked the gods for letting him be a Namek (once again). They would file into a room full of (mostly) screaming, ravenous, and most likely - horny - teenage girls. They would file in there and perform for these girls and act like they cared.
And the worst thing was that he didn't even want the money. He didn't want the fame either, but he could only get rid of one. He gave his cut to charity. It wasn't like he needed any money anyway. Hell, he only needed water to survive, and he could make his own clothes. And just for the record, his preferred method of transportation didn't involve riding around inside an odd metal shell, but rather flying himself. He smiled lightly at the memory of Goku and himself attempting to get their driver's licenses. That was quite an adventure they had. Too bad they never had time to do that sort of thing anymore. They were always off doing other shit. Attending award ceremonies, doing commercials, donating money..et cetera, et cetera.
Okay, so he was the only one who really donated it. But hell, give Piccolo a good reason why he should give money to you and he'd give it to you. This worked if you saw him on the street as well, but considering he was usually on his way to the market for bottled water, you usually only got a few bucks and some change. If, for some reason, he had his checkbook with him, however, you could, with the right technique and words, wipe out his entire bank account. And he wouldn't care; he wouldn't mind. In fact, he'd gladly hand over the check. It wasn't like they'd rob him of house and home because he resided at Kami's Lookout. Well..it was Dende's now. And Dende was worthy of it. The kid reminded him of a Namekian Gohan, kinda. He was surprised that the two hadn't grown that close. It also surprised him how everyone lived out their lives seperatly except in the case of a crisis.
He wondered when the last time Goku had actually seen Krillin in person. Probably during the whole Buu mess.
Pathetic.
But then again, it was understandable. It's easier to like someone when you don't know them, so it was also easier to never feel negative feelings toward them when you haven't seen them in a long time. Except in the case of Vegeta. That man seemed to despise the fact he had to see ANYTHING again. He wondered how Vegeta could stand to look in the mirror. He shook his head. No..he knew how.
Vegeta didn't care about anyone else.
Vegeta only loved Vegeta.
Damn that Saijin. The main reason he could see for Vegeta singing in the band was just to brag and flaunt to Bulma. To get right in her face and say "Look at me! Look at me making money for singing! Look at me con all those people! Look at me make MORE money than you!".
Selfish little arrogant prick.
Sometimes he wanted to kill him.
But never when he sang. It was as if..he was a completely different man when he sang. Of course the air around him still held the rigid coldness that he didn't care, but beneath the tones that escaped his throat Piccolo could hear a bit of pride in what he was doing, and something else he wasn't sure of. Something that he didn't expect from the prince, and yet, he wasn't sure exactly what it was. But that small something kept him from killing Vegeta.
Band practice started soon. He wondered if Vegeta would show up. Probably not.
Casually, he knocked on the door and awaited for Goku to answer. What a dump..how odd of them. Out of all the places they could've chosen for band practice, they chose this dump. Asking why was like asking why they became a band. No one knew the answer so it particularly didn't matter. Even still, he had to wonder because the place was nearly falling apart. It was placed right between an old warehouse and a condemmed apartment building. Whatever this place used to be, he wasn't too sure, but it suited their needs for band practice. An old dump in downtown Satan City. Far away from Goku's home, far away from Capsule Corp, and far away from Kami's Looko.. - Dende's Lookout. Out in the middle of nowhere.
Okay. Understandable.
Goku opened the door.
He was floating in the air with his legs crossed indian style, his fingers interlaced, and his head bowed. He could hear Goku shout from all the way inside. He could hear him from the street. The humans couldn't, however, but this was expected. Being a Namek just gave you better hearing. Through the walls he heard pieces of what Goku said - something along the lines of:
"You.....nu.....FUCKING..ne!"
He usually didn't yell (or curse), but Piccolo knew sometimes you just had to vent your frustrations. Especially before band practice. That's why he was meditating.
They had a show in two days. In two days they would file onto a stage in some indoor building. They would go out into a room that would be hotter than the temperature outside. He thanked the gods for letting him be a Namek (once again). They would file into a room full of (mostly) screaming, ravenous, and most likely - horny - teenage girls. They would file in there and perform for these girls and act like they cared.
And the worst thing was that he didn't even want the money. He didn't want the fame either, but he could only get rid of one. He gave his cut to charity. It wasn't like he needed any money anyway. Hell, he only needed water to survive, and he could make his own clothes. And just for the record, his preferred method of transportation didn't involve riding around inside an odd metal shell, but rather flying himself. He smiled lightly at the memory of Goku and himself attempting to get their driver's licenses. That was quite an adventure they had. Too bad they never had time to do that sort of thing anymore. They were always off doing other shit. Attending award ceremonies, doing commercials, donating money..et cetera, et cetera.
Okay, so he was the only one who really donated it. But hell, give Piccolo a good reason why he should give money to you and he'd give it to you. This worked if you saw him on the street as well, but considering he was usually on his way to the market for bottled water, you usually only got a few bucks and some change. If, for some reason, he had his checkbook with him, however, you could, with the right technique and words, wipe out his entire bank account. And he wouldn't care; he wouldn't mind. In fact, he'd gladly hand over the check. It wasn't like they'd rob him of house and home because he resided at Kami's Lookout. Well..it was Dende's now. And Dende was worthy of it. The kid reminded him of a Namekian Gohan, kinda. He was surprised that the two hadn't grown that close. It also surprised him how everyone lived out their lives seperatly except in the case of a crisis.
He wondered when the last time Goku had actually seen Krillin in person. Probably during the whole Buu mess.
Pathetic.
But then again, it was understandable. It's easier to like someone when you don't know them, so it was also easier to never feel negative feelings toward them when you haven't seen them in a long time. Except in the case of Vegeta. That man seemed to despise the fact he had to see ANYTHING again. He wondered how Vegeta could stand to look in the mirror. He shook his head. No..he knew how.
Vegeta didn't care about anyone else.
Vegeta only loved Vegeta.
Damn that Saijin. The main reason he could see for Vegeta singing in the band was just to brag and flaunt to Bulma. To get right in her face and say "Look at me! Look at me making money for singing! Look at me con all those people! Look at me make MORE money than you!".
Selfish little arrogant prick.
Sometimes he wanted to kill him.
But never when he sang. It was as if..he was a completely different man when he sang. Of course the air around him still held the rigid coldness that he didn't care, but beneath the tones that escaped his throat Piccolo could hear a bit of pride in what he was doing, and something else he wasn't sure of. Something that he didn't expect from the prince, and yet, he wasn't sure exactly what it was. But that small something kept him from killing Vegeta.
Band practice started soon. He wondered if Vegeta would show up. Probably not.
Casually, he knocked on the door and awaited for Goku to answer. What a dump..how odd of them. Out of all the places they could've chosen for band practice, they chose this dump. Asking why was like asking why they became a band. No one knew the answer so it particularly didn't matter. Even still, he had to wonder because the place was nearly falling apart. It was placed right between an old warehouse and a condemmed apartment building. Whatever this place used to be, he wasn't too sure, but it suited their needs for band practice. An old dump in downtown Satan City. Far away from Goku's home, far away from Capsule Corp, and far away from Kami's Looko.. - Dende's Lookout. Out in the middle of nowhere.
Okay. Understandable.
Goku opened the door.