(A/N): This is to all you wonderful reviewers---don't be scared to drop a bit of constructive critcism here and there. I'm a big girl, I can take it. Oh yes and please don't badger me about my other fics. They're deleted, done. There's nothing you or I can do about it now, so forget about it. As always, please be courteous and review. Btw---Stef-Chan...I will love you forever! Thank you for writing the best review I've ever received! From what I've interpreted, it sounds like you might have gone through a little bit of ff.net trouble also. While I loved your other stories, I can completely understand why you deleted them. Thanks for brightening my day!! Its nice to know that somebody appreciates how I'm trying to portray things...I hope that this fic does end up sounding more like the real world and some kind of fairy tale! Anyway, thanks a bunch! 3
...........................................................................................LITTLE BLACK DRESS
.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
Bulma woke to the comforting sounds and smells of her mother cooking breakfast, which was odd, considering the fact that her room was upstairs and across the building from the kitchen. She sat up slowly, rubbing her sore temples, and looked around her, blinking the sleep out of her blue eyes.
She was on the couch in the common room, which was also odd. The last thing she remembered about the previous night was getting a quick high before she went up to bed and...well, that was it. She massaged her throbbing temples, figuring that she had passed out at the kitchen table. And, even worse, Vejita must have been the one to move her, considering her neither mother nor her father was strong enough to move her. She supposed that her mother had made him. It wasn't natural for Vejita to help others. Running a hand through her messy hair, she quietly slunk upstairs to take a shower.
The girl was so busy scrubbing herself dry after her long, hot shower that she didn't hear her bedroom door creak open, or someone sit down on her queen-sized bed. She hastily wrapped a towel around herself, squeezed the extra moisture from her long hair, and stepped out of her bathroom. She shrieked when she caught sight of Vejita, impatiently waiting for her. Ever since she had begun her partying and such, she had made it a point never to appear in front of anyone without makeup, not wanting to run the risk of someone seeing the horrible dark circles beneath her eyes. It seemed that Vejita would be the first one to have the pleasure of seeing her in raw form. Extremely raw form, since all she wore was the towel.
"What do you want?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't hear you knock."
"No, you didn't. Your mother wanted you to know that the food is ready. Not that you eat much, but I guess she hasn't noticed that yet." Vejita stood, and then looked back as he exited the room. "By the way, your new look is...stunning. The dark circles really compliment your skin tone."
Bulma restrained herself from attacking him as he disappeared down the hall. Honestly, she couldn't believe she had invited that man into her house. How ignorant she had been! How different she had been... She brushed the regretful thought aside and set about making herself presentable again. She was not in the mood to mull over the attitude of His Highness at the moment.
Mrs. Briefs looked up when Vejita re-entered the kitchen, scowling. "I suppose it was you who transported Bulma into the common room last night," she stated flatly, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. "Thank you."
"Hn," Vejita replied, taking his usual place at the table. He silently hated himself for being harsh on Bulma earlier, though he was a loss to explain why. "Is it almost done?"
The woman ignored his comment. "Don't tell her that you did--she would not appreciate your knowing her weaknesses." She paused for a moment, stopping her cooking to gaze thoughtfully into space. "She has ever so many these days, doesn't she?"
Vejita shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. "She's a different person than I first met on Namek, yes. She grew up or whatever. Its not like she wasn't weak already."
"She didn't grow up," Mrs. Briefs said, shaking her head and going back to her cooking. "She changed. I couldn't say what it was that changed her, though. I can only pinpoint the time. You probably remember."
At this Vejita didn't reply. He remembered it, all right, and he could guess the reason also. It had been the night of her prom, the silly event that she had herself all worked up for. She had spent the entire day getting herself ridiculously made up when she looked so much better without all of that face paint anyway, and then she had insisted upon getting hundreds of pictures taken of her and Yamcha in their pointless costumes, so that they could 'look back on this day' years later. Anyhow, Yamcha had ended up faking sick for whatever reason, probably so he could go and play baseball or whatever, so Bulma had to, of course, make a fuss about that, giving them all a migraine. She could only be comforted by Yamcha's reassurances that yes, she would be appointed Prom Queen, whatever that meant. She had come home a mess, sobbing about something that she had refused to explain. Vejita knew what it must have been, however. Judging from the mixed scents of fear and an adolescent man Vejita didn't recognize, it was obvious that she had been attacked. He had spent the entire night trying to block out the sounds of soft whimpers from Bulma's room and the images that had plagued his dreams. Yes, he remembered.
"Yeah," he said, eyeing the food. "Is the shit done or what?!"
Mrs. Briefs nodded. "Have at it, dear. Meanwhile, I'm off to the store. Is there anything you need?"
Bulma trotted into the kitchen. "Yeah, I'd say there's something he needs--manners. Didn't your mother teach you to knock before you enter a room?"
Mrs. Briefs' eyes danced as she left the room, leaving Bulma and Vejita to have at it, as usual.
"No. She taught me the proper way to gut a live child though, just in case the opprotunity arises." Vejita smirked at her disgusted reaction, though his honest intention had been to get her to laugh. Apparently, their ideas of humor differed.
"Cute. Real cute," she muttered, wrinkling her perfectly powdered nose. Vejita watched her as she picked out tiny portions of her mother's breakfast. She had covered up the dark rings under her eyes and crimped her long, wavy hair even though she had decided pulled it up into a messy high ponytail. She obviously had plans to stay home, because she wore a pair of short blue boxers and a white beater that was, Vejita couldn't help but notice, more than a little transparent. He also noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra--it wasn't like she desperately needed one anyway. He mentally steered himself away from those kinds of thoughts, especially about this particular girl, and recovered with a sarcastic remark.
"I've always thought so," Vejita replied. "How do you survive on such meager rations?"
"Quite well, thank you." She looked down at her slim frame and small breasts and smiled to herself. Then, as if she was remembering that she was supposed to be the troubled one, she frowned and slammed her plate onto the counter, across from Vejita. "Aren't you supposed to be training right now?"
"I'm not 'supposed' to be doing anything, woman," was his grumpy reply. His reason for not training was that he knew he was going to have a hard time concentrating after last night. He always sorted things out in his mind when exercising, and that was something that he did not wish to analyze. So he stuck with his bland comment and continued eating his breakfast.
Bulma raised an eyebrow at his unpredictable behavior, shook her head, and began eating.
Hours later, Mrs. Briefs returned home, her arms full of groceries. Bulma was sprawled across the couch, intent upon watching a movie, Dr. Briefs was most likely busy in the lab, and Vejita was in the kitchen, fixing himself lunch earlier than usual. The woman noticed that he seemed stressed about something, so she refrained from asking him about his early lunch.
"No training today, hun?"
Vejita frowned at 'hun' and waited before replying. "No." He left it at that and dug through the bags of food, pulling out various things and adding them to the growing pile on his plate. He furrowed his eyebrows at the many bottles of wine he found.
Mrs. Briefs smiled. "That's just as well--it'll give you more than enough time to get ready for the party!"
Bulma appeared in the doorway. "Party? That's something I never thought I'd hear you say."
"I met Chichi at the store," Mrs. Briefs continued. "From the sound of it, your little group hasn't been all together in a long time, not since shortly after Vejita arrived here. I thought tonight would be a good night to have a little party at our house. That's what I bought all the wine for, Vejita. Its going to be a bit formal, so plan on dressing up!"
"Oh, great," Vejita groaned. "All of the people I hate most, in one house. Is Kakkarott coming?"
Mrs. Briefs looked confused. "Who?"
"Chichi's idiot husband!"
"Oh, of course he is!" She clasped her hands together in delight. "They'll all be delighted to see how much you've calmed down since you've gotten here, Vejita. And they're bringing Gohan, their lovely little child. I'll bet he's grown so much!"
"Mom, its hardly been seven months," Bulma said, rolling her eyes. "And Vejita, calmed down? Right."
"You can try to downplay it all you want," Mrs. Briefs mused. "But you can't possibly ruin it! It will be a great time, honey. You should go and find something to wear pretty soon, our guests will be arriving in about three hours." Her mother, ever foolhardy, decided to add onto her comment. "I think that he has calmed down. I remember how dreadfully set on killing he was when he got here. He's showed marvelous improvement, haven't you dear?"
Vejita snorted and left the room, muttering to himself about foolish human assumptions and the disadvantages of self-control. Bulma waited until he was safely out of Saiyan earshot and raised an eyebrow at her mother.
"He's a lot worse than he's been leading us to think," she said. "Believe me."
Mrs. Briefs waved off the comment, smiling obliviously. "Do you think that they would prefer their meat barbequed or roasted? I know that Vejita has an obsession with barbeque, but you just never know about Goku..." She trailed off uncertainly.
"Whatever." Bulma sighed and exited the room, wondering exactly how she was going to survive seeing Yamcha again, so soon after their breakup.
The first people to arrive were, surprisingly, Krillen and Master Roshi. Krillen wore a ridiculous white suit that must have been three sizes too large, and Master Roshi wore what he usually preferred--a brightly colored beach shirt and khaki shorts. And, of course, his trusty flip-flops. Mrs. Briefs faltered at his casual wear for a moment, then beamed decidedly and let them in, showering them with praise.
"Bulma! Vejita! Guests have arrived!" she called up the stairway. "Krillen and Master Roshi are here!"
Upstairs in her room, Bulma was desperately procrastinating, tugging at the edges of her strappy black dress. She looked stunning, of course. It was her firm belief that nothing flattered quite like a little black dress. She had many to choose from, but this was the one that she truly loved. Its straps were impossibly tiny, and the back scooped down to right above her small bottom. The deep waterfall neckline was her favorite part; it created the illusion that she had breasts. She had twisted her hair half up into the intricate, ropy pattern that had swiftly become her favorite. She wore diamonds in her ears and around her neck, and even sewn into the straps of her stilettos. She flashed herself an uncertain, shaky smile and followed her mother's voice down the stairs.
She nearly collided with Vejita at the top of the curving staircase. He reached out a hand to steady her, taking the opprotunity to give her a quick once-over. From his appreciative look, Bulma knew that she had been right to wear this dress. She had to force herself not to reveal the same expression as she looked at what Vejita was wearing.
The deliciously tight tank top left nothing to the imagination, illustrating his rock-hard muscles perfectly. The loose dress pants definitely didn't hurt either. Bulma couldn't remember when he'd looked better. She would never have admitted this to the arrogant prince, though. Instead she simply raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't know you even owned anything besides armor and training outfits," she remarked coolly, eyeing his outfit. "You look uncomfortable." But of course he truly didn't. He was a prince, Bulma remembered, dressing up must be second nature to him.
"And I thought that everything you owned showed a little more skin," he replied. "I'm surprised you're not pulling out all the stops for that fool you were associated with."
Bulma's perfectly lined eyes narrowed. "I'm not trying to impress anybody." But it was obvious to Vejita that she was lying. He couldn't say that he understood how she felt, but he could attempt it. He grimaced, hating what he was about to do but not able to stop himself.
"Perhaps it would ease your pain to avoid the bastard tonight," he suggested stiffly. "Or I could just take him off your hands permanently...it would be my pleasure." He smirked at that wonderful prospect.
Bulma stopped at the top of the stairs, staring at him incredulously. "Are you trying to...comfort me?" Her eyes softened as she gazed at him hopefully. Vejita hated how it made her look so much younger and more innocent, like she had never experienced pain before, or like she had experienced far too much. He suspected that was the case. He hated how it made him feel like doing something to help her, or at least to stop whatever was making her feel that way.
"Where did you get that foolish idea?" he snorted. "I'm just looking for an excuse to beat up the asshole."
The hopeful look melted away. Bulma turned away, trying to hide her disappointment as she descended the stairs. "It was just a thought."
Vejita cursed himself as he followed, forcing himself to look away from her. Just as they reached the main floor, the door burst open and Kakkarott and his idiot wife hurried in, unwrapping their scarves and depositing Gohan onto the ground. The child stared, wide-eyed, at Vejita and hid behind his father.
"Daddy, that bad man is with Aunt Bulma!" he exclaimed, pointing.
Goku lifted his son into his arms, ignoring Vejita's quiet growl and Bulma's slightly amused expression. "Gohan, Vejita is our friend now, okay?"
Gohan eyed Vejita skeptically and nodded, but Bulma didn't think he looked too sure. She shrugged, knowing that most grown-up people didn't believe it either.
"Hello, Goku," she offered quietly. "Chichi."
Goku's wife nodded and scurried over to Krillen, scolding him for 'staring at her precious baby Gohan'. Goku watched Bulma out of the corners of his eyes, surprised to find her and Vejita together. He had always assumed that Vejita was never around the family, as most of the others had. Only Yamcha knew how Vejita had gotten involved in the family, but it wasn't something he liked to talk about, for obvious reasons.
"Hey, Bulma! What's up Vejita? Didn't think we'd be able to drag you away from your training!" he said.
"Fuck off," Vejita muttered, shoving past him to the buffet of food.
Goku watched him go, smiling obliviously. "What about ducks?" He turned to Bulma, whose eyes were fixed on Vejita's retreating back, amazement gracing her fair-skinned face. Something registered this into Goku's mind, though he didn't try to decipher it now. He instead slid an arm around Bulma's bare shoulders. "Yamcha told me that you guys broke up. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Bulma snapped. "We had our differences. He wasn't a party person, I was. Its as simple as that." She shrugged his arm off, uncomfortable with the body contact.
"Will he be here tonight?" Goku asked gently.
"Probably," the girl answered, crossing her arms. "What's with the twenty questions, Goku?"
Goku was cut off by more of Mrs. Briefs' exclaimed welcome's. Bulma turned to see who it was just as Yamcha and Tien walked through the door. Bulma noticed that Yamcha's smile was natural and relaxed, much unlike what she would have expected. He waved to her casually, as if he had already gotten over and forgotton her. His nonchalance cut her to the quick. She blushed, her face fell, and her fingers clenched into fists as she turned and stormed out of the room.
Tien watched her go and then turned to Yamcha and Goku, who both looked equally sympathetic. "I wish I had that effect on women!"
Bulma flung the patio doors open, breathing in the crisp autumn air gratefully. She slid the glass doors carefully, silently back into place. The last thing she wanted was for Goku or, Kami forbid, Yamcha, to follow her outside. All she wanted was to be alone.
She sniffled and wiped away a stray tear as she awkwardly made her way to the marble gazebo out in the middle of her mother's dying flower gardens. She slid onto the bench swing inside and wrapped her arms around herself, protecting her naked skin from the cold. The stars twinkled merrily, as they always had. She watched them twinkle, silently admiring the only constant remaining in her life. Tears fell freely down her face now, unchecked.
This was how Vejita found her, alone, with the stars shining and reflecting on her face. By the time he noticed her tears it was too late to turn back around. She started and watched him, wide-eyed, as he took a seat on the railing of the gazebo.
"Your mother's party sucks," he stated flatly. He noticed the corners of her mouth lift a little, and leaned back onto one of the polished supports. "Your idiot friends' opinions have not changed."
Bulma's brow furrowed. "About what?"
"Me. I don't give a damn what they think, I'd like to kill most of them."
They sat silently, contemplating this. Bulma looked back up at the sky.
"Where was Vejitasei? What was it like?"
The question surprised Vejita. He shrugged. "I do not know where to find it. I've never tried. It's gone now anyway." A lie, but she would never figure that out. He stared out at the empty space it had once occupied nearly every night, wishing that he could go back in time and change everything. What was it like? He was sure that she wouldn't want to know. "It was a lot better than this shitty planet." Another lie.
"Thanks," Bulma said sarcastically. "for your fascinating insight."
Vejita looked back into the mansion, catching sight of Goku and Chichi attempting to dance. He scowled and noticed Gohan, their idiot son, running around the house, dodging people's legs and giggling. Vejita's expression darkened when he noticed the dragonball the child was clutching. It reminded him of the time they had spent on Namek. He snuck a glance at the girl next to him. She was much different now. She was more mature, less impulsive than she had been. Back then he had noticed her because of her spunk and pretty face. But now he noticed her because of her haunted eyes and sharp tongue. They were probably the same qualities people noticed in him. He smirked, thinking of this quality they shared.
"Why aren't you inside?" he asked. "I thought you loved a good party."
"That," Bulma said, disgusted. "is not a good party. All of the people I've been trying to avoid in the same room. Lovely."
"Then why did you get all dressed up? So you could impress that pathetic man-whore you called a boyfriend?"
Bulma glared at him now. "I don't appreciate your sarcasm. I wish that you would lighten up about us. We took you in instead of booting you out, as we could, and probably should, have done. Being polite is the least you can do."
"I didn't ask for your hospitality, woman!" Vejita protested. "I could still destroy everything and everyone on this pathetic planet, so don't push it."
Bulma ignored him and stared back into the house. She too noticed Gohan's dragonball. "You would do things differently if you had the chance to go back. You would take the dragonballs back and wish for immortality, and then kill us all. You're not fooling me."
"Probably," Vejita agreed, smirking again. "I wouldn't kill all of you though."
Bulma narrowed her eyes at the arrogant prince. "What are you trying to say?"
Vejita mentally slapped himself for THAT close one. "I would allow Kakkarott to survive, and then kill him slowly so that he could feel the pain. Maybe I would leave his family alive also, so they could watch him die..."
Her angry shriek of protest rang through his sensitive ears, causing him to wince in pain. "Asshole!" He was assailed with weak punches, causing him to laugh at her weakness.
"You're attacking me?" he said, gripping her wrists and applying pressure, just to scare her. He smirked as her eyelids fluttered. She was fighting consciousness, so he released his hold a bit. Her eyes cleared once again and she ceased her attacks. "Smart choice."
She attempted to free her wrists from his grip but was unsuccessful. "Let go of me...," she pleaded half-heartedly. "Come on!"
Vejita found himself leaning in closer. He looked her in the eyes and smirked slowly. "Is that what you really want?"
"Yeah, of--of course that's what I want," she protested unconvincinly. "Duh."
The prince, somewhat disappointed, released her and leaned back once again. Bulma massaged her tiny wrists, still watching him warily. Suddenly, and much to Vejita's surprise, she scooted down next to him, close enough for their thighs to touch. She looked down at her dangling feet, and then back up at him. Her oceanic gaze sent a thrill up his spine.
"Change your mind?" he asked quietly, that haughty smirk growing larger.
She nodded silently and squeezed her eyes shut as they leaned closer to each other, gripping the railing for physical, and not to mention emotional, support. Their lips touched. Bulma cried out and pulled away, jumping off the railing.
"What the fu--" Vejita snarled, also jumping down. "Where do you think you're going, woman?!"
Bulma looked back once, her eyes large and wild, before she ran back onto the patio, slamming the French doors open and not even bothering to close them behind her. Vejita watched her retreating back and swore softly, turning back around and slumping back onto the railing, hating the world and everyone in it.
*********************************************************************************
...........................................................................................LITTLE BLACK DRESS
.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
Bulma woke to the comforting sounds and smells of her mother cooking breakfast, which was odd, considering the fact that her room was upstairs and across the building from the kitchen. She sat up slowly, rubbing her sore temples, and looked around her, blinking the sleep out of her blue eyes.
She was on the couch in the common room, which was also odd. The last thing she remembered about the previous night was getting a quick high before she went up to bed and...well, that was it. She massaged her throbbing temples, figuring that she had passed out at the kitchen table. And, even worse, Vejita must have been the one to move her, considering her neither mother nor her father was strong enough to move her. She supposed that her mother had made him. It wasn't natural for Vejita to help others. Running a hand through her messy hair, she quietly slunk upstairs to take a shower.
The girl was so busy scrubbing herself dry after her long, hot shower that she didn't hear her bedroom door creak open, or someone sit down on her queen-sized bed. She hastily wrapped a towel around herself, squeezed the extra moisture from her long hair, and stepped out of her bathroom. She shrieked when she caught sight of Vejita, impatiently waiting for her. Ever since she had begun her partying and such, she had made it a point never to appear in front of anyone without makeup, not wanting to run the risk of someone seeing the horrible dark circles beneath her eyes. It seemed that Vejita would be the first one to have the pleasure of seeing her in raw form. Extremely raw form, since all she wore was the towel.
"What do you want?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't hear you knock."
"No, you didn't. Your mother wanted you to know that the food is ready. Not that you eat much, but I guess she hasn't noticed that yet." Vejita stood, and then looked back as he exited the room. "By the way, your new look is...stunning. The dark circles really compliment your skin tone."
Bulma restrained herself from attacking him as he disappeared down the hall. Honestly, she couldn't believe she had invited that man into her house. How ignorant she had been! How different she had been... She brushed the regretful thought aside and set about making herself presentable again. She was not in the mood to mull over the attitude of His Highness at the moment.
Mrs. Briefs looked up when Vejita re-entered the kitchen, scowling. "I suppose it was you who transported Bulma into the common room last night," she stated flatly, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. "Thank you."
"Hn," Vejita replied, taking his usual place at the table. He silently hated himself for being harsh on Bulma earlier, though he was a loss to explain why. "Is it almost done?"
The woman ignored his comment. "Don't tell her that you did--she would not appreciate your knowing her weaknesses." She paused for a moment, stopping her cooking to gaze thoughtfully into space. "She has ever so many these days, doesn't she?"
Vejita shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. "She's a different person than I first met on Namek, yes. She grew up or whatever. Its not like she wasn't weak already."
"She didn't grow up," Mrs. Briefs said, shaking her head and going back to her cooking. "She changed. I couldn't say what it was that changed her, though. I can only pinpoint the time. You probably remember."
At this Vejita didn't reply. He remembered it, all right, and he could guess the reason also. It had been the night of her prom, the silly event that she had herself all worked up for. She had spent the entire day getting herself ridiculously made up when she looked so much better without all of that face paint anyway, and then she had insisted upon getting hundreds of pictures taken of her and Yamcha in their pointless costumes, so that they could 'look back on this day' years later. Anyhow, Yamcha had ended up faking sick for whatever reason, probably so he could go and play baseball or whatever, so Bulma had to, of course, make a fuss about that, giving them all a migraine. She could only be comforted by Yamcha's reassurances that yes, she would be appointed Prom Queen, whatever that meant. She had come home a mess, sobbing about something that she had refused to explain. Vejita knew what it must have been, however. Judging from the mixed scents of fear and an adolescent man Vejita didn't recognize, it was obvious that she had been attacked. He had spent the entire night trying to block out the sounds of soft whimpers from Bulma's room and the images that had plagued his dreams. Yes, he remembered.
"Yeah," he said, eyeing the food. "Is the shit done or what?!"
Mrs. Briefs nodded. "Have at it, dear. Meanwhile, I'm off to the store. Is there anything you need?"
Bulma trotted into the kitchen. "Yeah, I'd say there's something he needs--manners. Didn't your mother teach you to knock before you enter a room?"
Mrs. Briefs' eyes danced as she left the room, leaving Bulma and Vejita to have at it, as usual.
"No. She taught me the proper way to gut a live child though, just in case the opprotunity arises." Vejita smirked at her disgusted reaction, though his honest intention had been to get her to laugh. Apparently, their ideas of humor differed.
"Cute. Real cute," she muttered, wrinkling her perfectly powdered nose. Vejita watched her as she picked out tiny portions of her mother's breakfast. She had covered up the dark rings under her eyes and crimped her long, wavy hair even though she had decided pulled it up into a messy high ponytail. She obviously had plans to stay home, because she wore a pair of short blue boxers and a white beater that was, Vejita couldn't help but notice, more than a little transparent. He also noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra--it wasn't like she desperately needed one anyway. He mentally steered himself away from those kinds of thoughts, especially about this particular girl, and recovered with a sarcastic remark.
"I've always thought so," Vejita replied. "How do you survive on such meager rations?"
"Quite well, thank you." She looked down at her slim frame and small breasts and smiled to herself. Then, as if she was remembering that she was supposed to be the troubled one, she frowned and slammed her plate onto the counter, across from Vejita. "Aren't you supposed to be training right now?"
"I'm not 'supposed' to be doing anything, woman," was his grumpy reply. His reason for not training was that he knew he was going to have a hard time concentrating after last night. He always sorted things out in his mind when exercising, and that was something that he did not wish to analyze. So he stuck with his bland comment and continued eating his breakfast.
Bulma raised an eyebrow at his unpredictable behavior, shook her head, and began eating.
Hours later, Mrs. Briefs returned home, her arms full of groceries. Bulma was sprawled across the couch, intent upon watching a movie, Dr. Briefs was most likely busy in the lab, and Vejita was in the kitchen, fixing himself lunch earlier than usual. The woman noticed that he seemed stressed about something, so she refrained from asking him about his early lunch.
"No training today, hun?"
Vejita frowned at 'hun' and waited before replying. "No." He left it at that and dug through the bags of food, pulling out various things and adding them to the growing pile on his plate. He furrowed his eyebrows at the many bottles of wine he found.
Mrs. Briefs smiled. "That's just as well--it'll give you more than enough time to get ready for the party!"
Bulma appeared in the doorway. "Party? That's something I never thought I'd hear you say."
"I met Chichi at the store," Mrs. Briefs continued. "From the sound of it, your little group hasn't been all together in a long time, not since shortly after Vejita arrived here. I thought tonight would be a good night to have a little party at our house. That's what I bought all the wine for, Vejita. Its going to be a bit formal, so plan on dressing up!"
"Oh, great," Vejita groaned. "All of the people I hate most, in one house. Is Kakkarott coming?"
Mrs. Briefs looked confused. "Who?"
"Chichi's idiot husband!"
"Oh, of course he is!" She clasped her hands together in delight. "They'll all be delighted to see how much you've calmed down since you've gotten here, Vejita. And they're bringing Gohan, their lovely little child. I'll bet he's grown so much!"
"Mom, its hardly been seven months," Bulma said, rolling her eyes. "And Vejita, calmed down? Right."
"You can try to downplay it all you want," Mrs. Briefs mused. "But you can't possibly ruin it! It will be a great time, honey. You should go and find something to wear pretty soon, our guests will be arriving in about three hours." Her mother, ever foolhardy, decided to add onto her comment. "I think that he has calmed down. I remember how dreadfully set on killing he was when he got here. He's showed marvelous improvement, haven't you dear?"
Vejita snorted and left the room, muttering to himself about foolish human assumptions and the disadvantages of self-control. Bulma waited until he was safely out of Saiyan earshot and raised an eyebrow at her mother.
"He's a lot worse than he's been leading us to think," she said. "Believe me."
Mrs. Briefs waved off the comment, smiling obliviously. "Do you think that they would prefer their meat barbequed or roasted? I know that Vejita has an obsession with barbeque, but you just never know about Goku..." She trailed off uncertainly.
"Whatever." Bulma sighed and exited the room, wondering exactly how she was going to survive seeing Yamcha again, so soon after their breakup.
The first people to arrive were, surprisingly, Krillen and Master Roshi. Krillen wore a ridiculous white suit that must have been three sizes too large, and Master Roshi wore what he usually preferred--a brightly colored beach shirt and khaki shorts. And, of course, his trusty flip-flops. Mrs. Briefs faltered at his casual wear for a moment, then beamed decidedly and let them in, showering them with praise.
"Bulma! Vejita! Guests have arrived!" she called up the stairway. "Krillen and Master Roshi are here!"
Upstairs in her room, Bulma was desperately procrastinating, tugging at the edges of her strappy black dress. She looked stunning, of course. It was her firm belief that nothing flattered quite like a little black dress. She had many to choose from, but this was the one that she truly loved. Its straps were impossibly tiny, and the back scooped down to right above her small bottom. The deep waterfall neckline was her favorite part; it created the illusion that she had breasts. She had twisted her hair half up into the intricate, ropy pattern that had swiftly become her favorite. She wore diamonds in her ears and around her neck, and even sewn into the straps of her stilettos. She flashed herself an uncertain, shaky smile and followed her mother's voice down the stairs.
She nearly collided with Vejita at the top of the curving staircase. He reached out a hand to steady her, taking the opprotunity to give her a quick once-over. From his appreciative look, Bulma knew that she had been right to wear this dress. She had to force herself not to reveal the same expression as she looked at what Vejita was wearing.
The deliciously tight tank top left nothing to the imagination, illustrating his rock-hard muscles perfectly. The loose dress pants definitely didn't hurt either. Bulma couldn't remember when he'd looked better. She would never have admitted this to the arrogant prince, though. Instead she simply raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't know you even owned anything besides armor and training outfits," she remarked coolly, eyeing his outfit. "You look uncomfortable." But of course he truly didn't. He was a prince, Bulma remembered, dressing up must be second nature to him.
"And I thought that everything you owned showed a little more skin," he replied. "I'm surprised you're not pulling out all the stops for that fool you were associated with."
Bulma's perfectly lined eyes narrowed. "I'm not trying to impress anybody." But it was obvious to Vejita that she was lying. He couldn't say that he understood how she felt, but he could attempt it. He grimaced, hating what he was about to do but not able to stop himself.
"Perhaps it would ease your pain to avoid the bastard tonight," he suggested stiffly. "Or I could just take him off your hands permanently...it would be my pleasure." He smirked at that wonderful prospect.
Bulma stopped at the top of the stairs, staring at him incredulously. "Are you trying to...comfort me?" Her eyes softened as she gazed at him hopefully. Vejita hated how it made her look so much younger and more innocent, like she had never experienced pain before, or like she had experienced far too much. He suspected that was the case. He hated how it made him feel like doing something to help her, or at least to stop whatever was making her feel that way.
"Where did you get that foolish idea?" he snorted. "I'm just looking for an excuse to beat up the asshole."
The hopeful look melted away. Bulma turned away, trying to hide her disappointment as she descended the stairs. "It was just a thought."
Vejita cursed himself as he followed, forcing himself to look away from her. Just as they reached the main floor, the door burst open and Kakkarott and his idiot wife hurried in, unwrapping their scarves and depositing Gohan onto the ground. The child stared, wide-eyed, at Vejita and hid behind his father.
"Daddy, that bad man is with Aunt Bulma!" he exclaimed, pointing.
Goku lifted his son into his arms, ignoring Vejita's quiet growl and Bulma's slightly amused expression. "Gohan, Vejita is our friend now, okay?"
Gohan eyed Vejita skeptically and nodded, but Bulma didn't think he looked too sure. She shrugged, knowing that most grown-up people didn't believe it either.
"Hello, Goku," she offered quietly. "Chichi."
Goku's wife nodded and scurried over to Krillen, scolding him for 'staring at her precious baby Gohan'. Goku watched Bulma out of the corners of his eyes, surprised to find her and Vejita together. He had always assumed that Vejita was never around the family, as most of the others had. Only Yamcha knew how Vejita had gotten involved in the family, but it wasn't something he liked to talk about, for obvious reasons.
"Hey, Bulma! What's up Vejita? Didn't think we'd be able to drag you away from your training!" he said.
"Fuck off," Vejita muttered, shoving past him to the buffet of food.
Goku watched him go, smiling obliviously. "What about ducks?" He turned to Bulma, whose eyes were fixed on Vejita's retreating back, amazement gracing her fair-skinned face. Something registered this into Goku's mind, though he didn't try to decipher it now. He instead slid an arm around Bulma's bare shoulders. "Yamcha told me that you guys broke up. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Bulma snapped. "We had our differences. He wasn't a party person, I was. Its as simple as that." She shrugged his arm off, uncomfortable with the body contact.
"Will he be here tonight?" Goku asked gently.
"Probably," the girl answered, crossing her arms. "What's with the twenty questions, Goku?"
Goku was cut off by more of Mrs. Briefs' exclaimed welcome's. Bulma turned to see who it was just as Yamcha and Tien walked through the door. Bulma noticed that Yamcha's smile was natural and relaxed, much unlike what she would have expected. He waved to her casually, as if he had already gotten over and forgotton her. His nonchalance cut her to the quick. She blushed, her face fell, and her fingers clenched into fists as she turned and stormed out of the room.
Tien watched her go and then turned to Yamcha and Goku, who both looked equally sympathetic. "I wish I had that effect on women!"
Bulma flung the patio doors open, breathing in the crisp autumn air gratefully. She slid the glass doors carefully, silently back into place. The last thing she wanted was for Goku or, Kami forbid, Yamcha, to follow her outside. All she wanted was to be alone.
She sniffled and wiped away a stray tear as she awkwardly made her way to the marble gazebo out in the middle of her mother's dying flower gardens. She slid onto the bench swing inside and wrapped her arms around herself, protecting her naked skin from the cold. The stars twinkled merrily, as they always had. She watched them twinkle, silently admiring the only constant remaining in her life. Tears fell freely down her face now, unchecked.
This was how Vejita found her, alone, with the stars shining and reflecting on her face. By the time he noticed her tears it was too late to turn back around. She started and watched him, wide-eyed, as he took a seat on the railing of the gazebo.
"Your mother's party sucks," he stated flatly. He noticed the corners of her mouth lift a little, and leaned back onto one of the polished supports. "Your idiot friends' opinions have not changed."
Bulma's brow furrowed. "About what?"
"Me. I don't give a damn what they think, I'd like to kill most of them."
They sat silently, contemplating this. Bulma looked back up at the sky.
"Where was Vejitasei? What was it like?"
The question surprised Vejita. He shrugged. "I do not know where to find it. I've never tried. It's gone now anyway." A lie, but she would never figure that out. He stared out at the empty space it had once occupied nearly every night, wishing that he could go back in time and change everything. What was it like? He was sure that she wouldn't want to know. "It was a lot better than this shitty planet." Another lie.
"Thanks," Bulma said sarcastically. "for your fascinating insight."
Vejita looked back into the mansion, catching sight of Goku and Chichi attempting to dance. He scowled and noticed Gohan, their idiot son, running around the house, dodging people's legs and giggling. Vejita's expression darkened when he noticed the dragonball the child was clutching. It reminded him of the time they had spent on Namek. He snuck a glance at the girl next to him. She was much different now. She was more mature, less impulsive than she had been. Back then he had noticed her because of her spunk and pretty face. But now he noticed her because of her haunted eyes and sharp tongue. They were probably the same qualities people noticed in him. He smirked, thinking of this quality they shared.
"Why aren't you inside?" he asked. "I thought you loved a good party."
"That," Bulma said, disgusted. "is not a good party. All of the people I've been trying to avoid in the same room. Lovely."
"Then why did you get all dressed up? So you could impress that pathetic man-whore you called a boyfriend?"
Bulma glared at him now. "I don't appreciate your sarcasm. I wish that you would lighten up about us. We took you in instead of booting you out, as we could, and probably should, have done. Being polite is the least you can do."
"I didn't ask for your hospitality, woman!" Vejita protested. "I could still destroy everything and everyone on this pathetic planet, so don't push it."
Bulma ignored him and stared back into the house. She too noticed Gohan's dragonball. "You would do things differently if you had the chance to go back. You would take the dragonballs back and wish for immortality, and then kill us all. You're not fooling me."
"Probably," Vejita agreed, smirking again. "I wouldn't kill all of you though."
Bulma narrowed her eyes at the arrogant prince. "What are you trying to say?"
Vejita mentally slapped himself for THAT close one. "I would allow Kakkarott to survive, and then kill him slowly so that he could feel the pain. Maybe I would leave his family alive also, so they could watch him die..."
Her angry shriek of protest rang through his sensitive ears, causing him to wince in pain. "Asshole!" He was assailed with weak punches, causing him to laugh at her weakness.
"You're attacking me?" he said, gripping her wrists and applying pressure, just to scare her. He smirked as her eyelids fluttered. She was fighting consciousness, so he released his hold a bit. Her eyes cleared once again and she ceased her attacks. "Smart choice."
She attempted to free her wrists from his grip but was unsuccessful. "Let go of me...," she pleaded half-heartedly. "Come on!"
Vejita found himself leaning in closer. He looked her in the eyes and smirked slowly. "Is that what you really want?"
"Yeah, of--of course that's what I want," she protested unconvincinly. "Duh."
The prince, somewhat disappointed, released her and leaned back once again. Bulma massaged her tiny wrists, still watching him warily. Suddenly, and much to Vejita's surprise, she scooted down next to him, close enough for their thighs to touch. She looked down at her dangling feet, and then back up at him. Her oceanic gaze sent a thrill up his spine.
"Change your mind?" he asked quietly, that haughty smirk growing larger.
She nodded silently and squeezed her eyes shut as they leaned closer to each other, gripping the railing for physical, and not to mention emotional, support. Their lips touched. Bulma cried out and pulled away, jumping off the railing.
"What the fu--" Vejita snarled, also jumping down. "Where do you think you're going, woman?!"
Bulma looked back once, her eyes large and wild, before she ran back onto the patio, slamming the French doors open and not even bothering to close them behind her. Vejita watched her retreating back and swore softly, turning back around and slumping back onto the railing, hating the world and everyone in it.
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