...........................................................................................LITTLE BLACK DRESS
.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
Vejita awoke the next morning to one hell of a hangover. It wasn't surprising, considering the amount of sleep he had gotten the night before. All night he had tossed and turned, tangling himself in his sheets trying to avoid thinking about the pathetic little human that threatened to take him over and convert him into a carbon copy of Kakkarott--a calm, peace-loving Saiyan who cared for what others thought and had even gone so far as to make a family and settle down with the weak inhabitants of the planet he was supposed to conquer, not give his life for. It all sounded like horse shit to him, but the part of him that, in a way, had already been ruined by Bulma Briefs insisted that no, it wasn't stupid--it was happening to HIM, the Prince of all Saiyans!
The digital clock on his nightstand read 8:30 AM. He had overslept once again. The onna was already causing him to go down the drain, and they hadn't even shared a real kiss! Suddenly loud, heavy-metal rock music blared from the other side of his wall. From Bulma's room. Vejita did a double take and glanced at the clock again, but the digits had not changed. Bulma? Awake at 8:30? A rare event.
"Baka onna and her taste in music..." he grumbled, covering his head with his pillow. But even the pillow and the wall between them couldn't keep the sounds from harming his Saiyan ears. On any other morning, he really wouldn't have minded, considering he liked some of her music, though he would never admit it. But not this morning--all the prince wanted to do was sleep in for a little while longer. "TURN THE DAMNED RADIO DOWN!!"
"Fuck you!" The volume went down for a mere second, long enough for Bulma to shout back, then returned to its original settings.
The disgruntled Saiyan shot out of his warm, soft bed, pulled a pair of pants over his boxers, and stormed into Bulma's room. He glanced at her skimpy pajamas for a quick second, and then forced himself to look away. He scowled at her, stomped over to the radio, and ripped its antenna in half, crumbling it between his hands. The music gave way to a roaring static, causing him to get even more irritated and finally just rip the cord, outlet and all, out of the wall. Bulma looked at him incredulously, her eyes flashing from beneath her messy hair.
"Well," she stammered. "Good morning to you, too."
"The morning is never good in this house," he said through gritted teeth, and stormed back out of her room and into the hallway, too irritated to go back to bed.
Instead of attempting to cover up the angry purple flaws on her face, this morning Bulma didn't care. Let her parents see--what difference would it make? How could it possibly change their opinion of her now? They had, after all, witnessed the run-in with Vejita last night. Though she wouldn't normally do so, she had taken Chichi's nasty words seriously this time. Maybe she really was as twisted as Vejita. She wrapped her arms around herself, studying her reflection in the mirror.
She didn't look particularily different than usual. The dark circles changed her appearance a bit, but it was something she was used to seeing. Shaking her head, she stepped away from the mirror and yanked the first thing she grabbed out of her closet, not even bothering to see what it was, and not really caring.
After raking a comb through her hair, she headed downstairs, following the smells of breakfast and the sounds of her mother's content humming. The untruthful accusations of Goku's wife floated about in her skull, ruining whatever good effect the sunshiney, unusually warm fall morning would have done her.
Mrs. Briefs watched as her daughter slunk down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to contain her curiosity. As the girl got closer, however, all of her curiosities were forgotten. Either it was the royal purple jogging pants and skin-tight white t-shirt with just a slit of stomach showing that drew her attention (an outfit the 'old' Bulma would have worn, not this new, sullen girl who seemed to favor tight black dresses and spike heels), or it was the bruise-like dark circles under her normally shining blue eyes. Her long hair had been carelessly thrown half-up into a messy sort of bun, with strands hanging down by her face, something else that Bulma never tended to do anymore. The woman furrowed her eyebrows but kept quiet, for once knowing better than to just blurt out whatever was on her mind.
Come to think of it, she mused, Vejita seemed especially quiet this morning also. She couldn't help but hope that something might have happened between the two--something good, of course. She observed the dark Saiyan out of the corner of her eyes, her mind only half on the bacon she was scorching. Mrs. Briefs noticed him tense as her daughter padded by, noticed his black eyes follow her movements, then quickly dart back to the pan of food in her hand, as if his mind was battling which was more important. She smiled as his eyes finally came to rest on the back of Bulma's head as she searched through the refridgerator. It was nice to know that Bulma had found a man that could keep his priorities straight.
"Mom, we have nothing to drink in this house," Bulma complained, emerging from behind the door of the refridgerator with a wine cooler in her small hand. "If I have to drink another one of these damned throat-ticklers I'll hurl."
"That's strange," Bulma's mother pointed out. "You usually don't drink in the morning."
Bulma's eyes came to rest on Vejita, who was seemingly entranced by the sunlight leaking into the kitchen. "Yeah well, perhaps this morning I have some proper motivation." She slid into her usual seat across from Vejita, her posture slouchy. "You owe me another stereo, by the way, and you'd better see to getting that outlet replaced." She watched the Saiyan with her sharp eyes and took a long swig of her drink.
"Bullshit," Vejita grumbled. "I'm sure that your father has something to fix it in that trash heap of his."
Mrs. Briefs raised an eyebrow, remembering how the music coming from Bulma's room had cut off abruptly, followed by shouting. But even remembering this she kept silent, for a wicked idea was brewing in her permed head. "Food's ready kids." She leaned on the counter, watching Vejita devour his food and Bulma down her drink. "You know, I think it would be a great idea if you took Vejita shopping today, dear. The weather's getting colder now, and you both need some sweaters and things." At their identical expressions of protest, she quickly fished some credit cards out of her pocket and handed them to Bulma, who took them grudgingly. "Besides, I think it would be a good idea for both of you to get out of the house."
"I have no need of such petty human things," Vejita said. "I can warm myself with my ki perfectly fine."
But this housewife was not one who was swayed easily. "Oh, come on Vejita! A little bit of fresh air and shopping will be good for both of you." She eyed the dark circles under Bulma's eyes, still a little disturbed. "Fresh air is always healthy..."
Not wanting to ruin the chances of this impromptu outing, Mrs. Briefs began making her way to the door. She was sure to swipe the rest of Bulma's alcohol before leaving.
And that was how Bulma and Vejita ended up side-by-side in her mother's cherry red Camaro, with Bulma's foot heavy on the gas pedal, willing this awful trip to just get over with. She had covered up her dark circles, lined her eyes, and applied some raspberry lip gloss--but only to make herself feel better, she told herself, not because she actually cared what the son of a bitch next to her thought.
As for Vejita, he had only bothered to throw a shirt over his jeans, not really giving a damn what the masses of foolish humans thought. Besides, he was well aware of the fact that he looked good in everything. It wasn't that he had given two seconds to think about what the evil bitch next to him thought. He instead focused on watching the swiftly passing landscape, hoping that he would at least survive the woman's fast driving, let alone the stupid shopping spree ahead of him. He was well aware of how the woman loved to linger at every possible opprotunity at the mall, and was dreading it.
Bulma couldn't help but let out a sigh as they entered the mall--after all, it was one of her favorite places in the world. Swept up in the excitement of it all, she unconsciously grabbed Vejita's hand (she had always held hands with Yamcha while shopping) and dragged him over to the first boutique they encountered, trying to smother the foolish grin that was pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Vejita desperately tried to ignore the fact that Bulma was holding his hand--he inwardly cringed at this gesture of weakness--and tried to concentrate on the various articles of clothing Bulma was accumlating. He had no doubts that he would be forced to wait for her to try it all on later, but he brushed that loathsome thought out of his mind until he absolutely HAD to deal with it.
"Oh Kami, is that a beautiful ring!" Bulma breathed, tapping a long fingernail on the glass display case. "Yamcha never bought me anything THAT exquisite..."
The Saiyan prince picked up on the melancholy in her voice and said the first thing that came to mind, a bad habit he had started to pick up on. "That puny little rock is nothing compared to some of the ones I've seen. On Vejitasei it would be a very unfortunate event for a man to give such a cheap piece of shit to his mate."
"Yeah, well here on EARTH men don't value their girlfriends that much," Bulma answered, surprised. "A girl is lucky to get a free ticket to the movies, for Kami's sake." She released his wrist and stormed out of the store, waiting for him at the exit. "Besides, most of them couldn't even afford it--a problem I suspect no girl of yours has ever had to deal with."
Vejita smirked as he approached her. "No, they haven't. Its not like any girl I've been interested in has had to worry about money anyway."
Bulma fiddled with her diamond studded watch, uncomfortable with the subtext in his comment. "I'm not surprised. I'm hungry again, believe it or not. Let's go eat."
The Saiyan, not being able to turn down a good meal, followed her silently, observing the crowds with a bit of amusement. Never before had he seen such a gathering of weaklings. It would have made wonderful target practice...
Bulma, as if she knew what he was thinking, eyed him with scorn. "Mass murder is not something we practice on Earth," she snapped, crossing her arms and falling into step beside him. "Though in some cases the ability would no doubt come in handy."
Vejita, thinking of the party last night, couldn't agree more.
Goku found them in the food court, eating in a heavy silence and staring off in opposite directions. It struck him as unusual to see them together. After all, only a short while before, they had considered Prince Vejita their enemy and the possible end of the world as they knew it. But for some reason, seeing them together didn't surprise him as much as it did everyone else. Recalling last night, he decided not to greet them in his usual cheery manner, but rather to approach them quietly.
"Hey Bulma! Hey Vejita!" he said calmly. "What's shakin'?"
Bulma offered a small smile, while Vejita hardly looked up. Goku didn't let this faze him.
"Whatcha eating?"
Bulma lifted the dark bottle to her lips, watching him as she drank. "Pizza and beer. Lunch of champions. Why don't you sit down for a little while? That is, if Chichi would think its all right. I am, after all, an evil, manipulating whore, and Vejita here is a mass murderer."
Goku's face fell as he sat down. Bulma's mood swings never failed to baffle him. "Gee, I don't know what to say about last night besides that I'm sorry. You know how Chichi is--she can't help herself."
His childhood friend raised an eyebrow, tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger. "You don't have to apologize for her, Goku. Half of what she said was true, you know."
Vejita snorted. "Personally, I don't think any of it is anybody else's business. Not even Kakkarott's." The black look he shot at his rival spoke for him.
"No," Goku agreed good-naturedly. "Its not. But if you two would lighten up a bit, then maybe I could MAKE it my business. I think that if we could talk this out, I could go back to Chichi and--"
"I don't give a damn what she thinks about me," Bulma snapped, cutting him off. "What I do and who I do it with is none of her business, and she had NO right to attack me in my own home."
Vejita's eyes went to her, searching her face for any additional information. 'What she did and who she did it with?' What was THAT supposed to mean? He couldn't help but hope that perhaps she was coming into her own again, shaking off this strange weakness that had started to take her over, ever since she had come home that one night that had apparently changed her life. He, for one, wouldn't mind seeing the 'old Bulma' start coming out of her shell.
"You're right," Goku said quietly. "But you know Chi--always finding opprotunities to release some of her anger. She didn't mean anything by it, B-chan."
His friend's eyes had hardened again, revealing nothing. "I don't need or want your sympathy, Son Goku. If that's how you think I am--some pathetic little weakling who will melt at your excuses--then you've got me wrong. She did mean something, she always does. If you're just going to try to cover for her and pretend that everything's all right, then maybe you should look for someone else to tell it to. And please don't call me 'B-chan' anymore, it just isn't right." Her sapphire eyes were cold and hard as stone.
Her 'friend' looked genuinely hurt, but she didn't care. For once, she could understand why Vejita had always hated her friends--they were incredibly ignorant. Goku didn't even realize that she was serious, Yamcha couldn't seem to figure his own girlfriend out, and Chichi couldn't see past her own bitterness to the feelings of others. She wasn't even going to allow herself to think about the rest of the motley crew. She held her tongue until Goku was safely out of earshot and then looked Vejita straight in the eye.
"I think I understand why you would want to leave this place," she said quietly, slamming her beer back onto the table. "They all get old pretty fast."
The prince sighed, looking up at the skylights. "It doesn't matter how any of us feel. There isn't anywhere else to go. There WAS Namek, but that's only if you wanted to live with a bunch of fucking tree-huggers for the rest of your life."
Bulma, much to his surprise, burst out laughing. "I think that this is the most civil you've been since we've met, Your Highness."
Vejita cocked an eyebrow. "Don't get your hopes up, woman, its only because you fed me."
They refrained from speaking to each other until Bulma dragged him into a fancy department store and strode right for the dress section. Vejita watched as she ran her hands over the rich fabric of a short black dress.
"Why you love those things is beyond me," he complained. "You probably have more than this dump could ever hope for."
Bulma smiled wistfully. "If you were a normal human male you'd understand. The little black dress is an essential part of a girl's wardrobe. It looks good for every occasion and is the most flattering garment ever. Without one, you could hardly be considered a woman!" She plucked her size from the rack, giving Vejita a playful wink. "You can never have too many."
The price could not be fooled. "There is another reason you waste space with those trashy pieces of shit."
Her smile evaporated. "I hate you. Yes, there is...I guess. I was wearing one the first time I met Yamcha. There--does that satisfy you?"
"You waste your time with such memories and tricks to win the bastard back. He's forgotten you, obviously. He's better off with that idiot sport of his than with women anyway."
Bulma frowned. "That may be so, but I'm not. Wait for me while I try this on."
Later, as they made their way across the parking lot, Vejita noticed a lone tear sliding down her cheek. At his quizzical look, the girl's face crumpled.
"I wish that I hadn't smashed his window," she whimpered.
Vejita, not knowing what to do about the sobbing girl, did what came naturally. "Its too bad you didn't smash his face in instead."
Bulma looked at him incredulously and ran the rest of the way to the car, her skinny arms wrapped around herself protectively. Vejita, knowing what it was like to relive your bad memories, did not try to catch up to her.
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(A/N): Sorry about how this chapter might have dragged on a bit--I'm in that kind of mood. What a gloomy October day, ne? Perhaps Stef-chan can update "A Shoulder To Lean On III" to make me feel better....ha sorry about that...I couldn't help myself! Anyhow, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! (Don't make me repeat my review lesson again--it won't be so polite the next time!) ^.~ Ja ne!
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.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
Vejita awoke the next morning to one hell of a hangover. It wasn't surprising, considering the amount of sleep he had gotten the night before. All night he had tossed and turned, tangling himself in his sheets trying to avoid thinking about the pathetic little human that threatened to take him over and convert him into a carbon copy of Kakkarott--a calm, peace-loving Saiyan who cared for what others thought and had even gone so far as to make a family and settle down with the weak inhabitants of the planet he was supposed to conquer, not give his life for. It all sounded like horse shit to him, but the part of him that, in a way, had already been ruined by Bulma Briefs insisted that no, it wasn't stupid--it was happening to HIM, the Prince of all Saiyans!
The digital clock on his nightstand read 8:30 AM. He had overslept once again. The onna was already causing him to go down the drain, and they hadn't even shared a real kiss! Suddenly loud, heavy-metal rock music blared from the other side of his wall. From Bulma's room. Vejita did a double take and glanced at the clock again, but the digits had not changed. Bulma? Awake at 8:30? A rare event.
"Baka onna and her taste in music..." he grumbled, covering his head with his pillow. But even the pillow and the wall between them couldn't keep the sounds from harming his Saiyan ears. On any other morning, he really wouldn't have minded, considering he liked some of her music, though he would never admit it. But not this morning--all the prince wanted to do was sleep in for a little while longer. "TURN THE DAMNED RADIO DOWN!!"
"Fuck you!" The volume went down for a mere second, long enough for Bulma to shout back, then returned to its original settings.
The disgruntled Saiyan shot out of his warm, soft bed, pulled a pair of pants over his boxers, and stormed into Bulma's room. He glanced at her skimpy pajamas for a quick second, and then forced himself to look away. He scowled at her, stomped over to the radio, and ripped its antenna in half, crumbling it between his hands. The music gave way to a roaring static, causing him to get even more irritated and finally just rip the cord, outlet and all, out of the wall. Bulma looked at him incredulously, her eyes flashing from beneath her messy hair.
"Well," she stammered. "Good morning to you, too."
"The morning is never good in this house," he said through gritted teeth, and stormed back out of her room and into the hallway, too irritated to go back to bed.
Instead of attempting to cover up the angry purple flaws on her face, this morning Bulma didn't care. Let her parents see--what difference would it make? How could it possibly change their opinion of her now? They had, after all, witnessed the run-in with Vejita last night. Though she wouldn't normally do so, she had taken Chichi's nasty words seriously this time. Maybe she really was as twisted as Vejita. She wrapped her arms around herself, studying her reflection in the mirror.
She didn't look particularily different than usual. The dark circles changed her appearance a bit, but it was something she was used to seeing. Shaking her head, she stepped away from the mirror and yanked the first thing she grabbed out of her closet, not even bothering to see what it was, and not really caring.
After raking a comb through her hair, she headed downstairs, following the smells of breakfast and the sounds of her mother's content humming. The untruthful accusations of Goku's wife floated about in her skull, ruining whatever good effect the sunshiney, unusually warm fall morning would have done her.
Mrs. Briefs watched as her daughter slunk down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to contain her curiosity. As the girl got closer, however, all of her curiosities were forgotten. Either it was the royal purple jogging pants and skin-tight white t-shirt with just a slit of stomach showing that drew her attention (an outfit the 'old' Bulma would have worn, not this new, sullen girl who seemed to favor tight black dresses and spike heels), or it was the bruise-like dark circles under her normally shining blue eyes. Her long hair had been carelessly thrown half-up into a messy sort of bun, with strands hanging down by her face, something else that Bulma never tended to do anymore. The woman furrowed her eyebrows but kept quiet, for once knowing better than to just blurt out whatever was on her mind.
Come to think of it, she mused, Vejita seemed especially quiet this morning also. She couldn't help but hope that something might have happened between the two--something good, of course. She observed the dark Saiyan out of the corner of her eyes, her mind only half on the bacon she was scorching. Mrs. Briefs noticed him tense as her daughter padded by, noticed his black eyes follow her movements, then quickly dart back to the pan of food in her hand, as if his mind was battling which was more important. She smiled as his eyes finally came to rest on the back of Bulma's head as she searched through the refridgerator. It was nice to know that Bulma had found a man that could keep his priorities straight.
"Mom, we have nothing to drink in this house," Bulma complained, emerging from behind the door of the refridgerator with a wine cooler in her small hand. "If I have to drink another one of these damned throat-ticklers I'll hurl."
"That's strange," Bulma's mother pointed out. "You usually don't drink in the morning."
Bulma's eyes came to rest on Vejita, who was seemingly entranced by the sunlight leaking into the kitchen. "Yeah well, perhaps this morning I have some proper motivation." She slid into her usual seat across from Vejita, her posture slouchy. "You owe me another stereo, by the way, and you'd better see to getting that outlet replaced." She watched the Saiyan with her sharp eyes and took a long swig of her drink.
"Bullshit," Vejita grumbled. "I'm sure that your father has something to fix it in that trash heap of his."
Mrs. Briefs raised an eyebrow, remembering how the music coming from Bulma's room had cut off abruptly, followed by shouting. But even remembering this she kept silent, for a wicked idea was brewing in her permed head. "Food's ready kids." She leaned on the counter, watching Vejita devour his food and Bulma down her drink. "You know, I think it would be a great idea if you took Vejita shopping today, dear. The weather's getting colder now, and you both need some sweaters and things." At their identical expressions of protest, she quickly fished some credit cards out of her pocket and handed them to Bulma, who took them grudgingly. "Besides, I think it would be a good idea for both of you to get out of the house."
"I have no need of such petty human things," Vejita said. "I can warm myself with my ki perfectly fine."
But this housewife was not one who was swayed easily. "Oh, come on Vejita! A little bit of fresh air and shopping will be good for both of you." She eyed the dark circles under Bulma's eyes, still a little disturbed. "Fresh air is always healthy..."
Not wanting to ruin the chances of this impromptu outing, Mrs. Briefs began making her way to the door. She was sure to swipe the rest of Bulma's alcohol before leaving.
And that was how Bulma and Vejita ended up side-by-side in her mother's cherry red Camaro, with Bulma's foot heavy on the gas pedal, willing this awful trip to just get over with. She had covered up her dark circles, lined her eyes, and applied some raspberry lip gloss--but only to make herself feel better, she told herself, not because she actually cared what the son of a bitch next to her thought.
As for Vejita, he had only bothered to throw a shirt over his jeans, not really giving a damn what the masses of foolish humans thought. Besides, he was well aware of the fact that he looked good in everything. It wasn't that he had given two seconds to think about what the evil bitch next to him thought. He instead focused on watching the swiftly passing landscape, hoping that he would at least survive the woman's fast driving, let alone the stupid shopping spree ahead of him. He was well aware of how the woman loved to linger at every possible opprotunity at the mall, and was dreading it.
Bulma couldn't help but let out a sigh as they entered the mall--after all, it was one of her favorite places in the world. Swept up in the excitement of it all, she unconsciously grabbed Vejita's hand (she had always held hands with Yamcha while shopping) and dragged him over to the first boutique they encountered, trying to smother the foolish grin that was pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Vejita desperately tried to ignore the fact that Bulma was holding his hand--he inwardly cringed at this gesture of weakness--and tried to concentrate on the various articles of clothing Bulma was accumlating. He had no doubts that he would be forced to wait for her to try it all on later, but he brushed that loathsome thought out of his mind until he absolutely HAD to deal with it.
"Oh Kami, is that a beautiful ring!" Bulma breathed, tapping a long fingernail on the glass display case. "Yamcha never bought me anything THAT exquisite..."
The Saiyan prince picked up on the melancholy in her voice and said the first thing that came to mind, a bad habit he had started to pick up on. "That puny little rock is nothing compared to some of the ones I've seen. On Vejitasei it would be a very unfortunate event for a man to give such a cheap piece of shit to his mate."
"Yeah, well here on EARTH men don't value their girlfriends that much," Bulma answered, surprised. "A girl is lucky to get a free ticket to the movies, for Kami's sake." She released his wrist and stormed out of the store, waiting for him at the exit. "Besides, most of them couldn't even afford it--a problem I suspect no girl of yours has ever had to deal with."
Vejita smirked as he approached her. "No, they haven't. Its not like any girl I've been interested in has had to worry about money anyway."
Bulma fiddled with her diamond studded watch, uncomfortable with the subtext in his comment. "I'm not surprised. I'm hungry again, believe it or not. Let's go eat."
The Saiyan, not being able to turn down a good meal, followed her silently, observing the crowds with a bit of amusement. Never before had he seen such a gathering of weaklings. It would have made wonderful target practice...
Bulma, as if she knew what he was thinking, eyed him with scorn. "Mass murder is not something we practice on Earth," she snapped, crossing her arms and falling into step beside him. "Though in some cases the ability would no doubt come in handy."
Vejita, thinking of the party last night, couldn't agree more.
Goku found them in the food court, eating in a heavy silence and staring off in opposite directions. It struck him as unusual to see them together. After all, only a short while before, they had considered Prince Vejita their enemy and the possible end of the world as they knew it. But for some reason, seeing them together didn't surprise him as much as it did everyone else. Recalling last night, he decided not to greet them in his usual cheery manner, but rather to approach them quietly.
"Hey Bulma! Hey Vejita!" he said calmly. "What's shakin'?"
Bulma offered a small smile, while Vejita hardly looked up. Goku didn't let this faze him.
"Whatcha eating?"
Bulma lifted the dark bottle to her lips, watching him as she drank. "Pizza and beer. Lunch of champions. Why don't you sit down for a little while? That is, if Chichi would think its all right. I am, after all, an evil, manipulating whore, and Vejita here is a mass murderer."
Goku's face fell as he sat down. Bulma's mood swings never failed to baffle him. "Gee, I don't know what to say about last night besides that I'm sorry. You know how Chichi is--she can't help herself."
His childhood friend raised an eyebrow, tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger. "You don't have to apologize for her, Goku. Half of what she said was true, you know."
Vejita snorted. "Personally, I don't think any of it is anybody else's business. Not even Kakkarott's." The black look he shot at his rival spoke for him.
"No," Goku agreed good-naturedly. "Its not. But if you two would lighten up a bit, then maybe I could MAKE it my business. I think that if we could talk this out, I could go back to Chichi and--"
"I don't give a damn what she thinks about me," Bulma snapped, cutting him off. "What I do and who I do it with is none of her business, and she had NO right to attack me in my own home."
Vejita's eyes went to her, searching her face for any additional information. 'What she did and who she did it with?' What was THAT supposed to mean? He couldn't help but hope that perhaps she was coming into her own again, shaking off this strange weakness that had started to take her over, ever since she had come home that one night that had apparently changed her life. He, for one, wouldn't mind seeing the 'old Bulma' start coming out of her shell.
"You're right," Goku said quietly. "But you know Chi--always finding opprotunities to release some of her anger. She didn't mean anything by it, B-chan."
His friend's eyes had hardened again, revealing nothing. "I don't need or want your sympathy, Son Goku. If that's how you think I am--some pathetic little weakling who will melt at your excuses--then you've got me wrong. She did mean something, she always does. If you're just going to try to cover for her and pretend that everything's all right, then maybe you should look for someone else to tell it to. And please don't call me 'B-chan' anymore, it just isn't right." Her sapphire eyes were cold and hard as stone.
Her 'friend' looked genuinely hurt, but she didn't care. For once, she could understand why Vejita had always hated her friends--they were incredibly ignorant. Goku didn't even realize that she was serious, Yamcha couldn't seem to figure his own girlfriend out, and Chichi couldn't see past her own bitterness to the feelings of others. She wasn't even going to allow herself to think about the rest of the motley crew. She held her tongue until Goku was safely out of earshot and then looked Vejita straight in the eye.
"I think I understand why you would want to leave this place," she said quietly, slamming her beer back onto the table. "They all get old pretty fast."
The prince sighed, looking up at the skylights. "It doesn't matter how any of us feel. There isn't anywhere else to go. There WAS Namek, but that's only if you wanted to live with a bunch of fucking tree-huggers for the rest of your life."
Bulma, much to his surprise, burst out laughing. "I think that this is the most civil you've been since we've met, Your Highness."
Vejita cocked an eyebrow. "Don't get your hopes up, woman, its only because you fed me."
They refrained from speaking to each other until Bulma dragged him into a fancy department store and strode right for the dress section. Vejita watched as she ran her hands over the rich fabric of a short black dress.
"Why you love those things is beyond me," he complained. "You probably have more than this dump could ever hope for."
Bulma smiled wistfully. "If you were a normal human male you'd understand. The little black dress is an essential part of a girl's wardrobe. It looks good for every occasion and is the most flattering garment ever. Without one, you could hardly be considered a woman!" She plucked her size from the rack, giving Vejita a playful wink. "You can never have too many."
The price could not be fooled. "There is another reason you waste space with those trashy pieces of shit."
Her smile evaporated. "I hate you. Yes, there is...I guess. I was wearing one the first time I met Yamcha. There--does that satisfy you?"
"You waste your time with such memories and tricks to win the bastard back. He's forgotten you, obviously. He's better off with that idiot sport of his than with women anyway."
Bulma frowned. "That may be so, but I'm not. Wait for me while I try this on."
Later, as they made their way across the parking lot, Vejita noticed a lone tear sliding down her cheek. At his quizzical look, the girl's face crumpled.
"I wish that I hadn't smashed his window," she whimpered.
Vejita, not knowing what to do about the sobbing girl, did what came naturally. "Its too bad you didn't smash his face in instead."
Bulma looked at him incredulously and ran the rest of the way to the car, her skinny arms wrapped around herself protectively. Vejita, knowing what it was like to relive your bad memories, did not try to catch up to her.
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(A/N): Sorry about how this chapter might have dragged on a bit--I'm in that kind of mood. What a gloomy October day, ne? Perhaps Stef-chan can update "A Shoulder To Lean On III" to make me feel better....ha sorry about that...I couldn't help myself! Anyhow, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! (Don't make me repeat my review lesson again--it won't be so polite the next time!) ^.~ Ja ne!
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