Frigid
My Aiken might not be fit to fight the Super Saiyajin, but she's conquered him in a matter that is a source of great pride for both races, and I suppose that has to be good enough. Even better it turned her attention from my plate, and the food I simply didn't have the stomach to eat.
It's not that there's anything wrong with Lady Chichi's cooking, mind you -- I suppose it's quite good -- it's only that I don't feel that I want it. I remember Frost used to cook such good things.
If you feed a Saiyajin all he'll wish to do is fight; get up, get moving, burn away the energy. Inujin sleep.
As I said, I'm tired and after such a meal Aiken can hardly keep her eyes open. It seems that the Super Saiyajin keeps a very humble estate, lacking even in guest quarters, and so we were put up in his living room.
The Lady Frigid, sleeping in the Super Saiyajin's arm chair, her servants reclining on his couch or spiraled out on a spare futon. Heh, I'd give what little's left of my life to see the anger and hurt in Furiza's eyes.
So I slept, Aiken snoring at my feet, and never thought the next day would bring with it the final unpleasantness. I was ill; is it so strange that I was oblivious? So much was going on behind my back, but the only thing I noticed was the oddity and contradiction of Son Goku's remarkable character.
But I get ahead of myself.
I slept that night, and as unbelievable was it was, I slept well. I only awoke when Aiken shook me, long after sun rise.
"It's late," she said apologetically. "Breakfast is ready. You're going to eat, aren't you?"
No, I don't think I'm hungry at all and I don't think I will. But one can't worry her like that; she might doubt me. I noted her bare feet last night, and now I bring them up. "Aiken, where are your boots?"
"Umm... I don't think I know..."
I sit up, sigh. "You didn't leave them outside, did you?" I couldn't guess how to get new ones, and she certainly can't go around like that.
"Umm..." She glanced toward the door, then nodded uncertainly. "Maybe... I think..."
"Well, I think you'd better go find them, don't you?"
"Yes, Lady Frigid!" And bounding for the door, she's gone. Such a good girl, but so nervous. And it's not as though I make a habit of killing disrespectful or inadequate servants.
I see Uragiru's up and gone, but to where I don't know. She really ought to have told me first.
And here's the master of the house, sprawling himself out on the couch like to take a nap. "Trained all night," he says to no one. He yawns, stretches. "Mmm, feels good."
It's too much really, it's too much. "Oh, what the hell's the matter with you?" I say, because it's too ridiculous.
"Huh?" he says, and lifts his head to look at me.
"You're Saiyajin. I know what this should mean; I grew up around you people. Where's your tail? Why do you act this way?"
He turned to his side, head resting in the rivet of his arm. "My tail got cut off; I don't mind. For how I'm acting I don't know what you mean other than I'm acting the way that's right."
"Nonsense," I insist, because there has to be more to it than that. "You're Saiyajin. Why don't you act as such?" I might have managed to offend him, but the answer is of the up most importance.
"You see me fight someone I need to fight," he says. "You see me act Saiyajin.
"And anyway, why should I have to act Saiyajin, people like you coming around and making trouble for us here? They're no good and it's better they're dead." He paused, considering that, and I think it makes him unhappy. "Course, Furiza's dead too." He looks at me with substance. "But not because he killed the Saiyajin," and his head dropped again. "That's not why. Because he hurt my friends, and wouldn't stop when I asked him to, and we'd never done a thing to him before.
"Now when I was a little baby I hit my head and forgot everything Saiyajin. My Grandfather, Son Gohan," he nods toward a picture of the old, human man on the mantel piece, next to a family portrait and some old, round trinket. The man in the picture and Son are in no way related. "Now my grandpa raised me up but right, so I'd be a good just fighter, and Muten Roshi and Kami-sama and my other good friends made sure I knew every other good thing I needed.
"Wasn't the Saiyajin that did that, you know. All they do is show up, knowing nothing, and try to brake down and ruin everything here. My brother comes here, and hurts my friends, and threatens my boy, and wants to say it's nothing and I'm nothing. But where's his family, friends, home? Saiyajin don't have those things, and when they do, they can't ever keep them. And I beat him, Piccolo and me.
"Then comes Vegeta and he sees my friends killed, and hurts more of my friends, and kills a man who has nothing but loyalty in his heart for him -- so much for the Saiyajin -- and he says I'm a low level and no good. But we beat him too, so I must be doing something right. And what did he have, before Earth and Buruma?
"All the fights the Saiyajin get in are worthless and stupid. Why should I act like them? I do okay."
I hadn't thought him capable of such a speech. There's a long pause, and then he says, "So what's wrong with you?"
"And what does that mean?" I asked, defensively, afraid he was prying about my health.
"You're not insane," he says, like he knows anything at all about me. "All the other Icejin were." There isn't any argument there, but it's none the less offensive. "And you're not as mean, either." He shrugged. "Also, you don't fight so good, or get so mad when you lose." Hmm... he thinks I've lost.
He jumped up so swiftly that I gasped and raise my hands to guard my face. But the movement wasn't intended to be aggressive; it seems it's just his normal, relaxed pace, moving so fast I can barley see. He looks at me oddly; what a mouse I am. "I'm gonna eat!" he declares. "Coming?"
"I think I'd rather take a walk instead," I said, and stand as well. My chest is sore.
"Are you going to cause any trouble?" he asked, so sharply and unexpectedly I wince.
"Hmm..." I pretended to consider this heavily. He frowns, an angry spark in his eye that makes me quite nervous, and I hasten to say, "No, I suppose I had better not, should I?" I turned away from him, hands clasped behind my back. "Just a bit of a walk, I suppose," I said, and leave the house.
The man's inexplicable...
_____________________________
Ah, it feels so good!
The lone yellow sun glowing on my back, shadows from overhanging branches playing along my arms, black and white patterns against my skin. My tail brushes the blanket of dead vegetation, while the fresh scent of blooms and chlorophyll and running water permeating the breeze, not sterile and scentless like the filtered air of my poor ship.
Not a sound, but the wind through the leaves and hanging creepers, and the faint movements of the animals through the brush as they passed me fearlessly, traveling toward the water below. Light twittering birds of every color in the spectrum flit from small stone to stone, ducking their heads to drink then jerking them back up, beaks open; a velvet coated deer, her fragile twin fawns trailing behind her, eyes darting about nervously for danger; colorful limbless, bouncy little fellows the size of my fist, hopping about and upon one another in the sun, their round forms all eyes and smile; gray squirrels chatter in the branches above while performing great acrobatics purely for my benefit.
I'm stranded here. There's no getting away.
Well, I'll view it as a holiday and try to enjoy myself.
Right now there's not a sound, save the movements of the wind through the leaves and hanging creepers, and the animals moving through the brush around me, traveling toward the water below, and it feels so good.
My Aiken might not be fit to fight the Super Saiyajin, but she's conquered him in a matter that is a source of great pride for both races, and I suppose that has to be good enough. Even better it turned her attention from my plate, and the food I simply didn't have the stomach to eat.
It's not that there's anything wrong with Lady Chichi's cooking, mind you -- I suppose it's quite good -- it's only that I don't feel that I want it. I remember Frost used to cook such good things.
If you feed a Saiyajin all he'll wish to do is fight; get up, get moving, burn away the energy. Inujin sleep.
As I said, I'm tired and after such a meal Aiken can hardly keep her eyes open. It seems that the Super Saiyajin keeps a very humble estate, lacking even in guest quarters, and so we were put up in his living room.
The Lady Frigid, sleeping in the Super Saiyajin's arm chair, her servants reclining on his couch or spiraled out on a spare futon. Heh, I'd give what little's left of my life to see the anger and hurt in Furiza's eyes.
So I slept, Aiken snoring at my feet, and never thought the next day would bring with it the final unpleasantness. I was ill; is it so strange that I was oblivious? So much was going on behind my back, but the only thing I noticed was the oddity and contradiction of Son Goku's remarkable character.
But I get ahead of myself.
I slept that night, and as unbelievable was it was, I slept well. I only awoke when Aiken shook me, long after sun rise.
"It's late," she said apologetically. "Breakfast is ready. You're going to eat, aren't you?"
No, I don't think I'm hungry at all and I don't think I will. But one can't worry her like that; she might doubt me. I noted her bare feet last night, and now I bring them up. "Aiken, where are your boots?"
"Umm... I don't think I know..."
I sit up, sigh. "You didn't leave them outside, did you?" I couldn't guess how to get new ones, and she certainly can't go around like that.
"Umm..." She glanced toward the door, then nodded uncertainly. "Maybe... I think..."
"Well, I think you'd better go find them, don't you?"
"Yes, Lady Frigid!" And bounding for the door, she's gone. Such a good girl, but so nervous. And it's not as though I make a habit of killing disrespectful or inadequate servants.
I see Uragiru's up and gone, but to where I don't know. She really ought to have told me first.
And here's the master of the house, sprawling himself out on the couch like to take a nap. "Trained all night," he says to no one. He yawns, stretches. "Mmm, feels good."
It's too much really, it's too much. "Oh, what the hell's the matter with you?" I say, because it's too ridiculous.
"Huh?" he says, and lifts his head to look at me.
"You're Saiyajin. I know what this should mean; I grew up around you people. Where's your tail? Why do you act this way?"
He turned to his side, head resting in the rivet of his arm. "My tail got cut off; I don't mind. For how I'm acting I don't know what you mean other than I'm acting the way that's right."
"Nonsense," I insist, because there has to be more to it than that. "You're Saiyajin. Why don't you act as such?" I might have managed to offend him, but the answer is of the up most importance.
"You see me fight someone I need to fight," he says. "You see me act Saiyajin.
"And anyway, why should I have to act Saiyajin, people like you coming around and making trouble for us here? They're no good and it's better they're dead." He paused, considering that, and I think it makes him unhappy. "Course, Furiza's dead too." He looks at me with substance. "But not because he killed the Saiyajin," and his head dropped again. "That's not why. Because he hurt my friends, and wouldn't stop when I asked him to, and we'd never done a thing to him before.
"Now when I was a little baby I hit my head and forgot everything Saiyajin. My Grandfather, Son Gohan," he nods toward a picture of the old, human man on the mantel piece, next to a family portrait and some old, round trinket. The man in the picture and Son are in no way related. "Now my grandpa raised me up but right, so I'd be a good just fighter, and Muten Roshi and Kami-sama and my other good friends made sure I knew every other good thing I needed.
"Wasn't the Saiyajin that did that, you know. All they do is show up, knowing nothing, and try to brake down and ruin everything here. My brother comes here, and hurts my friends, and threatens my boy, and wants to say it's nothing and I'm nothing. But where's his family, friends, home? Saiyajin don't have those things, and when they do, they can't ever keep them. And I beat him, Piccolo and me.
"Then comes Vegeta and he sees my friends killed, and hurts more of my friends, and kills a man who has nothing but loyalty in his heart for him -- so much for the Saiyajin -- and he says I'm a low level and no good. But we beat him too, so I must be doing something right. And what did he have, before Earth and Buruma?
"All the fights the Saiyajin get in are worthless and stupid. Why should I act like them? I do okay."
I hadn't thought him capable of such a speech. There's a long pause, and then he says, "So what's wrong with you?"
"And what does that mean?" I asked, defensively, afraid he was prying about my health.
"You're not insane," he says, like he knows anything at all about me. "All the other Icejin were." There isn't any argument there, but it's none the less offensive. "And you're not as mean, either." He shrugged. "Also, you don't fight so good, or get so mad when you lose." Hmm... he thinks I've lost.
He jumped up so swiftly that I gasped and raise my hands to guard my face. But the movement wasn't intended to be aggressive; it seems it's just his normal, relaxed pace, moving so fast I can barley see. He looks at me oddly; what a mouse I am. "I'm gonna eat!" he declares. "Coming?"
"I think I'd rather take a walk instead," I said, and stand as well. My chest is sore.
"Are you going to cause any trouble?" he asked, so sharply and unexpectedly I wince.
"Hmm..." I pretended to consider this heavily. He frowns, an angry spark in his eye that makes me quite nervous, and I hasten to say, "No, I suppose I had better not, should I?" I turned away from him, hands clasped behind my back. "Just a bit of a walk, I suppose," I said, and leave the house.
The man's inexplicable...
_____________________________
Ah, it feels so good!
The lone yellow sun glowing on my back, shadows from overhanging branches playing along my arms, black and white patterns against my skin. My tail brushes the blanket of dead vegetation, while the fresh scent of blooms and chlorophyll and running water permeating the breeze, not sterile and scentless like the filtered air of my poor ship.
Not a sound, but the wind through the leaves and hanging creepers, and the faint movements of the animals through the brush as they passed me fearlessly, traveling toward the water below. Light twittering birds of every color in the spectrum flit from small stone to stone, ducking their heads to drink then jerking them back up, beaks open; a velvet coated deer, her fragile twin fawns trailing behind her, eyes darting about nervously for danger; colorful limbless, bouncy little fellows the size of my fist, hopping about and upon one another in the sun, their round forms all eyes and smile; gray squirrels chatter in the branches above while performing great acrobatics purely for my benefit.
I'm stranded here. There's no getting away.
Well, I'll view it as a holiday and try to enjoy myself.
Right now there's not a sound, save the movements of the wind through the leaves and hanging creepers, and the animals moving through the brush around me, traveling toward the water below, and it feels so good.