Author's note:Please note that this was originally written before September 11, when news coverage of destroyed buildings in cities wasn't common. Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to my cousin David, so that we may never forget those who died in the terrorist attacks.
The stories must go on...
City Girls
Yamucha picked up Kuririn a little after 8:30 p.m.
"You look sharp," Yamucha grinned as Kuririn climbed into the car. Kuririn looked down at his clothes--black shirt, loose black pants--and tried to return the grin without the nervousness he felt. He surreptitiously examined Yamucha's attire and decided simple black was better than the gaudy, shiny blue shirt his friend wore.
"Where exactly are we going?" Kuririn asked, fastening his seat belt. He smoothed his shirt and hoped it wouldn't wrinkle.
"Well," began Yamucha, pulling into traffic, "We'll meet the girls for drinks at The Sag and then all hit Club Z for the night. You ever been to a club, Kuririn?"
Kuririn shot him a slightly resentful look as he replied, "Yeah, with Marron. She liked to dance." With other men, mostly, he added silently.
"Oh. Well. Korynna and Gigi love to dance, too. I'm sure you and Gigi will hit it off--she's a great girl. She definitely knows how to go dow--get down." Kuririn pretended not to notice the slip of tongue; Yamucha laughed and turned up the radio.
They drove on without speaking, Yamucha concentrating on the traffic but humming along with the music. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Look, there's The Sag!" He pointed at an adobe building surrounded by fake cacti decorated with Christmas lights. A huge neon sign supported by two red cacti on the roof declared that the name of "The Sag" was actually "El Saguaro Rojo." Yamucha swerved into the parking lot and pulled into one of the few vacant spaces.
Kuririn opened his door, but waited for Yamucha to finish checking his hair in the rearview mirror.
"Okay, let's go!" Yamucha announced, and they got out of the car.
They walked into the bar; Kuririn trailed a step behind Yamucha, feeling unsure of his surroundings. The place was busy, but lively Tejano music could still be heard over the din of clinking glasses and raucous conversation. Yamucha was scanning the crowd; he lightly punched Kuririn's arm to get his attention. "Over there," he said, nodding his head. Kuririn had no idea where he meant, but silently followed his friend across the room to two women who were sitting at a table for four, sipping cocktails and talking.
"Heeeeeeyyyy, chicas!" Yamucha said as they approached the table, obviously trying to work with the Latino atmosphere; the women rolled their eyes. He grabbed Kuririn around the shoulders with one arm and used his other hand to gesture as he made introductions: "Girls, meet my buddy Kuririn! Kuririn, meet Korynna and Gigi!"
"Hi," mumbled Kuririn. The girls smiled and beckoned for them to sit down. Yamucha promptly ordered two beers and began talking about Kuririn's recent arrival to the city. Kuririn used the opportunity to look closer at the two women he would be spending the evening with. Korynna had dark skin and her black hair was swept into an intricate bun. Her big dark eyes were focused primarily on Yamucha; Yamucha, on the other hand, seemed to focus mostly on the cleavage her gold tube top emphasized. Kuririn turned his gaze to the other woman, who seemed to be almost the exact physical opposite of her friend. Gigi was light-skinned, blue-eyed, with blonde hair to her shoulders. She wore a black vinyl vest, buttoned so that it flirtatiously revealed a hint of her silver bra. She looks sorta like Juuhachigou, thought Kuririn, but he quickly told himself not to think about the cyborg for the rest of the evening. He was going to get over her, and he would start now. He concentrated on Gigi and wondered if she was trying to get over some ex-love of her own.
Gigi was listening to Yamucha, but her eyes flicked restlessly around the room, watching the crowd. Suddenly her eyes met Kuririn's, and she asked, "How do you like it here?"
He blushed, afraid she had caught him staring at her. "Um…it's great," he stammered.
"What do you do for a living?" Korynna asked. A waiter came and plunked the two beers down on the table; Kuririn stared at the bottles.
"He's a martial artist," Yamucha replied for him; the girls nodded appreciatively. Suddenly, Yamucha lifted his beer into the air and proposed a toast; the girls raised their glasses. Kuririn hastily grabbed his beer and held it up.
"To friendship and fun!" Yamucha declared with a cheesy grin.
"To friendship and fun," they repeated and everyone took a drink. Kuririn hesitated, the bottle a millimeter from his mouth. He had never thought much of drinking; childhood memories of alcoholics still lingered. It was hard to enjoy alcohol after the countless times the head monk at the monastery got drunk and took it out on the weakest novice--Kuririn. Plus, alcohol and martial arts never seemed like a wise combination considering the many life-or-death battles Kuririn constantly wound up in.
But there had to be a reason people were attracted to alcohol to take their minds of things--even if the escape was temporary. Besides, Kuririn would never fight again if he could help it. He would not allow himself to be pulled into violent battles with monsters, with artificial humans, with Saiyajin, with anyone! He wanted to forget it all and tonight he would try his best to do so.
But that also meant forgetting Juuhachigou, Goku, all the things he had once valued…
To friendship and fun! he thought bitterly and took a brave swallow of his beer, but the guilty taste in his mouth remained.
"Speaking of fun," Gigi said, "Can we ditch this place and hit the club?" There were murmurs of agreement. Korynna and Yamucha finished their drinks and stood up; Kuririn left his beer half-full on the table.
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Club Z had once been the hippest dance spot of the Western Capital, but as newer, bigger clubs were constructed over the years, it had turned into a refuge for clubbers who valued its intimacy, a kind of secret tip among friends who wanted to share a good time.
It was dark inside, but sporadic bursts of colorful light--red, green, pink, yellow, blue--shot out from the dance floor. Kuririn stumbled, accidentally bumping into Korynna, his eyes still unused to the darkness. He apologized but could barely hear his own voice over the music, the heavy droning beat vibrating through the floor up into their bodies. Yamucha slid an arm around Korynna's waist and they disappeared into the crowd. Kuririn felt lost--the lights, the noise, the proximity of so many warm human bodies overwhelmed him.
Suddenly a cool hand grabbed his own; he looked up to see Gigi. "C'mon, let's dance!" she shouted, tugging at him. She pulled him after her onto the crowded dance floor. They found a space in the mass of dancers and she began to wave her arms and swing her hips in a kind of tribal warrior dance defending their little area of the dance floor. "C'mon! Move it!" she yelled at him, grinning. He grinned back and tried to get a feel for the rhythm; Gigi laughed and spun around, eyes closed in the dizzy joy of dancing. She was beautiful, the way she moved…
Kuririn closed his eyes and felt the beat of the music pounding in his rib cage, replacing the beat of his heart--out here, life was an illusion, only the movement of the body, the lights, the music mattered.
So he danced.
He danced on as the music changed, became slower, sped up again--as the lights flared rainbows on the faces around him--as the girl came closer, wrapped herself around him--as the sweat ran down their bodies--as long as the music went on, they would dance.
Gigi was softly pressed against his damp shirt, her hands on his shoulders, his hands on her hips, guiding each other until they moved in sync. Her blue eyes darted around the room, as they had at the bar earlier, meeting his only when he least expected it--he thirsted to drink the cool blue in those eyes--a cool blue like--
Juuhachigou.
The word came to his mind like a faintly remembered dream, and he did not know what it meant.
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It was 3:30 a.m. and Bulma was wide awake.
At least Kuririn is out having fun! she thought resentfully, although she knew she shouldn't care. She wondered if Kuririn would even come home before dawn; Yamucha usually didn't…
She closed the book she had been trying to read for the past three hours--she couldn't remember a single word of it--and threw it down on the empty side of her bed. She glared at the pillow where Vejita usually laid his head. Everyone has left me!
"Stupid men," she muttered, and punched his pillow.
She got out of bed, sliding her feet into her fuzzy purple slippers on the floor, and went to check on the only male in her life who hadn't--yet--abandoned her. Trunks was sound asleep, sucking on his thumb and drooling on his pillow. She smiled; it was a mother's obsession, reassuring herself that her child is still with her. Bulma bent down and kissed her son's soft cheek before leaving the nursery.
Once in the hallway, she had a sudden craving for the pint of Raspberry Sorbet in the freezer. She had bought it just a week ago, deciding she deserved to do something for herself occasionally. She padded down the darkened stairs; the house was completely silent.
Tchak.
Bulma froze, her heart dropping into her stomach.
Tchak. Skreeek. Clink!
It sounded like someone was rummaging around in the kitchen. She pressed herself against the wall, gliding silently down the stairs. It couldn't be her parents--they were practically unconscious an hour after they took their sleeping pills. It had to be an intruder! But who could get past the security system? She was obviously dealing with a skilled criminal. Bulma looked around hastily for some kind of weapon; she picked up an umbrella that was leaning against the wall by the coat rack at the bottom of the stairs.
She stopped right next to the open kitchen door, heart pounding. Whoever was inside hadn't turned on the light; she could make out strange slurping noises inside. Swallowing her terror, Bulma leapt into the doorway with a battle cry that would have made a Saiyajin proud and flipped on the lights, brandishing her umbrella.
The umbrella flew open with the force of her thrust; Bulma abruptly lowered it as she recognized who was in the kitchen.
"Vejita--"
He was sitting at the round kitchen table, all the food he could find spread out before him. He looked at her and her laughable weapon, then calmly slurped up a bowl of Ramen noodles. The umbrella fell, unnoticed, from her grip. She walked over and slammed her fists on the table. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded.
He smirked at her and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then deliberately reached for a small container of ice cream on the table with the rest of his meal.
Her container of ice cream…
"Give me back my Raspberry Sorbet!" she shrieked and dove across the table, seizing the container; it was slippery with condensation. Vejita pulled it away from her and casually walked to a drawer to get a spoon. Bulma lunged at him and grabbed hold of the container again. Vejita held onto it with only one hand, taunting her, letting her try to pull it away from him. His mouth was set in its usual half-frown, but his eyes were laughing at her. "Give it back!" she yelled, clinging on like a stubborn child. She yanked at the sorbet with all her might and suddenly found herself backed against the wall. "GIVE IT BACK!" she shouted again, realizing she had lost.
"Shut up, woman," he said softly, leaning over her. "Do you want to wake the entire house?"
Bulma slid down to the floor, seeing a chance to escape, but before she could crawl away Vejita had dropped to one knee and gripped her shoulders, roughly pushing her back against the wall and letting the sorbet container roll away under the kitchen table.
"You bastard!" she hissed, tears stinging her eyes. Her curse implied all the reasons she was angry with him; the corner of his mouth turned up in cocky acknowledgment of his wrongdoings. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against hers, their noses touching. His dark eyes looked at her, and she felt her chest tighten painfully.
"You bastard," she repeated, more gently now, and tangled her fingers in his scruffy hair, feeling his breath on her face and the warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around her.
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Kuririn woke up because he thought somebody had punched him.
Actually, he discovered, he had only rolled off the couch and hit the floor. He lay there, staring at the worn blue carpet beneath him and wondering where he had landed. He slowly sat up and stretched, then massaged his temples; a dull, throbbing pain had found a home inside his skull. He had a foul taste in his mouth, like he hadn't brushed his teeth last night.
Last night..?
His memory came rushing back now: the bar, the club, the endless hours spent dancing with Gigi. Afterwards, they had all gone to the girls' apartment, so exhausted they could not sleep. Korynna brought out some wine coolers and her old karaoke machine, so they greeted the dawn by belting out off-key songs and laughing their heads off. At some point, Yamucha and Korynna had disappeared into a bedroom, leaving Gigi and Kuririn alone in the living room. Kuririn had brought up this absurd idea of marrying Gigi, but she merely laughed and kept him from considering any further crazy notions by kissing him for a while.
He couldn't remember falling asleep on the couch though...maybe he had hit his head when he fell off? That would explain the headache, he decided naively.
Kuririn looked around, without getting up from the floor. The light coming through the window cut through his bleary eyes and battered the inside of his skull; he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. Judging from the brightness, it was well past morning but everyone else was still asleep, it seemed. He settled back against the couch; his hand strayed across a remote lying on the floor beside him, so he turned on the television, for lack of anything else to do.
"--special report, with correspondent Dan Manford live at the scene--" the news anchor blared.
"Turn down the freaking TV!" Korynna yelled from somewhere in the apartment, probably the bedroom. Kuririn flinched and hurriedly lowered the volume.
"--investigation continues into the tragic bombing of a women's clothing store in the city of Chamomile that occurred two days ago, killing 19 people and severely injuring 3 others." The camera showed a small crater in the middle of a downtown shopping area; police were keeping weeping onlookers back behind a fence. "No terrorist group has claimed responsibility for this attack on a politically unimportant boutique. A connection with the mob is suspected. Back to you, Angela."
The camera switched back to the news anchor. "Thanks, Dan. Investigators have released an amateur video shot by a man filming a birthday party up on the rooftop gardens of his apartment building, capturing footage of the explosion." The man's recording showed static and shaking for a moment, then panned and focused in on a cloud of smoke and debris rising in the middle of the city. The camera zoomed in on a small blurred dot that was moving rapidly away from the explosion; Kuririn's eyes widened as he realized it was a human figure. "Analysis of the video has revealed some type of small, airborne vehicle was used in the attack. All leads are being followed. In other news today--"
Kuririn turned off the TV.
He leaned his head back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "Airborne vehicle" indeed! That was definitely a person flying! He wondered who it could have been, since not that many people in this world knew how to fly, let alone could cause such powerful destruction. No way it was Gohan or Piccolo. Even Vejita wouldn't do that, assuming he was back. Besides, who would even be in a women's boutique, let alone blow it up..? Chichi doesn't have that kind of ki control...Bulma definitely doesn't...so who?
The answer came to him in a flash that left him dizzy and sweating: Juuhachigou.
The implications terrified him.
Trunks, from the future, had warned them of the destruction the cyborgs would bring to the world. Was it starting now?
They thought they had saved their own future, but maybe they--maybe he--had made a mistake by bringing the cyborgs back to life after Cell. The current scenario sounded all too familiar from Trunks' account of the future: Goku was dead, the fighters were separated, and two cyborgs were preparing a rampage of death and destruction.
"Good morning, Kuririn," said Gigi.
Kuririn turned as Gigi sat down on the couch, wearing a bathrobe, her hair dripping as if she had just taken a shower. The irony of her greeting made him laugh--a strange, hollow sound almost like a sob. He knew what he had to do now. "I have to leave," he told her and stood up. "Before it's too late. Before the world ends."
"What?"
"I have to leave," he repeated, walking to the window. He slid it open, letting in the noise and fumes of the traffic below. His head felt extraordinarily clear as he climbed up onto the ledge. Behind him, he vaguely heard Gigi scream and Yamucha yell his name, but he didn't care anymore; he was flying away.
He had to stop Juuhachigou--that was all that mattered.