Disclaimer: *still held by Panabelle* Damn her. Fine, if this is the way she's gonna be, I won't inspire her. I'll just-- *shuts up as Belle kisses his cheek* *turns bright red, head sinks into shoulders* *mumbling* Belle doesn't own DB/Z/GT. I own this story. I'm gonna go away and take Belle with me now... *attempts to fly away, isn't strong enough to carry Panabelle*
A/N: I love my muse. He's quirky in a very innocent way. Off I go to write more chapters, he's being nice to me tonight.
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Petrified Tears
chapter 63
"And that's my predicament."
Trunks stifled a yawn by coughing into the side of his hand. The man in front of him was clean shaven and well dressed, with a bright, child-like face that reminded him of every one of the men in the Son family. His eyes were slightly diluted behind his thick glasses, but were still lively. The man was of average height, and was extremely overweight…not to mention boring as hell.
"Mr. Summers, I am regretful to say that there's not much I can do at this time."
"But Mr. Briefs—"
Trunks held up his hand, closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Mr. Richards; I understand all too well the dilemma that your company is in, and I want nothing more than to be able to help you. While I don't necessarily have a family of my own to support, I do have a family: a father who doesn't work, a mother who's retired, and a younger sister. Not to mention, extended family. I can understand how your lack of resources is affecting you and your family."
The man fidgeted, about to throw in another plea as Trunks paused, stood, and began to pace behind his desk, but the younger man cut him off once more.
"Now, if you would be willing to leave a copy of your blueprints with me or my secretary, I would be happy to see if there is anything we can do to help you out."
The man hesitated. "I don't know, Mr. Briefs. I mean…that engine is the only livelihood of my company…we've been having patent problems lately too." He paused, meticulously removing his glasses and scrubbing at them with a hankercheif he drew from his coat pocket. "I don't know how comfortable I feel about leaving my blueprints here…"
Trunks turned his eyes as inwardly as possible, staring at the tip of his nose until he swore he felt a nerve snap or blood vessel break on the outer side of his left eye. He coughed, pulling his eyes back to normal as the man looked up at him.
"Mr. Summers," he began. "Capsule Corps looks forward to relying on your engines in some of our up-and-coming products. We are not looking to put you under. My mother briefly looked over your plans last fall before she and I signed the temporary contract with you, giving you a grant to pay for a few prototypes and to get your company on steady ground. The act of stealing details or signatures from your prints would be pointless to us. But, if you are willing to leave a copy with us, I can promise you that none other than myself and my most trusted employee will look over those prints."
Mr. Summers looked back to his glasses, scrubbing absently at a long gone smudge on the left lens. Trunks felt his cheek twitch, and self-consciously raised a hand to adjust the placement of his own glasses on his nose, knowing that as soon as the man left, he'd be acid-bathing his own pair.
"You understand, Mr. Briefs, that my family relies on the income from my company…I have grandchildren in college, Mr. Briefs, one of them speaking of marrying a girl he met there. I…Mr. Briefs. I can have copies faxed to you, but you have to swear not to have them duplicated in any form."
Trunks nodded, breathing a sigh of relief as the man placed his glasses back on his face.
Mr. Summers coughed into his hand, pulling a small date book out of the breast pocket of his jacket. "My grandson is coming to visit me next week; if possible, I'd like to speak with you about the plans over dinner and cocktails sometime in the next few days. I understand that tonight is impossible, and tomorrow night is improbable." He studied his date book, licking his fingers and turning a page, and then a second. "I know that it would be a weekend and therefore not a work day, but if we could meet Saturday?"
Trunks shook his head. "Saturday is out of the question. My sister turns 23 on Saturday, and as is tradition, my mother is throwing her a birthday party." He paused and reached down, pressing his fingers to the surface of his desk, his touch displaying a small calendar. He frowned as he struggled to read the dates through a dusty footprint that was, without a doubt, Pan's. He touched the surface of the desk again, dragging his finger in a horizontal line, and then lifting it. Three boxes (three days) came forward: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday; the next three days. He studied the boxes with a stern face, mentally debating if he really needed to take off after lunch on Friday, or sleep in until 3 in the afternoon on Saturday.
Well, I could survive staying here all day tomorrow, but Pan's going to lose her mind if she doesn't get out of here. He laughed quietly to himself, allowing a smile form in the shape of a smirk on his face. Who're you kidding? You just want an excuse to get out of this purgatory.
Trunks cleared his throat, then nodded, looking over the rest of the day and Friday.
She'll kill me, but I'll let her sleep…and she just got out of college. She can survive on pizza.
"Allowing that all goes well, my assistant and I could have it done by tomorrow night in time to go to cocktails and dinner around 7 o-clock," he announced to the man who sat there, waiting for a response.
"Mr. Briefs?" the man squawked incredulously. "Mr. Briefs, I find that highly unlikely! My best scientists have slaved over those prints for weeks, and have come up with nothing! In order to come up with anything in twenty-four hours or less would require not sleeping, not stopping to eat, and—hell!—not stopping period!"
Trunks chuckled and looked at the man, smirking kindly. "Sleep? I don't sleep anymore, Mr. Summers. And truth be known, at any given point of the day, I'm at least 50% asleep, so I'm really getting more sleep than I need."
Mr. Summers chuckled in turn. "I'm afraid that you'll see it only gets worse as you get older, Mr. Briefs. Just wait until you hit 30 and have children running around under your feet and babies screaming in the middle of the night. Sleep will become part of an alien language."
Trunks felt his cheeks turn red. He saw no point in disillusioning the man and telling him that he was already 35 with no intention of starting a family any time soon, and knew better than to tell him that he was half alien, so he merely laughed, rubbing the back of his head and turning back to his desk.
"Yeah…well, shall I summon my secretary so that you can call someone about faxing the blueprints?"
Mr. Summers nodded, thumbing back to the beginning of his date book and uncrossing his legs, standing slowly.
Trunks pressed the intercom button on his phone. "Pan, come he—" He paused and coughed into his hand, then put his hand back down on the intercom. "Ms. Pan, please come in here for a moment."
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A/N: *is off writing, left a note taped to the screen* Review. Read next chapter.
-Panabelle ;P
Shrine of the Saiyan Squirt