Warnings: AU, very OoC (hopefully only on Vegeta's part), confusion, and just plain oddness. Beware of angst and tired teenagers.
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z does not belong to me. I am not making any profit from this story.
Dragon Ball and all logos, character names and distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks of TOEI ANIMATION ©2002 BIRD STUDIO/SHUEISHA, TOEI ANIMATION. They are licensed by FUNimation® Productions, Ltd. All Rights Reserved, which means I have absolutely no right to do this…I'm not making any profit off this whatsoever.
Losing Innocence
by Taes Willett
Chapter 4
With the joined effort of three scientific geniuses, Bulma, Trunks and his Grandpa, it took twelve hours to finish the work on both androids. Everyone else pitched in where they could, but between Trunks' arm and the others' fatigue, more people just complicated things unnecessarily. Nevertheless, the job was completed.
Throughout the night, Zarbon had wandered in and out of the room, bothering Bulma with this and that, and holding a bawling child as he did so. It irritated Trunks to no end, but for the most part he couldn't lift his head to check the time, much less watch an infant version of himself cling to the blue skinned stranger…that was just too odd.
He certainly wished he'd been a quieter baby.
When it was done, they "flipped the switch on" as Krillin put it, and two annoyed, sleepy androids muttered something about being sore and promptly went to sleep. Trunks frowned irritably, not in the least sympathetic. They hadn't been performing the mechanical version of brain surgery for the past…long time.
Suddenly, the day felt a lot longer. Trunks sat down, and glared at the crying baby Bulma had finally taken up. Then he stopped. Stared.
Something was seriously wrong here…
For starters, he didn't have green hair, and most certainly was not blue.
I think the time has come I quit putting this off and get a few things straightened out… he reasoned, head in his hands. Before I go insane and kill somebody who doesn't deserve to be slaughtered.
Distantly he was aware of Goku's hand on his shoulder, a surprisingly comforting presence amidst this chaos.
He looked up, and surveyed the gathered fighters, friends and family. "What in Kami's name is wrong with you people?" he demanded. Everyone stopped talking, and turned to regard him, expressions of startled curiosity that told clearly of their opinions of him.
They thought he was nuts.
He laughed shortly, and stared ahead blankly. "Nothing about this planet is right," he continued. "Freeza didn't come to earth. The androids aren't as strong as they are, and Zarbon. Is. Here."
And not dead…he added silently. Knowing his mother, it wouldn't be a good idea to include that part.
He leaned against the wall. His mother. "That never happened. You have a son,"
And he's not me. I don't exist.
He gave a frustrated sigh, and dragged himself to his feet, entire body grumbling at the forced movement, his voice rising with every word. "Vegeta is a drunkard, and nobody gives a damn." He poised each word as a dagger, aiming for the heart as his father had, trying to get a reaction. No one moved. No one breathed. "What happened to you people?" he quieted suddenly, and slowly observed the assembled body.
"When did you become too selfish to care about others?" The noise level had dropped significantly, so his words, barely whispered, carried far, and they carried the gravity his yelling hadn't brought to the table. "Even the enemy?" WHAT'S HE TALKING ABOUT?
He sagged against the wall, and mentally counted off the hours he'd been without sleep. Too many, he decided. Best not to tally them. Without waiting for a reply, he solved equations that seemed no easier now than the first time he'd come across them, and wished silently for his mother's lab, and warm, accepting embrace.
He'd done his duty. He didn't need this from them… No one could blame him.
So why did he feel as if he were a completely arrogant fool?
*****
"TRUNKS!" his mother screamed. Well, maybe she wasn't screaming…maybe his ears were just too sensitive for his own good. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? We messed up, sweetie…I did some research, based on the information you gave me…I've no clue how you wound up where you did, but it isn't right." All this came in a rush, as if she'd been trying to say something planned, something that made sense, and thought that if it weren't said now, then it would never be understood.
Then again, that could be accounted for his slow processing brain.
She put a hand on his forehead while she methodically stuck a thermometer in his mouth, pushing a cool cloth on his head. He didn't bother wondering when she'd gotten them, or why she found it necessary to check his health at a time like this. He just wanted to sleep. "It's not linear. It operates on a completely different scale than we'd been assuming…x, y, z…" she sighed. "All that work…!"
"Gohan and me--" he began.
"--I--"
"Gohan and I came up with a possibility…" He paused, trying to make sure she was paying attention. The thermometer was getting in his way, so he took it out, and looked directly at his mother, trying to keep her image from shaking. "Might make the charge take less time…connect the funnel to the switch directory, and add that bunny-shaped thing…" he yawned. "With the green light."
"The reactor?" Bulma queried, confused.
"…I dunno…"
She frowned, and materialized a blanket from nowhere. "Go to sleep, Trunks. We'll talk about this in the morning." She bent over to straighten his hair, murmuring a soft good night. "What did you think you were doing…?" she wondered, not really expecting an answer.
She didn't have the slightest chance of receiving one; Trunks was fast asleep.
*****
For a long time, everyone just stared. Single-handedly, Trunks had constructed a device Bulma had said was impossible to conceive, that the 'control' seemed more complex than she could handle. In short, she admitted a teenager was more advanced than she, even though she hadn't said this in so many words, and held her son close, rocking the baby back and forth. Zarbon declined comment. Yet this same boy remained blind to the fact that men were born with the ability to resist their natural instincts to destroy; Goku was living proof of that, and Zarbon as well, to some extent.
How could such an intelligent young man be so stubborn? None of his claims made sense…
Vegeta chuckled, a low, menacing sound that set everyone's teeth on edge and reminded them of dark nights where the rain and thunder drowned out all other night sounds, leaving the sleepers restless and ill at ease for days on end after. "Well." He smirked. "That," he nodded to the place Trunks had disappeared from, "was amusing."
No one knew quite what to say to that, so for the most part, they remained silent, if a bit agitated. Goku, on the other hand, was calm and collected as could be hoped. He drew back from his now solitary area to stand between Vegeta and Gohan as if to lend the two some of his understanding or simply be a reassuring presence. Saddened by Trunks' abrupt departure, and confused at his reactions to natural occurrences, Goku tried to offer what he could, and to not get in the way when he lacked what was needed. Knowing your father was neither completely stable nor your father would be a difficult thing to face, especially for a young man.
Trunks never knew his father, as a boy should. He learnt life's lessons the hard way; by experiencing them himself and struggling out the possible solutions, and dealing with the consequences. He was older than his years, and it showed in everything he did. He was quiet, reflective, and mature as only he could be. When he would behave as a teenage would, he struggled against his natural impulse to the point of paralysis, and even then he fought himself. It was a war he couldn't win, but his efforts were commendable.
He needed to be a kid. To let others make decisions for him, and live life out of the shadow anger, pain and suffering left behind. He deserved to be free to make choices where the world didn't matter so much, and concentrate on what he was truly talented in.
He was Vegeta's son. Too proud to admit defeat, filled with fiery passion that would burn him alive without the cool restraint his personality leant him. Like his father, he was arrogant enough to believe he would never need help.
He was Bulma's child. He bore her intelligence, grace and poignant beliefs, and her willingness to devote herself entirely. Like his mother, he was a wonder with math and science.
He was a child of pride and passion, a mystery that would never be unraveled, and a boy who'd been forced to stand on his own too quickly. Like Vegeta.
Like Gohan.
Looking around again, grinning in hopes of cheering them up, Goku pulled Gohan forward and spun him around, careful not to hit doors, chairs or walls of any sort. His son laughed in quiet surprise, grinning from ear to ear. Everyone smiled. Vegeta's lips twitched, though it was hard to say if it was for irritation, amusement, or scorn. "We should get cleaning," Goku said simply, setting his son on his feet again. "The lab is a mess!" he picked up something barely distinguishable from the table.
Bulma giggled, hiding her grin behind one hand.
"What is this, anyways?" he peered at it sideways, sniffing curiously. Krillin laughed. "Is this a garden hose?" once again he tested the air, and wrinkled his nose. "Yuck. Sandwich crumbs…" he trailed off.
He went around the room slowly, asking every few seconds what was salvageable, what wasn't, and where it went for either case. No one else seemed too interested in lending a hand, and settled back to watch the man clean. He picked two ends of something up, and blinked innocently at them. "What does this do?"
Out of his hands a brilliant shock of blue-white energy came forth, and traveled down the startled man's arms and body. He dropped it in utter shock. "Gohan, don't touch that…" he advised, and backed slowly away, energy dancing across the tips of his spiky hair and down his clothing.
Everyone else struggled not to laugh, and Gohan blushed sheepishly, and began to help his Dad pick up.
"Hey there!" a cheerful voice greeted. Goku jumped, hitting his head on a low hanging piece of lab equipment. "What are you guys doing?" Trunks asked quizzically.
Once again, nobody moved, sure this was to be another awkward moment. Vegeta unconsciously leaned forward in anticipation.
Trunks made a face at the trashed room. "What happened in here?"
Goku laughed in surprise, grinning easily. "How'd you get back so fast?" and then, "Do you know how to Instant Transmission too?"
Laughing, Trunks shook his head. "Fast?" he marveled. It'd been a few weeks to his way of thinking. "No, I used the time machine…it's in my head right now."
A chorus of "…oh…" greeted this statement, nearly in unison, surpisingly.
Gohan smiled tentatively, and held up a piece of scrap wire. "Are you feeling okay now?"
Shrugging, Trunks looked from one person to another, a faint blush spreading across his face. "Yeah…sorry about that, by the way." He looked away, embarrassed, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I was tired. I know that's not an excuse, and I've lived through worse and not been so pig headed but I'm rambling now so I guess I'll stop." He fidgeted nervously.
Vegeta raised an eyebrow elegantly. "So . . . you figured it out."
Trunks nodded. "You could say that," he paused, half amused at the memory. "Me and Mom plugged in the wrong equations…" he frowned at that statement, sensing there was something wrong with that train of thought. "Which is to say, we created the wrong ones and solved them incorrectly." Supposing that would have to do, he looked from one person to another, trying to figure out if they understood what he was talking about. Unfortunately, he was met with blank looks.
Hesitant, and a bit unsure of what to say, he continued with his explanation. "She said something about it being based on an x-y-z axis and not x-y, and something to do with an irregular function." He shrugged, deciding that maybe a shorter version would be best understood. "In other words, this is a different universe than I was expecting. We got that figured out though, and I went back to our past, and helped out there." He blushed again. This was where things started getting a tad embarrassing, especially when considering his mistakes. "We stopped the androids," Trunks said helpfully, looking at Vegeta quickly before looking away. "And then there was this whole messy business with an evil thing called Cell…I ended up dying, and learning a few tricks from…by the way?" he interrupted himself, sensing he was getting off track. "Goku? Can I talk to you?"
Krillin wrinkled his nose, and settled back onto his feet, wishing that soft-spoken, polite people would be kind enough to let him eavesdrop without actually putting some effort into it.
Goku nodded, sincerely puzzled, but interested. "Sure, Trunks!" he smiled, and made his way out of the room, nodding in apology to the others. "So what was I like in the other universe?" he wondered. "And everyone else?"
Laughing, he lead the way out of the house and into the yard, smiling at the older Saiyajin, something like respect and a sense of affection lighting his face. "I really like you, Goku…you've been nice to me since we met, and have made a really good impression." He hesitated, and looked back to the house. "You were exactly the same here and there…Dad…was different. He didn't like me at first, but I think he did at the end…he got mad when I died." He looked away, embarrassed. "He was proud, arrogant, and powerful. The fighter I always wanted to be, but not exactly the friendliest of people…" he trailed off, and met Goku's eyes cautiously. "Can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure, Trunks. What can I do for you?" he smiled reassuringly, ever helpful.
Trunks looked at his feet, and fidgeted. "I want Dad to be himself again…and I don't have the kind of stuff it takes to enforce anything I say to him…but you could…help. Get him to stop drinking." He looked up, still hesitant. "He needs a friend,"
His expression softened, and understanding filled his eyes. A goofy grin swiftly covered the look, and Goku nodded empathetically. "Sure thing!" The picture of childish innocence in a compassionate heart...odd, how those two things could be evident in one person, when in most everyone else, it was one or the other. "I was worried about him too…"
Mirroring Goku's grin, Trunks settled into a relaxed stance, filled with peace and the sure knowledge that everything would be taken care of. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it," He said sincerely.
Goku nodded. "I know. Now…go to sleep, why don't you?"
Trunks laughed in good humor, quiet and satisfied. "No way. The world is changing, Goku, and it'll be far better than I could ever imagine. I couldn't sleep now!" his eyes danced, and there was energy to his step that had been lacking a few moments before. "Listen, I'm going to help the others clean up." He lifted his head to the wind, and his lips twitched upwards in a smile of complete bliss. "After that, I think I'll spend some time outside…it's nice out." With that, he headed into the building, ready to help once more.
Goku shook his head in mild disbelief, and followed him inside.
*****
For the next few weeks, life was a wonderful, if chaotic, breeze. Vegeta remained his usual self, and more than once he was dead drunk before Goku came around. The tall Saiyajin would frown, lecture, and help the older man regain his senses, all the while reminding him not to do that. The alcohol in the house was hidden, but despite their efforts, no one could keep the determined Saiyajin from getting what he wanted.
Apparently, what he wanted included an aching head, an irate friend, and an overly worried son he didn't know existed. It frustrated Trunks to no end.
Trying to keep out of their way as often as possible, Trunks would spend his time with Gohan, devising experiments to help along the boy's studies, and generally playing around the lab in ways he'd never been aloud as a child. They made things as large as they wanted, and worked under the theory that more was better, and added a few smoke stains to the ceiling of whatever lab they practiced in. They built, they demolished, and they still managed to use far less than anyone else.
And they trained. Gohan taught Trunks, much to his embarrassment and pleasure, and Trunks taught Gohan. In this timeline, the boy had yet to reach Super Saiyajin, but that would be remedied shortly, Trunks had no doubt. After all, the kid was already more powerful than he was, and he had more than a few sparring partners to build off of. The boy was smart, but didn't think too much, as Trunks had. He based his attacks of previous encounters, and modified without pausing, pushing himself to his limits for reasons unknown.
Privately, he suspected it was Gohan's failure to believe he could stand up for anything that forced him so far. For his failures, defeats, and moments of weakness, Gohan would become everything Trunks strived to be. It was both inspiring and intimidating, and more than often, it was maddening. What did you do with a student who outclassed you, yet had no ability to see how far he'd come?
And how the hell did you focus his energy?
For the most part, he channeled the excessive amounts of enthusiasm, strength, and curiosity into experiments, both with science and spirit. Piccolo was more than happy to help, and every now and again, they'd show Vegeta what they learned. For the most part, he was a silent observer, and offered neither advice nor scorn.
Goku worked with Vegeta in the most obscure ways possible, taking the older Saiyajin to restaurants, beaches, malls, and other things that had absolutely nothing in common with one another. One time, the two of them went to an astrology center with Gohan and Trunks coming along for the heck of it. It was there they heard him really laugh, and smile at the foolishness of the human's theories, even though there was an edge of cruelty to his remarks.
They'd visited art museums, which was something of a wonder in itself to Trunks. The androids came with them as well, and Trunks spent hours staring in utter shock at the displays, and the variety of color, content, balance and light. This was surely the highlight of humanity. There were other museums that concentrated on science, and Trunks was amused to find he knew most of the concepts behind the displays, as did Gohan. This proved more humorous than enlightening, and they made the trip the shortest possible, narrowing down a daylong procedure to a mater of two hours.
Seventeen stayed with his sister for the better part of the day, but would disappear for a time, and return hours later, without giving a word of explanation.
Eighteen took up painting, imitating the styles of artists well known for their realistic natures and emotional content. Krillin began spending time with her, offering assistance and advice, enjoying the process alongside her. She wasn't very good in the beginning, but after a time, she began to improve. The ideas she generated were inspiring.
Vegeta did little, looking out windows and contemplating unknown theories by himself, unmoved by the people around him. But he kept Goku's company, and never broke an arrangement. He drank less.
Trunks was happy.
"What do you say," Krillin began, dipping his paintbrush into a mix of blues, violets and grays, looking around the room to the people gathered, "we throw Goku a birthday party."
Eighteen shrugged, not looking up. "Sure." Seventeen mirrored her movements, looking about as interested as a brick wall.
"Whatever, shortie." He grinned. "So long as there's food, count me in."
Krillin had to laugh. "Food? At a Saiyajin party? You don't even have to ask, Seventeen my man!" he waved the paintbrush enthusiastically, spraying paint across the carpet. Making a face at the mess, and groaning at the prospect of cleaning it up, he decided he hadn't noticed such a stain, and went back to painting the sky on the far wall of the dining room.
Trunks grinned, and looked at Gohan. "What do you think?"
Gohan nodded happily, pleased to be a part of the situation. "Sure! Let's throw Dad a party!" he grinned. "Can I help decorate?"
Krillin winked. "Only if you don't tell your Dad, and if you can convince your Mom to make one of her cakes…"
"Okay!"
Laughing, Trunks nodded. "Bulma can be in charge of inviting everyone, and
playing dictator." He grinned. "She'd like that."
Seventeen snickered. "You bet she would."
Krillin groaned. "Oh, no! Not Bulma! She'll yell!"
Eighteen smirked. "Which is why she should do it. You lazy people wouldn't get anything done, otherwise." She flipped her hair, eyes shining. Adding a dab of some off-white mixture to the wall, she stepped back to evaluate her work. She made a face, and moved in closer to attempt to fix wherever she found flaw.
"Hey," Krillin flipped paint at her. "No fair. Just because you're perfect and I can't tease you about anything doesn't mean you get automatic rights to poking fun at me." He turned around in mock indignation, smiling to himself.
Trunks tried hard not to laugh.
"Who said I needed rights?" Eighteen wondered, trying to sound arrogant and uncaring. Funny, how when she tries to sound like her she sounds more human…Trunks thought.
"I'll go tell Bulma…" Trunks murmured, and waited an instant to see whether or not Gohan decided to follow. He didn't, preferring to work on the assignment his mother had given him for the evening. Trunks rolled his eyes, deciding he'd better leave now if he didn't want to be pulled into another stirring conversation.
*****
They decided on a week from the day it was planned to be the official day. Naturally, everyone who knew the big goof wanted to pitch in, and the whole process was one insane mess of one person parading in with large boxes to Master Roshi's house, and scrambling back home because they left something. The number of collisions seemed to be rising with a slope of three hits per minute, and steadily becoming more and more dangerous to the items surrounding the people.
Anything glass was moved up and out of the way as banners were hung, balloons blown, and decorations put up.
Half an hour into the business, Chichi arrived with the food, and enlisted half the men to help her organize, carry and store foods of varying sorts. The sight of it all made Trunks' mouth water; he'd been staying at Capsule Corps, and unlike his mother, Bulma had either no talent or no time for cooking. He and Gohan were repeatedly reminded that the food was for the party, not their appetites.
Zarbon wandered around on errands for his wife, toting their small child with an irritated expression on his face, looking ready to shred the next streamer he came across. Fortunately or not, that would warrant an ear splitting lecture from Bulma, so the brightly colored things remained unharmed. For the time being. Until then, Zarbon was irritated, and lashed out at anyone who attempted to make a conversation with him.
As Krillin and Yamcha struggled to hang a 'Happy birthday, Goku!' banner, the screen door opened with a creak. Everyone froze.
"Someone mentioned a party." Vegeta greeted, and slid past a row of chairs deemed to hideous for use that had been vanquished to the foyer to be dusted, polished and conditioned. At that point in time, no one had figured out exactly how to condition a chair.
Zarbon scowled. "And who happened to say that?" he growled.
Trunks looked up from a punch bowl. "I did." Zarbon glared daggers. Hmm. Still some old issues between these two…
Ignoring Trunks, the man shifted Keichei to a more comfortable position, somehow managing to look intimidating with a tiny child hugging his shirt. "This isn't your party. Go home. Friends only."
Vegeta pointedly looked away from the blue tinged man. "How long until the damn thing starts?"
"Not long," Trunks replied, and busied himself with the cups.
"So get out." He grumbled.
Vegeta snorted. "Why should I listen to you?"
Laughter erupted from the proud warrior, dark, cruel and beautiful all at once; it was exactly as Trunks pictured the man. "Oh, Vegeta, you never learned, did you?" malice glinted in his amethyst eyes like fire beneath the smoke, bright, brilliant and deadly.
Vegeta's eyes narrowed, pride and ill feelings against the man surfacing in his face. His tail twitched irritably, and annoyance flared beneath his cool demeanor. "And what, Zarbon, do you mean by that?"
Lips curling in shadowy amusement, the tall man inclined his head as if acknowledging something. Sensing something wrong, Trunks tensed, unsure of what to do. "After all, under someone like Freeza's tutelage, one would think you'd learn something." He snorted. "Suppose that says something for your mentality, now doesn't it?"
Vegeta raised an eyebrow sardonically, anger flashing behind dark eyes. "Really."
Unperturbed, Zarbon continued, slowly sharpening each barbed insult with the care and delicacy of one who enjoys suffering. His voice dropped to a barely audible sound to human ears, but remained quite clear to most of the fighters present. "You need a lesson, Prince Vegeta," he began, scorn and mockery lacing the words. The sentence took on a meaning all its own, doubling its role and proceeding to lay the ground for yet more to come. "And there's no one here but me to give it."
Laughing shortly, Vegeta stared in disbelief, doubt and fear flickering for an instant in his eyes. Then he shook his head, proud as could be. "I doubt you could do what the almighty Freeza could not, Zarbon." He sneered. "Dearest."
Amused, Zarbon's eyebrows raised. "Yet another reminder of your glorious days under Freeza." He paused. "Bloodshed, grief and murder all in a day, with a nice, long rut with your men in between to keep the soldiers motivated."
The blood drained from Vegeta's face. Trunks stared, no longer bothering with the pretense of arranging cups.
"You don't know a thing about me Zarbon," he began. Zarbon lifted a hand for silence, smirking.
"Ah, death, how motivating you can be." He paused. "Why don't you tell them how you massacred millions, Prince Vegeta, lord of all Saiyajin…" he trailed off, and dropped his pitch, raising his voice a measure to be heard clearly by all. "…bed slave to any who wanted a filthy monkey."
Vegeta said nothing, trying to keep him in check, the muscles in his cheeks twitched, and he straightened. His tail wrapped around his waste in a clear motion of discomfort and peril. "You're right, Zarbon." He paused. "I killed people." He glared at the tall alien, hatred flaming in his obsidian eyes. "As did you."
Laughing shortly, Zarbon shook his head in disbelief. "You would make no distinction between us, oh prince, but you are forgetting one thing." He snorted. "Freeza ruled me with fear, and you, Vegeta, he ruled with lust..." He smirked, undaunted by Vegeta's warning growl, "…for blood, body and power.
"I knew you to be evil when I first met you, all those years ago. As a child, you were cruel, careless, and mad with desire. Selfish. Uncaring, even though your people died for your father, you neither shed a drop of blood nor tears for the man." His expression darkened. "Worthless.
"Lord Freeza gave you want you needed; a cause. A reason to kill." He snorted, all amusement gone from his voice, conviction carrying the hatred of his words deep into their hearts. "You lived for that, and you, prince…? You loved him for it. Tell them, Vegeta, about your experience with Freeza.
"Tell them about your father, who died for you, and how you never once showed mercy, never once fought for a true cause." He laughed. "Go on, tell them about the real you. Tell them about Prince Vegeta, Freeza's personal whore..."
Zarbon trailed off, and the silence between the accusations was filled with words unspoken. One after another, those gathered looked away from Vegeta, not daring to meet his eyes. Memories surfaced in their minds, examples of the cruelty Vegeta so willingly expressed, and his cruel laughter echoed eerily in their minds. They knew it to be true. He was a murderer…he'd proven it again and again, taking pleasure in the blood.
But the other claims…they could neither prove nor refute them. He was a private individual, and only Zarbon could testify for his past. What the longhaired man did not say would remain unspoken. Truth be told, it was what they didn't know that frightened them.
Silence masks all things, past, present and future.
Through it all, Vegeta remained quiet, barely moving except to breathe. And then he broke. "All right, Zarbon." He began quietly, his voice devoid of all traces of emotion. "I'll tell them about my nights, if you insist," he paused, and waited, lifting an eyebrow. Silence. "No? I thought not. Why would you want to hear about the dark, the blood and the madness that drove me onward when life so clearly told me to stop?" He snorted. "I'll tell you, Zarbon, second in command of an empire that slaughtered billions," he sneered, contempt clear in his voice, "about death.
"It isn't beautiful," he shook his head ruefully, almost as if he wished it to be otherwise, "and it isn't painless. It's slow, decisive, and about as unemotional as life can be." Lips twitching in suppressed fury, amusement, or depression, he exhaled and slowly took a breath. "In the best instances, it's conceivable, and a sure fact that the dying can accept with ease." He laughed, a low, dark sound that penetrated the walls and made the very earth tremble. Trunks found himself easing away from his father and towards the nearest exit. "I became what people fear most, because it gave me joy.
"I was death, and I took what should have been mine with more pride than anyone. I killed them slowly, painfully, and without remorse.
"I was merciless.
"Like death.
"I was cruel.
"Like you.
"I was, and am, empty. I'll be forever dead." He turned aside, not noticing the expressions of the fighters, barely aware of his own breathing, of the tears that fell to the ground. "If you'd like, Zarbon, I'll show you what it means to die by the hands of a man who truly knows death." He shrugged.
The front door opened with its usual creak, disrupting the momentary silence with the impact of an avalanche on a peaceful mountain. No one had to look up to know who was at the door. There wasn't a person missing besides he, and his aura gave him away without the benefit of sight. Vegeta ignored Goku's presence, not bothering to acknowledge him, and nodded curtly to Zarbon.
With a prince's dignity, pride and cool assurance, Vegeta met the eyes of the assembled group, and spoke. "Until then…" he brushed by the others and out the door, heedless of their stares, of their surprise and discomfort. He was gone before they had time to breathe.
And then there was silence.
*****
tbc
The next chapter should be up by Friday, November 8th. That's the hope, at leas. *Smiles* that happens to be the only free day I have between the premier and the next performance…which means I might sleep.
Many thanks to Sam, UnromanticPoetess, and DbzShark. *Grins* reviews are very helpful, and tend to make me happy. Your feedback is always appreciated…
Sam: thanks for the compliment! This is the last chapter where events mirror Felix's story, so yes, Trunks continues to be a major player in this story…for a long while, anyways. I'm not too sure where things will end, but I have an idea where I'm going. Sort of.
UnromanticPoetess: *Silly grin* well, I hope this one continues being serious, and doesn't become too silly…Hope I didn't sound too mean/harsh or anything while reviewing…I tend to say what I think. Sometimes that bothers people. *Shrugs* I do hope you go back and edit "When in Disgrace" because I liked it…and it would be muchly interesting if you went back and edited it like you do with your others.
Thank goodness for editors, or I'd sound like an idiot. *Laughs* like I am right now. *grins* one thing I don't edit are these little rants…which is why they tend to be long, and littered with lots of laughs, grins, and other action 'icons.'
Thank you for the compliments…I try to focus on the details of things…hoping it doesn't take away from everything else that goes on. Half the time I'm not sure when enough is enough.
Zarbon? *Grins* oh yeah…forgot about him…I don't like him much. He has a purpose, though, so…*shrugs* he stays for a little bit longer. Explanations come over the next chapter mostly, and become more defined in the chapters that follow.
Vegeta…I need to go back and do a little explanation…thanks to you, and a friend of mine (who wouldn't like me to say what her name is), I've decided I'm in desperate need of characterization for Vegeta-dear. *Cringes* that's really embarrassing; one of the things I'm supposed to notice and correct before posting…so, whenever I find time, I'll be adding details to the existing chapters, his state of mind/physical wellness, and possibly adding an interlude between Chapters one and two…I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me when more explanation is needed. *Smiles* I could always use feedback.
DbzShark: You're absolutely correct, by the way. Creating a good, realistic mental picture is the most important thing a writer should do. Interesting note: my editor, Meghan, says that grammar and basic fundamentals of writing are more important. "If you can't express your idea properly, no one will take you seriously." She says. Hah. Like we listen to our editors…*grins* actually, yes, I do…if you don't have one, FIND ONE. They're absolutely wonderfully blunt.
Oooh, I did that all right? *Grins* describing stuff and creating pictures…that's nice to know. Sometimes I'm not so sure about the flow of the story…it gets messed up, in my mind.
Hmm. *Looks up at review replies* boy, that took a lot of space…*sheepish* I think I've wasted enough of your time…
If you don't want me to reply, say so. I'll try to be brief, honestly…it's just that I talk a lot. Reviews, comments, critiques and rants are always welcome.