CHAPTER 1
"Pod 3045. Are you receiving me?"
"Pod 3045 receiving."
"Are you sure you want to do this, Princess?"
"Positive."
"But Princess. You don't need to do this."
"Destiny isn't a matter of need."
"Your destiny is no longer what you think it is. Please come back."
"I can't Minon. I want to make my forefathers proud. I will earn their admiration... by finishing what they could not. I need to walk the path they walked."
"Trust me, Princess...There's nothing left for you out there. It's all over. Come back."
"I need to find him."
"When you do, you will lose your status. Remember... you are what you are by default. He wont except you. Not now, not ever."
"......"
"Princess?"
"......"
"Princess? Are you receiving me?"
"Pod 3045, signing out."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vegeta flicked his apple core to the ground, pieces of slowly-browning flesh scattering apart. It bounced once, unsteadily rolling to the left of him, settling in a dark patch of grass. He tilted his head backwards, letting his gaze drift into nothingness. His throat seemed thick and dry as he let his eyelids grow heavy. This quiet stillness of the morning reminded him of himself. Over the years, he felt his focus drift away, yet, despite himself, he found himself in a state of serenity. He hid it well, but it was definitely a part of him. Happiness, as he was taught, should never play apart in a warrior's life. Happiness meant settling, stillness, forgetfulness. He believed the old saying went 'a rolling stone gathers no moss'. His core felt like that of the apple. The one that lay, degenerating, on the ground. He could feel his once-proud and earth-shattering powers begin to crystallise like the sugar in the fruit, disappearing from his fists into his core. That was the reason he kept himself training, he hoped that the heat of battle would melt the crystals. But the tide of war never came, and it was the wrong part of him that melted when he looked at his family.
The sky was a icy shade of blue, frittered with rippled patches of cotton wool clouds. The sun was yet to shine, but the morning was simmering with the watery light of the fading moon. Vegeta shivered as the breeze slid over his skin through his shirt.
Long ago, the full face of the moon, in all her silver glory, would of heated his blood, energised every fibre of his muscle. He would of rose up in fearless, flashing fury, his mouth extending into a muzzle, his body increasing to an endless, black mass of power that eclipsed the light. A darkness would of descended on his memory, yet he would awake, alone on a planet of maximum monetary value, coated in a film of gore, with the intense feeling of satisfaction shivering in his cooling sinews.
But now, now he was a father, a husband. He had a family. He had roots. On one hand, they kept him stable, but on the other, they kept him anchored. Some of him wanted to fly away, with the force and anger he once cherished, but he knew he couldn't. He wouldn't let himself.
He sighed, but it came out more of a rasp, a dried-up sound.
"Yo Dad!"
Vegeta didn't move, he kept his eyes trained on the sky.
"Dad!"
He huffed quietly, his train of thought being sufficiently derailed. He looked sidewardly at his son, a frown furrowing his brow.
"Trunks! What do you want?" His tone was cutting, it came out more vicious than he wanted, but he hoped Trunks would shrug it off like he usually did. But his face appeared disheartened in the pale light.
"I just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready." He turned to go inside, hands in his jean pockets.
"Son!" Vegeta snapped, walking towards the house. The pupils of Trunks' eyes were pin-pricks, giving him an expression of bewilderment through his lilac-coloured hair. He smiled slightly at his son. "Thanks." He brushed past him silently. Trunks shrugged.
"No problem, Dad."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Piyo-piyo set the strawberries on the table, beeping joyously to itself. Bright lights twinkled erratically as it rolled off, back into the main kitchen.
Bulma watched the little robot disappear past the doors as she sat on the counter, her ear pressed against the telephone receiver.
"I really don't know, Chi Chi." She sighed, placing a hand against her cheek, "He's been acting so strange, come lately."
Bulma could hear the clattering of crockery on the other end of the line.
"What do you mean by strange, Bulma?" Chi Chi asked, distractedly.
"Oh I dunno." Bulma sighed, jumping down off the counter, "Just strange---"
"GOTEN!! PUT THAT DOWN!!" Chi Chi bellowed, cutting Bulma off mid-sentence.
"I swear" She sighed, "He acts like he's 8 again, not 18."
"Chi Chi!" Bulma moaned, grasping the telephone.
"I'm sorry, Bulma. You were saying...?"
"I was saying..." She continued. "That Vegeta's just been so... so moody. His face always looks so shadowy. He snaps at Trunks and just seems to look right through me, now."
"Oh Bulma!" Chi Chi huffed. "Vegeta's always like that! Don't worry! It's just the way he is."
"But you haven't seen him. I'm so worried."
There was a second loud crash, but it took Bulma a moment to realise that it was coming from her own kitchen.
"Oh damn!! The stupid robots wrecking the place again!" She pushed open the kitchen door and winced at the array of broken dishes on the floor. "Chi Chi? I'll call you later. I need to sort this out."
"Sure. Stop by for some tea. We'll talk. Bye!"
The phone line went dead after a hollow 'click'. Bulma placed the cordless back in the cradle and rolled her eyes, feeling extremely discarded. She muttered in annoyance to herself.
"A woman genius and I'm still stuck doing housework! What is this? The stone age?"
She turned to the wall, nimbly pressing a few buttons on a silver dial. A large rectangular piece of wall, junctioning at the floor, slid away, leaving a neat, dark hole, from which sprang a large, hedgehog-shaped robot. It busily dodged her feet, heading straight for the mess, brushing and sweeping the floor.
"I hate housework!"
A hand tapped her on the shoulder. She jolted, spinning around to face her attacker.
Trunks jolted in response as she smacked his hand away sharply, leaving a red mark on his hand, which he rubbed rapidly.
"Ya! Jeez, mom!" He hissed.
"Sorry, Trunks!" She giggled guiltily, "My mind was elsewhere."
"Yeah sure. Okay." He flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes. "I just wanted to let you I'm going to see Goten. I'll be back for lunch, okay?"
Bulma growled, her cheeks burning red, glowing against her aqua hair.
"Do I look like a servant girl? I'm not here just to cook, y'know!!"
"I'm sorry!" Trunks said, holding his hands up, as if burned. "I didn't mean anything by it."
Bulma placed a hand to her head in frustration.
"No, I'm sorry, Honey. I've just been a bit..."
Trunks crossed his arms over his chest, frowning darkly.
"Worried about Dad?"
She nodded. "I don't know what's up. Any ideas?"
"I don't think so. Maybe it's boredom. Y'know, like he misses the fight or something."
Bulma didn't respond as she side-stepped out of the path of the little robot as it skidded back to the hole. Trunks touched her arm, his face frozen with concern.
"Look, mom. Don't worry. He's always got over it before. I'll see you later."
She watched him grab his jacket and slip it over his muscular arms. He turned, giving the thumbs up. She smiled and waved in return, letting her arm drop to her side when he was out of view. She pressed her fingers to her forehead again.
"...I Just wish he'd talk to me."
"Pod 3045. Are you receiving me?"
"Pod 3045 receiving."
"Are you sure you want to do this, Princess?"
"Positive."
"But Princess. You don't need to do this."
"Destiny isn't a matter of need."
"Your destiny is no longer what you think it is. Please come back."
"I can't Minon. I want to make my forefathers proud. I will earn their admiration... by finishing what they could not. I need to walk the path they walked."
"Trust me, Princess...There's nothing left for you out there. It's all over. Come back."
"I need to find him."
"When you do, you will lose your status. Remember... you are what you are by default. He wont except you. Not now, not ever."
"......"
"Princess?"
"......"
"Princess? Are you receiving me?"
"Pod 3045, signing out."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vegeta flicked his apple core to the ground, pieces of slowly-browning flesh scattering apart. It bounced once, unsteadily rolling to the left of him, settling in a dark patch of grass. He tilted his head backwards, letting his gaze drift into nothingness. His throat seemed thick and dry as he let his eyelids grow heavy. This quiet stillness of the morning reminded him of himself. Over the years, he felt his focus drift away, yet, despite himself, he found himself in a state of serenity. He hid it well, but it was definitely a part of him. Happiness, as he was taught, should never play apart in a warrior's life. Happiness meant settling, stillness, forgetfulness. He believed the old saying went 'a rolling stone gathers no moss'. His core felt like that of the apple. The one that lay, degenerating, on the ground. He could feel his once-proud and earth-shattering powers begin to crystallise like the sugar in the fruit, disappearing from his fists into his core. That was the reason he kept himself training, he hoped that the heat of battle would melt the crystals. But the tide of war never came, and it was the wrong part of him that melted when he looked at his family.
The sky was a icy shade of blue, frittered with rippled patches of cotton wool clouds. The sun was yet to shine, but the morning was simmering with the watery light of the fading moon. Vegeta shivered as the breeze slid over his skin through his shirt.
Long ago, the full face of the moon, in all her silver glory, would of heated his blood, energised every fibre of his muscle. He would of rose up in fearless, flashing fury, his mouth extending into a muzzle, his body increasing to an endless, black mass of power that eclipsed the light. A darkness would of descended on his memory, yet he would awake, alone on a planet of maximum monetary value, coated in a film of gore, with the intense feeling of satisfaction shivering in his cooling sinews.
But now, now he was a father, a husband. He had a family. He had roots. On one hand, they kept him stable, but on the other, they kept him anchored. Some of him wanted to fly away, with the force and anger he once cherished, but he knew he couldn't. He wouldn't let himself.
He sighed, but it came out more of a rasp, a dried-up sound.
"Yo Dad!"
Vegeta didn't move, he kept his eyes trained on the sky.
"Dad!"
He huffed quietly, his train of thought being sufficiently derailed. He looked sidewardly at his son, a frown furrowing his brow.
"Trunks! What do you want?" His tone was cutting, it came out more vicious than he wanted, but he hoped Trunks would shrug it off like he usually did. But his face appeared disheartened in the pale light.
"I just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready." He turned to go inside, hands in his jean pockets.
"Son!" Vegeta snapped, walking towards the house. The pupils of Trunks' eyes were pin-pricks, giving him an expression of bewilderment through his lilac-coloured hair. He smiled slightly at his son. "Thanks." He brushed past him silently. Trunks shrugged.
"No problem, Dad."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Piyo-piyo set the strawberries on the table, beeping joyously to itself. Bright lights twinkled erratically as it rolled off, back into the main kitchen.
Bulma watched the little robot disappear past the doors as she sat on the counter, her ear pressed against the telephone receiver.
"I really don't know, Chi Chi." She sighed, placing a hand against her cheek, "He's been acting so strange, come lately."
Bulma could hear the clattering of crockery on the other end of the line.
"What do you mean by strange, Bulma?" Chi Chi asked, distractedly.
"Oh I dunno." Bulma sighed, jumping down off the counter, "Just strange---"
"GOTEN!! PUT THAT DOWN!!" Chi Chi bellowed, cutting Bulma off mid-sentence.
"I swear" She sighed, "He acts like he's 8 again, not 18."
"Chi Chi!" Bulma moaned, grasping the telephone.
"I'm sorry, Bulma. You were saying...?"
"I was saying..." She continued. "That Vegeta's just been so... so moody. His face always looks so shadowy. He snaps at Trunks and just seems to look right through me, now."
"Oh Bulma!" Chi Chi huffed. "Vegeta's always like that! Don't worry! It's just the way he is."
"But you haven't seen him. I'm so worried."
There was a second loud crash, but it took Bulma a moment to realise that it was coming from her own kitchen.
"Oh damn!! The stupid robots wrecking the place again!" She pushed open the kitchen door and winced at the array of broken dishes on the floor. "Chi Chi? I'll call you later. I need to sort this out."
"Sure. Stop by for some tea. We'll talk. Bye!"
The phone line went dead after a hollow 'click'. Bulma placed the cordless back in the cradle and rolled her eyes, feeling extremely discarded. She muttered in annoyance to herself.
"A woman genius and I'm still stuck doing housework! What is this? The stone age?"
She turned to the wall, nimbly pressing a few buttons on a silver dial. A large rectangular piece of wall, junctioning at the floor, slid away, leaving a neat, dark hole, from which sprang a large, hedgehog-shaped robot. It busily dodged her feet, heading straight for the mess, brushing and sweeping the floor.
"I hate housework!"
A hand tapped her on the shoulder. She jolted, spinning around to face her attacker.
Trunks jolted in response as she smacked his hand away sharply, leaving a red mark on his hand, which he rubbed rapidly.
"Ya! Jeez, mom!" He hissed.
"Sorry, Trunks!" She giggled guiltily, "My mind was elsewhere."
"Yeah sure. Okay." He flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes. "I just wanted to let you I'm going to see Goten. I'll be back for lunch, okay?"
Bulma growled, her cheeks burning red, glowing against her aqua hair.
"Do I look like a servant girl? I'm not here just to cook, y'know!!"
"I'm sorry!" Trunks said, holding his hands up, as if burned. "I didn't mean anything by it."
Bulma placed a hand to her head in frustration.
"No, I'm sorry, Honey. I've just been a bit..."
Trunks crossed his arms over his chest, frowning darkly.
"Worried about Dad?"
She nodded. "I don't know what's up. Any ideas?"
"I don't think so. Maybe it's boredom. Y'know, like he misses the fight or something."
Bulma didn't respond as she side-stepped out of the path of the little robot as it skidded back to the hole. Trunks touched her arm, his face frozen with concern.
"Look, mom. Don't worry. He's always got over it before. I'll see you later."
She watched him grab his jacket and slip it over his muscular arms. He turned, giving the thumbs up. She smiled and waved in return, letting her arm drop to her side when he was out of view. She pressed her fingers to her forehead again.
"...I Just wish he'd talk to me."