...........................................................................................~* BROKEN HOME
.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
Needless to say, Vejita got his one promise and was given the opportunity to drive HIS car home, and Bulma's clever little 'plan' had gone over extremely well. Chichi had practically kicked them out of her house the moment the last crumb of food was consumed, which wasn't very long after the strange turn in the conversation. The car ride home was silent for the most part, until Vejita decided to initiate conversation.
"You seem to be in an unusually good mood," he commented coolly. "Is there anything that I should be worried about? A broken oven? A glitch in the gravity room?" He then got a horrific idea. "That little dip-shit didn't break the controls, did he?!"
Bulma shot him a scolding look and shook her head. "No. The only thing that came close to being broken was HIM. Kami, he gets more like you every day." Outside, small raindrops began to fall from the gray clouds that had gathered while they were eating dinner.
Vejita was not amused. "What do you mean you almost broke him? What the hell happened this time?"
"Nothing!" Bulma protested, crossing her arms. "The kid was telling me about something he put on the fridge, and I was busy at the moment, so I couldn't look at it. It put him in a pissy mood, of course, so he started running his mouth."
"And?" Vejita watched her out of the corners of his eyes expectantly. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Bulma was leaving something important out. "Come on woman, spit it out!"
"So I smacked him!" Bulma exclaimed, frowning. "Kami, you're acting like you've never done it before."
"Has the possibility that perhaps I haven't ever cross your little mind?" Vejita responded, on the defensive now. "I have never layed a damn hand on that brat!" He thought back to the few occasions where he had pushed him around a bit and the training he had been providing. "At least not to hit him, anyway."
Bulma emitted a small choking sound that sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of tears. Vejita groaned and pulled over the car, his movements tight and jerky with frustration. They sat in silence for a few minutes before either one spoke up. It began to rain harder, and Vejita cursed at his misfortune. Not only was it dark, but now there was a downpour.
"You've been dealing with Trunks for what, almost four long years now?" Vejita asked quietly, making an attempt to calm Bulma down before things got ugly. "Why the fuck would you give up NOW?"
Bulma turned away from him and shook her head. Vejita caught a glimpse of tears streaming down her previously happy face and felt a pang of regret, but it didn't last long. They never did. It seemed like he was doing all of the encouraging as of late, all of the encouraging that he would have thought would be necessary for HIM. He scowled and massaged his throbbing temples before speaking.
"Don't be a fool, woman," Vejita said harshly. "If I can remain sane throughout all of this shit, then you can."
"No," Bulma whispered, resting her forehead against the window of the car pathetically. The combination of filtered moonlight and heavy raindrops cast eerie shadows throughout the car and on her sorrowful face. "I can't. I can't do it anymore, Vejita. I can't even learn to love my own son..." Her quiet cries got more intense, and her shoulders began to shake. "I can't..."
Vejita was reminded of the multiple times Bulma had experienced similar misgivings in the past and realized something--no matter how happy she could become, it would always be followed by a period of depression. She was like a human roller coaster, always going up and down and then, well, FURTHER down. For the life of him, he could not think of anything to say to her confession. Was there anything that COULD be said? Instead he gripped the steering wheel of the car tightly, trying to relieve some of the tension that was building up inside him.
"I'm sorry," Bulma was muttering. She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out of her window and into the rain hopelessly. "Why can't we be happy? Why?" Her tears began falling faster until at last she succumbed to her emotions and began sobbing in despair.
Vejita released the steering wheel and rested his head back against his seat. He closed his eyes, fighting to remain calm, cool, and collected, and then rested a hand on Bulma's trembling back. He felt her cool skin tense beneath his fingers. "Nobody's ever going to be completely happy until the day they croak, and even then there's no guarantees. Believe me, I know. Hell wasn't exactly Disneyland." He felt her relax a bit, and trailed his hand down to her waist, where he sighed and refrained from touching her.
"You always did suck at the whole comforting thing." Bulma chuckled half-heartedly through her tears. "You're wrong. Look at Goku, Chichi, and Gohan. I...I hate to admit it, but they've got a much better life than we've ever had. That's how its always gonna be." After exhaling slowly, she shifted so that her tear-soaked face was towards him. "Just shut the hell up and take me home."
Under any other circumstances, Vejita would have returned the favor and told her to walk her ass home or something of that sort, but the look in her eyes scared him to the point of defeat. She had the expression of somebody who was utterly and completely lost within their own life, the kind of expression that animals in the zoo had. They lived their life, sure, and they had their happy moments, like feeding time, but by the end of the day, they are what they are--caged. Trapped.
Vejita drove her home.
When they finally reached the mansion, Bulma jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs. Vejita cringed at the sound of the bedroom door slamming behind her and continued on his way to the kitchen. Mrs. Briefs was, of course, inside baking some kind of pie. Her eyes were troubled, and Vejita could guess why. He took his usual seat at the counter and watched her knead the dough, his black eyes glazed over in thought.
"Got something on your mind, dear?" Mrs. Briefs asked gently. "You look terrible."
Vejita looked up at her with a scowl. "Hey, you aren't looking too fantastic yourself, Mother Time."
Mrs. Briefs stopped her kneading and put her hands on her aproned hips. "Well now! Somebody's in a bad mood tonight." She shook her head and went back to the dough with a good-natured smile. "Don't fret, Vejita, I know why you're so thoughtful tonight. That daughter of mine is getting worse, isn't she?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Vejita snapped, not liking her nosy questions.
"Oh, but I do," Mrs. Briefs disagreed. "I do. I came home today and before I could figure out what had happened while I was gone, Bulma was out the door in some ridiculous dress without a word. I was forced to pry open Trunks' bedroom door and get some answers out of the poor child."
"And what did the kid say?"
Mrs. Briefs' eyes shone with unshed tears. She stopped kneading and looked up at the ceiling, fighting them back. When she looked back down, Vejita could see that she hadn't been entirely successful. A single tear ran down her wrinkled cheek. "He said..." She stopped and sniffled a bit. "He said that his mother HIT him, and SCREAMED at him, and... The poor little dear was a mess." She picked up the dough and layed it into the pie pan.
Vejita sighed and put his head into his hands. "Shit."
Mrs. Briefs raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's all? I would have thought that you would have a bit more to say. You usually do."
"Spare me," Vejita replied carelessly, eyeing the pan. "What kind of pie is that going to be?"
Mrs. Briefs sighed at Vejita's coldness and wiped away her tears. "Blueberry, I suppose."
"That's good," Vejita commented blandly. "Where's the kid?"
"Upstairs in his room, I think," Mrs. Briefs replied, offering a warm, motherly smile. "Let's hope that you can learn to be a better parent to him that his mother turned out to be." She then dumped the fruit into the pie carelessly and shoved it into the oven. Before Vejita could protest, she had hurried out of sight.
He shook his head and left the room to go to the stairs. It only took a few seconds for him to reach Trunks' room. He was grateful that he didn't have to pass his and Bulma's room first, because he knew what he would hear if he did. Bulma, crying. Alone. Nothing unusual, but an uncomfortable situation nonetheless. He chose not to knock on his son's door, but instead walked right in.
"Hi, Dad," Trunks greeted half-heartedly. He was sprawled out on the floor in front of his television, watching some action-adventure moving involving a lot of shooting and killing. It was just the kind of movie that Vejita himself liked to watch, and he suspected that that was the reason that Trunks was studying what was going on so intently. Vejita smirked and leaned against the doorway.
"What do you think you're doing, boy?" he demanded in the sort-of firm, sort-of not voice that he only used with his son. "You have to be alert at six tomorrow morning for training."
"I don't think that I can go to sleep right now, Dad," Trunks said quietly, his eyes never leaving the television. "Today, Mommy hit me again. She was yelling, too. I was scared, but I did just what you said. I didn't give in, and I talked defensive. She got mad when I did that." He looked down at his little hands and swallowed nervously. "Are you mad at me, too?"
Vejita crossed the room to stand behind his son and sighed in frustration. "Hell no, boy, I wasn't there."
Trunks looked up at his father with a tiny smile on his chubby face. "I'm glad."
"Hn," Vejita acknowleged, moving to Trunks' bed and laying out on his back. "Now be quiet, I haven't seen this movie yet." He shuddered inwardly at how soft he had almost acted.
"Okay, Daddy."
For the first time in Trunks' life, Vejita did not correct him.
Bulma woke up the next morning in the position that she had fallen asleep in--meaning that Vejita had never come up to bed. Before she put effort into analyzing that, she dragged her tired body up from the floor of the balcony and walked slowly back inside, feeling like a zombie. A glance into the mirror confirmed that not only did she feel like a zombie, but she looked like one also. After taking a brief shower, she set about making herself human once again. Throwing on a tank top and a pair of short boxers, Bulma began making her way down to the kitchen, where her mother would most likely be making breakfast. And if she had learned anything about Vejita throughout all of this time, it was that wherever there was breakfast, there would probably be Vejita.
Her guess turned out to be correct--Vejita was sitting beside Trunks at the kitchen counter. They both wore identical expressions of extreme hunger. If Bulma had been a bit wider awake, she would have laughed at the sight, but unfortunately, she was not. Without a word, she took a seat on the other side of Vejita, where she didn't have to look her son in the eye. In her opinion, he could always be dealt with later.
"Sleeping Beauty has awakened," Vejita quipped, eyeing her skimpy 'pajamas'. "Though she does appear to be a bit hungover."
"Where were you last night?" Bulma asked quietly, so that her mother and son would not overhear. "I woke up on the balcony. My coworkers will probably have posted pictures of me in that little dress around the office by now."
"Fuck your coworkers," Vejita dismissed curtly. "I was watching a movie with the brat."
"Touching, but hard to believe," Bulma said doubtfully. "You? Spend voluntary time with your son?"
Vejita narrowed his eyes. "I spend more time with the boy than you, woman."
Bulma had no reply to that, so she raised her voice and turned to her mother, who was trying hard to hide her eavesdropping. "So Mom, what's on the menu this morning?"
"French toast," Mrs. Briefs replied cheerfully. "Isn't that right, Trunks? I hear that its your favorite."
Trunks nodded. "Yup! Hey Daddy, how long do you think I have before I can fly?"
Vejita smirked. "A lot longer then you might be thinking, little one."
"Hey!" Trunks exclaimed.
Bulma watched the two with amazement. "Wow, Vejita, what movie did you guys watch?"
Trunks, who now seemed willing to take a second chance on his mother, turned to her and smiled. "It was a great movie, Mom! There was a lot of guns and killing and stuff. You wouldn't like it."
"I'm sure that I wouldn't," Bulma replied breezily. "It sounds more like you and your father's kind of thing."
"Breakfast is ready!" Mrs. Briefs announced, filling up three plates and handing them to the small, un-traditional family. "Enjoy, kids, I'm off to Mrs. Debussy's. She just fell in love with your dress that night four years ago, Bulma, and we've been great chums ever since. We're going shopping again, I suppose. Good-bye!"
Bulma watched her go, then frowned at Vejita. "She might have liked the dress, but she gossiped all over town about my nose ring not even a day after."
"Can't you see that I'm eating, woman?" Vejita asked incredulously. "I don't give a shit about the social scene among your mother's pathetic circle of friends."
Bulma quieted and stared down at her plate of food, her stomach churning. Suddenly, the meal did not look so appetizing. "I'm going to get ready for work."
Vejita stopped his eating and raised an eyebrow. "Its Sunday, woman, you don't have work."
Bulma paused, her mind reeling. "Uh...oh. I don't know what's wrong with me today..." She settled back into her seat and brushed her hair out of her face with her hands. "I'll have to find something to do, then."
Trunks finished off his food and grinned broadly. "That was great! Hey Mom, can we go to the mall today, pleeeease?"
Vejita started and glared at his son incredulously. "The mall?! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothin'!" Trunks protested, scrunching his little face up in irriatation. "I want to get a video game!"
"A video game?" Bulma wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't sound like something I want to waste money on."
Trunks crossed his arms, making him look a lot like his father. "But Mommy, you have enough money! I want to get a VIDEO GAME!"
Vejita groaned and covered his sensitive ears. "Kami, boy, do you think you could talk any louder?" He pushed his plate aside, leaving it for someone else (meaning Bulma or her mother) to clean, and headed off for the gravity room. "Do what you want, I don't give a shit."
"See!" Trunks prodded. "Dad doesn't care!"
Bulma gritted her teeth and fought to maintain her temper. "Trunks, I'm warning you. DON'T push it. Mommy is a little bit tired today, and she doesn't feel like dragging you around the mall all day."
"But Mooooom," Trunks whined. "You always let me get video games!"
"You never learn, do you?!" Bulma shouted. "You're heading the right way for punishment, Trunks, and you KNOW it!"
Trunks made a teasing face at the infuriated Bulma. "But Mom, if you hit me again, I'm gonna tell Daddy on you!"
"Vejita is not my boss," Bulma pointed out childishly. "I'm free to raise you the way that I see fit, young man!"
"Yeah he is!" Trunks insisted naively. "I even heard Uncle Yamcha tell Uncle Krillen last week that he's got ya whipped into shape so that he can keep gettin' some. And then Uncle Krillen told Uncle Yamcha and Uncle Master Roshi that you would probably give in anyway cuz you have always been a pretty darned horny girl, whatever that means."
Bulma's face turned beet red with fury. "He did, did he? Well, 'Uncle' Yamcha, 'Uncle' Krillen, and Master Roshi are going to be hearing from me VERY soon!" She scooped Trunks up from his seat and started on her way to her room, her pretty face set in determination. "Come on, Trunks, we're going to be paying them a little visit today..."
__________________________________________________________________________________________
(A/N): Read the author's note...that's all that I have to say!
__________________________________________________________________________________________
.........................................................................................................................Rhapsody~*
Needless to say, Vejita got his one promise and was given the opportunity to drive HIS car home, and Bulma's clever little 'plan' had gone over extremely well. Chichi had practically kicked them out of her house the moment the last crumb of food was consumed, which wasn't very long after the strange turn in the conversation. The car ride home was silent for the most part, until Vejita decided to initiate conversation.
"You seem to be in an unusually good mood," he commented coolly. "Is there anything that I should be worried about? A broken oven? A glitch in the gravity room?" He then got a horrific idea. "That little dip-shit didn't break the controls, did he?!"
Bulma shot him a scolding look and shook her head. "No. The only thing that came close to being broken was HIM. Kami, he gets more like you every day." Outside, small raindrops began to fall from the gray clouds that had gathered while they were eating dinner.
Vejita was not amused. "What do you mean you almost broke him? What the hell happened this time?"
"Nothing!" Bulma protested, crossing her arms. "The kid was telling me about something he put on the fridge, and I was busy at the moment, so I couldn't look at it. It put him in a pissy mood, of course, so he started running his mouth."
"And?" Vejita watched her out of the corners of his eyes expectantly. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Bulma was leaving something important out. "Come on woman, spit it out!"
"So I smacked him!" Bulma exclaimed, frowning. "Kami, you're acting like you've never done it before."
"Has the possibility that perhaps I haven't ever cross your little mind?" Vejita responded, on the defensive now. "I have never layed a damn hand on that brat!" He thought back to the few occasions where he had pushed him around a bit and the training he had been providing. "At least not to hit him, anyway."
Bulma emitted a small choking sound that sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of tears. Vejita groaned and pulled over the car, his movements tight and jerky with frustration. They sat in silence for a few minutes before either one spoke up. It began to rain harder, and Vejita cursed at his misfortune. Not only was it dark, but now there was a downpour.
"You've been dealing with Trunks for what, almost four long years now?" Vejita asked quietly, making an attempt to calm Bulma down before things got ugly. "Why the fuck would you give up NOW?"
Bulma turned away from him and shook her head. Vejita caught a glimpse of tears streaming down her previously happy face and felt a pang of regret, but it didn't last long. They never did. It seemed like he was doing all of the encouraging as of late, all of the encouraging that he would have thought would be necessary for HIM. He scowled and massaged his throbbing temples before speaking.
"Don't be a fool, woman," Vejita said harshly. "If I can remain sane throughout all of this shit, then you can."
"No," Bulma whispered, resting her forehead against the window of the car pathetically. The combination of filtered moonlight and heavy raindrops cast eerie shadows throughout the car and on her sorrowful face. "I can't. I can't do it anymore, Vejita. I can't even learn to love my own son..." Her quiet cries got more intense, and her shoulders began to shake. "I can't..."
Vejita was reminded of the multiple times Bulma had experienced similar misgivings in the past and realized something--no matter how happy she could become, it would always be followed by a period of depression. She was like a human roller coaster, always going up and down and then, well, FURTHER down. For the life of him, he could not think of anything to say to her confession. Was there anything that COULD be said? Instead he gripped the steering wheel of the car tightly, trying to relieve some of the tension that was building up inside him.
"I'm sorry," Bulma was muttering. She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out of her window and into the rain hopelessly. "Why can't we be happy? Why?" Her tears began falling faster until at last she succumbed to her emotions and began sobbing in despair.
Vejita released the steering wheel and rested his head back against his seat. He closed his eyes, fighting to remain calm, cool, and collected, and then rested a hand on Bulma's trembling back. He felt her cool skin tense beneath his fingers. "Nobody's ever going to be completely happy until the day they croak, and even then there's no guarantees. Believe me, I know. Hell wasn't exactly Disneyland." He felt her relax a bit, and trailed his hand down to her waist, where he sighed and refrained from touching her.
"You always did suck at the whole comforting thing." Bulma chuckled half-heartedly through her tears. "You're wrong. Look at Goku, Chichi, and Gohan. I...I hate to admit it, but they've got a much better life than we've ever had. That's how its always gonna be." After exhaling slowly, she shifted so that her tear-soaked face was towards him. "Just shut the hell up and take me home."
Under any other circumstances, Vejita would have returned the favor and told her to walk her ass home or something of that sort, but the look in her eyes scared him to the point of defeat. She had the expression of somebody who was utterly and completely lost within their own life, the kind of expression that animals in the zoo had. They lived their life, sure, and they had their happy moments, like feeding time, but by the end of the day, they are what they are--caged. Trapped.
Vejita drove her home.
When they finally reached the mansion, Bulma jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs. Vejita cringed at the sound of the bedroom door slamming behind her and continued on his way to the kitchen. Mrs. Briefs was, of course, inside baking some kind of pie. Her eyes were troubled, and Vejita could guess why. He took his usual seat at the counter and watched her knead the dough, his black eyes glazed over in thought.
"Got something on your mind, dear?" Mrs. Briefs asked gently. "You look terrible."
Vejita looked up at her with a scowl. "Hey, you aren't looking too fantastic yourself, Mother Time."
Mrs. Briefs stopped her kneading and put her hands on her aproned hips. "Well now! Somebody's in a bad mood tonight." She shook her head and went back to the dough with a good-natured smile. "Don't fret, Vejita, I know why you're so thoughtful tonight. That daughter of mine is getting worse, isn't she?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Vejita snapped, not liking her nosy questions.
"Oh, but I do," Mrs. Briefs disagreed. "I do. I came home today and before I could figure out what had happened while I was gone, Bulma was out the door in some ridiculous dress without a word. I was forced to pry open Trunks' bedroom door and get some answers out of the poor child."
"And what did the kid say?"
Mrs. Briefs' eyes shone with unshed tears. She stopped kneading and looked up at the ceiling, fighting them back. When she looked back down, Vejita could see that she hadn't been entirely successful. A single tear ran down her wrinkled cheek. "He said..." She stopped and sniffled a bit. "He said that his mother HIT him, and SCREAMED at him, and... The poor little dear was a mess." She picked up the dough and layed it into the pie pan.
Vejita sighed and put his head into his hands. "Shit."
Mrs. Briefs raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's all? I would have thought that you would have a bit more to say. You usually do."
"Spare me," Vejita replied carelessly, eyeing the pan. "What kind of pie is that going to be?"
Mrs. Briefs sighed at Vejita's coldness and wiped away her tears. "Blueberry, I suppose."
"That's good," Vejita commented blandly. "Where's the kid?"
"Upstairs in his room, I think," Mrs. Briefs replied, offering a warm, motherly smile. "Let's hope that you can learn to be a better parent to him that his mother turned out to be." She then dumped the fruit into the pie carelessly and shoved it into the oven. Before Vejita could protest, she had hurried out of sight.
He shook his head and left the room to go to the stairs. It only took a few seconds for him to reach Trunks' room. He was grateful that he didn't have to pass his and Bulma's room first, because he knew what he would hear if he did. Bulma, crying. Alone. Nothing unusual, but an uncomfortable situation nonetheless. He chose not to knock on his son's door, but instead walked right in.
"Hi, Dad," Trunks greeted half-heartedly. He was sprawled out on the floor in front of his television, watching some action-adventure moving involving a lot of shooting and killing. It was just the kind of movie that Vejita himself liked to watch, and he suspected that that was the reason that Trunks was studying what was going on so intently. Vejita smirked and leaned against the doorway.
"What do you think you're doing, boy?" he demanded in the sort-of firm, sort-of not voice that he only used with his son. "You have to be alert at six tomorrow morning for training."
"I don't think that I can go to sleep right now, Dad," Trunks said quietly, his eyes never leaving the television. "Today, Mommy hit me again. She was yelling, too. I was scared, but I did just what you said. I didn't give in, and I talked defensive. She got mad when I did that." He looked down at his little hands and swallowed nervously. "Are you mad at me, too?"
Vejita crossed the room to stand behind his son and sighed in frustration. "Hell no, boy, I wasn't there."
Trunks looked up at his father with a tiny smile on his chubby face. "I'm glad."
"Hn," Vejita acknowleged, moving to Trunks' bed and laying out on his back. "Now be quiet, I haven't seen this movie yet." He shuddered inwardly at how soft he had almost acted.
"Okay, Daddy."
For the first time in Trunks' life, Vejita did not correct him.
Bulma woke up the next morning in the position that she had fallen asleep in--meaning that Vejita had never come up to bed. Before she put effort into analyzing that, she dragged her tired body up from the floor of the balcony and walked slowly back inside, feeling like a zombie. A glance into the mirror confirmed that not only did she feel like a zombie, but she looked like one also. After taking a brief shower, she set about making herself human once again. Throwing on a tank top and a pair of short boxers, Bulma began making her way down to the kitchen, where her mother would most likely be making breakfast. And if she had learned anything about Vejita throughout all of this time, it was that wherever there was breakfast, there would probably be Vejita.
Her guess turned out to be correct--Vejita was sitting beside Trunks at the kitchen counter. They both wore identical expressions of extreme hunger. If Bulma had been a bit wider awake, she would have laughed at the sight, but unfortunately, she was not. Without a word, she took a seat on the other side of Vejita, where she didn't have to look her son in the eye. In her opinion, he could always be dealt with later.
"Sleeping Beauty has awakened," Vejita quipped, eyeing her skimpy 'pajamas'. "Though she does appear to be a bit hungover."
"Where were you last night?" Bulma asked quietly, so that her mother and son would not overhear. "I woke up on the balcony. My coworkers will probably have posted pictures of me in that little dress around the office by now."
"Fuck your coworkers," Vejita dismissed curtly. "I was watching a movie with the brat."
"Touching, but hard to believe," Bulma said doubtfully. "You? Spend voluntary time with your son?"
Vejita narrowed his eyes. "I spend more time with the boy than you, woman."
Bulma had no reply to that, so she raised her voice and turned to her mother, who was trying hard to hide her eavesdropping. "So Mom, what's on the menu this morning?"
"French toast," Mrs. Briefs replied cheerfully. "Isn't that right, Trunks? I hear that its your favorite."
Trunks nodded. "Yup! Hey Daddy, how long do you think I have before I can fly?"
Vejita smirked. "A lot longer then you might be thinking, little one."
"Hey!" Trunks exclaimed.
Bulma watched the two with amazement. "Wow, Vejita, what movie did you guys watch?"
Trunks, who now seemed willing to take a second chance on his mother, turned to her and smiled. "It was a great movie, Mom! There was a lot of guns and killing and stuff. You wouldn't like it."
"I'm sure that I wouldn't," Bulma replied breezily. "It sounds more like you and your father's kind of thing."
"Breakfast is ready!" Mrs. Briefs announced, filling up three plates and handing them to the small, un-traditional family. "Enjoy, kids, I'm off to Mrs. Debussy's. She just fell in love with your dress that night four years ago, Bulma, and we've been great chums ever since. We're going shopping again, I suppose. Good-bye!"
Bulma watched her go, then frowned at Vejita. "She might have liked the dress, but she gossiped all over town about my nose ring not even a day after."
"Can't you see that I'm eating, woman?" Vejita asked incredulously. "I don't give a shit about the social scene among your mother's pathetic circle of friends."
Bulma quieted and stared down at her plate of food, her stomach churning. Suddenly, the meal did not look so appetizing. "I'm going to get ready for work."
Vejita stopped his eating and raised an eyebrow. "Its Sunday, woman, you don't have work."
Bulma paused, her mind reeling. "Uh...oh. I don't know what's wrong with me today..." She settled back into her seat and brushed her hair out of her face with her hands. "I'll have to find something to do, then."
Trunks finished off his food and grinned broadly. "That was great! Hey Mom, can we go to the mall today, pleeeease?"
Vejita started and glared at his son incredulously. "The mall?! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothin'!" Trunks protested, scrunching his little face up in irriatation. "I want to get a video game!"
"A video game?" Bulma wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't sound like something I want to waste money on."
Trunks crossed his arms, making him look a lot like his father. "But Mommy, you have enough money! I want to get a VIDEO GAME!"
Vejita groaned and covered his sensitive ears. "Kami, boy, do you think you could talk any louder?" He pushed his plate aside, leaving it for someone else (meaning Bulma or her mother) to clean, and headed off for the gravity room. "Do what you want, I don't give a shit."
"See!" Trunks prodded. "Dad doesn't care!"
Bulma gritted her teeth and fought to maintain her temper. "Trunks, I'm warning you. DON'T push it. Mommy is a little bit tired today, and she doesn't feel like dragging you around the mall all day."
"But Mooooom," Trunks whined. "You always let me get video games!"
"You never learn, do you?!" Bulma shouted. "You're heading the right way for punishment, Trunks, and you KNOW it!"
Trunks made a teasing face at the infuriated Bulma. "But Mom, if you hit me again, I'm gonna tell Daddy on you!"
"Vejita is not my boss," Bulma pointed out childishly. "I'm free to raise you the way that I see fit, young man!"
"Yeah he is!" Trunks insisted naively. "I even heard Uncle Yamcha tell Uncle Krillen last week that he's got ya whipped into shape so that he can keep gettin' some. And then Uncle Krillen told Uncle Yamcha and Uncle Master Roshi that you would probably give in anyway cuz you have always been a pretty darned horny girl, whatever that means."
Bulma's face turned beet red with fury. "He did, did he? Well, 'Uncle' Yamcha, 'Uncle' Krillen, and Master Roshi are going to be hearing from me VERY soon!" She scooped Trunks up from his seat and started on her way to her room, her pretty face set in determination. "Come on, Trunks, we're going to be paying them a little visit today..."
__________________________________________________________________________________________
(A/N): Read the author's note...that's all that I have to say!
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