"I'm glad you're here," Pan whispered to Piccolo, squeezing his huge shoulder gently and kissing him on the cheek.
Piccolo shrugged, more to release his sensitive skin from the annoying fabric of the rented tuxedo then anything else. "Not like I have anything better to do with my time." He grumbled. "You and your dad should come up with some more students for me to teach, I think I might be getting soft in my old age." Piccolo smirked down at Pan, revealing a small set of teeth, complete with menacing fangs.
"Why, if I don't know better, I think you were trying to make a joke," Pan smirked back. He hadn't aged a bit since Pan had known him, and she'd known him her entire life. Once, Piccolo had tried to explain that if humans had chloroplasts and vacuoles within their cells, they'd live a lot longer too, but everyone just gave him and weird look and walked off. His green skin was tougher then even the saiyan's, with better regenerative properties. At one time Bulma had even been interested in working with his genetics, talking about combining them with a saiyan's to create 'the ultimate warrior'. Everyone laughed.
Pan swirled the red liquid around in her glass moodily, keeping her hands busy as she watched the party progress. Guests from all over the continent came to present their daughters to the 'eligible' bachelor, and to offer their congratulations on both his birthday and surviving his accident.
"Dreadful, just dreadful," she heard one pompous fat businessman tell Trunks, "the people who get driver licenses."
"God, I hate my enhanced hearing," she muttered, taking an unladylike swig of her wine. Piccolo sent her a worried frown.
"Is that your sixth glass?" He asked quietly, so no one else could hear.
"So what if it is? My metabolism burns it up too quick to matter," she practically snarled at him.
"Not THAT fast…." Piccolo muttered. He quickly walked away, looking for some company in a better mood.
Pan sent his back a false smile over her glass, "Now you know how everyone else feels around you, cold bastard."
"May I take your glass?" A waiter asked politely, holding the tray out to her.
She smiled and put the empty glass on the tray with an exaggerated wave of her hand before grabbing another. "Thank you."
Another swig of the wine didn't make her feel any better. Trunks had completely ignored her for the entire party… and after their encounter on the kitchen floor, she was allowed to expect one dance, right?
"You know, you should really savor this vintage…. A 1412 shouldn't go to waste on those lovely lips," A young man slid close beside her, his arm nearly around her shoulders. Pan shrugged and took a step away, nearly stumbling. Guess Piccolo was right about my metabolism, she thought to herself.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her upright and laughing. "My my, I didn't think a line like that would make you fall for me already," He smiled charmingly.
Pan gave him a small smile and stood up shakily. "What's your name, flyboy?"
Neither of them noticed Trunks' ear perk up.
"I'm wounded, milady. You don't remember me? I'll tell you my profession… I drive an ambulance."
"Oh my god!" She yelped in surprise and jumped to hug him. In her high heels and rather drunken state, she more or less ended up hugging him about the waist, and at eye level with his belt. "Um…. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to truly meet you too, Miss." He said politely, "but I think your boyfriend is going to tear my head off if you hang on me like this for much longer."
Pan looked over and Trunks and blushed. He was glaring at her as well as he could while still listening to the conversation. Abruptly, Pan let go of the ambulance driver and sank the rest of the way to the thick carpet, grateful for the shadowy corner. The skirt of the formal dress flared, tangling with her legs and getting stuck underneath her.
"Damnit," she muttered, trying to pull it free. "I'm sorry," she looked back up at the young man, whose feet were starting to shift nervously, "I still can't remember your name."
"All my friends call me Ray," he said, sinking to the floor next to her. "But you can call me whatever you want."
Pan laughed, realizing that his flirtatious manner was simply what he did. If she was 300 pounds and covered in zits, he'd probably say the same things. "I think Ray'll do me fine." She blinked, and suddenly there was a double image. "What do I call the other one?"
Ray giggled and chuckled so hard that he was starting to bring a lot of attention to that corner of the room. "Damn, girl, you really ARE sloshed."
"Amnt…" she slurred, although she didn't really seem to hear it. She was blinking continuously, trying to get the image right again. "I tink tis is bad…."
"Yeah, babe, it is."
"Sir?" Another waiter in a penguin suit stopped off, "Does your lady friend need help?"
"O, I'm sure I can take care of it," he smiled and stooped over to pick pan up. She just watched his face go from red to almost purple before his back finally gave out and he sank back to the floor in defeat. "You're a lot heavier then you look."
"Gee, thanks," Her voice was filled with sarcasm, but was a little less slurred. "Anything you'd like to add to that? Maybe you could call me old… that would just tip the scale."
Ray laughed and shook his head at her. "You're quite possibly the most changeable female I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Sure you don't have quicksilver in your blood?"
Trunks forced his mind back to the conversation with the president of one of the competing companies. If he'd known that this was a business gathering, he would have made himself scarce. He should have known better when his mother told him to come formally; she never forced Vegeta into a tux unless it was important. No one seemed to remember that he was married, either. The man he was talking to now, he couldn't bring himself to remember his name, was trying to force his ugly, nasal voiced daughter on Trunks. Obviously the girl was just as happy about it as Trunks was; She wore a scowl that made her look like an apple that had been in the sun too long.
Pan didn't seem to remember that they were married either. She had been sitting in the same corner since the party started, drinking wine. Trunks had lost count how many glasses she'd had after the fourth one, but he was pretty sure she would have to leave soon. And then she started talking to that…WORM. Trunks winced to himself. He was so mad he couldn't even think of a good insult. And even worse, they were having a conversation. He was thinking about going over there and asking Pan to dance, drunk or not, when his guest pushed Lady Apple-Face at him. "Prissy would just love to dance with you."
The look on Prissy's face told Trunks that she'd end up stomping on his toes the entire time for punishment, but he shrugged. Maybe dancing with her would be a better idea then dancing with Pan. "Would you like to dance, Prissy?" He held out his hand to her and offered the most charming smile he could.
"Of course, Briefs-san."
The dance was formal American waltz that felt too romantic for the situation. He looked longingly over his shoulder at Pan, when Prissy decided right then to dig her stiletto heel into his toe. He stung, but not for long. She was only human. He looked back at the girl and tried to strike up a conversation.
"What's your real name, Prissy?"
"Priscilla, but you'd think that a genius like you would be able to guess that."
Trunks winced, but decided not to defend himself. He'd just try to make sure she didn't bruise his toes too badly, and get through this one dance.
Prissy, had finally let up a little on her stomping when Pan walked up. "Mind if I borrow him for a minute?"
"Of course." Prissy nodded and walked back her red-faced father.
"What happened to Ray?" Trunks gritted out.
Pan waved off his tone. "I told him that I needed to save you from Scrunch-face."
He bit his lip to keep from laughing at her. Then she stumbled and landed on his foot, and he had to bite harder to keep from yelping in pain. "Steel toe?" He asked, looking down at her feet. They were tiny for the amount of damage she'd inflicted.
Pan sent him a smirk, a feminine fang glinting at him, "Worse, I think. Your mother made them for me." Her hand tightened on his shoulder, crumpling the fine fabric.
"Its no wonder they don't have rockets in them," he muttered, giving a mock groan.
Pan laughed so hard she nearly fell over. "I think they just might."
The song ended, but she was still in his arms, eyes laughing up at him. Her foot was firmly planted on his, and the throbbing sensation was the only reason he wasn't moving. The throbbing reminded him that this was why he loved her… because she didn't hurt him on purpose, she never would. And her drunkenness was so cute. "You want me to take you home, Pan?"
The laughter faded from her eyes a little bit, "Home?" The memory of her conversation with Ubuu clouded her mind. "Yeah, I guess… I gotta say goodbye to Ray first." Trunks' mouth turned down at the mention of her new friend, but Pan ignored it. Damn his possessiveness, she thought bitterly. She grabbed his hand and wobbled back over to Ray, who was holding her half-empty wine glass in the dark corner.
"Hey darling," He said, smiling that same charming smile at her, "looks like you got a hold of him." He handed her back her glass.
"Yeah… we're going to go home… will I see you again?" Pan sat down next to him, leaving Trunks feeling foolish and unaccepted, like a child.
"Maybe," Ray said, his smile fading as he sent a wary glance at Trunks. Even as a human, Ray could feel the strength emanating from the supposed pencil pusher. "We'll see what fate has in store." He said enigmatically.
Pan smiled back and stood up shakily. "Good-bye Ray."
He nodded back as Trunks led her away by the hand. He walked up to his mother and made a few excuses to the guests surrounding her, ignoring the temptation to humiliate Pan and tell everyone she was drunk.
The car was suffocating between her grogginess, and his anger. And the gentle swaying, which normally was similar to a hammock, felt more like a ship at sea. She was sick, and tired, and annoyed that he was angry with her. What right? She asked herself. Her dress didn't seem to help matters either. The straps hung off her shoulders, making her feel inexplicably vulnerable, and yards of fabric that made up the skirt had become heavy. The shoes pinched, and made her wobble. How many glasses of wine was that? She looked down at her crossed arms and noticed she was still holding the crystal wine glass in her hand, partially full of some intoxicating red liquid that she didn't really care for anymore. She dipped her index finger in the wine delicately into the wine and traced the lip of the glass with it. A pleasant ringing sound, similar to glass chimes, but constant rather then the occasional ding began filling the car. It made her a little sleepy, reminiscent. She rested her head against the seat and concentrat
ed on the memory. Where…? Ah, there it was. Another party, one she and Bra had been too young to participate in. They had to go to bed early, but Trunks and Goten had snuck upstairs to put them to sleep. Trunks had snuck up some alcohol, some bitter white wine that neither of the girls had liked. To put them to sleep, he'd done the same thing Pan was doing, making the glass ring with a careful splendor.
"Stop that," Trunks growled, grabbing the glass to stop the vibrations. The noise was more annoying then soothing, but mostly, he wanted her to sit still, suffer the same punishment he was. Without anything to keep his hands or his mind busy, he was restless. Air cars were too simple to drive, there weren't enough buttons to mess with anymore.
Pan glared at him, but stopped playing with the glass. Why was she taking that with her anyways? He cleared his throat as she continued to glare at him through bleary dark blue eyes. His anger was wearing thin under her scrutiny, realizing that she should be the one angry with him. He was the one blaming her for nothing, after all. "Pan," he reached for her hand, trying to make her understand with his touch…
She drew away, the slender, strong fingers curling into a fist on her lap.
Piccolo shrugged, more to release his sensitive skin from the annoying fabric of the rented tuxedo then anything else. "Not like I have anything better to do with my time." He grumbled. "You and your dad should come up with some more students for me to teach, I think I might be getting soft in my old age." Piccolo smirked down at Pan, revealing a small set of teeth, complete with menacing fangs.
"Why, if I don't know better, I think you were trying to make a joke," Pan smirked back. He hadn't aged a bit since Pan had known him, and she'd known him her entire life. Once, Piccolo had tried to explain that if humans had chloroplasts and vacuoles within their cells, they'd live a lot longer too, but everyone just gave him and weird look and walked off. His green skin was tougher then even the saiyan's, with better regenerative properties. At one time Bulma had even been interested in working with his genetics, talking about combining them with a saiyan's to create 'the ultimate warrior'. Everyone laughed.
Pan swirled the red liquid around in her glass moodily, keeping her hands busy as she watched the party progress. Guests from all over the continent came to present their daughters to the 'eligible' bachelor, and to offer their congratulations on both his birthday and surviving his accident.
"Dreadful, just dreadful," she heard one pompous fat businessman tell Trunks, "the people who get driver licenses."
"God, I hate my enhanced hearing," she muttered, taking an unladylike swig of her wine. Piccolo sent her a worried frown.
"Is that your sixth glass?" He asked quietly, so no one else could hear.
"So what if it is? My metabolism burns it up too quick to matter," she practically snarled at him.
"Not THAT fast…." Piccolo muttered. He quickly walked away, looking for some company in a better mood.
Pan sent his back a false smile over her glass, "Now you know how everyone else feels around you, cold bastard."
"May I take your glass?" A waiter asked politely, holding the tray out to her.
She smiled and put the empty glass on the tray with an exaggerated wave of her hand before grabbing another. "Thank you."
Another swig of the wine didn't make her feel any better. Trunks had completely ignored her for the entire party… and after their encounter on the kitchen floor, she was allowed to expect one dance, right?
"You know, you should really savor this vintage…. A 1412 shouldn't go to waste on those lovely lips," A young man slid close beside her, his arm nearly around her shoulders. Pan shrugged and took a step away, nearly stumbling. Guess Piccolo was right about my metabolism, she thought to herself.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her upright and laughing. "My my, I didn't think a line like that would make you fall for me already," He smiled charmingly.
Pan gave him a small smile and stood up shakily. "What's your name, flyboy?"
Neither of them noticed Trunks' ear perk up.
"I'm wounded, milady. You don't remember me? I'll tell you my profession… I drive an ambulance."
"Oh my god!" She yelped in surprise and jumped to hug him. In her high heels and rather drunken state, she more or less ended up hugging him about the waist, and at eye level with his belt. "Um…. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to truly meet you too, Miss." He said politely, "but I think your boyfriend is going to tear my head off if you hang on me like this for much longer."
Pan looked over and Trunks and blushed. He was glaring at her as well as he could while still listening to the conversation. Abruptly, Pan let go of the ambulance driver and sank the rest of the way to the thick carpet, grateful for the shadowy corner. The skirt of the formal dress flared, tangling with her legs and getting stuck underneath her.
"Damnit," she muttered, trying to pull it free. "I'm sorry," she looked back up at the young man, whose feet were starting to shift nervously, "I still can't remember your name."
"All my friends call me Ray," he said, sinking to the floor next to her. "But you can call me whatever you want."
Pan laughed, realizing that his flirtatious manner was simply what he did. If she was 300 pounds and covered in zits, he'd probably say the same things. "I think Ray'll do me fine." She blinked, and suddenly there was a double image. "What do I call the other one?"
Ray giggled and chuckled so hard that he was starting to bring a lot of attention to that corner of the room. "Damn, girl, you really ARE sloshed."
"Amnt…" she slurred, although she didn't really seem to hear it. She was blinking continuously, trying to get the image right again. "I tink tis is bad…."
"Yeah, babe, it is."
"Sir?" Another waiter in a penguin suit stopped off, "Does your lady friend need help?"
"O, I'm sure I can take care of it," he smiled and stooped over to pick pan up. She just watched his face go from red to almost purple before his back finally gave out and he sank back to the floor in defeat. "You're a lot heavier then you look."
"Gee, thanks," Her voice was filled with sarcasm, but was a little less slurred. "Anything you'd like to add to that? Maybe you could call me old… that would just tip the scale."
Ray laughed and shook his head at her. "You're quite possibly the most changeable female I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Sure you don't have quicksilver in your blood?"
Trunks forced his mind back to the conversation with the president of one of the competing companies. If he'd known that this was a business gathering, he would have made himself scarce. He should have known better when his mother told him to come formally; she never forced Vegeta into a tux unless it was important. No one seemed to remember that he was married, either. The man he was talking to now, he couldn't bring himself to remember his name, was trying to force his ugly, nasal voiced daughter on Trunks. Obviously the girl was just as happy about it as Trunks was; She wore a scowl that made her look like an apple that had been in the sun too long.
Pan didn't seem to remember that they were married either. She had been sitting in the same corner since the party started, drinking wine. Trunks had lost count how many glasses she'd had after the fourth one, but he was pretty sure she would have to leave soon. And then she started talking to that…WORM. Trunks winced to himself. He was so mad he couldn't even think of a good insult. And even worse, they were having a conversation. He was thinking about going over there and asking Pan to dance, drunk or not, when his guest pushed Lady Apple-Face at him. "Prissy would just love to dance with you."
The look on Prissy's face told Trunks that she'd end up stomping on his toes the entire time for punishment, but he shrugged. Maybe dancing with her would be a better idea then dancing with Pan. "Would you like to dance, Prissy?" He held out his hand to her and offered the most charming smile he could.
"Of course, Briefs-san."
The dance was formal American waltz that felt too romantic for the situation. He looked longingly over his shoulder at Pan, when Prissy decided right then to dig her stiletto heel into his toe. He stung, but not for long. She was only human. He looked back at the girl and tried to strike up a conversation.
"What's your real name, Prissy?"
"Priscilla, but you'd think that a genius like you would be able to guess that."
Trunks winced, but decided not to defend himself. He'd just try to make sure she didn't bruise his toes too badly, and get through this one dance.
Prissy, had finally let up a little on her stomping when Pan walked up. "Mind if I borrow him for a minute?"
"Of course." Prissy nodded and walked back her red-faced father.
"What happened to Ray?" Trunks gritted out.
Pan waved off his tone. "I told him that I needed to save you from Scrunch-face."
He bit his lip to keep from laughing at her. Then she stumbled and landed on his foot, and he had to bite harder to keep from yelping in pain. "Steel toe?" He asked, looking down at her feet. They were tiny for the amount of damage she'd inflicted.
Pan sent him a smirk, a feminine fang glinting at him, "Worse, I think. Your mother made them for me." Her hand tightened on his shoulder, crumpling the fine fabric.
"Its no wonder they don't have rockets in them," he muttered, giving a mock groan.
Pan laughed so hard she nearly fell over. "I think they just might."
The song ended, but she was still in his arms, eyes laughing up at him. Her foot was firmly planted on his, and the throbbing sensation was the only reason he wasn't moving. The throbbing reminded him that this was why he loved her… because she didn't hurt him on purpose, she never would. And her drunkenness was so cute. "You want me to take you home, Pan?"
The laughter faded from her eyes a little bit, "Home?" The memory of her conversation with Ubuu clouded her mind. "Yeah, I guess… I gotta say goodbye to Ray first." Trunks' mouth turned down at the mention of her new friend, but Pan ignored it. Damn his possessiveness, she thought bitterly. She grabbed his hand and wobbled back over to Ray, who was holding her half-empty wine glass in the dark corner.
"Hey darling," He said, smiling that same charming smile at her, "looks like you got a hold of him." He handed her back her glass.
"Yeah… we're going to go home… will I see you again?" Pan sat down next to him, leaving Trunks feeling foolish and unaccepted, like a child.
"Maybe," Ray said, his smile fading as he sent a wary glance at Trunks. Even as a human, Ray could feel the strength emanating from the supposed pencil pusher. "We'll see what fate has in store." He said enigmatically.
Pan smiled back and stood up shakily. "Good-bye Ray."
He nodded back as Trunks led her away by the hand. He walked up to his mother and made a few excuses to the guests surrounding her, ignoring the temptation to humiliate Pan and tell everyone she was drunk.
The car was suffocating between her grogginess, and his anger. And the gentle swaying, which normally was similar to a hammock, felt more like a ship at sea. She was sick, and tired, and annoyed that he was angry with her. What right? She asked herself. Her dress didn't seem to help matters either. The straps hung off her shoulders, making her feel inexplicably vulnerable, and yards of fabric that made up the skirt had become heavy. The shoes pinched, and made her wobble. How many glasses of wine was that? She looked down at her crossed arms and noticed she was still holding the crystal wine glass in her hand, partially full of some intoxicating red liquid that she didn't really care for anymore. She dipped her index finger in the wine delicately into the wine and traced the lip of the glass with it. A pleasant ringing sound, similar to glass chimes, but constant rather then the occasional ding began filling the car. It made her a little sleepy, reminiscent. She rested her head against the seat and concentrat
ed on the memory. Where…? Ah, there it was. Another party, one she and Bra had been too young to participate in. They had to go to bed early, but Trunks and Goten had snuck upstairs to put them to sleep. Trunks had snuck up some alcohol, some bitter white wine that neither of the girls had liked. To put them to sleep, he'd done the same thing Pan was doing, making the glass ring with a careful splendor.
"Stop that," Trunks growled, grabbing the glass to stop the vibrations. The noise was more annoying then soothing, but mostly, he wanted her to sit still, suffer the same punishment he was. Without anything to keep his hands or his mind busy, he was restless. Air cars were too simple to drive, there weren't enough buttons to mess with anymore.
Pan glared at him, but stopped playing with the glass. Why was she taking that with her anyways? He cleared his throat as she continued to glare at him through bleary dark blue eyes. His anger was wearing thin under her scrutiny, realizing that she should be the one angry with him. He was the one blaming her for nothing, after all. "Pan," he reached for her hand, trying to make her understand with his touch…
She drew away, the slender, strong fingers curling into a fist on her lap.