Chapter 2 – Fight!

Two slight figures push their way into a crowded room.  The smoke-filled speakeasy is packed with those who wish to escape the strain of Prohibition.  Unfortunately for Bulma and ChiChi, it seems that all of these "disreputables" are male.

"Really, Miss Bulma, I don't think that this is a good idea!"

"Stop worrying so much.  After all, you come here all the time, right?"  Bulma dismisses her maid's concerns with a wave of her hand as she shrugs off her coat.

"Miss Bulma!  Please keep your coa-…"

ChiChi's warning comes too late.  The low rumble surrounding the two figures stops completely at the sight of the pale, blue-haired woman, now clad only in an expensive ivory dress and pearls.  The bar suddenly erupts with catcalls and whistles.

"Hey there, darlin'!  Looks like somebody needs a man!"

"Come 'ere, sugar lips!"

"How much, baby?  I don't take long..."

The last comment sends ChiChi over the edge.  "Shut the Hell up, dickhead!"  She turns to her employer, determination oozing from her dark eyes.  "We really should go now, Miss Bulma."

Bulma is so stunned by her maid's language that she complies without a word.  Eyes wide with shock, she turns to leave when she sees a familiar face through the smoke.  Her eyes travel over the short, spiky black hair and the scar shaped like a four-pointed star, finally stopping on a set of ebony eyes.  "Yamcha?"

ChiChi's outburst has only temporarily quieted the crowd now surrounding the two women, and this moment of recognition intensifies the stares and unwelcome comments.  "She's your girl, b-…"  Yamcha silences the offender with a glare.

"All right, scumbags, listen up."

Bulma checks her ears, suddenly worried that she has gone deaf.  Since when does her fiancé have so much influence over people?  She shrugs her shoulders slightly as he continues to speak.

"This here is my fiancée, Miss Bulma Briefs.  For those of you too stupid to understand, that means that she belongs to me." Noise erupts once again for a moment, but dies just as suddenly when Yamcha holds up a hand.

"She's mine, got it?  So hands off unless you're ready to deal with me."

Silence hangs in the room like the smoke until the men realize that Yamcha has finished his announcement.  It then hastily evaporates, and the rough-looking men suddenly back away from Bulma as if she were carrying the plague.  The heiress doesn't notice, however.  She is much more interested in her fiancé.  Something is obviously bothering her.  Pinpointing what she has subconsciously noticed only worries her more.  He looks so…natural.

Despite his high status as the president of a major insurance company, he has always looked a little unkempt.  The slight disorder of his hair and trace of stubble on his chin only heighten his appeal, but here they actually make him fit in.  Yet he is also somehow respected in this lair of anarchy.  With an expensive cigar still smoking in his hand, he almost looks…dangerous.  Bulma shivers slightly before catching herself.  She blinks, and notices that he is looking more than a little angry.  One corner of her mouth sneaks into a tiny smirk.  He ignores it as he moves forward to berate her.

"What the He…ck do you think you're doing here?  Bulma, this is no place for a lady like you!"

"A lady like me?"  Her tone is light and playful, masking her growing anger.  "I don't know what you're talking about, darling!  I am a very modern woman!  And, after all," she adds, a touch of acid darkening her voice, "it can't be so bad a place, if a gentleman like you prefers it to a date with a 'lady' like me!"

He blanches suddenly.  He obviously did not anticipate this reaction.  He swallows, suddenly meek and humble.  He whimpers in a low voice, "Bulma, honey, I'm really sorry, I just…"

A beefy man in a dark suit appears to Yamcha's left and whispers into his ear, then leaves.

"We'll talk later, okay, Bulma?  I've gotta go."

"What?" she screeches, causing every head in the bar to spin around.  "Come off it, Yamcha.  You've got some explaining to do, and you're not going anywhere until…"

"Right after the fight, okay, darling?  I've just got to…" he trails off as he darts away.  Bulma stands there, fuming, until she realizes that he will have to come back if he ever wants to leave the bar.  She grins like a Cheshire cat, although her eyes remain spiteful.

ChiChi approaches her quietly.  "Can we leave now, miss?"

"Come now, ChiChi, you aren't going to miss your favorite fighter, are you?  You said that Yamcha's sponsoring that Goku of yours, right?  If Yamcha's worried about a fight, it must mean that Goku's going to be fighting!"

Torn between worry for her employer and desire to see "her" Goku fight, ChiChi gives in to temptation.  "Oh, well.  Just this one fight, mind you!"

Bulma's smirk turns to an honest smile with her next discovery.  "Look, ChiChi, there's another woman here!  Maybe we can get some gossip from her about your favorite fighter!"

ChiChi looks suspiciously at the blond woman across the room.  "I don't know…"

"Oh, come on!"  Bulma hauls her maid around the bar to meet the young woman.

The blonde is obviously a flapper.  Her short hair is pulled back with a long red scarf, and her short red dress is covered with fringe and feathers.  She's taking long drags from a cheap cigarette.  Several empty, lipstick-marked shot glasses have collected by her elbow.

"Excuse me, but my name is Miss Bulma Briefs.  This is my maid, ChiChi."

The flapper stares at Bulma for a moment, and then exhales a cloud of smoke directly into the heiress's face before speaking.  "I heard your little introduction."  Her voice is cold and detached.

Bulma coughs for almost a minute before replying with a voice is as icy as the flapper's.  "I don't believe I caught your name, Miss…"

"Juuhachi."

"Well, then, Miss Juuhachi, I…"

Another large man interrupts Bulma as he yells above the smoke and conversation.  "The fight will begin in five minutes!"

The sudden rush sweeps Bulma and ChiChi into a large, dimly lit backroom.  Bulma recoils at the smell; the fight room stinks of dried sweat and stale alcohol.  While the men from the bar keep their distance, new faces surround her.  Skeletal women and children have appeared from nowhere, scurrying out of crevices like so many insects.  Some faces are clean and well kept, like ChiChi's, but most are smudged with coal and dirt.  Some are factory workers.  Others work in the many butcher shops; blood still clings to their fingernails.  Yet none of them seem to notice their obvious poverty.  Tonight, they are here to watch their hero.

The crowd quickly parts as the announcer comes through and stops in a marked circle.  "For your entertainment tonight, a fight like nothing you ain't never seen before...A fight to be remembered…"Eyes" Tien versus…Goku!"

Bulma struggles against the cheering crowd to see the fighters.  One is bald, with a tattoo of an eye in the middle of his forehead.  "Creepy," she breathes.  "That tattoo is so lifelike…" She turns to ChiChi, who is screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Go Goku!  Yeah!  You can do it!  Beat him to a pulp!  Go, go, go!"

Bulma follows the maid's eyes to the other fighter.  Goku is actually a sweet-looking young man.  His black hair is spiky and unkempt, but his face is friendly and open.  He closes his eyes as he grins at his fans, dimples giving him the air of a contented child.  He scratches the back of his head, apparently slightly embarrassed by all the attention.  The other fighter, Tien, rolls his eyes.  Bulma blinks; by some trick of the lights, it almost looked like all three eyes rolled.  She shakes herself as the two men take their positions in the makeshift "ring."

Both fighters are gigantic.  Not one inch of their bodies lacks muscle.  Giant ridges strain the skin of their shoulders and biceps.  They strip off their shirts, revealing incredibly sculpted chests and backs.  Bulma subtly checks the corners of her mouth for drool.  She has never seen men like these, not even in artwork.  The scars that pattern their skin fascinate her.  What would it feel like to touch muscles like those…?  She blushes at the impropriety of her thoughts, pinching herself to focus on her purpose for being here.  Finally, the fight begins.

No one knows who makes the first move.  One moment, the two fighters are simply holding a basic fighting stance, sizing each other up; the next moment, the men are moving so fast that the eye can barely follow.  Both are excellent fighters, but for the first minute or so, neither actually lands a punch.  Suddenly, Tien manages to connect with Goku's ribs.  This is no boxing match; no one wears gloves.  The only protection the fighters have is the cloth wrapped around their knuckles.  Bulma can feel Goku's ribs cracking from the force of the blow.  She shrinks back from the ring in horror, and then looks at ChiChi.  To Bulma's surprise, the young woman only looks faintly exasperated.  Seeing her employer's shock, ChiChi explains, "He always lets his opponent have the first punch.  He says it keeps the fight real."

Bulma furrows her eyebrows in confusion, but turns back to the fight.  Goku almost certainly has a broken rib; a trickle of blood drips from the corner of his mouth.  His face is locked in concentration.  He suddenly begins fighting harder than before, oblivious to the pain in his side.  His fist connects with Tien's arms again, again, again.  While Tien is holding a very strong defensive position, with his arms crossed in front of him to block the powerful blows to his gut and ribs, the constant barrage is wearing him down.  He is completely unprepared for Goku's change in attack.  No one sees the move that sends Tien flying into the crowd, but they all see the blood and broken teeth.  With a single punch to the head Tien is out cold.

"And the winner is…Goku!"

Bulma tries to shut out the noise of the exuberant crowd as she fights the urge to vomit.  The metallic scent of blood mixes with the stench of the room, reminding her stomach of her single glance of Tien's face.  She has never seen a man look so mangled.  She glares at ChiChi, who is cheering even more loudly for Goku.  The maid, flushed with excitement, dismisses Bulma's concerns.  "Don't worry; they always look like that at the end of a fight with Goku.  He never does any permanent damage.  It isn't nearly as bad as it looks."

While ChiChi's words do little to alleviate Bulma's nausea, the heiress quickly forgets the fallen prizefighter when she sees her fiancé congratulating Goku.  "So, Yamcha, this is your little champion."

With much more confidence than she feels, Bulma swaggers up to the circle.  The crowd falls silent at the vision of blue and cream, so exotic in this makeshift arena.  She ignores it, focused only on Yamcha.

"I have to admit, he's pretty good.  I hear you think he'll win the tournament this year."

All eyes turn to the scarred face.  "Absolutely, my dear."

Bulma closes her eyes and nods thoughtfully.  "Yes, I see.  I wonder, however…does any fighter here think that he can beat your Goku?"

After a pause, over a dozen powerfully built men step forward.

"Yeah, I'll beat 'im!"

"I'll show him, you'll see, baby!"

"Ain't no one can beat me!"

Bulma smirks, and then studies her perfect fingernails.  "You see, I feel like sponsoring a fighter.  But not just any fighter; I want a man who can win, who means to win, who will win.  Is there such a man here?"

A dark head appears next to Bulma's.  "Miss Bulma, really, you don't know the first thing about fighters!" she whispers urgently.

"That's all right; I'll have your help, ChiChi!"

ChiChi grits her teeth.  "But, miss, no one can beat…"

Yamcha cuts her off.  "Bulma, darling, I don't know what's going through that pretty little head of yours.  There's really no point in…"

"Oh, be a sport, Yamcha!" she says with feigned innocence.  "I just want to have a little fun, you know!"  Her smile stops just short of her eyes.

While Yamcha searches for something to say, Bulma whips around to inspect her volunteers.  They quickly line up for her, and she walks past them slowly, ChiChi whispering advice in her ear.

"He's much too old.

"Too slow.

"Too fat.

 "Way too young.

"Too...toothpicky*.

 "This one's drunk at least 18 hours of every day.  No good.  For crying out loud, he's drunk now.

...

"Scratch that – he's unconscious now.

"No.

"No.

"No.

"Decent, but he's too short."

ChiChi continues walking, but Bulma doesn't move.  ChiChi sighs and turns back.

"Really, miss, he'd be at a serious disadvantage fighting someone as tall as Goku.  Besides which, he's new here.  I've never even seen him fight."

Bulma doesn't hear a word.  She stares at the man in front of her.

While he is fairly short for a fighter, barely as tall as Bulma herself, he is every bit as solidly built as Goku and Tien.  His skin is somewhat darker, however, giving him the flavor of a sailor.  Or a pirate…  His face is sharply defined, with a firm chin, a small, pointed nose, and scowling eyebrows.  His hair shoots straight up from his head like black fire.  But Bulma's focus is locked on his deep black eyes.  His eyes are cold and firm with dedication.  He exhales pride and superiority.  This man will accomplish whatever he sets out to do.

"So," she says, her voice surprisingly quiet and firm.  "You think you can beat Goku?"

"No."  She stares at him in amazement.  He smirks.

"I know that I will beat Goku."

Her smirk mirrors his own.  "Really.  What's your name?"

"Vegeta.  Who the Hell are you?"

Her face turns red with fury as she shrieks at him.  "How dare you speak in such a way to me?  I'll have you know that I am Bulma Briefs, daughter of Dr. Briefs, president of Capsule Corporation, the largest pharmaceutical company in this country!  As his only child, I am the heiress to more than your feeble mind can possibly imagine!  You will treat me with more respect, Mr. Vegeta!"

"Why should the greatest fighter in the country, no, the world, bother showing respect to some pitiful woman!"

ChiChi grabs a nearby bottle and shakes it menacingly at the man insulting her employer.  "You little bastard!  Why, I'll wipe that smirk right off your…Let me go, Miss Bulma!  That rat needs to learn a thing or two about showing proper respect for a lady!"

"Now, now, ChiChi," Bulma says, shaking her head, her voice dangerously low.  "You forget that we're dealing with the strongest fighter on the planet.  Perhaps he wishes to show a little of his strength in a friendly match."

Vegeta throws back his head with a scornful laugh.  "I could easily defeat anyone in this room.  I seriously doubt that any of the boys here could challenge me enough to show my true strength."

"We'll see about that, midget," one of Bulma's other "contestants" says, signaling to two of his friends.  "How 'bout you try and beat us!"

"If you have a death wish...far be it from me to deny what I so love to bestow."

ChiChi tugs Bulma's arm.  "Miss Bulma…I know he deserves to be cut down a peg or two, but three against one…this is the kind of fight where someone gets killed!"

Bulma merely shrugs.  "If I can't take his word that he's stronger than those three, how can I believe that he's stronger than Goku?"

The announcer slides up to Bulma.  "Of course, ma'am, yah know that th' match needs uh sponsur."

She fishes around in a small purse, then hands him a $10 bill.  His eyes bulge slightly, as he starts to pocket the money.  ChiChi grabs his hand.  "Not so fast, buster!"  She returns the money to Bulma.  "It's only three dollars."  The announcer grumbles as he takes what Bulma offers him, then raises his voice.  "Anybuhdy goin' tah place uh bet?"

"Two bucks says he goes down in the first thirty seconds!"

"Thirty?  More like ten!"

"You're on!  He's a tough little dick.  I say he'll last a solid minute before he hits the floor!"

Vegeta ignores the babble and walks into the ring.  He doesn't bother with a fighting stance.  His tattered black shirt still clings to his round shoulders.  He simply stands, leaning slightly on one leg, arms folded over his chest.  He smirks as the three brawny men encircle him, then charge.

Everyone gasps as the first man gets knocked out of the ring with a careless backhand.  His body flies several feet, knocking down half a dozen spectators.  The second man soon joins him, clutching his gut.  Only five seconds into the fight, Vegeta has whittled the opposition from three down to one.  He turns to the remaining man, the idiot who dared to challenge him.

"And now you'll see what happens to children who mess with me."

Vegeta distracts his opponent with a left hook, only to bring his knee into the frightened man's kidney.  Ignoring the scream of pain, he then begins pummeling his opponent in the face.  The crowd can do nothing but look on in horror when he finally discards the broken body.  The unconscious man is barely alive.

Bulma tears her eyes from what used to be a face.  Tien's injuries were nothing compared to this.  Somehow, though, she holds down the bile in her throat as she turns to Vegeta.  "Well, it would seem that you have proven your point.  I have decided to become your sponsor."

"I don't need any weak woman's help.  Honestly, even a little fight like that makes you sick!  Pathetic."

She swallows, trying to control her anger.  He takes it as proof of her nausea and smirks.  A slight hiss escapes her clenched teeth.

"Believe it or not, you need me.  You need to be strong to win.  You need food and shelter to be strong.  You need money for food and shelter.  And for money, you need me."

"Please, woman, spare us your chatter.  I'll earn money by fighting!  Your participation is a waste of my time."

"Do you really think you can make it without a sponsor?  After that little show, I doubt that anyone else will sponsor a fight with you – they want a fighter, not a public menace.  No sponsor: no fight: no money."

Before Vegeta can speak, the announcer appears at Bulma's elbow.  "Speakin' of dough, miss, here's your take."

Bulma looks a little confused as she takes the money he offers her.  She looks down at the fifteen dollars in her hand, then shrugs and counts out three.  She holds the remaining twelve out to Vegeta.

"What are you doing, woman?  I thought I made it clear that I didn't want your money!"

"It isn't my money.  You earned it," she says simply, placing the money in his hands.

"What are you doing?" Yamcha says angrily, stepping forward for the first time since Bulma's challenge.  "You can't just give him all that money!  Fighters only get a small percentage of the earnings!  He won't know what to do with it!  He'll probably just drink it up."

"Not if he wants to defeat Goku."

The subject of their argument never moves.  He stands there, money in hand, staring at Bulma with an incomprehensible look on his face.  She turns to him, and their eyes meet.  They silently reach some agreement, and Vegeta nods, putting the money in a pocket inside his shirt.

Bulma has what she came for.  Without another word for Yamcha, she grabs ChiChi by the arm and leads her out of the bar.

Two pairs of black eyes follow the women's exit.  Yamcha suddenly turns and catches the proud fighter watching his fiancée.  His demeanor changes as what has remained of Yamcha's playfulness disappears.  He blocks Vegeta's gaze with his body.  "You just remember who she belongs to, Vegeta," he says in a low voice, almost a growl.  He spits out the fighter's name like an obscenity.

Vegeta stands his ground, his eyes unreadable.  "I don't think I saw a license on that collar around her neck.  Are you sure you own the bitch?"

"What the fuck did you just call my girl?"

"Are you challenging me, weakling?  I could beat you into oblivion with my left hand!"

The crowd goes completely still.  The silence is broken only when Yamcha starts laughing: a cold, cruel sound.  "You know, you really shouldn't talk that way to me.  People who defy me have a way of…disappearing.  Now, I wouldn't want anything to happen to Bulma's little toy, but…"

At the last comment, Vegeta's hands form into fists, but Yamcha has already vanished into the crowd.  His eyes narrow and he quickly leaves the bar.

*****

"I'm afraid that boy is determined to be a nuisance."

"We'll handle it, boss."

"Thank you, gentlemen."  He laughs.  "No one defies The Wolf, Vegeta.  No one."

*toothpicky – a word copyrighted to TigerQueen.  It means skinny, angular, and fragile (perhaps like TQ herself), not critical, as some of her friends first thought.