A/N: Sorry about the wait.
Chapter 10- A Painful Past
Trista was alone in the bar, cleaning tables when she had an unexpected visitor.
"Trista." Piccolo said in his usual, stoctic way.
It was still a surprise that he actually spoke to her; She never expected to have any kind of relationship with him. He liked his privacy and she was obliged to give it to him. But on one of her days off, he started talking to her. He just walked right up and said her name, which she now took as his greeting. Since then, he randomly appeared in the bar. For what? Only he knew.
Trista looked up from her work to see the usually aloof man and took note that she was the only person he talked to. "Hello Piccolo. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No." He said flatly. He wouldn't admit it, but he just wanted to speak to her, to someone. He wanted to hear a voice for a change, and she wasn't afraid of him. She had his respect.
"Well," Trista said, returning to her work. "Do you want to talk? We can talk about anything you would like. Philosophy, economics-"
"It doesn't matter." He said, seating himself.
"If you don't mind me asking, why don't you drink? You come to this bar, but all you order is water."
"Alcohol dulls your senses." He said, watching her from his seat. It had now become an unusual habit he absentmindedly performed.
"Oh yes, the prized fighter that you are. You need your mind sharp at all times. I understand, it is a wise choice."
Now Piccolo's curiosity was peaked. "Have you ever...?"
"Drank? Yes." Trista said, thinking of all the gala events she was required to attend in her past. "Mainly because it was expected of me."
"Peer Presure." Piccolo snorted.
"So...Have you?"
"No, but I've seen the effect it has on others."
There was a moment of silence Piccolo felt he had to fill. He had left his training grounds to escape it. The silence suddenly became defning as he thought of something else to say.
"Why are you still here?" He asked, masking his need of interaction with his harsh tone. "Its been a month, I'm sure your debt to the store owner has been paid by now."
"Yes, but Mrs.Ferny and Groob insisted I stay until my arm heals." She stated, picking up a tray. "And since that takes about 12 weeks, I'll be here a little while longer."
"They care for you...Like a 2nd daughter." Piccolo said thoughtfuly.
"And how do you think of me?" She asked out of pure curiosity.
Piccolo rose from his seat, chosing his words carefuly. "I think of you as a person with great power. Someone who can be a valuable ally."
Trista froze for a moment, surprised by his comment. He thinks I'm powerful? Can he sense my aura?
Then, she turned to him with a wry smile playing on her lips."Are you implying that you think of me as a friend?"
He hardened is face to hide his confusion. Do I think of her that way? Maybe. I do find her easy to talk to... He turned away from her, and without saying another word he started to leave.
Now Trista was confused. Why won't he answer? And he's hiding how he feel about the subject too, I can tell. I above all understand the need to control your emotions but what about the question would disturb him so? I thought it was innocent enough.He's so cold. So completely detatched.
The thought frustrated her so much she could feel her blood turning cold...
Piccolo turned at the sound of shattering dishes. To his shock he saw Trista, tray and its containts sprawled on the floor. Trista herself was standing completely erect, her eyes were glazed over, devoid of any sign of her soul. "Trista!" He ran to her side as she fell to her knees and grabbed her shoulders. He almost let go. She's pure ice! He shook her, trying to bring her back to awareness, but to no avail. She just continued to look ahead. In pure panic he shook her more violently. "Trista? Trista can you here me? Trista!"
*****
Suddenly, Trista found herself somewhere else. A park, on a hot summer day. She could feel the sun on her face, the gentle breeze blowing through her hair. She looked around and saw children playing. She walked up to them and tried to say hello, but the children paid no heed. She was a spirit, looking on a scene from the past. She watched the kids play tag, but didn't quite understand the fearful longing in her heart. The feeling wasn't hers, it was more like someone else's emotions being transferred to her. She looked around and saw 1 small figure hidden in the shadows. Its eyes reflected her feelings. It was Piccolo. He was no more than a child of 6 or 7 years. He looked at the children with burning desire. Eventualy he gathered up his courage and stepped into the light. The kids stopped at the site of him.
"Can I play?" He asked. Trista felt desperate hope mixed with the fear of rejection.
"What are you?" A kid asked harshly.
"I don't know." He answered feeling the pain of the truth. "But I saw your game and it looked fun...Can I play?"
The kids looked at him suspiciously. Piccolo gave them a nervous smile, trying to ease the tension. But the smile revealed his fangs. The kids stepped back.
"I know what you are." A small girl from the back of the group said. "You're that demon my Dad was talking about. He's going to take us away from our Mommies and Daddies."
There was a chorus of shocked agreement and rude comments.
The child moved to the front of the group and started scolding him like a small dog. "Demon child go home." She said, her fragile voice firm and difiant. "Go back to Hell where you came from." The kids joined in with variations of their own. Piccolo was shocked. He just wanted to play. What had he done wrong? He looked in the crowd of kids, desperately searching for a kind face, a sad one, anything that wasn't blind cruelty. He found none...
*****
"Demon child go home." Trista murmured in a low, emotionless voice. Piccolo stared at her in disbelief. Her face looked sad and distraught, and it was only then that he realized her strange power had activated. Then, without warning she went limp in his arms. Her eyes were closed and she looked totally drained.
"Trista, are you alright?"
"That's never happened before." She mumbled as he lifted her into a chair. "Not without my staff. Never that intense."
As he placed her down, he noticed she was still cold (and that her power had returned to normal). He detached his cape and covered her with it like a blanket. She shivered for only a moment more before she fell asleep. Piccolo suddenly couldn't stand in her presence any longer. She had put a lot on his mind. He gave her one more concerned glance before he hurried out.
10 minuets later Groob walked in and found her. "Trista!" He ran to her chair. "Wha happened?"
"I...don't know." she murmured. "I just felt cold. And then..."
"Was anyone here wit you?"
"What?...No. No I was alone." She feared if Piccolo's presence was known he would get the blame for her condition.
But Groob still didn't buy her story. Someone must'a been here. Where'd she git that blanket? But he pushed the tought back, thinking Trista's health was more important at the moment.
"You take the night off Tris."
"N-No. Who will-"
"Bon, th' missus an' me can handl lit. You jus' git som' rest."
"O...kay." Trista took the cape and wrapped it around herself as she stood. She slowly walked to her room, as if in a trance. When she got there she fell on the bed and curled into a ball. Her mind was frozen, the emotions and vision interwineing with her own memories. She was still cold, so she pulled the cape up to her shoulders. It was warm and incerdibly soft. In its warm, gentel hug, she fell asleep imediately.
*****
Piccolo stood in a tree in his domain, reflecting on his past. He remembered that day. The girls words still hurt, like a dull knife twisting in his heart. That day he ran for all that was worth. Straight into the night, disregarding all need of nourishment. Anger and hatred were his only fuel. On his 3rd night he came across a mountain and began to climb, his hands bleeding from the effort. His body was cut and bruised from all the running and his clothes were tattered. He climbed until the rock face gaveway to a cave. He layed on its cliff and cried. Cried for his lonliness, his confussion over who and what he was, and the voice and memories in his head. Telling him to kill. As the dawn's 1st light touched the landscape, a young Piccolo made a declaration.
"If I'm to be a demon," He said, wiping away a tear."I'll be the Demon King! And the earth," He said as the valley beneath him unfolded in the morning light."Will be my kingdom!"
Piccolo looked out into the final rays of light, and held to his vow. "Demon child go home." He whispered/murmured to himself. "Home."
A/N: Okay, I found out why I can't post this story as a crossover. I went to Anime®Dragon Ball Z.
I should have went to Misc.® Sailor Moon/DBZ Crossovers.So what do y'all think? Should I change it to crossovers or leave well enough alone? You tell me in your reviews k?