+++Disclaimer+++
I don't own DragonBallZ or any of the characters.
+++Explanations+++ This story is as if the History of Trunks movie never existed. I've changed
a few things for plot purposes, but nothing big like names, races, etc.
Trunks narrates the story.
+++Chapter 7+++
I own this old record shop called Vintage Vinyl. It's located in the middle of the old business district of West City, about a thirty minute walk from the house. I started working here a year ago, when most of Capsule Corp. was destroyed; that was when Mom lost almost everything. She's working on trying to build it back up, but, well, it could never be what it once was. She's a workaholic, always trying to come up with some new thing that could change the world forever. I help her, yes, but it's just the two of us and a few of the workers that didn't lose their jobs after the destruction of the corporation. But back to my record store. The man that owned it -the one who hired me- was killed by the androids a few months ago, and then the store was turned over to me. Was I ready for that? No. It's a big responsibility, I guess, and I'm just not used that sort of thing. I've worked with Mom all my life, and lived with her all my life as well. It's both twisted and sad that at age 19 I still live with my mother, but it's true, mostly because there's no where else to go.
So I walk to the store every morning, freezing my ass off since it's always cold and rainy anymore (almost like the weather constantly reflects the attitudes of the people), and I unlock the old, glass door. You can't even see inside through the door or windows anymore, partly because there are tons of old music posters, partly because the three of us guys that work here don't give a shit how much dirt builds up. Sean walks in really timidly a few minutes later as I flicker on the lights, a few old cassette tapes in his hands.
"Morning Sean."
"Oh, oh Trunks. Hi," he says with a slight stutter, and then he looks back down at the cassette tapes. You can count on Sean to never be the great conversationalist.
"Have a good weekend?"
He looks up again. "Yeah, yeah, just, well, normal, I guess. Yeah. I rented that, um, I rented that movie. Um, yeah, that one, um, Ghost Ship. It was, um, it was good." And then Sean looks right back down at the cassettes, putting some into his old messenger bag. I'm not joking. This is how Sean always talks, no matter what kind of a mood he's in. I just sigh and then boost myself up onto the counter beside the cast register. We don't use the few chairs that are in the storeroom; the counter's always been sufficient seating for us.
Rupert rolls in right before noon, four hours after he's supposed to be here, headphones on, probably jamming to the new Rolling Stones CD, or maybe Michelle Branch. He doesn't really like her music; just thinks she's sexy. Right after shutting the door, he conveniently runs into, knocks over, and breaks the brand new rack that Sean and I just spent our morning putting together. He laughs and takes off his headphones.
"Nice, Rupe, real nice. We spent the whole morning putting that piece of shit together."
"Oh, drag." He says blandly and takes a massive bite of his sub sandwich. I can't fire him, I swear it; I hired him for three days a week and he just started showing up everyday. That was four months ago.
I don't own DragonBallZ or any of the characters.
+++Explanations+++ This story is as if the History of Trunks movie never existed. I've changed
a few things for plot purposes, but nothing big like names, races, etc.
Trunks narrates the story.
+++Chapter 7+++
I own this old record shop called Vintage Vinyl. It's located in the middle of the old business district of West City, about a thirty minute walk from the house. I started working here a year ago, when most of Capsule Corp. was destroyed; that was when Mom lost almost everything. She's working on trying to build it back up, but, well, it could never be what it once was. She's a workaholic, always trying to come up with some new thing that could change the world forever. I help her, yes, but it's just the two of us and a few of the workers that didn't lose their jobs after the destruction of the corporation. But back to my record store. The man that owned it -the one who hired me- was killed by the androids a few months ago, and then the store was turned over to me. Was I ready for that? No. It's a big responsibility, I guess, and I'm just not used that sort of thing. I've worked with Mom all my life, and lived with her all my life as well. It's both twisted and sad that at age 19 I still live with my mother, but it's true, mostly because there's no where else to go.
So I walk to the store every morning, freezing my ass off since it's always cold and rainy anymore (almost like the weather constantly reflects the attitudes of the people), and I unlock the old, glass door. You can't even see inside through the door or windows anymore, partly because there are tons of old music posters, partly because the three of us guys that work here don't give a shit how much dirt builds up. Sean walks in really timidly a few minutes later as I flicker on the lights, a few old cassette tapes in his hands.
"Morning Sean."
"Oh, oh Trunks. Hi," he says with a slight stutter, and then he looks back down at the cassette tapes. You can count on Sean to never be the great conversationalist.
"Have a good weekend?"
He looks up again. "Yeah, yeah, just, well, normal, I guess. Yeah. I rented that, um, I rented that movie. Um, yeah, that one, um, Ghost Ship. It was, um, it was good." And then Sean looks right back down at the cassettes, putting some into his old messenger bag. I'm not joking. This is how Sean always talks, no matter what kind of a mood he's in. I just sigh and then boost myself up onto the counter beside the cast register. We don't use the few chairs that are in the storeroom; the counter's always been sufficient seating for us.
Rupert rolls in right before noon, four hours after he's supposed to be here, headphones on, probably jamming to the new Rolling Stones CD, or maybe Michelle Branch. He doesn't really like her music; just thinks she's sexy. Right after shutting the door, he conveniently runs into, knocks over, and breaks the brand new rack that Sean and I just spent our morning putting together. He laughs and takes off his headphones.
"Nice, Rupe, real nice. We spent the whole morning putting that piece of shit together."
"Oh, drag." He says blandly and takes a massive bite of his sub sandwich. I can't fire him, I swear it; I hired him for three days a week and he just started showing up everyday. That was four months ago.