a./n.- Have no fear, chapter three is here (at last)! Yamcha and Cesily
have a few more dates, the pets meet and devise a sinister plan, and Bulma
devises a sinister plan all by herself. Vegeta trains. Yawn. I'm sorry it's
so short, but next chapter will be much better, promise!
Disclaimer: If I owned DBZ, the world would be a very dangerous place.
Chapter 3: Tonight the Heartache's on Me
Bulma glanced up from her table as the door opened, and then quickly covered her face with a newspaper. She had been right! There he was, looking just as hot as ever, with a brown-haired girl beside him. Bulma gave her a critical looking-over from behind her paper. Hmm. Definitely not as pretty as her. Probably not as smart, either. After all, there were only a limited number of geniuses in the world. Yep, it would be as simple as pie. Not that pie was very easy, when you thought about it. At least, not as far as she was concerned. Bulma's one attempt at a pie had turned out about the color and hardness of a manhole cover. Cooking was one area in which the blue-haired girl's vast intellect was at an utter loss.
Today, however, was not a day to think about pie in any way, shape, or form. Today was a day for plotting, for planning and observation. She wouldn't take any real action against them today, but she would follow them, observe them, and find any and all weaknesses in them and their relationship. With this knowledge, she could make a plan. As she watched the couple sit down, though, she had no idea that she wasn't the only one with a plan.
* * *
Someone with very good eyes, looking in just the right direction at just the right time that night, might have noticed a shadow crouched among shadows on a rooftop. An owl might have seen the shadow crouch, its hind legs tensing in preparation for a spring, and then shoot with perfect grace and well-calculated trajectory from one rooftop to the other. A bat, with the keenest ears in the night, might have heard a faint scratching as the shadow slipped a fraction before its claws caught. The shadow continued up the roof, and halted as it came to the small attic window. It raised a forelimb, paused, and knocked. This action was repeated, until at last a faint motion could be observed from inside the attic. The shadow moved back as the window was flung open by a huge, hairy paw.
"Who's there?" the owner of the paw growled.
"I'm Pu'ar," the shadow squeaked. It moved forward into the light cast by the single attic lightbulb, revealing itself to be a moderately sized cat, blue with a tan belly. "I live with Yamcha. Are you Dougan?"
"Yes," the dog answered, a little less gruffly. "What are you doing here so late at night?"
"I have something I want to talk to you about," Pu'ar replied. "But first.do you have anything against cats?"
"Not as such," Dougan replied. "It's annoying when they run crying at the sight of me, though."
"No fear of that," Pu'ar grinned. "Anyway, what do you think of the Yamcha and Cesily thing?"
"It's good for both of them," Dougan nodded sharply. "I like Yamcha. He has a good scent."
"Glad you think so. And Cesily's good too, but there's one problem."
"What problem?" Dougan asked warily.
"Not anything to do with Cesily," Pu'ar said hastily. "It's just.do you know anything about Yamcha's old girlfriend?"
"Wasn't she Bulma Briefs? The daughter of the richest person in the world?"
"That's her," Pu'ar nodded grimly. "She's rich, a genius, and above all she's used to getting what she wants. And trust me, what she wants now more that just about anything is Yamcha."
"Why? I mean, they're through, right?" Dougan was uncomprehending.
"Wrong," Pu'ar's grave expression contrasted hilariously with her high, squeaky voice, but neither animal cared. "Bulma hates losing, and she sees this whole thing as a loss. She lost Yamcha to Cesily, and she'll want him back. She'll make a plan. And so, unless we want her to win."
"We need a plan of our own." Dougan nodded sharply. "Right. What do you suggest?"
Pu'ar grinned evilly. "Well, we can start by."
* * *
Bulma's tired vision blurred, and she set down her latest invention to rub her eyes. She had always found that working helped her think, and she was in the final stages with this particular machine and had almost finished devising her plan. Normally she would be jumping about in excitement at the idea of finishing, but tonight she just couldn't summon up the enthusiasm. A leaden weight had settled in her stomach from the moment she left the restaurant to the sounds of Yamcha and Cesily's happy chatter. It was as if before then, the breakup hadn't seemed quite real, and she realized that she had still been assuming that after a given amount of time, Yamcha would come crawling back. In the diner, she had had it brought home to her that this time, if she wanted Yamcha back, she was going to have to do something to bring him back. She realized she was sniffling, and set her work down on the desk.
"Yamcha." she whispered, her vision blurring even more as tears filled her eyes. She really did care about him, even though she knew she acted like a jerk at times. Her head sank into her hands as she recalled every feature.the way his face lit up when he smiled, the cute way his scar moved when he raised that eyebrow, his smell, his feel hand in hand with her.all gone. Bulma couldn't hold it back any longer. She closed her eyes, buried her face in her arms, and cried her heart out.
Outside the door, Vegeta paused briefly, then walked on, shaking his head at the foolish emotions of humans.
* * *
In a field, a few miles out of the city, Yamcha was training. Yes, training, dear reader, honest-to-goodness, sweat-pouring-from-every-pore training. And you thought he was too wrapped up in romantic affairs to remember the androids! However, it must be admitted that, while he was indeed training, he was at the same time thinking. And the object of his thoughts was, indeed, a woman. Cesily, in fact.
She was wonderful (punch, kick), she was nice, she was funny (dodge, flip, jump), she was everything he'd ever wanted in a girl (block, blast, punch again), and she wasn't nearly as jealous and suspicious as Bulma (kick, block, dodge, BLAST)!
Panting, Yamcha threw himself down on the cool grass and laced his fingers behind his head, gazing up at the stars. He smiled and let his thoughts wander into the infinite blackness between the twinkling lights, just as he had when he was a little boy, before.the fighter shook that train of thoughts off its rails and leapt up. Time to go back to work.
Disclaimer: If I owned DBZ, the world would be a very dangerous place.
Chapter 3: Tonight the Heartache's on Me
Bulma glanced up from her table as the door opened, and then quickly covered her face with a newspaper. She had been right! There he was, looking just as hot as ever, with a brown-haired girl beside him. Bulma gave her a critical looking-over from behind her paper. Hmm. Definitely not as pretty as her. Probably not as smart, either. After all, there were only a limited number of geniuses in the world. Yep, it would be as simple as pie. Not that pie was very easy, when you thought about it. At least, not as far as she was concerned. Bulma's one attempt at a pie had turned out about the color and hardness of a manhole cover. Cooking was one area in which the blue-haired girl's vast intellect was at an utter loss.
Today, however, was not a day to think about pie in any way, shape, or form. Today was a day for plotting, for planning and observation. She wouldn't take any real action against them today, but she would follow them, observe them, and find any and all weaknesses in them and their relationship. With this knowledge, she could make a plan. As she watched the couple sit down, though, she had no idea that she wasn't the only one with a plan.
* * *
Someone with very good eyes, looking in just the right direction at just the right time that night, might have noticed a shadow crouched among shadows on a rooftop. An owl might have seen the shadow crouch, its hind legs tensing in preparation for a spring, and then shoot with perfect grace and well-calculated trajectory from one rooftop to the other. A bat, with the keenest ears in the night, might have heard a faint scratching as the shadow slipped a fraction before its claws caught. The shadow continued up the roof, and halted as it came to the small attic window. It raised a forelimb, paused, and knocked. This action was repeated, until at last a faint motion could be observed from inside the attic. The shadow moved back as the window was flung open by a huge, hairy paw.
"Who's there?" the owner of the paw growled.
"I'm Pu'ar," the shadow squeaked. It moved forward into the light cast by the single attic lightbulb, revealing itself to be a moderately sized cat, blue with a tan belly. "I live with Yamcha. Are you Dougan?"
"Yes," the dog answered, a little less gruffly. "What are you doing here so late at night?"
"I have something I want to talk to you about," Pu'ar replied. "But first.do you have anything against cats?"
"Not as such," Dougan replied. "It's annoying when they run crying at the sight of me, though."
"No fear of that," Pu'ar grinned. "Anyway, what do you think of the Yamcha and Cesily thing?"
"It's good for both of them," Dougan nodded sharply. "I like Yamcha. He has a good scent."
"Glad you think so. And Cesily's good too, but there's one problem."
"What problem?" Dougan asked warily.
"Not anything to do with Cesily," Pu'ar said hastily. "It's just.do you know anything about Yamcha's old girlfriend?"
"Wasn't she Bulma Briefs? The daughter of the richest person in the world?"
"That's her," Pu'ar nodded grimly. "She's rich, a genius, and above all she's used to getting what she wants. And trust me, what she wants now more that just about anything is Yamcha."
"Why? I mean, they're through, right?" Dougan was uncomprehending.
"Wrong," Pu'ar's grave expression contrasted hilariously with her high, squeaky voice, but neither animal cared. "Bulma hates losing, and she sees this whole thing as a loss. She lost Yamcha to Cesily, and she'll want him back. She'll make a plan. And so, unless we want her to win."
"We need a plan of our own." Dougan nodded sharply. "Right. What do you suggest?"
Pu'ar grinned evilly. "Well, we can start by."
* * *
Bulma's tired vision blurred, and she set down her latest invention to rub her eyes. She had always found that working helped her think, and she was in the final stages with this particular machine and had almost finished devising her plan. Normally she would be jumping about in excitement at the idea of finishing, but tonight she just couldn't summon up the enthusiasm. A leaden weight had settled in her stomach from the moment she left the restaurant to the sounds of Yamcha and Cesily's happy chatter. It was as if before then, the breakup hadn't seemed quite real, and she realized that she had still been assuming that after a given amount of time, Yamcha would come crawling back. In the diner, she had had it brought home to her that this time, if she wanted Yamcha back, she was going to have to do something to bring him back. She realized she was sniffling, and set her work down on the desk.
"Yamcha." she whispered, her vision blurring even more as tears filled her eyes. She really did care about him, even though she knew she acted like a jerk at times. Her head sank into her hands as she recalled every feature.the way his face lit up when he smiled, the cute way his scar moved when he raised that eyebrow, his smell, his feel hand in hand with her.all gone. Bulma couldn't hold it back any longer. She closed her eyes, buried her face in her arms, and cried her heart out.
Outside the door, Vegeta paused briefly, then walked on, shaking his head at the foolish emotions of humans.
* * *
In a field, a few miles out of the city, Yamcha was training. Yes, training, dear reader, honest-to-goodness, sweat-pouring-from-every-pore training. And you thought he was too wrapped up in romantic affairs to remember the androids! However, it must be admitted that, while he was indeed training, he was at the same time thinking. And the object of his thoughts was, indeed, a woman. Cesily, in fact.
She was wonderful (punch, kick), she was nice, she was funny (dodge, flip, jump), she was everything he'd ever wanted in a girl (block, blast, punch again), and she wasn't nearly as jealous and suspicious as Bulma (kick, block, dodge, BLAST)!
Panting, Yamcha threw himself down on the cool grass and laced his fingers behind his head, gazing up at the stars. He smiled and let his thoughts wander into the infinite blackness between the twinkling lights, just as he had when he was a little boy, before.the fighter shook that train of thoughts off its rails and leapt up. Time to go back to work.