"Raindrops"
by Acey
Disclaimer: I own some ancient stuffed animals, two or three dozen notebooks stuffed under my bed filled with manga drawings fanfiction, short stories, and a few other things like that. Not DBZ.
Author's Note: Slight A/U. As in slight. Nothing major. Sorry for not updating "Letters," but I do hope this and the few chapters to follow it will tide you over.
He stood and gazed approvingly, mockingly at his reflection in the mirror, letting the trademark smirk creep up on the features of his ageless face. The frozen sky blue eyes set into his pale face were too flawless to be entirely believable; Gero had erred on the side of near-perfection as far as his looks had gone. The gold hoop earrings and slanted black eyebrows under raven hair completed the picture. Juunanagou, number seventeen in a too-long list of a madman's experiments. The soulless piece of glass would defy him for the next eon.
He turned away from the harsh facade and went to the bookshelf without pausing, aimlessly pulling a dusty novel from it. Juunanagou turned to the first page automatically, skipping the copyright page and dedication.
"'Call me Ishmael."'
Oh, no. Not "Moby Dick." He spent his eternity creating diversions for himself, but Melville's classic whale story was too much. He put it back immediately, wondering idly why he even had it on his bookshelf.
His mind instantly told him that it wasn't his house. It was that midget's, that Kuririn's little pink home in the middle of the ocean.
Well, not technically Kuririn's-- all told, the ancient martial arts teacher was still too much alive for very many people's liking, but in the event of Roshi's death the place would invariably go to his faithful pupil. Juunanagou would have staked money on that.
Roshi's house.
The world couldn't get any crueler.
**********************************************************************
His sister found him a few minutes later still standing at the shelf, searching through the classics, stacking those he felt were not interesting after a glance at the first page or paragraph in a pile on the floor. Her presence seemingly remained unnoticed by her twin, and she picked up one of the books and turned it to see the title on the worn spine.
"'Moby Dick,'" she said quietly in her customary monotone, still unchanged after almost two decades. "You're not intending on reading it, are you?"
"No," he replied, turning to face her. "Have you?"
"Yes," she said, which vaguely surprised him, but the slight flicker in his gaze left before Juuhachigou had the chance to acknowledge it. "It's all right. It's about an old man who goes on a rampage to kill this one particular whale."
He didn't respond. The silence that followed threw Juuhachigou off and she immediately searched for another topic.
"Marron made the banner outside."
Whether or not it was a true banner was debatable, Juunanagou thought as he nodded, seeing as it was apparently constructed from taped-together newspapers, but nonetheless the thought put into it was obvious. His niece had worked hard, oddly hard on the banner for the uncle she didn't even know that read in capital letters of blue construction paper "Welcome, Uncle Juunanagou!"
"She's very excited. She even cleaned her room up before you came."
Juunanagou nodded again and let another book fall into the discard pile on the floor.
"It's been awhile, you know. Marron's thirteen now."
He knew that miscellaneous fact in the back of his mind. It hadn't really dawned on him until he heard Juuhachigou announce it.
"Really."
"Really. It doesn't seem that long, though, does it?"
The nonsense of the question probed him into sarcasm.
"How should I know, Juuhachi? I haven't seen her once."
"You will pretty soon. Give her a minute to wake up. Seventeen years go by too quickly."
Seventeen years. Seventeen years in a cabin surrounded by acres of land, only three of which were actually his. Seventeen years of hearing nothing but crickets when he went to bed, seventeen years of seeing the gloomy landscape designated "forest," seventeen years.
She was wrong, so totally wrong it was almost humorous. That space of years had gone by in the most incredibly slow manner possible.
**********************************************************************
Juuhachigou misread the look on his face.
"You old egomaniac. You're not going to die anytime soon, if ever. Stop looking down like you're afraid your hands are going to deteriorate if you quit staring at them."
Juunanagou blatantly ignored her and resumed. They were pale hands, neither showing any normal wear or proof of any of the hard labor he'd done. No calluses. No scratch marks or half-healed cuts. None. He put them down.
"Mama?"
The caustic, cynical bitterness that was such a characteristic of the sister that he once thought he knew so well disappeared from her face, softening it, as she turned to smile slightly at her nightgown-clad daughter at the top of the stairs.
"Good morning, Marron."
"Good morning," she replied, eyes widening slightly as she saw Juunanagou. "Good morning, Uncle Juunanagou!"
"Good morning."
"Do you want me to make breakfast?" Juuhachigou asked, an offer Marron promptly refused.
"It's okay. I'll get something. Want to come with me, Uncle Juunanagou?"
"Fine," he replied, nonchalant, leaving what had become the entire contents of the bookshelf on the floor in its lone stack. "Fine."
**********************************************************************
Marron proceeded to escort her uncle into the kitchen, talking as she went in.
"I hope you stay here. Mama says you won't but I hope you will. Do you like the island? I do, but I've always lived here. It's only about a mile across, but if you want, I could show it all to you--"
"I've been here before," he responded in an effort to stop the conversation.
"Oh."
She pulled a cookie sheet from the cupboard as she reached with the other arm to get the bread from the magnet-covered refrigerator, unconscious multi-tasking. Marron set down the bread and began again like there was no interruption.
"How was it in the woods, then? Was it nice?"
He paused, contemplating the question. In all his life, no one had ever asked him anything about where he lived. And here was this niece of his asking if it was "nice."
"If you don't count the mosquitoes, squirrels, and various poor weather conditions, sure, it was nice," he said in cold sarcasm, and left it at that.
**********************************************************************
Acey: Nope. Not finished. I have a few more chapters to go, but until I update, I hope you enjoyed it.
Disclaimer: I own some ancient stuffed animals, two or three dozen notebooks stuffed under my bed filled with manga drawings fanfiction, short stories, and a few other things like that. Not DBZ.
Author's Note: Slight A/U. As in slight. Nothing major. Sorry for not updating "Letters," but I do hope this and the few chapters to follow it will tide you over.
He stood and gazed approvingly, mockingly at his reflection in the mirror, letting the trademark smirk creep up on the features of his ageless face. The frozen sky blue eyes set into his pale face were too flawless to be entirely believable; Gero had erred on the side of near-perfection as far as his looks had gone. The gold hoop earrings and slanted black eyebrows under raven hair completed the picture. Juunanagou, number seventeen in a too-long list of a madman's experiments. The soulless piece of glass would defy him for the next eon.
He turned away from the harsh facade and went to the bookshelf without pausing, aimlessly pulling a dusty novel from it. Juunanagou turned to the first page automatically, skipping the copyright page and dedication.
"'Call me Ishmael."'
Oh, no. Not "Moby Dick." He spent his eternity creating diversions for himself, but Melville's classic whale story was too much. He put it back immediately, wondering idly why he even had it on his bookshelf.
His mind instantly told him that it wasn't his house. It was that midget's, that Kuririn's little pink home in the middle of the ocean.
Well, not technically Kuririn's-- all told, the ancient martial arts teacher was still too much alive for very many people's liking, but in the event of Roshi's death the place would invariably go to his faithful pupil. Juunanagou would have staked money on that.
Roshi's house.
The world couldn't get any crueler.
**********************************************************************
His sister found him a few minutes later still standing at the shelf, searching through the classics, stacking those he felt were not interesting after a glance at the first page or paragraph in a pile on the floor. Her presence seemingly remained unnoticed by her twin, and she picked up one of the books and turned it to see the title on the worn spine.
"'Moby Dick,'" she said quietly in her customary monotone, still unchanged after almost two decades. "You're not intending on reading it, are you?"
"No," he replied, turning to face her. "Have you?"
"Yes," she said, which vaguely surprised him, but the slight flicker in his gaze left before Juuhachigou had the chance to acknowledge it. "It's all right. It's about an old man who goes on a rampage to kill this one particular whale."
He didn't respond. The silence that followed threw Juuhachigou off and she immediately searched for another topic.
"Marron made the banner outside."
Whether or not it was a true banner was debatable, Juunanagou thought as he nodded, seeing as it was apparently constructed from taped-together newspapers, but nonetheless the thought put into it was obvious. His niece had worked hard, oddly hard on the banner for the uncle she didn't even know that read in capital letters of blue construction paper "Welcome, Uncle Juunanagou!"
"She's very excited. She even cleaned her room up before you came."
Juunanagou nodded again and let another book fall into the discard pile on the floor.
"It's been awhile, you know. Marron's thirteen now."
He knew that miscellaneous fact in the back of his mind. It hadn't really dawned on him until he heard Juuhachigou announce it.
"Really."
"Really. It doesn't seem that long, though, does it?"
The nonsense of the question probed him into sarcasm.
"How should I know, Juuhachi? I haven't seen her once."
"You will pretty soon. Give her a minute to wake up. Seventeen years go by too quickly."
Seventeen years. Seventeen years in a cabin surrounded by acres of land, only three of which were actually his. Seventeen years of hearing nothing but crickets when he went to bed, seventeen years of seeing the gloomy landscape designated "forest," seventeen years.
She was wrong, so totally wrong it was almost humorous. That space of years had gone by in the most incredibly slow manner possible.
**********************************************************************
Juuhachigou misread the look on his face.
"You old egomaniac. You're not going to die anytime soon, if ever. Stop looking down like you're afraid your hands are going to deteriorate if you quit staring at them."
Juunanagou blatantly ignored her and resumed. They were pale hands, neither showing any normal wear or proof of any of the hard labor he'd done. No calluses. No scratch marks or half-healed cuts. None. He put them down.
"Mama?"
The caustic, cynical bitterness that was such a characteristic of the sister that he once thought he knew so well disappeared from her face, softening it, as she turned to smile slightly at her nightgown-clad daughter at the top of the stairs.
"Good morning, Marron."
"Good morning," she replied, eyes widening slightly as she saw Juunanagou. "Good morning, Uncle Juunanagou!"
"Good morning."
"Do you want me to make breakfast?" Juuhachigou asked, an offer Marron promptly refused.
"It's okay. I'll get something. Want to come with me, Uncle Juunanagou?"
"Fine," he replied, nonchalant, leaving what had become the entire contents of the bookshelf on the floor in its lone stack. "Fine."
**********************************************************************
Marron proceeded to escort her uncle into the kitchen, talking as she went in.
"I hope you stay here. Mama says you won't but I hope you will. Do you like the island? I do, but I've always lived here. It's only about a mile across, but if you want, I could show it all to you--"
"I've been here before," he responded in an effort to stop the conversation.
"Oh."
She pulled a cookie sheet from the cupboard as she reached with the other arm to get the bread from the magnet-covered refrigerator, unconscious multi-tasking. Marron set down the bread and began again like there was no interruption.
"How was it in the woods, then? Was it nice?"
He paused, contemplating the question. In all his life, no one had ever asked him anything about where he lived. And here was this niece of his asking if it was "nice."
"If you don't count the mosquitoes, squirrels, and various poor weather conditions, sure, it was nice," he said in cold sarcasm, and left it at that.
**********************************************************************
Acey: Nope. Not finished. I have a few more chapters to go, but until I update, I hope you enjoyed it.