Chapter 3: Visitations
Soon afterwards, the entire Son family dropped from Kinto-un to the ground in front of a scowling green demon who stood, motionless, as if part of the vegetation, arms crossed.
"Ah-- thanks, Mr. Piccolo-- we really appreciate it. It's just for one night," Gohan smiled.
"Just give me the kid," said Piccolo, Jr.
Not for the first time, Chichi shuddered at the sight of the sharp teeth in the alien's face. Saiyajin were one thing; she had never met one that didn't seem to act like one of your average kids in the sandbox, be he the bully, the serious kid, or the class clown. You could trust a Saiyajin; no deception there. Much simpler even than humans. Nameks, now-- and this one in particular-- emerging from the landscape, quiet and inscrutable-- one almost wanted to believe one was in the presence of an elemental spirit, a guru who might hold answers one had never even dreamed the questions to. (Admittedly, the turban helped there.) But then, when the mouth opened, those sharp, sharp teeth were more chilling than snake's fangs twice their length. A snake, at least, was always and only just that-- a snake, and honest in its purposes; as for Piccolo, his side was anyone's guess, his past a trail of ruins, and even his identity itself shifting with each year. And Chichi knew somewhere deep down, instinctively, that this made him more dangerous than any hostile enemy. That was Piccolo: the sharp teeth in the impassive face.
"Right here," said Gohan, and handed the baby to the monster. He was a little out of breath, having flown himself half of the way, and as Piccolo took Goten in his arms, Gohan propped himself with a hand against Piccolo's side, casually.
Piccolo fluidly edged away from the contact, as if pulling away was something automatic, and removing Gohan's support in the process. The boy's arms pinwheeled, trying to catch the abrupt fall, and a clawed green hand caught his, and pulled him firmly back upright. Gohan thanked his teacher, and Piccolo turned wordlessly back towards his cave.
Chichi realized that her heart was beating as fast as a mouse's, and she felt as small. Piccolo's cape was retreating into the woods; she focused on that, breathing steadily, then attempted a smile. "Well, that's done," she said. "On we go?"
Before they had left to perform the errands that would set the groundwork for their grand scheme to defeat Vegeta, Chichi had thrown out most of the elements of Gohan's plan, which had turned out to be not-so-simple.
"No, no," she'd said; "Your plan involves telepathy, Tenshinhan, Korin, dragonballs, three devices that would take us weeks to build-- no. It doesn't need to be this complicated."
"Well, I could just beat Vegeta up," Gohan suggested; the idea seemed to make him uncomfortable.
"We want to defeat him, not make Vegeta sandwiches," Chichi joked. Her son turned pale, and she felt a beat of concern; what nerve had she struck? "Anyway, that isn't the point, and you know it! The point is no fighting. We just need to get him incapacitated," she said, hurriedly. "We don't need to trap him for life in a bottle like your plan would do. We just show we CAN beat him. And if we involve this many people, it will never stay secret. Not if I know Bulma Briefs."
"Well, is any of it good?" Gohan said, frowning sadly at the crowded margins of his textbook.
"One part of it I like very much indeed," Chichi smiled. "One of the most potent allies we have, and so underused... it makes me wonder who's doing the planning for this world, it really does."
"There's a reason he's underused," Gohan had grumbled. But they had gone ahead with the plan; and Master Roshi's island now loomed ahead.
"Gohan," Chichi said. "Can you carry me down behind the bushes? Kinto-un's a bit... conspicuous."
"Sure," Gohan said, dropping from the side of the cloud. He reached his hand up for hers, and soon they were on their way down, quietly, to the cover of the bushes behind Kamesennin's house.
"Look away, Gohan," hissed Chichi, reaching a hand up the back of her shirt.
"Ma!" Gohan exclaimed, scandalized. "Don't you think that's dangerous, given our surroundings?"
"Hush," said Chichi. "Risks must be taken." She pulled a brassiere from the sleeve of her shirt.
"Whoa..." Gohan's eyes crossed. "How did you..."
"Oh, Gohan... sometimes..." Chichi shook her head. "I'll show you later. It impresses guys, maybe knowing it will impress girls too? Oh, quiet, someone's coming--"
Oolong, porcine companion to anyone who would have him, emerged blinking into the bright afternoon sun, magazine in hand. He had been looking for Roshi on a very pertinent question of the anatomical capabilities (and incapabilities) of the human hip joint; but had yet to locate the darn geezer's chaise, when...
what was that?
From the bushes, waving gently on the end of a stick, emerged a beautiful (and rather large) purple silk bra.
Perplexed, Oolong stepped forward. Was that a... it couldn't be. Android 18 didn't wear that size; and besides, he never showed his face when someone so dangerous was about. That meant...
Oolong chuckled. "Roshi, you devil," he muttered. The bra was on the move. Stalking it ever so cautiously, he tiptoed, closing on his prey. Just on the other side of that aloe...
"Eeeee! Eeee! Eeemmph---"
"Sshh," said Chichi, holding her hand over his mouth. "It's us."
As the pig stopped struggling, Chichi slowly released her grip.
"Chichi?" said Oolong, incredulously.
"Oolong," said Chichi, "Do you want this?" She dangled the bra from a finger.
Oolong nodded; then made a wild grab. Quick-witted, Chichi threw the bra to her son, who caught it instinctively, then proceeded to blush a shade that was a pretty close approximation of its color.
"Not so fast," she hissed. "We need a favor."
Oolong looked suspicious. "What?"
"Tell me... do you like Vegeta?"
"Vegeta?!" Oolong snorted, incredulous. "Do you like, mm, Attila the Hun!?"
"Excellent," Chichi nodded. "Now listen. We need a favor of you. It isn't dangerous, you'll be out in ten minutes; when you're done, you can have it. And if you keep it a secret, I'll cook you a full kosher dinner tomorrow night..."
Oolong pondered, doubtful. "It's your underwear?"
Chichi shook her head. "Bulma's."
Slowly, Oolong smiled.
Soon afterwards, the entire Son family dropped from Kinto-un to the ground in front of a scowling green demon who stood, motionless, as if part of the vegetation, arms crossed.
"Ah-- thanks, Mr. Piccolo-- we really appreciate it. It's just for one night," Gohan smiled.
"Just give me the kid," said Piccolo, Jr.
Not for the first time, Chichi shuddered at the sight of the sharp teeth in the alien's face. Saiyajin were one thing; she had never met one that didn't seem to act like one of your average kids in the sandbox, be he the bully, the serious kid, or the class clown. You could trust a Saiyajin; no deception there. Much simpler even than humans. Nameks, now-- and this one in particular-- emerging from the landscape, quiet and inscrutable-- one almost wanted to believe one was in the presence of an elemental spirit, a guru who might hold answers one had never even dreamed the questions to. (Admittedly, the turban helped there.) But then, when the mouth opened, those sharp, sharp teeth were more chilling than snake's fangs twice their length. A snake, at least, was always and only just that-- a snake, and honest in its purposes; as for Piccolo, his side was anyone's guess, his past a trail of ruins, and even his identity itself shifting with each year. And Chichi knew somewhere deep down, instinctively, that this made him more dangerous than any hostile enemy. That was Piccolo: the sharp teeth in the impassive face.
"Right here," said Gohan, and handed the baby to the monster. He was a little out of breath, having flown himself half of the way, and as Piccolo took Goten in his arms, Gohan propped himself with a hand against Piccolo's side, casually.
Piccolo fluidly edged away from the contact, as if pulling away was something automatic, and removing Gohan's support in the process. The boy's arms pinwheeled, trying to catch the abrupt fall, and a clawed green hand caught his, and pulled him firmly back upright. Gohan thanked his teacher, and Piccolo turned wordlessly back towards his cave.
Chichi realized that her heart was beating as fast as a mouse's, and she felt as small. Piccolo's cape was retreating into the woods; she focused on that, breathing steadily, then attempted a smile. "Well, that's done," she said. "On we go?"
Before they had left to perform the errands that would set the groundwork for their grand scheme to defeat Vegeta, Chichi had thrown out most of the elements of Gohan's plan, which had turned out to be not-so-simple.
"No, no," she'd said; "Your plan involves telepathy, Tenshinhan, Korin, dragonballs, three devices that would take us weeks to build-- no. It doesn't need to be this complicated."
"Well, I could just beat Vegeta up," Gohan suggested; the idea seemed to make him uncomfortable.
"We want to defeat him, not make Vegeta sandwiches," Chichi joked. Her son turned pale, and she felt a beat of concern; what nerve had she struck? "Anyway, that isn't the point, and you know it! The point is no fighting. We just need to get him incapacitated," she said, hurriedly. "We don't need to trap him for life in a bottle like your plan would do. We just show we CAN beat him. And if we involve this many people, it will never stay secret. Not if I know Bulma Briefs."
"Well, is any of it good?" Gohan said, frowning sadly at the crowded margins of his textbook.
"One part of it I like very much indeed," Chichi smiled. "One of the most potent allies we have, and so underused... it makes me wonder who's doing the planning for this world, it really does."
"There's a reason he's underused," Gohan had grumbled. But they had gone ahead with the plan; and Master Roshi's island now loomed ahead.
"Gohan," Chichi said. "Can you carry me down behind the bushes? Kinto-un's a bit... conspicuous."
"Sure," Gohan said, dropping from the side of the cloud. He reached his hand up for hers, and soon they were on their way down, quietly, to the cover of the bushes behind Kamesennin's house.
"Look away, Gohan," hissed Chichi, reaching a hand up the back of her shirt.
"Ma!" Gohan exclaimed, scandalized. "Don't you think that's dangerous, given our surroundings?"
"Hush," said Chichi. "Risks must be taken." She pulled a brassiere from the sleeve of her shirt.
"Whoa..." Gohan's eyes crossed. "How did you..."
"Oh, Gohan... sometimes..." Chichi shook her head. "I'll show you later. It impresses guys, maybe knowing it will impress girls too? Oh, quiet, someone's coming--"
Oolong, porcine companion to anyone who would have him, emerged blinking into the bright afternoon sun, magazine in hand. He had been looking for Roshi on a very pertinent question of the anatomical capabilities (and incapabilities) of the human hip joint; but had yet to locate the darn geezer's chaise, when...
what was that?
From the bushes, waving gently on the end of a stick, emerged a beautiful (and rather large) purple silk bra.
Perplexed, Oolong stepped forward. Was that a... it couldn't be. Android 18 didn't wear that size; and besides, he never showed his face when someone so dangerous was about. That meant...
Oolong chuckled. "Roshi, you devil," he muttered. The bra was on the move. Stalking it ever so cautiously, he tiptoed, closing on his prey. Just on the other side of that aloe...
"Eeeee! Eeee! Eeemmph---"
"Sshh," said Chichi, holding her hand over his mouth. "It's us."
As the pig stopped struggling, Chichi slowly released her grip.
"Chichi?" said Oolong, incredulously.
"Oolong," said Chichi, "Do you want this?" She dangled the bra from a finger.
Oolong nodded; then made a wild grab. Quick-witted, Chichi threw the bra to her son, who caught it instinctively, then proceeded to blush a shade that was a pretty close approximation of its color.
"Not so fast," she hissed. "We need a favor."
Oolong looked suspicious. "What?"
"Tell me... do you like Vegeta?"
"Vegeta?!" Oolong snorted, incredulous. "Do you like, mm, Attila the Hun!?"
"Excellent," Chichi nodded. "Now listen. We need a favor of you. It isn't dangerous, you'll be out in ten minutes; when you're done, you can have it. And if you keep it a secret, I'll cook you a full kosher dinner tomorrow night..."
Oolong pondered, doubtful. "It's your underwear?"
Chichi shook her head. "Bulma's."
Slowly, Oolong smiled.