The Variation Elements
1.1 Time and Unforeseen Circumstances
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"The swift do not have the race, nor the mighty ones the battle,
nor do the wise also have the food, nor do the understanding ones also
have the riches, nor do even those having knowledge have the favor; because
time and unforeseen circumstances befall them all." |
"He's adorable, Chi-Chi-san. Looks just like his father." Wisps of blue hair merged with strands of black; two women put their foreheads together to better view the object of their attention: a tiny, black-haired baby. His fat fists shook at the air. The infant, nested comfortably in his mother's arms, nursed energetically at her breast with soft, contented cooing sounds, "He eats so well! How old did you say he was?"
The younger woman readjusted the infant in her lap, lashes against her cheek as she admired him, "Two months." She winced, pushing her lips together, "He really does have a strong suck... it still hurts sometimes. I forgot how difficult it was to get used to, though I imagine it couldn't have been any more difficult than with Gohan-chan..." She glanced up at her older son, seated on the couch of the spacious living room, legs crossed, his fingers overlapping one another on his knee. His gaze was quietly directed toward his hands. She smiled fondly, then turned her attention back to the woman kneeling beside her chair, "I must be getting old, Bulma-san. I really do think so sometimes. I had to stay in bed for the last month of my pregnancy; I couldn't even move. If Gohan-chan weren't such a help, I would have been utterly lost."
Bulma did not bother to look up as she placed her hand on the baby's already full head of hair; she thoughtfully tried to smooth the baby's wild locks down, then looked up as though she'd just heard the mother speak, "You're not old at all, Chi-Chi-san. You shouldn't say that, especially around me. It's rude; I'm your senior, so if you're old, I'm still older." She put a finger to the corners of her eyes, self consciously hiding wrinkles that only she was able to see.
Continued, "We're in our prime, still. We're not girls any more, we're women." Spoken with proud conviction. "Have you seen yourself in the mirror? I don't know how you do it, but you're still as beautiful and fresh as you were on your wedding day... well, your cheek bones are a bit more noticeable... and you're a little taller when you stand up." She smiled for a moment, in fond memories, nodding her head as she said as a side note, "You were very young back then, when you got married... Still a child, really. Son-kun, too." She paused, sharp blue eyes searching to make sure it didn't hurt the young mother to talk about her deceased husband, then continued, "How old are you, exactly? Twenty-nine? Thirty?"
"Twenty-eight... in four months." Noticing that the infant in her lap had disengaged, she pulled her shirt back down and set him up into a sitting position, patting his back to coax him into burping, "Look, two months and he already holds his head up like it's nothing."
"Trunks could, too... though he still has less hair. He's two now, you know? And now Kuririn's got more hair than him. I was bald, too, when I was a baby..." She paused in mild though ultimately affectionate irritation, "But we never can tell what's normal can we? No books to read on it. If I pester him enough Vegita tells me what Saiya-jin infants are like -- as little as he knows about it; I don't think he's ever seen a baby up close before. But that's about as much help as knowing about human babies. No one knows anything about these half-Saiya-jin-half-Human children; Gohan is the first ever, and already it's obvious that Trunks and even Goten are different from him and one another." She sighed and shook her head twice at some memory or other, watching the infant wrap its small fingers around her thumb, wincing, "They're remarkably stronger than humans, even as infants..."
The sound of shifting vinyl sounded as Gohan suddenly readjusted himself in response to the comment.
"Oh, don't mention that," the young mother said irritably, "It would be easier if he were just a normal human baby, " she made a face as she realized she'd never had, and never would have, a 'normal' baby, even if Goku hadn't... "He eats more than three babies already; I have to buy him formula as well as feed him breast milk; he sucks me dry, then wants more half an hour later. I can't produce fast enough..."
Bulma shook her head, "You amaze me. It hurt way too much to nurse Trunks... I tried a few times; you can say whatever you want about getting used to it, but I'm a busy woman and don't have time to lift up my shirt and feed a hungry baby every time he cries for it. It felt like he was trying to suck blood out of me. I put him right on the bottle."
"I did research on it... statistics say babies that are breast fed are more intelligent. The concentration for their brains on sucking, swallowing and breathing all at the same time helps them with coordination... And helps them to speak, too; strengthens their jaw muscles."
The blue haired woman didn't seem to be paying much attention to what was being said, watching instead as the baby's eyes traveled upward to finally focus on the ceiling, glittering in the light pouring in from the windows and from the desk lamp on the table next to them. She quietly murmured, "And to have given birth to him at home... intentionally! You're either crazy, or one tough lady."
"I had a midwife." Chi-Chi said hurriedly, not entirely comfortable with complements, a frown appearing between her brows. She smiled as she handed the baby to Bulma, who had been gesturing that she would like to hold him by extending her arms, "And Gohan-chan helped every step of the way. I don't know where he got them, or how he was ever able to afford them, but all during my pregnancy he bought endless books on caring for and delivering babies; he would read parts of them to me when I was bedridden...
"And when I started having the real contractions he took the car and drove all the way to the midwife's house to get her -- I didn't even know he could drive! --, and got her back up the mountain within half an hour-"
"He could have done it in five minutes, maybe less, if he'd flown," Bulma replied critically, her expression sharp and severe suddenly, not looking at the tot bouncing and drooling on her knee, "Why didn't he?"
"I told him not to, of course! She only lives four mountains away, and sees many of our neighbors -- they go to her as a doctor sometimes. I just finally convinced everyone that it wasn't my son and husband mixed up in the Cell games," he voice lost quite a bit of inflection as the topic grew dangerously close to one of the tenderest of subjects for her, "I don't want people to think any member of my family are freaks, which is how people will think of it; we deserve just as much respect as any other family, maybe even more so." The sharp turn of her chin suggested the noble blood she carried; she was, after all, still princess of Fry Pan Mountain, even if her role was currently inactive.
Bulma did not bother to argue; Chi-Chi had a rather different variety of what was respectable and what wasn't. Still, the older woman couldn't help but wonder how this woman failed to see the ability to nuke an entire planet with the gesture of a hand as unimpressive. The topic had been argued so many times before it was worn thinner than tissue paper already.
Still, it was a relief to have another woman around. Another woman who had lived with a Saiya-jin for even longer than she had. A woman who had already raised a successful hybrid baby, and was moving onto a number two. There was comfort in seeing another infant that was like her own.
Because as much as she would have liked to claim otherwise, there were quite a few times that she did feel as though she were raising something freakish and inhuman. Because that was exactly half of what he was.
Hmm.
He stood still for a moment, looking down at his feet, down at the ground that was now failing him. Were he not accustomed to the abrupt changes, and were he not entirely inhuman, his body would have gone into shock or possibly exploded as the gravity in the room dropped from 500xg's to 1xg's.
"Piece of crap." He stalked over to the machine in the center of the room where the digital face was flashing 00g. He looked around at the multifaceted equipment, sharp eyes trying to find some obvious reason for it to be malfunctioning: Sparks or smoke or flashing warning lights. Fire. Something. Anything that could hint at where the error lay. There was nothing.
"Ksh," he made the sound through his teeth.
He considered dropping everything and leaving. Maybe training in the mountains somewhere. The indoors were too stuffy, anyway; the air was recycled through that absurd"air conditioner", created because humans were too frail to survive even mild heat. Were Kakarotto still alive, he might very well have gone off to battle him for a while. At least the other Saiya-jin hadn't minded such trivial things as temperature, or conditioned air. (The air was annoying enough conditioned, but the extensive gravity of the chamber often made him light headed if he remained too high up for very long as all the air molecules were tugged downward.)
The door hummed as it opened, allowing him to exit. He stormed down the hall, arms gathered and crossed over his chest.
Kakarotto. That bastard. They never got to finish their fight.
How long ago was it now, since he'd died? It was not a good question to ask himself; he had a terrible sense of time, even for important dates. Like when the Cell incident had occurred. It... hadn't been a year yet, had it? Trunks had been born... a year (?) before the Cell games, and now he was... two? That was no help. He didn't know how old Trunks was, much less when he was born, so the comparison wouldn't help chronologically.
It wasn't that he didn't care; he just couldn't come up with a good excuse for asking. He just wasn't that curious. Honestly, he didn't know how old anyone was. Not Bulma. Not even himself for sure (he'd lived an inconsistent life; each planet or satellite or ship that he lived on had different ways of keeping track of time, as well as different days, and different lengths of days, he could not know how many years he had lost... or gained.) He certainly didn't know the ages of any of the Chikyuusei-jin. Not Kakarotto...
It was Gohan's age that perplexed him the most recently, for he was personally witnessing him grow up. When he'd first met him, he was... well... rather small. As time went by he remained small, but grew progressively less small. At no specific time his nose seemed to have narrowed and turned more downward, like Kakarotto's; the baby fat in his cheeks had receded to show a relatively pointed chin, more narrow of a face. So slow you don't notice for a while, but his arms had gotten longer, thinner. His whole body.
Besides himself, he'd never seen a child grow up before. There weren't many (any?) children in Freeza's army, and even if there had been he would likely have wanted little to do with them.
It was different from Saiya-jin, anyway. His own people grew much slower than Gohan or these other humans did (at a more consistent growth that continued from birth until they reached their limit at the age of about twenty-five.) There was none of these "growth spurts", which Bulma had explained to him (using far more words than necessary) when he asked why Kakarotto's son was so very suddenly getting quite a bit taller. It struck him as offensive somehow that human children were taller than Saiya-jin children.
Would Trunks grow up in the same way Gohan had? With the growth and the extending of body in very sudden, sometimes even painful spurts? The Trunks from the future had gotten taller in the "years" they spent in that peculiar, delightful yet torturous room of the Kami's.
As he turned a corner in the empty hall, he wondered how old Mirai Trunks had been, or how old he had ended up being. If there ever had been a certain age, it had grown skewed in the years they had lost in the Room of Spirit and Time.
It was all pissing him off. Goddam machine. Goddam gravity-altering machine.
He did not have to search to find his mate; her life chi lured him from anywhere on the planet like the scent of some succulent dish. Were it a few years early -- time again! cursed time he couldn't specifically recall passing -- he may have behaved differently. A newly mated Saiya-jin, after all, developed a libido the size of a full moon for the first few months of their joining.
But now, he was too angry to get aroused. The only time he didn't mind losing was the time spent productively: Training.
He stood in the doorway of the spacious living room, arms folded over his chest, leaning one shoulder against the door frame, more as a communicational posture than to rest his weight. It had taken quite a few years to develop a way to express himself without the use of a tail.
Kakarotto's mate and sons were visiting... none of the three's ages he knew, though he should have at least remembered how old the youngest was. Bulma wouldn't shut up about it once it (he? Yes, it was a male; he could scent it from across the room) was born.
The dark haired female was seated on the davenport with her sleeping baby on her lap; her eyes were closed, head back.
And across the room, by the window with all its bright sunlight:
"-should have mentioned it earlier, Gohan-chan," Bulma was saying to Gohan, handing him a small, white, circular object -- the Dragon Radar, he recognized -- as she went on, "I would have gotten it out for you first thing."
"Gomen, Bulma-san. I didn't...," the boy didn't seem to have any intention of finishing his sentence; the kid only seemed to say the bare minimum of what needed saying. It was irritating how low of a tone he used.
Bulma shook her head, "Kid, I've known you nearly your whole life. You should feel comfortable asking me things by now. You're practically a second son. No one else seems to mind just demanding things..." The last part of her statement was mumbled with fond irritation. She bitched a lot, damn but how he knew, but deep down he was all but certain she liked being needed.
"Hai..."
Irritation mounted within him as he watched Gohan put the radar in his breast pocket. Something about that boy and that radar...
"What do you want it for anyway? Got a wish already?"
Kakarotto's woman opened her eyes sleepily, blinked a few times and sat up, lowering her face to sniff her baby's diaper. Humans had such a poor sense of smell; even from where he stood across the room he could tell the infant had urinated on itself.
"No, nothing like that," the boy seemed genuinely embarrassed that he would be accused of wanting to use the dragon balls. "I just want to find Tousan's four-star-ball."
Oh. Yes. The brat had called it a watch. Lied, called the fucking radar a watch. On Namek... some time back. It had to have been quite a while ago; it was only the second time he'd ever met the boy. Quite a few years, by now, he was sure. His lack of time awareness went two ways, however; what happened years ago felt like yesterday. So, yes. The then-brat. He'd lied through his teeth. Stolen his final dragon ball. And gotten completely away with it.
"You sound just like your father. People can argue all they want about the dragon balls belonging to Dende, but I still say they belong to the Son family."
Goddam mother fucking lied. But it wasn't rage that he felt so much as resigned frustration. In a human it would be an sensation called depression. But Saiya-jin didn't feel depression; their version was too electric and volatile
"Not all of them, Bulma-san... they don't belong to anyone. But the four-star I think did belong to Tousan. It would be safer, anyway, to protect one of the balls just in case."
"That's... oh. Vegita."
"Ksh." The sound was low enough that likely only Gohan heard it (and he had doubts about even that, human as he was.)
How was it that they hadn't even felt him. Not even Bulma, his mate. Yes, true she was one hundred percent, pure bred, full-meat human with all the limitations involved... Dammit, Kakarotto's mate would have seen him had she only looked up. Gohan had failed to so much as scent him, which was a better thought than that he had been aware of him and had chosen to ignore him.
There had been a time, not much more than half a decade ago, that entire planets had trembled at his approach. Nearly all of the warriors around him, Freeza's men, species he never even bothered learning, knew him by name. And they feared him. They jumped to their feet when he entered the room. He had been a slave, with no alliances and no friends and no planet, but he had power over people, and he was universally respected. He held status.
Now, he was free. He had a planet and a mate and a son and quite a few allies, now -- some of which would be positively tickled if he ever thought of them as friends; hell, Kakarotto might very well have been a friend -- but for all of it, he paid a price.
He had lost their fear. Possibly their respect, even.
Damn it all straight to hell..
"Your gravity machine has failed. Again." He was not in the mood to argue. He just wanted it fixed so he could lose time and strain himself and not have to think about passing seconds, minutes, years, lives. Or about the dead. Or those that would someday be born. Or Earth or the revelations of character brought forth by Cell or the utter willingness in which Kakarotto died (the bastard) or Trunks' upbringing, or Gohan's unnerving complacency or... anything. Anything except power. His power. And the muscles under his skin and his chi and his bones straining against gravity, even though he hated training inside, away from air and sun and sky.
Bulma, his ever devoted mate, sighed and for the sake of her company pretended to be exasperated -- which offended his mood -- and looked across the room at the female with the infant, "Vegita, I have company. I can't just...," she finally met his eyes, seemed to catch on at long last that he was in no mood to be denied. "... Gohan-kun? You've read sections IV through XXI of chapter 16 in the Capsule Corporations Production book, haven't you?"
Oh hell. She was thinking...
"... Hai." The boy said after a minor pause, then quoted, "'Maintenance of Devices Involving Simulated Gravity In and Out of Orbit'... I think." His own hesitation proved he, too, wasn't entirely keen with the directly the female was leading him. Under his long sleeves, which were very loose, covering even beyond his wrists -- were they intentionally so lose so that they might hide his muscles? Hide his power? He wouldn't put it past Kakarotto's mate -- there was a twitch of tensing. It wasn't fear -- anymore, though there had been a time when he all but quivered when the two were alone together, as he well should have.
Ung. He did not want this. He attempted scowling enough to show to his human mate how strongly he disapproved -- fuck, couldn't these humans read any sort of body language?! How had these creatures come to be the dominant species of the planet?
"Would you be a sweet boy," his woman went on, either oblivious or ignoring his negative expression, "and try fixing the gravity machine for Vegita?"
Her human ignorance again failed her, keeping her from noticing or scenting the boy's obvious discomfort, both not wanting to obey but incapable of disobeying; it was perplexing and frustrating how all the battles Gohan had been through had somehow simultaneously increased his physical power and destroyed his power of will.
"Of course he will," Kakarotto's woman said simply, smiling, not implying it to be an order so much as a statement. It simply would happen. "Gohan-chan is such a good boy, he'd be glad to help."
"I didn't... Hai, Bulma-san. Kaasan." The boy crumbled without resistance. Gave in to two human women, who he could have eradicated without a gesture. No surprise there. Were situations entirely different, he would have made a good slave and a better whore.
What self-respecting person, after all, wouldn't want someone who couldn't say no?
It was a heinous color of yellow, even as rubber gloves went. Even in the dark. Even if the rubber gloves were all that stood between himself and certain electrocution. The wires in his hands were alive, one even sparking at his unprotected face.
He was extremely aware that his clothes were inappropriate; his starched, immaculate white shirt with blue embroidered hems -- hand done by his mother -- and dark blue dress pants, perfectly creased down the front of each leg, were painfully susceptible to the dirty scooter his back rested on. The scooter he had needed to roll his head, shoulders and torso under here.
He twisted the wires together and was momentarily startled when his chest sank on its own, forcing his breath out, as the gravity around him increased, his hair plastering to his forehead and tugging at the back of his scalp.
Idiot, forgot to turn the power off before fixing it; you would be dead right now if you weren't...
Yeah, if he wasn't. But he was. So it was no big deal.
Rolling the scooter back out of the cramped quarters beneath the central gravity machine, he pulled the gloves off, brushing at his pants -- which he didn't like from the beginning; it seemed the nicer the clothes he wore, the more flimsy and tight around the knees and elbows they were. Nothing his mother purchased for him to wear was nearly as comfortable or durable as his gi... though currently he had no gi that fit him.
He would have to make one sometime. After all, it had nearly been a year since...
"The problem," he said as he stood up, eyes on the clipboard he'd been checking maintenance with, checking off areas with an attached pen, "is the overuse of chi. The temperatures get so hot in here they melt the soft rubber insulation around the wires. I'm sorry, Vegita-san, but using chi this close to hu... mans-," he hated having to refer to humans as different than himself or a few select people he knew, "-is dangerous anyway. Until Bulma-san finds a better way to contain large amounts of power..."
He happened to glance up and notice the extravagantly unencouraging expression of the man he was speaking to, and he went on halfheartedly, "You'll... um... have to talk to her, I guess." He smiled nervously and gave a little nod and began to head for the door, not turning his back on Vegita -- not out of suspicion, but because he'd learned through painful experience that the Saiya-jin found it offensive.
"How old are you?" The question lacked the common curiosity one would associate with it.
Caught off guard, he paused, "I'm sorry?"
Oop. Vegita-san never repeated himself, as the cuff that followed reinstated. It didn't particularly hurt -- not in relativity to other blows he'd received. The man may not have been as strong as him, but he certainly could have hit much harder. Boy, could he ever. It was more out of instant reaction: The Saiya-jin did not like it when he acted too timid, or spoke in too quiet of a tone. He never had.
"Gomen," he apologized, and quickly straightened his posture -- Vegita-san always was doubly irritated with him when he acted too 'weak' or 'human' or 'tamed. It wasn't even entirely a bad thing; it struck him more as a warped sort of concern Saiya-jin might have for him. He didn't like seeing him humbled. "I'm eleven, Vegita-san. Juuichi-sai... I think." When he saw the man's cheek twitch, he quickly explained in as short of sentences as possible: "My birth certificate says I am eleven. I am... not sure if I should count the year-," Day? "-I spent with Tousan in the Room of Spirit and Time."
He considered asking 'why?', but wasn't feeling up to coming up with excuses for the possible resulting bruises to Okaasan.
The pen attached to his clipboard tore itself free of its cord and struck the ground, shattering. Oh. Right. The gravity was still turned on to... (he glanced)... 500gs. He had long since adapted to it. Noting that his shirt's shoulder seams were slowly coming apart under the strain -- cheap, flimsy dress clothes... -- he said, "Well... good luck with your training, Vegita-san." As he backed toward the door.
When the airtight lock of the room's only exit popped open, the man's voice followed him out, "Worry about your own training, Gohan, don't think I haven't noticed-"
The door had automatically closed.
Taking a deep breath to readjust to the new, much lighter gravity, he shook his head and mumbled, "Hai," to the empty hall.
He wandered the halls for a while, not particularly interested in the conversation Okaasan and Bulma-san were likely having; they usually tended to forget he was in the room and often talked about him freely, though that was partially his own fault. He tended to push his chi below delectability out of common habit, which caused even human's natural chi-sensing abilities (the sense that told them "I'm not alone in this room" or "I'm being watched...") to not pick him up. If they didn't look directly at him it was easy to fail noticing at all, considering they had too poor of hearing or sense of smell to note him in any other way.
What he really wanted to know about was the peculiar midnight conversation he'd heard Kaasan and Ojisan having last week. It seriously perturbed him... Downright set the hairs on his neck and scalp on edge with adrenaline; the urge to fight, to protect, to kill threats. Especially after reading...
But there was nothing he could do about it now. He instead decided to head down to the first floor's indoor garden and animal reserve. Perhaps Bulma's father could help him find some good shrubs to plant. It was fall in the mountains, and fall was by far the best season to plant during.
He allowed himself to drift on thoughts of the garden he could grow in the lot of land he had managed to convince Kaasan to give him, promising to allot part of the land for a vegetable garden.
The prospect of saving money on groceries had earned him praise and, not only the land he had asked for, but all the land around their house save save the more gravely north side of the house where the rugged mountain road broadened out into a limestone gravel parking space where visitors could park their cars, or put up capsule houses if they had any.
Perhaps some columbines...
... they were hearty flowers...
... mountain flowers...
... kami, he was worried sick.
She hovered over her chair, looking across the table at him, quiet and hopeful as he took a first sip of the soup she had made for him. From scratch. His tanned hand held the spoon almost daintily as the steaming broth was raised to his lips, to that not-quite-perfect face, though she rarely noticed the scars anymore. The false tooth he was forced to get when he was still in his teens had yet to become a different color than the rest.
It would have cost a fortune if they had been forced to pay for it back then. It was a good thing his... girlfriend... of that time had been quite rich. And quite rich with pain and heart ache as well, if she dared to think it.
"How is it?" She finally ventured as he paused after the first sip, "I never can tell if I put too much salt in..."
"Puar, it's delicious," he said at just the right moment, so that he sounded neither patronizing nor as though he were lying. "I don't know what I would ever do without you."
Pleased, she drifted down to the soft feather cushion kept on her chair -- he had bought it for her as a surprise once, one of the many "just because I felt like doing something for you" gifts that he brought home for her ever couple of weeks -- and tucked her tiny blue paws beneath her body, her tail twinning around her side until it was beneath her chin. He always said she looked like a loaf of bread with ears when she relaxed like this. As she listened to his spoon clink in his bowl, and the quiet s-s-s-sip! sounds he made as he ate, she squeezed her eyes shut with contentment and began to purr to herself.
Her ears pricked when he moved his dish to the sink and washed it, but pretended to doze as any good cat would do as he busied himself around the house for a time. Just when she was tempted to offer assistance, she felt his warm hands scoop her up and lift her still-curled body to his shoulder. She scrambled onto his shoulder, then onto the top of his head, careful to not accidentally unsheathe her tiny claws -- she liked it when he had short hair like this, as it was easier to sit way up here.
She continued to purr as he collected up his duffle bag and pulled on his tennis shoes. They didn't talk, but they were old enough friends to be comfortable with silence between them. He left his bachelor's apartment with his bag, and she had to remind him to lock the door to make sure thieves wouldn't be enticed to enter, and perhaps find the baseball-sized amber sphere with the two crimson stars suspended in the middle of it they kept hidden in the back of their freezer. They had found it quite by accident while taking a stroll together through the park; she had seen it glittering under a bush.
It wasn't until they had gotten into their hover car and begun driving that she mentioned what was on her mind:
"They sent a second letter, Yamcha-san," she hovered from his shoulder and down to the passenger seat, buckling her seat belt, "They must think you simply did not received the first. Most people run after getting just one like that, I'm guessing. Buckle your seat belt, please."
He sighed, and even that sound was nice in her sensitive ears; he really had a nice sounding voice, and would probably have been quite a successful singer if he wasn't so drawn to action, "I'm not going to fight in any war, Puar. I don't want to have to run from something like this, but I really don't want to fight anymore. Not with monstrous aliens from another planet, not with other humans, either," he then added when she cleared her throat, "Or any other sentient animals on the planet."
"It's a legitimate draft notice, sir. The army is still pressing onward and as long as the Northern Wildcats occupy the city we are, as residents, required to obey them. If we're to remain legal, that is." There was mild humor on her voice; she was soft spoken and polite and had a good sense of right and wrong, but, as did the man she lived with, had little honest respect for authority. "Perhaps it's time to move on again..."
He nodded his head thoughtfully, "Sounds like a plan to me... though I'm not sure where we'll go to, anymore." The scar that ran over his eyebrow and down beneath his eye puckered slightly as he wrinkled his brow, "It seems we've had to leave every city we've visited for the past year now. Since the Cell scare people seem to be crazier. Maybe it's a new zest for life -- I still can't believe they named that city 'Satan City'... -- but even the people that used to be helpful are out busting one another's balls over stupid little things..."
"Likely they realize how close they came to dying, and, more aware of their mortality, are trying to accomplish everything they can while they still can."
"Even if it means stepping all over whoever gets in their way. I get ya." He huffed at his steering wheel as he pulled an illegal U-turn, cutting off a long line of people waiting at the intersection. As honks and angry shouts hailed behind him he chuckled, "It's a shame, though, that everyone had to get like this. So suspicious."
She had squirmed out of her seat belt to climb the back of her chair and watch the traffic accidents that had occurred behind them, "Yeah. Harder to take advantage of."
Though they were no longer bandits -- and hadn't been since meeting Goku -- it was still their running joke that the common man were witless sheep, and the two of them were the predators. His laughter trailed out the window and carried along behind them as he pulled back into their apartment complex's driveway, not even bothering to capsulate their car as he climbed out, her floating closely at his shoulder, made their way swiftly to their flat.
"Pack light," he said with a grin, and she already knew what he meant. They were leaving again, possibly to never return. It was a decision made just that fast. He was still desert nomad at heart, and thrived not on location, but on settling down as many places as possible. And she loved it. His spontaneity made life so thrilling, and in the past year, with no need to train or worry, they had been able to travel much more, and have more time between the two of them (especially with the girlfriend now permanently gone. No more games from her.) It was almost... romantic. Platonic romance.
She only needed a scarf to carry her two necessities in: A crudely carved wooden cat, which he had made for her nearly two decades ago, when they had begun their first budding relationship, him a feisty nomadic adolescent boy -- often in some form of trouble or other -- her, a studious member of the shapeshifting academy. And the 14k gold collar, studded with five perfect blue sapphire stones, and a tiny crystal bell that made a soft and quiet tinkling sound when it was moved. He had bought it for her seven years ago, right before his departure to train for the coming Saiya-jin, using quite a bit of the money he'd made as a baseball star.
They would also have to buy a spider plant to bring along before they left the city, as she had a constant habit of chewing spider plants when they traveled. It helped keep an upset stomach under control when she got motion sickness.
He reentered the living room attaching his sword to his hip, with a bundle of clothes cast over his shoulder. He grinned at her before going into the kitchen and returning with the dragon ball, slipping it into a side pouch of his belt. Grinning, he said, "I've made up my mind."
"Where to this time, sir?"
He scooped her up and she remained cradled in his arms, eyes squeezed together in pleasure, him stroking between her ears, her tail swinging beneath her like a clock pendulum. He didn't bother to lock the door of his apartment this time, "Why not head back to my old desert lair for a while?"
She glanced up at him, grinning widely and squeak-mewling with delight, "That's a wonderful idea! It is high time we get away from civilization for a while." She paused skeptically for a moment, licking her nose with a white tongue, "Would we also go back to-"
"We're no longer thieves, my furry accomplice! No need to go back to that lifestyle!"
She climbed off his shoulder as he loaded their 'luggage' into the car's trunk, "So we'll be picking a new alias again?" He handed her a deck of shuffled identification cards, all with different names and dates of birth and current residents, but the same face: His.
Whey they had struck it rich in baseball, he had proved to be quite competent with large sums of money, sectioning it off and putting it into multiple accounts all over the world under a plethora of different names. It was part of the fun they had; with each he tried to alter his appearance, cutting and restyling his hair and wearing entirely different brands of clothes (it was also a way of keeping folks from recognizing him as either a ball player, a Tenkaichi finalist, or one of "those crazy people" who had fought Cell, as, with the help of that Satan man, they had become known as.)
When it came to renting a single's apartment, she did a very impressive job of playing a non-sentient feline, mewling and purring on his lap during interviews. It was, after all, much cheaper to pay for pets than to pay for a two-person apartment. They slept in the same bed, anyway.
"Miguel Antonion?" She offered, holding up an identification card and grinning, "Sounds Spanish."
"Sounds fine, anyway," he said chuckling, unfolding a large map to find the best route to get to the desert, "Hey, we'll be passing right over the Paouzu Mountains! Why not visit the Sons on the way? Last I heard Chi-Chi was pregnant... she must have had her kid by now!" His face then drifted into one entirely less merry, "Shame Goku's not around... his new kid is gonna miss meeting one hell of a guy."
Her purring stopped, and her large pointed ears drooped, "We'll all miss him." Her ears then reperked, "We'll just have to make sure the new little kid knows what sort of a father she had!"
"She?" He inquired as they climbed into the car.
"Well... ," she said hastily, "I was... it was, I just..."
His laughter filled the car as they made their way to the plant nursery to purchase a tender morsel of a spider plant.
In his inner breast pocket was a new capsule case. He certainly hadn't asked for it, and when it had been offered to him he had tried to turn it down; it was worth at least seven hundred zeni, and he did not have the funds to pay for it. Gifts, however, are difficult to turn down, especially from an insistent family like the Briefs.
It was called a Gardener's Case, including chemically enriched topsoil and fertilizer, a wheel barrel, pitchfork (with extra prongs in case it broke), two dandelion diggers, and a vast panorama of hearty flower seeds, as well as an insulated plastic tarp to keep plants protected over the winter (so deep into fall, it would be needed for the the new apple tree sapling and mulberry bushes he'd planted the previous spring -- the the subzero temperatures of the mountain winters killed many trees and plants each year.) The airtight confines of the capsules was said to keep the fertilizer and manure from rotting over the winter, so he would be able to peruse them come the next spring and summer.
It had, in all, been a good day. It would even have been a terrific day if he hadn't been reserving a part of his mind to worry about his mother and his grandfather and their immediate future and... Kami, forget it. Though Kaasan had left the Brief's early -- she had to put Goten down for a nap, and wasn't hungry for lunch, though he knew for a fact that it due to anxiety of her own -- he had been given permission to stay over for dinner.
She likely simply wanted to be alone for a while. He understood without having to even look at her; it was not smell or sight or hearing her voice, but he just... knew... how she felt sometimes. He always had, since he was born, though over the years had come to realize it was not normal. Ah well, though. Many things about his family were not normal.
He'd stayed at the Brief's, helping the aging doctor and his volunteer workers feed the animals and clean up their messes (dinosaurs were especially difficult to house break.)
With the sun sinking low into the western mountains, his goosebumps stood up under a surprisingly frigid gust of wind. Winter would be coming early this year. He could smell it on the northern wind.
He picked up speed, soaring, arms spread at his sides, climbing altitude until the air finally began to get thin around him, and the clouds were far below him and if he looked up, he could almost see the stars through the blue-and-darkening sky.
Looking back down, through the clouds, for miles and miles lay the secluded mountain chain his family called home. The steep, green rocky slopes glistened with frothy mountain streams (though from the distance a human would not have been able to make out such details). He saw the wildlife: the small birds flying much farther below him, the furry mammals of the brush, the aerial winged dinosaurs, pterodactyls and their smaller cousins nesting in the distant cliffs.
And there! :
Following the limestone gravel road, a sharp unnatural white stripe through the red, yellow, orange, green and gold autumn foliage, over a wood-and-rope bridge, was his home. From his height, it looked like nothing more than a tiny white marble set halfway into the ground, its exterior glinting orange in the setting sun's light and -
- there was a car in the driveway.
When he squinted, he still couldn't recognize it.
Very abruptly he canceled his chi and began dropping altitude, allowing himself to plummet headfirst four miles to the ground without using his power to hamper his descent before, just as he was about to splatter messily into the ground (if he were a human, anyway) he blossomed his chi for a split second, sending up tall plumes of dust, spun his legs over his head to land in a crouch. His chi was so low one could not detect it were they standing right next to him.
It was likely paranoia on his part, yes, but he didn't particularly like strangers knowing what sort of power and abnormal abilities he had. Even if most humans (earthlings, he reminded himself. Not all the sentient beings on the planet were human) didn't possess any acute chi sensing powers. The sentient animals-- of which were Oolong, Puar, Turtle, Karin-sama and, he suspected, many of the creatures that occupied the mountain, not to mention the domesticated city animals -- seemed to have a more instinctive understanding of chi, or perhaps it was more an instinctive understanding of 'Threat', much like his sporadic and uncontrolled Saiya-jin instincts worked.
Though the humans of the planet didn't perceive much of any instincts, they still subliminally recognized 'Threat'. That was, of course, why the workers at Capsule Corporations were intimidated by Vegita-san before they even recognized him -- the Saiya-jin rarely concealed his chi, for about the same reason he, himself, kept his chi hidden: A notable chi on a planet of chi-sensitive people is an open challenge, and sure to draw conflict.
The gravel did not stir under his feet, allowing him to move completely without sound. He looked the strange car over first. It was a capsule car, he could tell by the fuselage. Jets and hideaway wings suggested flight capability, as well as welding around doubly thick glass that could possibly allow it to submerge and travel underwater. He couldn't recognize the make, which was peculiar as Bulma-san normally kept him up to date on the newest models, sometimes asking him to even proof the blue prints for mistakes before initiating production.
Likely, it was a custom job. Which meant this could quite possibly be the most expensive car he had ever laid eyes on. Over a million zeni, easy.
This was a definite stranger, then. He knew many types of people, rich of heart or soul or power or support, but with an exception for Bulma, he didn't know anyone all that wealthy.
He brushed a string of awareness through the house, finding an indeed unfamiliar chi in the living room with Okaasan. When he quietly opened the door to the house, he could instantly scent a tenseness in the air. His mother was nervous... not quite afraid, and not angry, but definitely nervous.
His mother was rarely ever nervous. Being a former Tenkaichi finalist, she rarely needed to be.
He continued to move down the hall, body instinctively setting his weight down where the floor boards of the old house didn't creak (when a Saiya-jin wanted to move silent, even one with Saiya-jin sharp hearing would not be able to hear them.) Kami, if anyone dared to enter his house and threaten Kaasan, so help him, he would -
- Oh. Well, everything seemed all right enough. He had expected to find the room torn to pieces in a battle (his mother was fierce when she wanted to be), furniture knocked over, plants tipped and spilling their dirt onto the floor, mirrors and windows broken...
The two of them, Kaasan and the stranger, were sitting comfortably in the living room. Him on the couch, her on the foot rest by the window. On the coffee table she had set out homemade mint cookies and hot green tea in her best china.
"...agreed to challenge, " Kaasan was saying, "And only... if you win... Gohan-chan. You're home."
"Yes," he said, managing to keep confusion from his expression, smiling convincingly, careful to politely not stare at the visitor, "I'm sorry for taking so long. Bulma-san wanted to introduce me to some of her new employees." When he was certain she was meeting his gaze, he twitched his eyes at the stranger then raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Quite all right, dear... come in and have some tea and meet our visitor. This is... Prince Jondalar of the Blue Monarch Empire. Mister Jondalar, this is my oldest son, Son Gohan."
It was finally polite to look directly at the stranger, as the man stood up to greet him (though now that the introductions had been made, his hesitant curiosity had vanished, and though it couldn't be seen on the outside, his smile had grown fake as plastic.)
The man was a good six feet tall, About the same height as Otousan is... was. Rr.
The man wasn't too threatening, despite being twice his own size, despite the short sword -- scimitar, he thought he recognized -- hung at his hip. The man's face was neither kind or unkind, cleanly shaven, more amused-looking and possibly a bit cocky. Sharp green eyes -- it took him a moment to realize he'd never really seen green human eyes before; Super Saiya-jin eyes were green but that really didn't count -- and a carefully combed crop of reddish-blonde hair.
Kaasan didn't have to even mention this man was a prince. His clothes were intricate and impossibly expensive looking; his cologne exotic smelling (both of which, he could tell by scent, were made from animal products, which were illegal in most provinces since the 'animal population' had rebelled and staged marches through the capitals, waving signs and banners in their furry and scaled hands.) The man reeked of riches... though his expression wasn't quite as haughty as it could have been. It underlay with a certain amount of sincerity.
Or maybe it was just as Vegita often pointed out about him (during of of his many "I want to tell you all our flaws, if you try leaving you'll have to do it crawling away leaving a trail of blood behind you" rants) he was perhaps too positive in his view of strangers. Too... 'soft' as the Saiya-jin would put it. When he was putting it nicely.
When the man offered his hand, he shook it -- a western custom, this hand shaking -- before taking a step back and performing a traditional bow (which he always thought more sincere than a hand shake) and saying, "It's nice to meet you. I apologize if I've been rude, I wasn't expecting company."
When the man spoke, it was with a slight northern dialect, "Quite all right, young man." Only he pronounced more 'Qvite all right', "I'm afraid it was rude of me to arrive here without sending notice first." His v's were cut short and stiffened, making it 'to arrife here'.
"I am sorry to hear about your father's death," the man went on, though the vague reference suggested he didn't know the details around which his father had died. That was a good thing. "He was an amazing fighter, yes? I saw him once... at the Tenkaichi Bodoukai. Though-," in a glance that no human would have caught, his eyes darted to look at Okaasan, "-I did not have the time to stay and watch his final impressive fight with the Demon King."
He hadn't stay to watch... it was not a good thought, but something told him the man had gone to the Tenkaichi to see his mother. And had likely departed once she had fought his father and they were declared husband and wife.
Something near his eye twitched as he realized the man was making significant eyecontact with his mother. And she was blushing and... something else had occurred in her body that made his face flush. She likely caught from what he'd said the same thing he, himself did. And was flattered as well as... He took a deeper sniff of the air. She was attracted to him. Perhaps it was just physically -- it happened quite a bit, goodness knows Bulma-san was attracted physically to most handsome male employees that worked for her, and it was all entirely innocent.
It was innocent. It was. He could, after all, see how this man could be thought of as attractive, with his strikingly green eyes (almost the color of new spring grass) and long dark lashes, his honey colored hair. And his subtle flattery. His rich scent and his perfect, neat clothes. His wealth. Rare could one find a more decent man. And there was no reason his mother shouldn't be attracted to him... She was... well, after with Tousan... gone...
She was single.
And since the death of Tousan, he knew for a fact that she had remained completely celibate. It would be a year next early summer.
He kept his face bland and polite as he turned to his mother, noticing a warning stiffness in his neck muscles, and his shoulders, too. "I'm sorry, but I have to excuse myself. I have homework to complete and need to get up early tomorrow to work in the garden... It will likely frost by next week and I have some seeds I need to get into the ground. I've already had dinner, anyway..."
"You're excused," Okaasan said, voice quite a bit flustered, blushing darker as she met his eye, also giving off waves of... guilt. It was likely because he looked so much like his father. Good. He felt petty and low, but he was glad he reminded her of Tousan.
As he exited the room to make his silent way to his room, he heard Jondalar's voice behind him saying in a tone that would have been too low to hear were he a 'normal' person, "Garden?"
"He started it last fall," his mother said, also speaking in a low voice -- she never did understand how acute he and Tousan's hearing was, "It really was lovely, with so many different flowers..."
The man chuckled as the door to his own bedroom closed, "A boy who loves flowers, hm? How abnormal..."
He paced his room, to his desk, looked down at his papers. He hadn't meant to, but it turned out he was inadvertently lying about having homework. In his peculiar and confused emotional state, he had forgotten that he really didn't have any homework. He had gotten it down early this morning, as a condition to be allowed to accompany Kaasan to the Capsule Corporations building.
He then paced to the bed. Stared at it. No, it was far too early to go to bed yet... Not while he could still hear the voices down the hall. His lips pushed together in frustration. He went to his well-stocked bookshelf and tried to find a book he might like to reread. As much as he loved reading, however, he had a bad taste in the back of his mind.
He finally walked back to his desk to perhaps get started on tomorrow's homework... As he sat down, however, he saw the corner of a rumpled piece of paper stuck under his Botany book. He stared at it for a moment, concentrating on it so hard for a moment the entire world hazed, sound stopped reaching his brain and he became disembodied from the world. He jumped when laughter from down the hall startled him back.
He pulled the paper out from under the book. It was taped together with scotch tape and very much a mess, even after being flattened under the book.
His eyelids lowered as he recognized it. Though he had likely read it at least four times a day since he'd retrieved it from the rubbish bin, and with the near-photographic memory his mother had raised him to have could have recited it word for word after reading it only once, he began rereading it yet again, after closely studying the stamped emblem of a blue butterfly in the topmost left corner of the paper (which he recognized after researching it on Bulma's computer as the Blue Monarch Empire's official seal.)
To the esteemed Gyu-Mao, Ox-King of Fry Pan Mountain and Kingdom,
Your kingdom, with all it's wealth and years of prosperity, has let out a cry so loud it has reached my ears. Your people are unhappy; your power now seems to go unrespected, and surely soon your reign shall crumble leaving your subjects to a state of darkness and anarchy.
I have a proposition that could aid you.
In any other case, this would be a declaration of war; my sources inform me you have an inadequate military, if you indeed have one at all. Were my troops to invade your land at this current time, I am willing to bet you and your limited royal guard would be slaughtered like fat young calves-
He skipped the next few paragraphs, as they were nothing more than an in-depth explanation of just how easy it would be to overtake and decimate Fry Pan and any forces that stood between them and their goal. It sounded too familiar to him. The arrogance. The assurance that victory was imminent. Just once it would be nice to have a humble force to reckon with. Still, he recognized that it was a type of technique to insure victory.
He was not merely using a less-than-subtle means to proclaim victory in advance, it was also more likely to lower the moral of he that received the letter. It did not raise his opinion of the letter's writer knowing that the letter had been written to his grandfather.
-however it has come to my knowledge that your only heir and daughter has been recently widowed. In the wake of my condolences for the loss of your son-in-law (who, from what I've heard, was a mighty warrior in his own right) I would like to bring to your notice that my only son, Prince Jondalar, is not only also without a marriage mate, but has been interested in your own daughter for quite a few years now. You would recall some fourteen years ago he even went so far as to ask for your daughter's hand, though at the time she was already taken. Besides that, they were still too young, him being only fifteen, and her a mere thirteen.
But the signs cannot be ignored, now! For at this very time that I find your kingdom at the fringes of my own empire, and find that I want it, fate has parted our disagreements and shown us a peaceful solution!
Would it not be a glorious union if our children were wed? The union of our two kingdoms between our two heirs could merge our dual power into what would be one of the largest kingdoms on the planet. Perhaps, if we were to expand even further, we could declare ourselves a country of our own. Through such an arrangement you would be allowed to rule your kingdom for as long as you desire, to the end of your natural days if you so wish it. (It wouldn't, after all, be polite to kill my daughter-in-law's father or steal his land.)
And after we relinquish our thrones to our wed prince and princess, it could be a single kingdom, run by a mighty dual power-
He flipped through the next two and a half pages, unwilling to read a second time the careful and nauseous depiction of a perfect, powerful and (at least it seemed) brutally aggressive kingdom. Didn't want to know how efficient it could be, or how peaceful, or what sort of glory it could gain.
He did not like it.
-realize that your family's code on marriage stems from a tradition set by your own wife (may she rest in peace; I had met her but twice before her final departure from this world.) Unless I am mistaken, according to the rules of Fry Pan, my son must first defeat your daughter in combat. Consider it done.
Then let this letter, rather than a declaration of war, be a challenge from my family to yours.
Next spring, in a place of you and your daughter's choosing, under witness of your eyes, my own, and a yet unselected number of other witnesses, my son shall battle your daughter with his chosen weapon: the scimitar, as he is an accomplished and yet undefeated swordsman. Your daughter may choose any single, non-projectile weapon for herself.
My son shall seek audience with your daughter some time soon to see whether she understands and accepts our challenge. And then they shall be wed.
May the resulting union bring peace to both our kingdoms for generations to come.
Emperor Dunadar of the Blue Monarch Empire.
A few weeks back, his mother had torn this letter into a multitude of pieces, crumpled it up and thrown it away. It had taken quite a few hours to piece it back together with scotch tape, and press it flat under a heavy book.
Nothing, however, could have repaired it were he to suddenly incinerate it to powdery ash in his fingers...
He was quite aware of that face as, in the living room, he could still hear the voices of his mother and the visitor, the hairs on the back of his neck and along his scalp prickling on edge at the unfamiliar sound of the visitor's voice. Strangers had been in the house before, both male and female. But never before had the sound of a man's voice that wasn't his father's upset him so.
He sat back down at his desk, smoothing the hairs of his arms and neck down with his palms, and returned to his homework.
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