Some scenes in the following chapter are done in manga-form. This is my first experiment with such an endeavor, and is the reason this particular sequence took such a long time to be completed. I will used this technique again in the future, but not for a while, and only when I feel it would, visually, be entirely necessary.

It's simply too taxing and takes far too long to be very practical.

This part was going to have three manga-scenes. It has been cut in half to only have one scene. The other two scenes (my fingers allowing it), as well as a few written sequences between them will be withheld until part 1.4. (Which should, theoretically, take less time, considering preliminary sketches and mental mapping of such manga pages has already been accomplished.)

I make no apologies for the delay, however. I write for my own enjoyment.

The Variation Elements

1.3 Of A Successful Restaurant

"The secret of a successful restaurant is sharp knives."
-- George Orwell

It was not the first time she had done things this way. In the past, she had often utilized her unique size and qualities of appearance to gain all that she had honestly wanted... and wherever these failed, her beloved friend would get it for her.

"Meow," she said to the man, walking pointedly into the room on four delicate paws.

He looked up from the book he was reading, his red hair dangling over one ear before swiping it carefully into place. "Hey, cat." He replied, looking awkward in her presence.

She sat down and began meticulously licking the fur into place on her paw, running it over the back of her head and over her ear, watching him through one eye. He was observing her with such precise attention, in what struck her as wonder and fear and... marvel. A blue cat was indeed a rare sight, but not so much that he would be this bemazed...

Tentatively, the man set his reading material down and pushed his chair back, leaning down and holding out an offering hand, clicking his tongue, "Here, cat. Here, puss, that a good girl."

Well, her pride both smoothed and ruffled. He had gotten her sex correctly this time, though she did not like being called in such a condescending manner. She came to him, anyway, meandering through the room as she went like any respectable feline, her ears twitching. When she reached his outstretched hand, sniffing it distrustfully -- it smelled of soap and the acidic tang of ink that came from new books (give her an old book, any day) Finally, she butted her head against the hand and went on walking, sitting beneath his chair.

He leaned over completely and looked at her from between his legs. "I've never seen a cat before," he said. She pretended not to hear him, her tail twitching in some form of catly anxiety. He went on, "There really aren't any animals where I come from... Some livestock, maybe, but I've never seen anything furry up close before... alive, at any rate."

She turned and looked into his eyes a moment, then at his feet, snagging one of his leather shoe laces with a white claw.

"The Blue Monarch has only inhabited humans for the past two decades, since the Warthog Riot broke out." She looked up at him again, curious. Gliding out from under his chair, she leapt to his lap and began cleaning the white spot on her chest. "You're not listening to me, are you, Cat?" He rubbed her head in an awkward manner, "But that's okay. Your fur is softer than I thought it would be."

She settled down with her limbs tucked under her body, allowing him to pet her back, though exposing no scratchable tummy.

"I don't think Father would be pleased if he knew I was playing with a cat. Do you understand a word I'm saying? Father says there's no such thing as a sentient animal... they can be tricky, crafty, lucky... they can be clever. They can even talk and travel on two legs and hold jobs. But they're still only animals. It wouldn't be fair otherwise; humans have survived on this planet only by being the smartest, the most dexterous and ambitious and brightest creatures on the planet. You animals have your teeth and your claws and your acute senses. We have brains meant for thinking."

She was supposed to start purring. That's what she would have done if she did not understand what he was saying.

Maybe she was just a dumb animal. But she was also an offended one.

"That's why it wouldn't be fair for animals to be as smart as humans. Because then humans would eventually be killed. That's what happened in the Riot; the Blue Monarch animals started rebelling and killing the Blue Monarch citizens... And the humans simply could not defend themselves. A human will fare poorly against a wolf regardless if it's on four legs or two, with or without clothes. No creature with sentience could tear another sentient creature's stomach open with its teeth."

He seemed to have slowed down in petting her, as though realizing she, being a carnivore, ate her mice raw and warm and kicking.

She hopped down from his lap in disgust, a deep-seeded amount of curiosity also newly ingrained in her agenda.

He was the only member who had no hidden agendas in the scene, no secret emotions, and then only because he held no fear of being as vocal as he pleased (or rather, as much as he could get away with when in the company of his hostess).

Even his precious furry accomplice held a degree of deceit, insisting before hand and politely inclining the other members of the family to allow her to, for now, maintain a charade of lower intelligence. She wished to remain "nonsentient" so long as the Blue Monarch prince was in the same room. She even willingly dined from a dish set on the floor (fresh fish, prepared by their hostess; it was not a bad meal at all), lapping creme from a saucer, rather than sipping from a straw as he knew was her favorite method of drinking.

Sitting to his right was his hostess, Chi-Chi. His dearest friend's widow. She smiled at the compliments on her cooking, and she met their eyes when she spoke to them; she was the essence of civility and good grace, clear, clipped voice, a guarded yet warm smile... He had to wonder why he never realized she was a princess before. It was so obvious, now, watching her deal with her company with the same trained composure of a diplomat. The elegant way her wrist turned to serve them their meals, which gave no hint of the muscle in her slender arms, no sign that in under a second she could break a full grown man's nose with her palm. She was dainty and proper, even while juggling an infant under one arm. She was beautif-

She was his dearest friend's widow. He didn't actually know her very well. She had always remained something more intimate than acquaintance by her title of Son Goku's wife. Later, the second title, Son Gohan's mother. Still she maintained no title of her own. And now...? Now she was Son Goku's widow. He narrowed his eyes and took a very large helping of sirloin, perfectly seasoned and spiced... Were she to remarry... would she still even hold a title among them?

Seated across from her (to his left), in all his grand, too-perfect, shiny-buttoned glory, sat Prince Jondalar. His hair was perfectly groomed, his jaw meticulously shaven (he ran a hand over his own face, feeling the beginnings of his five-o'-clock shadow creeping out; were he to have any choice he would just let it grow. It was his furry accomplice that insisted he looked better shorn.) The prince ruffled him. He made him want to just lean over the table and smear some food across his expensive shirt. Were he still a reckless teenager, he probably would have wanted to do much worse, settling for jumping the man on the first instant they were left alone and stealing his capsule case and wallet, if not killing him in such a humiliating way as to ram his sword clear up that prissy ass of his...

He chewed savagely at his meal, surprised as he realized he was eating the most zealously amongst his fellow diners. Across the table sat Gohan, who, instead of decimating his meal as his father would have done by now... he merely picked at his food.

That was concerning. Any growing child should maintain a healthy appetite much less... He shook his head. Gohan was a tough kid for all his diffidence. He'd be okay.

"Miss Chi-" Jondalar began to speak just as Gohan suddenly began to say, "Moth-"

They both looked at each other, and for a moment he noticed his young friend's chi give a restless twitch. It wasn't aggressive (Gohan was not aggressive) but it was... volatile. The prince squirmed as he recognized without consciously realizing it the hint of threat. That was interesting: People didn't didn't often possess such a strong grasp of chi; perhaps he had a portion of natural talent?

How amusing it would have been to witness a son and a suitor compete for the lady's attention were not two such members close to his heart.

He took the initiative of sieving the awkward silence with the mundane compliment of, "I've said it before, but you make the best anything when it comes to food." ... Surely he was not also competing for attention in the compliment, even if the prince did snatch him a look. At least Gohan trusted him enough to not even look up from the pea, which he had been chasing-and-missing around his plate for the past ten minutes. He looked up, then down again, likely caught up in his own adolescent thoughts.

She thanked him, making eye contact for the perfect length of time, making it neither insincere but leaving no room for deeper affections... She could be cold.

Jondalar stepped up next, "I was thinking of driving down to town this Monday... before the big snow flies." (Chewing at his steak, he made a low snort in the back of his throat; no one had invited him, but the prince had made it clear he intended to spend the winter with them one way or another... though he couldn't say anything, as he was also planning to.) "Do you need anything while I'm there?"

The hostess looked at him strangely for a moment, then looked at Gohan with a look of puzzlement and wonder on her face (his chi had done something peculiar as well; another twitch, as he noted.)

"I... was about to say the same thing." Was all the boy said, talking to his plate. He set his fork down, "It will probably snow sooner; Sunday would be a better day." He quietly got up from the table and pushed in his chair, carrying his plate to the sink, saying, "Dinner was very good, Mother, thank you." And he left the room.

The woman continued to remain quiet, looking after him with a peculiar expression of both resignation and anxiousness.

Say something, idiot. He didn't know if it was his own thought or Puar's. "Maybe we can all go to town. Just us guys."

The prince turned and looked over the table at him, his eyes wide, "... How does he know when it will snow?"

He leaned across the table, elbow resting on its wooden surface. Looking deep into green, royal eyes. "Don't you know?

"He can smell it."

Green eyes opened to the crisp, white light of a winter morning. He had awakened in the same manner exactly the morning before: Cold, altitude-induced headache, miserable... and the morning before that, and before and before again...

He groaned and threw back his feather blanket, and held still. Staring up at his ceiling. He had again been dreaming of Genevah, of just sitting and talking and playing board games and dancing... and slowly running his hand up silky inner thighs to...

Sitting up, he shut his mind off from that direction. He could not think of... things such as that. There had been deceit. He had forgiven it.

It was... Saturday. They would be going into town tomorrow. The strange, quiet boy, with all his dead plants. And the tall, feral man that had now taken up residence in the Son house, with his small blue cat always perched on his shoulder and his muscles evident even through the thick sweaters and flannels that he wore, with his sword hanging easily at his side. The cat perhaps unnerved him more than anything else. He had never actually seen a cat before; none had been within the walls of the Blue Monarch Citadel since...

In the silence of the morning, he realized something was missing. A sound... that had been there for the past week that he had been staying here.

The shhhtk, shhtk, shhtk of a rake. It normally woke him up. Son Gohan always devoted his time to working outside in the early hours of the day when there was no one to disturb him, raking up the fallen leaves just as fast as they fell.(The frost had frozen the ground three nights before, so he could no longer plant things.)

Something was different this morning. The routine had been changed. Groggily climbing out of bed -- he had finally given in and begun wearing pajamas as opposed to merely what Kami had given him -- he shuffled his way to the window to see what was amiss, scratching his stomach with one hand, stroking his stubbly chin with the other.

His hands dropped to his sides when he got to the window.

A large, circular patch of the lawn now entirely lacked grass. The brown, bald patch looked as though it had been burned in a perfect circle, though he surely would have noticed a fire over the course of the night....

Within the circle stood Son Gohan and Chi-Chi (she was radiant in the morning sun, dressed in purple, her puffs of frozen air delicate as they exited her lips... They were not dressed in their normally refined and carefully sewn clothes they wore about the house; they had donned looser material that could only be... fighting clothes.

Their bare arms and fingers in the cold weather was a hint that they intended to get warm through different, more active means.

It was when the boy handed the woman a peculiar staff, and pulled out a sheathed sword for himself that he mentally grasped just what was occurring.

They were going to train.

(FFN readers will not be able to view this scene, as it is in manga format. Consult my current website.)

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-just cannot spar with Mutter. I tried. It is too frightening. There is a part inside of me that gets too eager.

I thought that more than anything, I would become frustrated. I've never stood in combat against someone less skilled than myself; I'm accustomed to training with people stronger than me. That was what made Piccolo so irate for the first month he trained me -- it wasn't that I was particularly bad. It was just too limited in strength. And indeed, when withstanding Mutter's attacks I feel a sense of mediocrity. Not really in her actions, and not in my own but this overhead, presiding feeling relating to the entire situation.

But, though I wasn't 'enjoying' it, persay... I was aware of being almost thrilled.

I could only have inherited the particular excited side from meinen Vater. I would dare to call it my Saiyan 'half', though the concept is frightening, as it would suggest, then, that the 'rational' side must be the human 'half'.

If that is the case, then it was my Saiyan 'half' that wanted to kill scare push Mutter farther than necessary. It somehow recognized her as weaker, and wanted to -- I'm not going to follow on this thought, to avoid repeating my previous thoughts and/or fears.

I don't want to think of that. I'm sure that I've only become more aware of my non-human traits now that I have begun trying to hide them from Der Prinz's notice. I wonder if it isn't silly, as he will be around for the rest of his life. I am sorry for the shaky handwriting when I wrote that. I really don't like the thought.

But he is going to have to find out some day that I am not entirely normal. I already have to slip out of the house a few hours before or after dinner to catch and eat something, as I have been only eating 'human-sized' portions at the dinner table. It is beginning to worry Mutter, but she hasn't said anything; I think she wants to convince herself that I'm becoming more human.

I wish I were.

Jetzt kann ich nicht mehr schreiben. Ich muss für ein bischen denken-

The cashier of the small grocery watched closely the three individuals in her shop; the two men carried swords, which kept her slightly more wary than normal -- it was a sight not often seen in these small, mostly poor mountain towns. The boy with them she knew well enough; he lived up the mountain, in the old Son residence where the great martial arts master used to live.

Peculiar lot; the tallest man, carrot-top, dressed with material too fine to have been processed outside of the most modern of cities; decked from head to toe in rich stuff; shiny buttons, gaudy belt, shoe buckles that drew attention all the way down there to his feet. Fine, pressed leather vest. City folk. The other man could have been his polar opposite; scruffy, course wool over coat (he was probably warm, though; she one-upped him for practicality), ill-trimmed hair and poorly shaven (though it was obvious he put some effort into maintaining himself, unlike many of the men in the winter up in this region.)

And of course, the open yet still unexplainable boy from up the mountain, hardly wearing any jacket at all, though by now she knew better than to inquire if he was cold or daft.

The Sons never were a normal lot.

Carrot-top was commenting on the large sack the boy had slung over his shoulder, "That is a large amount of salt." He had a foreign dialect. A pox on the all the foreign city folk; they weren't welcome up here where the decent folk worked hard for a living...

The scruffy man seemed irritated by the comment, while the boy spoke in a precise fashion that was rarely used by the common mountain dwellers, "We need it to preserve and dry our meat over the winter." The cashier was familiar with the concept; not many families up here got fresh meat when most of the animals were hibernating underground, or the fish frozen at the bottom of a lake. Having a good store of dried meats deep in the winter kept a man sane and healthy.

"You're satisfied to eat jerky for an entire season?" The refined man asked, making the cashier wonder if he wasn't used to more delicate items on his menu.

The boy gave him a sharp look, "Mother is creative when she uses it; she puts it in rice, soup, dicing it up for salad or cutting it into sections for casseroles... you never taste the same thing twice..." He seemed to grow embarrassed at talking for even that amount of time and, blushing, he drifted off and let the statement shrivel at the end. The cashier couldn't honestly think of a time she'd heard the boy say so much in a single statement.

The scruffy man made a point to clear his throat, as though warning the carrot top to leave well enough alone.

"Then our next stop would be to the butcher's then? Or perhaps a slaughter house, if the quantity is terribly great...," carrot top inquired, reading the handwritten labels on the fruit preserves neatly shelved by date; they were jarred for the grocery by the lady down the street for extra money in the winter, which the cashier's boss was not adverse to paying, considering how hard times got for people in the colder seasons.

"What?" The boy asked as he retrieved a cart and added to his large sack of salt an equally large sack of flour, and sugar, too. "No; the only other place we need to visit is the Capsule Corporation building."

The carrot top looked perplexed, "When do we get the meat, then? You're going to be needing a lot if you want it to last the season."

The boy answered quietly, as though not particularly wanting to, "I'll... be going hunting soon, maybe after the first snow, before most of the animals tuck down. If I'm lucky I can catch a... I'm not sure. It's been a really dry summer, so a lot of the game has moved down the mountain to follow last winter's snow run-off..."

"Game's good on the southern slope, so says Pappy," the cashier butted in, gesturing for the trio to approach to be rung up. The boy smiled gratefully, having to life the larger sacks for her to mark them down (those Sons and their freakish strength...)

"Why are we going to Capsule Corporations?"

"... I need to get something."

A motioning hand, prompting a further explanation.

A sigh, and a glance out the window to the scenery whizzing by below.

"He just needs something, okay? You sure ask a lot of questions."

"... it was a harmless inquiry."

The dialect was mimicked, "'vas a 'armless inqviry'... look, I'm driving, so I getta' set the rules. And I say no more talking until we get there."

"Yamcha-"

"No talking, Gohan, it counts for you, too."

He didn't say it, but he was not looking forward to arriving at their destination. It was his own problem. His hands gripped the wheel too tightly.

He wished Puar were with him.

"It's warmer down here than it is in the mountains."

She answered, "I don't doubt it."

He sipped his hot cider. She watched him do it. When he set his mug down, eyes fixed carefully on the table top, she only continued to watch him.

"So...," She attempted, "How are things going with Chi-Chi and Gohan?"

"Oh, they're good." He ascended, smiling mindlessly, happy to be able to talk about something not directly involved, so that he wouldn't have to... talk about anything directly involved, "Very good. She's a natural. She keeps a good grip and balance and has learned a lot even after training for only two days. She can copy every move I show her by the second or third try... the type of pupil any master would pray for."

"Oh, sorry." She said, canting her head. Curse those stray blue strands of soft hair (oh, he knew just how soft) that had escaped her barrette, covering part of her brow, "Are you training her? I thought Gohan was going to..."

"He is... too. We both are." He slid his mug back and forth across the table top; she realized right then that it was his favorite of all the many cups kept in the large house. She hadn't realized she had given it to him... she had gotten it out for him so many times in the past that it was an automatic action now. "It's just that Gohan doesn't feel entirely comfortable sparring with her. The power difference is too different, and when he fights he... well he says he 'uses different parts of his brain' than when he does other things.

So now that he's taught her how to use the enchanted parts of the Nyoi-bo, he's putting me in charge of most of the combat training -- I do know more about weapons than he does," he didn't seem to have any specific pride when he said it; it was just a statement. She sighed internally, he always seemed so defeated and dead when he was around her, even now that he was willing to speak to her again, "Gohan now works on teaching her to use chi. He's like his father, there: He's incredible at grasping how to control chi; he was flying by the time he was five, you know?. He says she'll probably be able to fly by the end of the month maybe... or at least hovering."

"That's terrific!" She said, clapping her hands together.

"Yeah." He said, his finger sliding around the rim of his mug, "So... did you get Gohan the capsule he needed?"

"Oh. Yes. Yes, we... ah, we just completed the standard issue of training room, heating installed." When she swallowed, it sounded too loud in the room. "It should work for you guys all winter..."

He looked on way, then another, then finally started to stand up, "I better go. Vegita doesn't usually like me hanging arou-"

"Forget about it, he's gotten behind on his training recently and won't be out of the gravity chamber for at least a few more hours." She said hastily. "Sit down. I'm sure us old friends have more to say to each other than just that!"

He looked at her strangely, then slowly sank back into his seat.

"How have you been?" She started out.

"Fine." He said, looking across the room at the window.

"... And Puar?"

"She's fine, too." He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of his seat, eyes closed.

"Oh." She kept on smiling, though her stomach was sinking into his knees. "That's good."

"Yeah. We're both good." His eyebrows were drawing together, "Look, I think I should go-"

"But we're just getting started! There's plenty more to talk about!"

His eyes snapped open, and she was surprised to see them so sharp and fierce, "There isn't anything more to talk about."

She finally snapped, standing up hastily enough to send her chair tipping over behind her, "Would you stop being such a whiny little creep and just accept what's happened!?"

He hadn't moved at all, not showing an ounce of surprise at the explosion, "I have accepted it. That's why I don't think I should be here. Normally when there's a competition between Clueless Boyfriend Number One and Secret Boyfriend Number Two, and Clueless Number One loses, he's supposed to leave the happy couple alone to raise Secret Number Two's son."

"Not this again...," She said, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and index finger.

"I was willing to wait outside. You asked me to come in. I didn't want to. It's not customary. We're supposed to avoid each other now." He pushed his mug away from himself, as though it sickened him or hurt him at such a proximity, "You could have at least told me straight, instead of just... not."

"Are you going to hold it against me forever then?" She asked crossly, snatching the mug off the table, almost throwing it across the room in her frustration and rage and... well, immense guilt, though she would rather he not know she felt remorse for her actions. She was a genius and heir to the wealthiest corporation in the world. She could be a bitch. She made a very good bitch. But she did not make mistakes. And she never regretted her actions.

There were some things she did not do.

"I don't hold it against you anymore... I'm just tired. When I come over and I see little Trunks playing, I don't feel angry. He's so cute, and Gohan is so happy to have other kids around. But I don't think you can understand what it was like. To just plow along, blind and content in my blindness, not clever enough to think otherwise... When I first found out you were pregnant, I actually thought it was mine somehow, though I couldn't really figure out how. We've never actual had sex... came close a couple times, but... You could have at least told me that I wasn't the father, instead of just laughing and shrugging."

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get yourself killed. Vegita is a bit protect-"

"Yeah. I know what he's capable of. He did kill me once."

Her teeth clamped shut. She hadn't really thought of it that way.

"I'll see that Chi-Chi knows you said 'Hi.'" He said simply, carefully pushing his seat back as he stood up again. "Tell Gohan that I'll see him when he gets home... and tell Jondalar that he can drive my truck."

She was left standing there in the empty kitchen, staring after him.

She was left standing there, unsure if she should feel righteous indignation or guilt at past decisions.

"Yamcha...," she whispered, and then forced from herself, "You bastard." And she cleared away their mugs.

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