As always, I would recommend this series be read from my site, where the illustrations are visible. A link will be provided at the end of the chapter to return you to FFN and your regularly scheduled reading environment ^_~.
The Variation Elements
1.6: Mortar That Binds the Savage
"Lies are
the mortar that binds the savage individual man into the social masonry."
--H. G. Wells
As he opened the manila envelope, he realized that his fingernails were getting uneven; he'd actually become too embarrassed to get another manicure. It seemed that with the boy gone (though no one had told him where he'd gone to; presumably hunting?) the bandit was going out of his way to make up for the loss in hostility.
He slid from the envelope a folder containing photographs and photocopies of documents. Spreading them out before him on his bed (there weren't very many) he stepped back to gape in awe.
For the few miniscule papers before him represented Son Goku's entire existence in this world.
A single line in different documents; purchasing of a tailored gi... entry and placement (and lastly victory) in the past few Tenkaichi Boudokais... He flipped through the elaboration in these, scowling like he tasted bad milk ("... powers never seen before...") He didn't want to hear praise for the dead man. It seemed the man had never used a credit card, had never written a check (he couldn't even find a bank account under his name.) Some newspaper clippings that didn't include the man's name, per say, but included enough details to connect him with the defeat of the Demon King Piccolo...
He went ahead and just crumpled up the cover sheet, which would have documented the surface findings:
Name:
Son Goku
Hair/Eye: Black/Black
Height: Unknown (estimated: 6ft)
Weight: Unknown (estimated: 230lbs)
Nationality: Unknown (adopted into Fry Pan Mountain kingdom)
Age: Unknown
Date of birth: Unknown
Date of death: Unknown
"Unknown, unknown... come on, I don't want estimations...," below the written text was a rather pathetic family tree that pretty much started with Son Goku, noting his wife and two sons, with a brief side note that he had at one point claimed to have been raised by the hermit/martial arts master Son Gohan.
Of the papers beneath, there indeed was no certificate of birth. Or death for that matter. (The private investigator his father had hired seemed skeptical the man had indeed died at all, considering his reputation.). Then... there was documentation of marriage... This, he set aside without reading... There was a much older paper, signed by Son Gohan himself putting his extensive property into the possession of one Son Goku in the case of death-- though, it was reflected, the man had no personal identification to prove that he even was Son Goku . It was fortunate no one had challenged his ownership or he could very easily have lost his home... the Son family even now was under the same threat, really.
He paused with curiosity when he came across hospital records. Some five years ago the man had been brought to the emergency room, so horribly mangled he'd been put in traction for what the doctors thought might be a year; from the description of his condition, more bones were broken than the ones that weren't. He had walked out a month or so later without a limp. (He would have considered it impossible if he didn't remember the bruise on Son Gohan's face a few weeks back; it had looked like it would take at least a few days to clear up, yet it was entirely unnoticeable by the next morning. The bandit had made an inappropriate comment about looking at children's face's too much when he'd tried for a closer inspection.)
Flipping through the report... he found that the boy had been checked into the hospital at the same time as his father. Both of them... concussion, multiple fractures and lacerations, internal bleedage, third degree burns... the boy had also walked out far too early, hardly more than a week, good as new. (And, it seemed, Tenkaichi finalist Kuririn had been joining them.)
There was no noted cause of injury (the papers, it seemed, had been filled out by Bulma Briefs, who must have paid quite a bit of money to keep the hospital staff from asking too many questions. The story certainly had been kept quiet... The press would have loved the chance to run a scoop on two Tenkaichi competitors suddenly sustaining massive damage.)
As he read it, he was shivering.
He had been in a few battle of his own, mostly defending his honor or that of his empire from behind the hilt of his scimitar. He'd proven himself competent in fierce dueling competitions. He had a few good scars to show for it, too... (He couldn't fight it; memories of Genevah, running fingers over his scars, amused when he told her he couldn't feel it... two warm lips pressed against them, just to make sure...)
But...
Shattered bones... The doctor who initially wrote the report didn't seem positive Son Goku would ever be able to walk correctly again, if at all; from the knees down his legs had been little more than mush. His body had been so horribly burned there wasn't even enough healthy patches of skin to try grafting onto the more endangered areas. Artificial skin had been required...
It hurt more, though, to read the last page, which documented visitations.
Chichi had spent nearly every day and many nights at his bedside.
He put the rest of the report away and rifled through the sparse photographs that had been collected. Very few had been obtained; it seemed that most individuals that had any pictures of the man and his family had been less than helpful with supplying any aid in the search for better understanding of the deceased fellow. Looking back, he found that their marriage licence was probably the only photo ID the man had ever obtained, and only then because the king of Fry Pan Mountain had waived all requirements of proof of identification. Paper clipped to the document was, first, a picture of the man's face. Wide-eyed and round; he looked far too young (smug little bastard)... beneath was Chichi's photo, looking just as young...
He leaned back, pondering; when he'd arrived here a few months ago, he'd thought she looked exactly the same. It wasn't true, though. In the passing of the decade or so since she'd been married, her delicate bone structure had come out more; cheekbones and jaw line, and -- if you dared to look -- the enticing concavity of her collar bone.
And how different of a temperament than he had ever assumed! Despite the blatant and showy (lack-therof) clothing she wore as a child, he'd always assumed she was shy, rather bashful. She often ran when she saw strangers coming, and rarely spoke to visitors to the Fry Pan Kingdom unless her father prompted her to (which wasn't often, as he rarely let outsiders past the city walls without threatening to render their meat from bone and devour them.)
But though she was perhaps shy in her own way, now that he was blessed with the opportunity to get to know her, he found she was certainly less poised than he'd initially thought; she yelled often and indiscriminately at anyone that irked her regardless of their position or standing. She was known to give in to fits of anger, followed by days of isolation, where she spoke very little and was very clipt and to the point when she did, not necessarily impolite but not warm either. On the off hand, though, she was much more responsible and dependable than he would ever have thought possible for a princess (or any woman for that matter), singularly tending to guests and family without exception no matter what tumultuous mental state she was in.
He found he was smiling down at the picture of the young bride-to-be. For whatever else could be said, she was certainly more colorful and outgoing than Genevah ever bothered to be-
The ring of his phone made him jump. He almost answered it, but checked his caller ID first. And grimaced. The name that appeared was the exact same as the past thirty calls. 'BLU MNRCH EMPR'. His father. Again. His hand quickly moved away from the receiver.
It was times like these he wished he'd made friends with... someone. Anyone. Anytime in his life, just to be able to expect a phone call he could anticipate instead of dread.
"... hate him," he murmured, going to the window, opening it to the frigid wind (the snow had finally slacked off, at least for the day) and took a deep, lung-stinging breath. "I hate you, old man!"
A moment later, a dark head popped out of the training room (Son Gohan had gotten the capsule from the Brief's personally) and Chichi called, "Is everything okay?"
He smiled widely, showing a row of perfect teeth, "Fine!" (It was a fine day for a bold-faced lie.) Then, because he was desperate for company, "It would be better, though, if you would join me for coffee!"
Her eyebrows raised and, looking back into the training room for a moment, murmured a few words he couldn't hear. She then looked back up at him and said, "Why don't you come into the house and we can round it out with cake?" The nyoi bo, still poised in her hands, returned to it's smallest length from some unknown signal and she handed it to someone he couldn't see inside. She hurried through the snow to her main house without a jacket.
From within the training room, Yamcha stepped into the doorway for a moment, looking particularly sour at the interruption.
That suited him just fine, and he made a point to show it by smiling broadly and waving a good afternoon, pretending not to notice when the other man returned the wave with a middle finger.
Flip of a glossy album page; "This is when Goku-san placed second at the twenty-first Tenkaichi Budoukai. I got the picture from Bulma... She and Kuririn were pretty much the only people who took pictures." Flip, "Oh! These are so out of order -- see, this is when Goku and I first met; I can't believe I used to wear that out of the house. Those are the ruins of the castle in the background." Sighing, "Most of the pictures of me when I was younger were destroyed along with the castle... my baby pictures, too. And the pictures of my mother."
"I'm sorry for the loss... I think there might be a few pictures of your mother in the Blue Monarch archives if you would like me to check. Our two kingdoms were actually quite close for a while." He was sitting beside her on the couch, photo albums piled beside her, one stretched open across their laps. She was aware of his warm thigh against hers.
Hoping the portions of her hair that hung at the sides of her face helped cover the darkening pigment of her cheeks, "That would be... very nice. Thank you."
She flipped through here and there, assured that all the pictures taken those precious days before the Cell Games (during which time her husband and son had refused to even leave their transformed states even for the sake a few normal photographs) were not showing, she was startled when a flash of his red hair was lowered for a closer inspect of a more recent picture, "Is that what Son Goku ended up looking like? He must at least be a foot taller than he was at the Tenkaichi..."
She smiled forlornly, "Yes, he just kept growing all through his twenties." Then, realizing that might be a Saiya-jin trait, quickly said, "Though I'm sure it was just because he continued training."
He didn't answer, turning a few pages back... then, from some thought or another, plucked up one of the previous ones they had been paging through, opening it, looking at some pictures of him when he was much younger (she assumed for comparison), then sending her entire system to a rather icy stop he said, somewhat mutely, "He had a tail when he was younger, didn't he."
Photos didn't lie, and she couldn't come up with a good excuse so she only said, "Yes. He did."
"... I see." He fidgeted, looked up at a picture on the wall of the family when they had first been budding (little Gohan had only been three when the picture was taken.) "And.. your son also?"
She very-nearly swore, "Yes."
Both were quiet for a moment, possibly both considering the Blue Monarch's rather strict ban on inhuman creatures.
A prattling sound at their feet as her youngest was discovered gumming the lip of the coffee table before disengaging and, dramatically puckering his lips howled, "Wooooh!"
The prince leaned over and in a clumsy manner similar to when he patted Puar, fluffed the infant's head, smiled lopsidedly, "And what are you up to, kleine?" The reply was a wet, squishing noise as the creature worked its gums together.
And he turned back to her and said, "I'm told that when I was a kid, I was completely bald for two years. My father-"
She watched his mouth as he talked, hearing little, as his accent deepened with memories of his home. He wasn't pressing the matter about the tails at all. Whether he was dismissing the topic, or preferring to pretend the whole issue hadn't been mentioned (as she was personally wont to do) didn't matter. She appreciated it either way.
Sweating like a teenager whenever his eyes caught hers, she just sat and listened as his dialogue turned around once again to his father, which suddenly inspired him to say, "Arrgh, but that man has been such a hassle lately!"
"Is he still demanding an audience?" She tickled her son with a stockinged toe, and he giggled before quickly fleeing, sounding like a whole heard of dinosaurs as he shuffled around the couch and out of sight.
"Yes, he's been calling daily now! I tried getting him to agree to just meeting you and Goten for now, but now he feels like he's being neglected. He wants your entire family to attend, and if your eldest doesn't he'll take it as a grave insult. He's such a monger for explicit detail, and now that Genevah is there I'll be getting no rest from him until..." His mouth closed slowly as his eyes widened to expose the entire ring of his green iris, bordering his swelling pupils.
She had caught it also, "Genevah?"
"A pathetic, one-sided relationship for my part. I haven't really..." he gestured to words that he could only mouth.
Unable to help it, she sympathized fully, "You loved her."
He looked at her as though she had told him something horrible, then sank face into hands, "... God, it was love, I think. Mad as it was, it really must have been."
"What's so mad about it?" Oddly, she was finding herself a little relieved. It was embarrassing talking about her own past relationship so much, and she wanted him to share in the sufferable position.
"Oh, the number of complications! Because of Genevah, my father now thinks I'm... incapable... of continuing the family name and bearing up an heir..." He was turning red, "Um... so if he says anything over the dinner about how... ah, lucky you are to have children, please ignore the many comments I'm sure he will make about my inability to."
"Were you and... Genevah... trying?" Blush, "I mean, had... er, the two of you...?"
"Hah, um, in a manner of speaking. We were... quite... intimate, I could say, but..." He laughed weakly, "It was such a strange situation-"
"Maybe I was being a little forward-"
"No, no really, I appreciate that you're taking curiosity in me!"
Her eyebrows raised as he looked about to clamp a hand over his mouth. She had to wonder... if perhaps she had been too cold with this man so far. He was a guest...
And yet...
A guest was all he could be to her. It was all her heart would allow her because, no matter what she felt towards him... it just couldn't be as strongly as she had felt for Goku.
Concerned, she hoped he would be able to accept that.
Standing up a little shakily, she began collected up cups and saucers they had been sipping coffee from, "I have to get back to training." Pause, "... don't you feel you'll need to train at all?" There was a hint of warning, she was not going to be a pushover.
He smiled, directing his expression across the room at the fireplace, "I do. Every morning and every night in my bedroom, m' lady. Without fail."
She felt actually rather flattered... and then a little concerned. And then just nervous. And she quickly hurried back outside to rejoin Yamcha, who was waiting inside with sword already drawn.
-aber ich hatte keine Geld. I'll need to find a few odd jobs so I can make some extra money. I want to buy Mutter a souvenir while I'm out though I need to think about what to get her.
It's taken me a week, but I've now completed the tedious task of hunting; once I've cleaned and skinned the most recent collection I doubt I'll be able to fit a single trout more into the capsule freezer. I would have gotten done much sooner, but since having Puar around I've been reminded how much a normal looking animal has the potential to be entirely sentient, so I exhasted hours trying to interview my potential prey to be sure they could in no way grasp that I was trying to communicate with them.
This way I've managed to avoid breaking up quite a few family groups that would have mourned their loss as much as I mourn Vater's. (So they told me.)
I can really see why the other hunters (who I must regretfully but truthfully admit are souly of the human variety) are having such a difficult time this winter bagging anything; the regularly sought game has gone from primally clever to down-right ingenius in their hiding. I swear, more animals turn sentient every day. Or maybe they're all just migrating to the Paouzu Mountains. Growing restlessness between animals and humans (which I've traced back to the Blue Monarch, which does not improve my opinion of them at all) is driving them to the few neutral areas left on the planet which means Paouzu and a few select nature reserves.
I don't blame them! It must be fun returning to nature. I wish I could.
But I have too much to do! (I was getting nostalgic, which I do not have time for, as pleasant as it is to reflect on my days of being a wild child in Meinen Lehrer's secluded glade.)
Speaking of which, once I find Vater's dragon ball I'll be able to visit him again, maybe for a week or two! It's been years since I got to stay with him over the night and I'm really looking forward to-
"Look at that."
She looked, resting her chin in her palm.
The two women watched, silent, smiling in maternal fashion, as a small creature, blue eyes flashing, cheered, "No, no, this way!" A second creature, even smaller, braced up on all four limbs, crawled after him, mouth wide and grinning, showing two sets of pink gums, "Follow me! Follow me!" The smaller creature gave halting chase on hands and knees.
Children's laughter filled the air.
"It's really interesting how advanced they are," spoke the first woman, fiddling idly with her watch which she had taken apart for the sake of reassembling as she conversed. "It's nice seeing them interact; Trunks is talking more to Goten than he has to anyone else. He needs a peer, I guess. A friend would be better. He doesn't have much to do around here than rip things up and terrorize the robots."
The second woman twitched an eyebrow only minutely, watching carefully to make sure the two creatures didn't get too terribly rough with one another (they were now wrestling across the floor, limbs akimbo.) "You haven't hired a nanny?"
"Can't get a single one to stay more than a day or two." Snort, "One actually went to her doctor with a broken finger. She had tried taking a pair of scissors away from him and he bit her."
"He bit her?"
Sighing, "Would you listen to them? They sound like puppies growling like that. It's not human, the sounds they make sometimes."
The second woman didn't seem particularly pleased about the comment, "Goten, quit that. You're getting too rough."
"Amazing he can already understand a command like that. I know you don't like when I mention it but they are more developed than normal kids their age, mentally and physically. You know, when Son-kun's brother Radditz showed up, he was surprised Son-kun didn't recognize him. It took a while after that to realize Son-kun would have last seen him when he was still just a baby. Saiya-jin must have incredible memories." A pause of consideration, "Maybe any of them could learn as fast as Gohan if they got their minds off fighting long enough to try. They learn techniques faster than humans; Yamcha says it's physically impossible for him and the other humans to keep up with them, even if they go through the same amount of training-"
"Listen to this," the second woman said without acknowledgement, "Goten. Look at Mama... Ma, ma, ma, ma-"
"Ma ma ma ma!" The infant was quick to respond with.
The first woman clapped, and was quickly mimicked first by the smallest creature, and then the second smallest joined in for competition, "That's incredible! He's talking already, too! He's so adorable. Remember when Son-kun used to smile like that?"
The second woman's mouth pinched, but then smiled nostalgically, "Yes, though he had a lot more teeth."
"What are we talking about?" A male voice filled the room, though the 'w' sounds were made by pushing bottom lip between teeth, making it 'Vat are ve talking about?'
Before the first woman could reply the second woman answered with, "We're discussing preschool." She ignored the first woman's questioning looks.
"Ah. My father sent me to a-," he paused, shook his head and said, "But then, my father probably wouldn't make a good example."
"Surely you're not saying the man who took to killing kittens and puppies is a bad influence," a second male voice entered the room.
The first man turned a shade darker, whirling around, "Oh, would you go to hell?!"
"Oh, vould I?" The second man mimicked, and one could swear the blue cat perched atop his shoulder smiled a bit. (Madness.)
The first woman slammed her watch down on the table, where it burst apart (sonnavah...), "You two're worse than the babies." (The two creatures, during the while, had continued tussling, and were currently hidden beneath a table, concealed by a table cloth. Their inhuman growling could be heard within.) She put a finger up in warning when the first man looked about to defend himself, on the verge of emitting, "He started it!", and she went on, "You, act like a proper guest on my property. And you-" she turned her attention to the second man, who was stroking his feline companion and whispering softly to her. She couldn't quite keep her stern expression when she said, with an I'm-trying-to-fight-it grin, "You might be beyond 'guest' but at least try behaving like you have a few decent cells in your body."
"Can't." Answered simply, "Darling Puar is my only conscience."
The first man bit the bait, "No wonder you're a heathen, then, depending on a carnivore-"
"You eat meat, too, dumba-"
"Humans are omnivorous, not carnivorous, you uneducated savage; we could not survive if we did not temper our diets with fruits and vegeta-"
"You do realize I don't care, right?"
"You-!"
The second woman, by far the smallest of the four of them, suddenly stood and faced them. All conversation ceased; both men had come to recognize that stance as a forewarning, "You're going to set a bad example with all this fighting. Both of you, shake hands like mature adults."
Though they had the decency to look ashamed when she squarely met their eyes (her face said she was well accustomed to cowing large, powerful men), their lips twisted together with something a trite more derisive when they faced each other. The second man extended his hand first, rather swiftly, a nasty smile contorting the scar at his jaw, "Fine. Buddies?"
The first man studied the offering for a moment, then visually scaled the arm to look into the twinkling, mischievous eyes (both pairs, the man's and the cat's) before tentatively clasping the offered fingers in his own. He winced at the sudden pressure that mashed his knuckles together and jerked him forward until they were almost nose to nose. (What sort of power did this man have?) and tightened his lips together, almost having to put his forehead against the other's to compete for the limited space between their faces, not wanting to give even a millimeter, "Ya... 'Buddies.'" He managed a rather princely, condescending grin, though he felt queezy.
The growling was suddenly the only sound in the room, and all four adults traced the noise as the two creatures tumbled out of their hiding place to sprawl across the floor. Finding itself the object of so much abnormal attention, the larger of the two was quick to inform them: "Ksh!" The second creature studied the first very curiously then, tentatively, looking back at the adults, added its own "Ksh!", much to the approval of the larger.
"You can let go of me now," the first man said, using his free hand to remove the few mussed strands of red hair that had gotten in his eyes. The second man released him in a hurry, opening his mouth to make a likely very inappropriate comment (it was very easy to one-up the first man; he was bred to be civil and diplomatic, which made vulgar counter strikes all the more pleasing to release.)
"Oh, go someplace else!" The first woman said, throwing up her hands as though to frighten away a large animal. The two creatures on the floor were quick to mimic her, hissing and growling. "Imagine! Mature men!" She said, quite loud enough to be heard by the two departing males, already aware of the weakness of their wills in comparison to the two petite women.
In their absence, the first woman turned to the second, "And why bother lying to him?"
The second woman, shaking a rattle in a futile attempt to distract the two creatures, who had begun systematically gnawing on either end of the soggy purple Night-Night: "I don't know what you're talking about."
"We were not discussing preschool." She attempted, in her mild irritation, to pull the blanket from the two creatures, starting a rather evenly-matched tug of war between herself and the dual power, "I don't see why you'd need to hide the fact that we were talking about Goku... or... how, ung... s-strong these two are-ah!" She had finally won the tugging match, which disrupted her balance, nearly sending her tumbling to the floor. She flicked pale hair back into place, patting it down.
She second woman flopped down onto the davenport, deciding to ignore the episode, "Because I don't want him to know we were talking about either topic. I prefer not to remind him..."
"Remind him what?" She dangled the blanket to coax the creatures to swipe after it, "That Goku existed? That he wasn't human? That his children are as alien as he was? You really shouldn't bother; it's not like it's a secret that can actually be kept. He'll find out sooner or later-"
"I'm not trying to keep it secret, I just want him to think of our family as being normal and human and entirely capable of being civilized contributors to society-"
"What are you talking about?" (The creatures had retrieved their prize, so she left it, joining the second woman.) "I'm sorry, but your family is not normal. And neither is mine for that matter..." The larger of the creatures was skeptically studied, not without a small element of... longing. Longing for something she could better understand. Longing for a creature that could by sympathized with, and sympathize in exchange. "The only thing that makes you appear normal are all of these lies your orchestrating-"
"Oh drop it," said glumly, "How are things going with that... man, Vegita?"
Chuckling, "You're really desperate if you're asking about him." Pause, "I don't want to talk about him. He's being an absolute pain. I swear, it's like he has cabin fever or something. He's endlessly irritable, constantly threatening to pick fights with just about every able-bodied fighter I know-- there's simply not enough people on the planet that could even survive a fight with him! I wish he would just take another pointless exodus into space like he used to... just cool off."
"... he'd just vanish? Like that?" Attempting to pretend she was having a normal conversation.
"Yeah, but we stopped making the spaceships; Papa hadn't been able to perfect the means of powering the ships, so a lot of money was going into just fueling them... and I mean, enough money that you could really notice it when taxes came around. I'll tell you this, though, since we stopped making him his ships he's been-" She looked at the children a moment, "He's been P-I-S-S-E-D, if you understand me. That was pretty much his only outlet. Now... he's acting like a big angry dog that doesn't like being fenced into one yard."
"What would he do up there?"
Shrug, "Who knows? But that's where he figured out how to go Super Saiya-jin. Just liked going up there and isolating himself to think, I guess. And train. And..." Another hesitation, unsure if she should be offering the information, "And he would fight out there, too. Space provides limitless opponents, and more than once while employees were cleaning out the ship after he returned they would find... blood. Body parts."
Grimacing, "That's disgusting."
"Tell me about it." A flash of thought, "Oh! I'm glad you brought it up. Speaking of means to power spaceships -- among other things...-- I've been meaning to ask you if Gohan couldn't come over and help me with some things-"
Bluntly. "Forget it. You're not sending Gohan into space again."
You could almost see a light spark up in her face, "Hey, I bet he could power a spaceship, and for free! If we could just find a way to contain his chi outside of his body-"
"No." The second woman was leaning somewhat aggressively toward the first, now.
Quickly amending, "Oh, don't worry about it. That's not what I had in mind; I just want to try a few things and Gohan's the only fighter that would be willing to participate, see, what I'm planning-"
"Just promise me you won't, in any way, let Gohan into space again." Not letting it go just yet, "You won't encourage him to, and you won't allow him to."
Somewhat testily, "Fine, whatever. I just thought the kid could stand to learn what it's like in a working environment. I would pay him and everything. Actually, I would prefer him to stay on the planet -- it's hard studying anything if your subject is a couple thousand miles away. But whatever. Forget it."
The two sat in silence, both arms crossed, both leaning back in the couch. Both ignoring as the two creatures took turns losing and finding one another beneath the Night-Night.
Final, the first woman, not truly sincere about reneging: "Okay, look, I promise not to let him set a foot off the planet's surface. Okay? Not a single hair on his head." Not quite enjoying the way she was caving into demands, "Though I don't know what you're getting so crazy about; he made it back okay."
Okay? The second woman seriously considered saying. Okay that he was chronically tense and jumpy, night and day for at least a month, hardly sleeping and glancing furtively around at odd moments. Okay that she could feel his chi-sense licking around the area, just in case, expecting danger to be sneaking up on them. Okay that he would, at intervals, flinch and look off toward the Capsule Corporations, chuckle abashed to himself and explain only, "Sorry, Vegita-san's chi spiked for a second. Kuririn and I had to spend a lot of time hiding from him, so I get a little nervous someti- ... please pass the potatoes. Dinner is delicious." Okay that he would remain glued to the window for hours, either watching for his father or watching, just watching, just to make sure something dangerous wasn't creeping wetly across the yard, breathing heavily-- "Gohan is not going into space again. He didn't do any of his homework last time." She crossed her arms.
That was final.
-'s amazing? I've found Vater's dragon ball already! It was a bit farther north than what's comfortable to survive; it was at the bottom of a frozen lake. I had to cut a chunk of ice out before I could swim down after it, though now I have to take the rest of the day off to recover from the hypothermia (it took a while to realize I was sick; I can never tell when I have a fever.)
I'm finding that it's very difficult to understand what is healthy and what is not with my body, my particular breeding considered. What is normal for a Saiya-jin is not for a human, and vice versa. I don't know what an average body temperature for myself would be. A human's is around 98.5°F. Vater's was significantly higher; ranging in the 100's easily (though he was never cooperational when I tried studying him, so I don't know.)
Mine seems to vary by the day; it's not uncommon to wake up at 103° (it gets higher when I'm sleeping or digesting), and go to bed the next night at 99.2°.
(I know this because a few years back I made a chart for a whole week documenting my body temperatures during different parts of the day; it got nearly up to 110° on the days I was healing from training with Vater and Meinen Lehrer.)
I've traveled a ways south to warm up, and the shaking has already stopped, though my extremities are still a little pale (which is a good change from their previous blue-gray.) Once they turn red -- that's when the blood flows back to them, they'll hurt too -- I'll be fit to travel again. Sorry for the messy handwriting, I can't feel the pen!
I'm feeling amazingly happy!
I hope Goten's doing okay; I've been thinking about him the most of everyone at home. I hope he doesn't forget me!
I can hardly wait to see the look on Meinen Lehrer's face when-
The man read the letter aloud in rapid German as he stamped the snow off his boots, grimacing, trying to pin his crimson hair down as it blew in the frigid wind that chased him through the door way, snow stuck to his head, his eyebrows, his lashes, closing the door quickly behind him, jerking off his coat, his scarf, removing his gloves, flinging them onto the shelf over the fireplace, all the while taking turns between reading the letter aloud and simply ranting in the same language, finally flinging the paper to the nearest surface -- a table -- smacking it with the palm of his hand, then just leaning over it and growling downward.
It was still early morning, though it was looking unlikely to get any lighter than the dim twilight already outside. Another day spent under the iron curtain of clouds.
She was enjoying the display quite thoroughly, though she didn't understand a word of what he said. (Well, that was a lie. She recognized words like "Scheisse!" and "Verdammt!" well enough to catch that he wasn't happy, and was being vocal about it...)
"Yowl." She informed him, one ear flattening to express her own displeasure, readjusting herself atop the large, warm bundle of blankets that covered the couch.
"I'm going to murder my father, Cat." He said to her in response, snatching up the paper and holding it before her for inspection. "And then I'm going to murder Beauregarde, and then I'm going to murder Genevah, and then I shall dance in their blood." She flattened her other ear down, prickled her whiskers and hissed, not particularly wanting him to get any closer in his right state. (Though she found his accent particular thick today, which made him strangely alluring.)
Throwing wide his limbs he fell into an easy chair and sank until his posture looked half broken, his wrists on the armrests. He glared at his knees.
She watched him, ears swiveling like radar, eyes wide. The first name she was acquainted with; Beauregarde Jackson was a half brother to Prince Jondalar (one of, she was finding, many children born out of wedlock. Seven had been confirmed, though there were at least ten others, ranging in ages from seven to thirty, all claiming to be sired by Emperor Dunadar.) Actually, Jondalar was the only known heir born from the emperor's wife -- an empress of a neighboring kingdom -- which was what put him as next in line for the throne. From the documents she could find, Beauregarde would be the next heir after Jondalar, being the second eldest and the only other spawn with noble birth (born of a duchess from a rather obscure little providence up north.)
But...
"Who's Genevah?" Lord Yamcha appeared, sliding the top-most portion of blankets (which she was still occupying) off his head, where he had been sleeping, opening an eye, as though by some inner prompt she had sent to him. She rolled over lavishly as his exposed hand sought and caressing her silky belly.
The prince (having suffered more than a few quasi-conniptions when the bandit had emerged in similar fashions on other early morning occasions) no longer even stalled in his momentum, "To put it in words a flea-bitten vagabond such as yourself can comprehend, an absolute bitch." Pause, "Now that you're gracing the conscious world, you can go away. You reek like wet dog."
She began to purr, scooting closer to the exposed portions of Yamcha's skin, curling herself into what her human accomplice referred to as her 'pie shape', tucking nose under tail, in the crook between his neck and the couch, kneading his throat with her paws as she shamelessly eavesdropped, "Like a sheltered brat like you knows what a dog even smells like." He looked at her for silent confirmation of his next barb, and she twitched the end of her tail in signal, "And at least I smell normal. Isn't it illegal to use animal products in your perfume now? Or has Daddy neglected obeying that rule as well."
A corner of his princely mouth upturned in disgust, "It's not perfume, imbecile, it's cologne, though I'll forgive your slip, considering your limited exposure to class. I would suggest, though, that you avoid talking about political matters that you obviously lack the mental capabilities to grasp them; try sticking to areas that don't involve much thought process. Like baseball." And then, just to make it final, he hurled, "And I can't help but feel robbing people at sword-point is a little more illegal than processing a few animals into something far more useful than they were in life."
She sank her talons into his jaw (which had gone tight), just to warn him from losing his temper, and he leveled out and sought a better course, cramming a knuckle into an eye as he sat up. She was quick to take his place, where the pillows were still warm. "You're certainly in a nasty mind. Who's the letter from?"
The prince returned his aggression to his knees, pounding a fist into them, "My father. Though likely those two snakes put him up to it-"
"The bitch and..."
"The bitch and the illegitimate half-brother."
"Who you want to kill."
"Who I want to murder."
A yawn; with the down comforter, doubled-over polar plus blanket and quilt, he did not feel the need to beshirt himself at night, and she enjoyed watching his abdominals ripple as he bent over backward and stretched. "And dance in their blood."
"Frolic in their blood."
"Nice. So who is she, an ex?"
Curled lip twitching, "Something like that."
A dry snort. "I know that story." Then, with venom, jerking his body one direction, showering the room with series of pops as his vertebrae aligned, "Woman are brutal."
"Woman indeed." Came an answer. Eyes did slide over, "Jesus, you're beat up."
All three of their eyes went to the sleepy man's torso, which was rather peppered with scars, "Well, yeah. Not every family can afford private trainers. I sort of had 'on the job training' when I first learned to fight." Wolfish grin, "And fence."
There was silence for a moment, as the two men once again measured one another.
She was the only one that noticed the soft pad of slippered feet drift down the hall, and the matriarch of the household filled the doorway, wearing a thick wool robe over her fleece pajamas, her hair sloppily collected around one shoulder. She blinked blearily as she took in first the shirtless man (the sight of large portions of flesh was so hard for humans to not notice... though perhaps an animal would look twice were a fellow animal shaved of their fur...) She then turned her head to note the cat, quite blue in contrast with the orange sofa, as it daintily scaled the shirtless man to sit atop his head like a blue hat. Then moved perspective on to the disheveled prince, bags under his eyes from a night ill-slept, his fiery hair wet and clingy from his trek through the raging blizzard outside.
She blinked rapidly a few times, straightened her robe and erected her posture, "You're all early risers this morning." She looked embarrassed; rarely was she caught before having had time to primp.
Jondalar was quick to snap back to the issue that brought him over; rage resuming, "I was woken up this morning -- before the crack of dawn -- by a messenger, who had snowmobiled here to personally deliver this to my door." He held up the somewhat-wrinkled, water-spotted paper he had brought with him. "It's another letter from my father!" He jerkily held the letter towards her which she hesitantly accepted before, after glancing at it, saying, her mood not responding well to the early-morning greeting, "I can't even read this."
He snagged it back and began translating haltingly from German, "Dear son, I'm just writing to remind you that I'm not getting any younger and I still request your company and the company of your bride and her sons. Before I die. Or before I just decide you have gone missing and crown someone else instead. It seems your position has become somewhat more coveted these past couple years-" By this time his voice had raised to a fevered pitch and, as though by magic, the note was reduced to a crumpled ball of rubbish, which he proceeded to work with both hands before rendering it in two, then plowing his fingers through his hair, "Where is your son? It's been weeks now!"
"How would I know that?!" She was quick to respond, raising tone to match his. "He has a lot to do and I don't keep a tracking device on him."
"How much is there for one boy to do?! My father won't even let us through the gates if he thinks he's being denied anything he's asked for -- If we were depending on that kid to supply us with our daily flesh we would have starved by now!"
Nuzzling her wet nose into Yamcha's ear, she subaudibly mentioned that most of the hunting Gohan was doing would be to feed his own voracious appetite anyway, not everyone else's. He chuckles under his breath in response.
"I'm sure he's getting everything done as fast as he can, Jondalar!" She was wringing her hands; anyone that knew her would have been aware of her own personal anxieties toward having her son missing for more than a day or two. Truthfully, it was impressive she had even let him leave without a fuss, and her behavior was downright commendable at her being able to keep the true goal of the boy's hunt -- dragon balls -- a secret without needing to be prompted to bite her tongue.
"I know, I know, I'm... sorry. But that man..!" He was balling his fists at his temples, "I swear to god Beauregarde's been waiting for a chance like this! I could be disinherited!"
Come to think of it... it was becoming apparent that this whole situation wasn't really fun anymore. They had decided to stay here to help Gohan. But he wasn't around at the moment... She rubbed cheeks with Yamcha to get his attention, and he nodded minutely in agreeance.
Man and cat slipped from the room. They enjoyed the luxury of being entirely ignored as the two royal heirs discussed their courses of action. They packed what few items they had around, leaving just enough luggage behind to make it plain that they would likely be returning within a week or two, to check in and see if the company had returned to a somewhat more favorable surrounding (namely, if the boy had returned.) Chichi was more than able to train herself now anyway so-
He was not focusing his chi. He wasn't even trying to; suspended in the air, ankles crossed beneath him, hunched over whatever it was he was writing. The sun, the wind, the high altitude. The eternally consistent temperature (couldn't fault his other godly half for the place's construction.) Looked down off the edge into endless fields and mountains and valleys of substantless, intangible clouds, all drifting below, white and opaque. To jump, a man would have time to consider their life's worth many times over before they reached the ground; to reach up one could almost feel as though they were to put their hand against the very fabric of the ozone layer.
What was he writing?
The man felt a small urge to snatch the bound papers away and fling them over the edge. This was torture. He'd never thought it would be boring when the boy was visiting because he always assumed he, himself, would have the boy's full attention, whether they were meditating, or sleeping, or arguing (oh, they had had a few good arguments, on fundamental aspects. "Second chances should not be given." "They worked for you-" "Do not utter your next word." "... but-" "Raise your fists, kid, you have way too much time to talk for a-")
"Don't you have to go home?"
Those eyes were even larger and rounder than his fathers, though not so with the smile, "No, it's okay. I'm ahead of schedule."
Hn. So his visit was just part of a schedule. Frustrated, he attempted a second question (it was supposed to be the other way around. The boy was supposed to fuss and fret and ask his questions and turn tricks to try gaining a smile, a pat on the head, a gleam of approval. He wanted the boy to be more immature; it was easier to understand than the quiet creature now sharing his fantastic vantage point.) "What are you writing about?"
"You... the world. I don't know... Mutter-"
"Who?"
"... Mother. Excuse me."
"Hn."
A torn shred of orange fabric was caught in a breeze and dragged rapidly over the edge. They were currently taking a break; the past four or five hours had been devoted to combat, and both of their clothes were showing a good amount of wear.
... they never used to take breaks.
"I really don't want to go home, either. I like it here. It's peaceful..." Added, shyly, "And y'know... you're here."
"Hn." That was better. The portion of his consciousness that was Kami appreciated the divine irony of depending on a mere child to entertain him. How far the evil had fallen... Mentioning, "If you're writing trash about me I'll break your arms."
He got a chuckle in response. "I'm not writing anything bad about you." Glancing at him again, not the least bit intimidated, "I'm just writing... stuff. Things I can't say out loud. Boring - hey!" The journal had been ousted and arms -- which were growing longer and more slender than they used to be... -- were extended, trying to retrieve it. "Y-... you can't read it anyway, it's in Germa-"
"A Kami is not worth his salt if he doesn't know all the languages his planet's people speak." He jerked it out of the boy's reach in a gesture expressing irritation, smacking the grasping hands away. Now this was the type of amusement his inner-demon enjoyed. He was being petty in a way innocent enough to not disturb his other portions' consciences.
He pretended to not care, hiding his curiosity as he flipped to the last page of writing, carelessly skimming, "-Vater always said that power isn't everything and right now I would agree with him, because though I'm still stronger than meinen Lehrer, I'm sure that if he put his mind to it he would still be able to find a way to kill me. It's kind of relieving; I really, really don't want to be better than him and-"
Just as carelessly he tossed the book into the boy's lap, saying only "Hn." Quickly it was hugged to narrow chest, looking up hesitantly, like he used to do when he was little and had just slipped out, "Aw, stop callin' yourself evil, Mr. Piccolo, you're not such a bad guy!"
"S-see? Just boring... unnecessary.. stuff." Quickly, the boy slipped his pen behind his ear and uncrossed his ankles, resettled his weight to the white tiles beneath him and, in a trot that finally exhibited his age, vanished into the little palace behind them. Was he taking it for granted, being allowed to stay in God's house, in his own little guest room? Tracing his unique signature of power as it roamed within the walls, encountering the new little Kami, Dende... Even at this distance his sharp hearing could vaguely catch the muffled sounds of their voices as they spoke to one another. No, it wasn't for granted... he wasn't just a friend of the old Kami (or at least with the merged entity that contained the old Kami) but he had saved the life of the new Kami as well. And that was baring the rapport the two of them shared as the only children involved in the planet's crucial happenings.
In his absence, thoughts: Years ago, in his fully-demon self he would feel complimented. Now, with a few extra opinions that weren't necessarily his own, he wasn't... upset... really. Still flattered, maybe mildly irritated at the reminder that he was, indeed, no longer the stronger of the two of them... Not one of his inner-strings of conscious, however, could pinpoint exactly what it was. But he didn't feel comfortable knowing his pupil had written the words so casually.
In the boy's return, before he could try prattling explanations: "Your reflexes are shot to hell." And then for good measure, "And your left is getting clumsy."
"Ah- right." Hesitation before explanation, "It hasn't entirely... worked right since, ah, Cell." Looking over his shoulder. Over the edge. At his feet. Lamely, "Y'know."
Continuing, "Your coordination is getting off and you don't pay enough attention to potential opening." Glaring, maybe frustrated, as the boy's legs were drawn off the ground and crossed, floating. "Do you ever train yourself ?"
A rather bland smile, "You sound like Vegita-san."
"Don't compare me to him." A green knuckle popped in warning.
The bland smile was gone. "... Sorry." There was suspicion that the down-turned head was to conceal his face, not express shame. "... Piccolo-san, you know I-"
"- don't like to fight. Fine. But though you're coordination... reflexes... talent," (he spat the last word), "are all going to suffer, I said nothing about your power going down, because it's not going to." Pause, groundless suspicion, "Maybe that's why you don't bother. Because you take your strength for granted."
"It's not like that at all." His round eyes looked somewhat hurt in a way that said 'and you know it'. "It's that I don't want to get any stronger."
"That doesn't matter; you're of the rare cases where training is not to get stronger, it's to temper what strength you already have. You were born with your power - no, don't try telling me you didn't want to be. What matters is that you are able to control it as you get older, rather than ignore it and eventually let it control you." Eyeing him up and down, appraising, weighing his worth, "Obviously you're not going to maintain yourself on your own. Transform for me."
A grimace fought valiantly down. "... I would really prefer n-"
"I don't care." He didn't enjoy being refused. "The Super Saiya-jin is your best means of controlling and accessing the brunt of your power."
Shuffling uncomfortably, "Ah, yeah. It's just that... I..."
"...," Finally sinking in, somewhat incredulous, more frustration, "You haven't been Super Saiya-jin since he Cell Games, have you."
Concretely looking downward, "... yeah."
Were he a lesser man, he would have dragged his hands over his face in exasperation. So it had been over a year since he'd last... "Super Saiya-jin. Now."
Not looking particularly pleased, but not one to argue much, eyes paled, hair jumped, chi blossomed blue to saffron. Quickly, the fiery battle chi abated, leaving a bleached but ultimately unchanged boy. "See? I don't think I can lose control of it. Not this form, anyway. I went nearly a whole year where the only time I wasn't transformed was when I was asleep. Control isn't the problem. I just... don't like it."
"Hn." It was typical that Son would think up such a genius regime -- after all, if the boy considered his transformed body "the norm" he would be more likely to advance past it when in a rage instead of just to it. "Fine. Now the second one."
Pause... head canted, "I'm sorry?"
"The second transformation." Feeling borderline angry now, "Don't make that confused looks. I'm kicking your teeth in if you try pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."
Quick to mollify, "No, no I know what you're saying but..." Getting more jittery, picking up the increasing levels of hostility. Transformed muscles showing no hint that they had spent the majority of the year seated behind a desk. Admitting reluctantly, "I... don't... really know how to do that form."
Unphased, "You haven't tried." Frustrated, "You're just trying to make this difficult."
Mouth working for a moment, trying to orchestrate a good rebuttal, deciding that even if it was good it wouldn't be worth the continuation of this disagreement. Heaving a sigh upward, temporarily blowing pale hair from eyes, caving in and not being particularly proud of it, "... I'll give it a shot."
The gentle breeze was again disrupted by lighted torrents. He put his booted feet against the surface beneath him again, needing to ground himself, hunched over, balled fists.
Standing skeptically back, observing the process in silence. As little as his pupil understood his own powers of conjury and bodily manipulation, he did not personally understand the mechanics of this... whole... transformation process. When he'd expressed subdued interest on the topic years back, Son had explained as best he could; some rot about anger and chi and reaching one's own limit and a single-minded goal, with room for no other thoughts (a state he'd once called "pure-hearted" until Vegita went and blew it out of the water) and...
The blue crisscrosses of vein were visible through the boy's face, whose skin had now gone from pale to translucent, contorted in what must have been pain. Watching, his chi now had gone unstable, popping, his sharp little teeth bared to the gums, fists clutched, muscles so taunt they looked about to snap like rope and burst out of flesh; so caught up in the display the subtle changes went initially unnoticed. (A step back was taken, just to be sure he wouldn't be in the way incase anything... unexpected happened.) Twitching shoulders had gone broader; arms a fraction longer, hair realignment being the final confirmation that things had indeed changed; extended hairline; more pronounced brow line, eyes somewhat more narrowed--
"That wasn't so hard, now was it."
Though he knew the comment wasn't helpful, and though he knew it was in this form the boy, who had never even before thought to go against commands of his superiors, had blatantly disobeyed his own father, he had not expected the... vacant, somehow condescending look he was given for it. "For someone watching it, maybe." And then the severe gaze directed outward, dismissively, unfocused, like it wouldn't have mattered if someone were holding a piece of paper against his nose because he wouldn't focus on it anyway.
The situation considered, it was thought best not to swat him for cheek. "And?"
Pupiless green eyes looked back at him sharply (his body simply moved too fast; every movement he made simply... occurred.) "... And what, Piccolo-san?" He was pushing his jaw forward, making his frown look almost pouty, "I can't answer a vague question like that."
Though the answer was coming somewhat clear, "And are you in control?"
The green eyes closed, expressing some otherworldly restraint, and slowly face was turned away, disinterested again. It might have been the upswept hair. Or the straight-backed posture that stuck his chest out (he'd adopted the posture from his father), or perhaps it was just the angle of his jaw and the way his nose was up and eyes closed. But the little bastard looked arrogant.
And... it wasn't looking like he was going to answer.
A small portion of sweat had begin to build up at the corners of his eye ridges, "... now change back."
Only one eye opened in response, heavily lidded, opening just enough to show he was indeed rolling his eyes, conveying 'You were the one who asked me to change in the first place.' There was a pause, and the corner of the boy's mouth twitched, and somewhat less-severely he resigned to reply, "... hai, Piccolo-san."
It took far less time and fanfare to power down; simply fuff, and his upswept hair fell like dying flames of fire to the burnt logs beneath. The down-ward movement was distracting enough to draw attention away from the fact that his entire body had gone down a few inches as well, not just size-wise but also because his legs had partially given out. Four green fingers caught his shoulder just in case he might plummet over the edge of the Lookout.
"... Thanks." Balance was regained. Back of a wrist shakily ran over a forehead.
"How do you feel?" Concern was raising its head; the boy looked quite suddenly drained; though his face was retaining normal color, the flesh beneath his eyes was dark.
Fingertips dug into eye sockets, "Exhausted." Hands through hair, from forehead to nape of neck, "It's harder to maintain, now. Even in the form it was straining. Maybe you're right, and maybe my chi simply isn't going to abate. But my body... I don't know. I couldn't tell in the regular Super Saiya-jin form, but that second one... It was hard to hold. I doubt I'll be able to make that form by next year."
Serious disconcertion, "You should not sound so relieved." It was noted that the boy's hands hung limp, and eyes half-mast. He did not understand transformations, but he had at least come to grasp that Super Saiya-jin transformations were very different from full moon transformations, or those made by Freeza. As both Son and the boy had admitted on different occasions, some transformations are natural. But Super Saiya-jin was not. It was (if he understood it right) what the body changed itself into simply to survive the next step up in power.
Another wane, useless smile, "But I am relieved."
"Why? What sick pleasure can you derive from knowing that the next time you get angry enough you'll simply explode because your system can no longer handle the built-up power?" The thought turned his stomach; neither he nor Son had been able to fully estimate the heights the boy could attain. There was possibility (if indeed each transformation was just another step up after reaching the limit of one form) that this boy, and any Saiya-jin in general, had no actual limit. No peak they had to stop at.
Useless smile again shot down, "I'm not going to explode, Piccolo-san." At the skeptical look, lips pushed together into a bloodless line as he made a very sharp, rather effective point, "Cell demonstrated what all it takes these days to get me that angry. I'm no longer a little kid who has destructive temper tantrums when he gets emotional anymore."
... it was a very good argument. It had taken... torture, shock, terror, witnessing the beating of essentially every adult he'd come to respect, and then a few more good shocks to push him into a fit of unplanned terrible power.
When he was younger, it used to only take a good scare to bring out its equivalent.
He was considering giving an acknowledgement of the valid point when he was beaten to the punch, "... though maybe we can work out a compromise." The boy held his chin between thumb and forefinger, "I have been a little concerned about misusing my power unintentionally. Um, actually, I was wondering if you couldn't... ah, make some weighted clothes for me. It would help keep my power a little more in check, but I imagine it would also keep my body from dropping beneath at least a minimum in strength."
"Hn." This time he was smiling, rather proud, "What did you have in mind?"
"Ah... nothing very noticeable, preferably. But definitely something that will hinder the vast majority of... my strength." Neither were going to admit it, but it was becoming apparent with each word he spoke that the boy did not like how far his advanced strength separated him from everyone else. In a way that would never be voiced, his agreement to even weigh himself down could be partially accredited to the Prince Jondalar, who he was going out of his way for to appear normal and human. "Ah... an undershirt; something that can't be seen with another shirt on top. And wrist bands... the boots, too." Not wanting to sound demanding, "... Please."
"We'll see what we can do." He cracked his knuckles and began to conjure.
A wet, deep breath. Thick, barrel chest heaving. Hands as large as dinner plates, futily twitching at a mattress. Horned head jerking, ripping a hole in the pillow, mouth afroth.
"... h-help..."
Not loud enough. Trying to let mechanics take over; trying to stand, trying to get legs off the bed; can't stop twitching, moving, muscles spasming.
Thump, immense body toppling to the floor.
Expectant silence until... the clatter of feet against the ground, snatches of voices at first, "-you sure-" "-thought I heard-" "-what could-" "-I hope-"
Darkened room ripped in half by a stripe of light that sped across the floor; illuminated: portion of blankets spilling off the bed like frozen liquid, a huge form, unmoving on the floor, wearing moons and stars pajamas, eyes wide and unseeing, lips agape, spilling saliva to the floor.
"Call the doctor! The Ox King has collapsed!"
Cautiously, a window was pushed open. It wasn't breaking in, considering it was his own room.
Quietly, weight was shifted from the icy air outside into the... not quite-so-cold air inside; closing the window again to keep out the wind certainly helped. No one had shoveled the walk outside; there were no prints that could be distinguished going from the side door to either the Prince's house or the training room, though tracks could easily vanish after an hour or two of the wind and frequent snow fall. He wasn't surprised, then, to find that the house was entirely bereft of life.
House examined from within with rather even and expressionless face until the note pinned to the door of the refrigerator was located, calmly unstayed from it's magnetic holding and read a few times over.
His mother's neat hand: "Gohan -- if you get home while we're away, Prince Jondalar and I have gone on an urgent trip to the Fry Pan kingdom. We've brought Goten with us. Unless they've returned since now, we do not know where Yamcha or Puar are. Love you, we'll explain everything when we get back. -- Chichi."
He turned it over more than once, hoping something else would magically appear on the back while he paced to the living room and sat down; eventually, as is prone to happen in such situations, his mind supplied him with a long series of possible scenarios that could lead to such a sudden evacuation of the house. Yamcha and Puar he wasn't particularly concerned about; appearing and vanishing was their occupation. It was simply what they did, and one of the few things you could depend on from the duo. But... His mother was not one to vanish at a moment's notice. Despite his maturity, he hadn't lost the childish pettiness to have a fleeting moment of skepticism involving his mother and the prince running off together to elope, though he battled the idea down with sheer power of rationality.
Fry Pan Kingdom... could something be wrong with his grandfather? He was rather old, and these past few years of stress had certainly not been to his benefit. But -- he wanted rationality to fight this idea off as well, but it wasn't trying to.
Deciding to avoid jumping to conclusions, he retraced his steps and re-pinned the note to the refrigerator, stepped back, consulted his memory, then moved it a few inches to the right to make sure it was right where he'd found it.
He then went to his room and unpacked.
He ate at a reasonable lunch time.
He pretended to read until dinner, at which time he ate again. He went for a fly around the mountain, the freezing rain making a fair try at plastering his hair down, having more success with his eyebrows and lashes.
When he got in, he washed and brushed, checked the house over in case someone had shown up while he was out flying, but found nothing.
He went to bed, though he failed to sleep; the night was spent tuning his ears to the first sounds of what could be a jet car or a snow cat or any other vehicle that might be making a valiant try to ascend the gravel road to his home.
When it became apparent the sun was up enough to call it "morning", he got out of bed, performed his toilette routine, breakfasted, and went about opening the family smoke house capsule. The day was spent productively smoking and drying portions of the frozen meats he'd brought home, starting with the fish, which had a history of turning before the other meats. In his down time, he sampled his homemade jerky, experimented different spices, and kept an eye out for marauding carnivores in the area that might be drawn to the tantalizing smell.
He came inside later that evening, arms laden, and stocked the pantry. Under the setting sun he shoveled the walk to the prince's house and to the training room, and then in an after thought cleared the way to the crude driveway, in case someone return over the night.
He dined on salty, dried meats that night, and licked his fingers as he washed again, ignoring the circles under his eyes from not sleeping the night before.
The process of the summarized day was repeated four or five more times, which few changes. By the third day, all the meats had been treated, at which point he went about working the furs he'd ousted from the animals, scraping them of their fat, working oils into them to make them more pliable, leaving them to dry on racks leaning against the walls of his room.
He didn't sleep well, he didn't think well; his actions were slow and uncoordinated (at least in comparison to his normal performance) and he couldn't read or write well either. For the first time, he did not want to write about how he was feeling in his Tagebuch.
Time not spent shoveling was utilized by sitting in the living room, facing the door, and willing someone (anyone, really) to take the initiative to come through it.
It just didn't feel right for this house to be so empty. The bandit and the prince were not arguing outside. His mother was not giving him last-minute instructions in his study schedule as she braided her hair to go and train. Goten was not patting his meaty hands against most given surfaces, giving garbled instructions to random household items in a language yet-undecifered, nor was he following around his older brother, determinedly watching that pair of moving feet, shuffling along on hands and knees.
He was lonely to the point that he would even welcome a visit from Vegita-san, with all the insults and cuffs that would come with it, just for some other warm, living thing to share the space of the house.
Inevitably, the day finally came that he did heard a motor, quiet and expensive and powerful, plowing up and coming to a stop outside the house; he did not, however, bound to the door as he expected he would have, instead finding himself unable to do more than stand up from his chair before his skeletal structure froze like ill-oiled machinery.
He waited. Listened to the crunch of feet approach.
The prince opened the door, guiding Mother inside, her face buried in Goten's thick hair as he squirmed at the sight of his older brother.
Once the door was finally shut again... an awkward stillness prevailed for a time. Her voice lacking its usual fire, Mother eventually managed to say, "Your grandfather.. has had a stroke. He's.. they've put him in the hospital. He's stabilized and getting the best of treatment.. but.." She pressed her lips together, her forehead wrinkling, "H-his lift side is paralyzed. They don't know yet if he'll recover."
There was a sinking sensation in his intestines, as though someone had increased the gravity, but only in the region beneath his skin, between his ribcage and pelvis bone. Unaware of his own movements, he took a few steps closer, but was finding his eyes glued to his mother's left shoulder, where he could see the prince's hand resting. His arm was around her.
He realized the prince was staring at him. So he stared back. The hair on his neck was standing on end; along his arms, his skin, legs, back, down the bumpy trail of his spine until it ended with at the twisted, melted-wax, purple scar the size of a half dollar: location of his long-severed tail.
Caught up in her own world of concerns, Mother set the child down where he quickly set off to reexplore his domain, and said, "E-excuse me..," as she walked woodenly down the hall to her room, where her sink could be heard turning on.
And still they were staring, neither's expression entirely sure what to betray, what to portray, what to exhibit, what to conceal.
"Well, welcome back then, Jondalar-san."
Twitch at his mouth, "Yeah. You too, Gohanlein."
His mouth was continuing to go without instruction, "I'll have dinner prepared in an hour. You can wash up in the mean time."
"Right. Thank you."
The world moved like bubbling tar, slow and random, as he turned, nearly tripping over his little brother, who had gotten underfoot for the sake of attention, informing him, "Hoo! Hoo!" as he numbly stooped to pat him on the head and tweak his nose.
Hardly a phantom, he glided soundlessly down the hall.
Slipping into his room, he became aware of a rabid inner urge to scream. Or cry. Or even pick up a chair and smash it into the window, or beat it against the wall until only splinters remained. Though he would have liked to be able to do all three the most.
He instead padded inobtrusively back and forth for a few minutes, running hands through his hair, breathing rapidly enough to invite little dancing shapes into his peripherals until he had to sit down.
Not long afterward, he commenced to the kitchen, and put a pot of water on to boil, deigning to let Goten cling to his back like a monkey as he started unloading the refrigerator in preparation for the evening meal.
Chelsee's Fan Land Fanmanga Fanfiction FanArt Odds and Ends Links Email