Last time:
"I told you, its for Ryoko…and…well…"
"Yeah," he groaned as he pulled off his shirt. Even if she was the most annoying woman he'd ever met he couldn't deny his attraction to her. She was by far one of the sexiest women he'd had the pleasure of taking to bed, though, sadly, not the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. She was yet to be branded by him, but he wasn't about to give up on her. Someday he would know Bulma Briefs, and when he did, he'd have his prize. With a smirk he lifted Sen off the ground and tossed her onto the bed. "This better be worth my time."
***************************************************
"What time?" she asked, holding the phone tenderly to her ear, her eyes hazy with those usual teenage feelings of young love.
"What time are you free?" came his reply. His voice had just the right mixture of depth and confidence, along with a sort of childhood innocence that still shined through, giving it the perfect "to die for" timbre. If she hadn't been so caught up in it, she might have sensed his nervousness, which would have significantly lessened her own.
"Well, its only Wednesday," she sighed. "School gets out at 3:00 tomorrow, and my curfew is 10:00 during the week. Damn, I sound so juvenile, talking about school nights and stuff. You probably don't have to deal with such things when you go on dates."
"Its not a problem at all," he laughed. "And I don't really date. I've been out on a few blind dates set up by 17, and they never work out. You're…" He drifted off as though he'd said something foolish or wrong, and she realized suddenly that he was embarrassed.
"Yes?" she urged him on.
"You're the first girl I've really ever wanted to see more than once."
"Well," she said, trying to keep the fluttering in her stomach at bay. "You can see me as many times as you want, starting tonight if you'd like. I'm not busy."
"Alright." He let out a long breath, of which he didn't realize he'd been holding, then said, "I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."
"Great. See you then. Bye."
"Bye."
As she set down the phone, she couldn't help the squeal that escaped her lips, nearly scaring her friends into fits.
"Chi!" Bulma cried, whose head had collided with Krillin's as they both jumped in their seats on the couch. "Don't do that!"
"Sorry." She gave them both apologetic looks, then turned and ran towards her room to prepare for her date.
"Remember!!" Krillin called, still nursing his bump. "He doesn't like flashy girls!!"
"I know!" she hollered back. "But that doesn't mean I have to look like I've been lazing around with my friends all afternoon!"
"But you have!"
"Shut up, Krill!"
"Wow, you guys sound close," Maris laughed as she entered the room, bearing the bowl of popcorn she'd insisted on retrieving. "Date with Goku?" she asked as she sat beside Bulma, giving Krillin a small, private smile.
"Of course. What else would get her so worked up?"
"Does this mean we have to take our loser party some place else?"
"Loser party?" Bulma snorted playfully, then, "Nah. Doesn't matter if she's here or not. Her dad thinks we're family anyway. Or at least he treats us like it. 'Bulma, do the dishes, will you?' Sometimes it doesn't always work out for the best though."
Five minutes later, in record timing, Chi-Chi came bounding down the stairs, her hair pulled back in its usual ponytail, her body clad in a plain red tee-shirt and blue jeans cut off at the knees; plain white tennis shoes.
"Man," Bulma laughed. "The more we hang out, the more you look like me."
"Well, I took your advice. You were right, I don't need to dress like everyday is a fashion show. No one's judging me on what I wear, well, not REALLY. And who cares if people at school do, they're not important to me, and if the people that are important can't get past a designer dress, then I don't want those people in my life."
"Bravo!" Bulma declared as she encased her friend in a bear hug. "I couldn't have said it better myself." Then a playful smile curled at her lips, her ears having picked up the sound of a closing door and a dying engine. "You're sure you want to go? I mean, we're gonna watch Monty Python. It's one of your faves."
"I'll tell you what. If I stay home with you guys, then you have to go on another date wi—"
"Enough said. Enjoy." She took a step aside and let Chi-Chi pass, nearly toppling her over as she ran to the door, only to stop and fix her hair before she opened it, feigning calm.
"Hey Goku. Where're you taking me?"
"Your choice," he said, trying to force his smile from growing any bigger. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off by being overly excited to see her. They're barely just met, and he felt somewhat ashamed of being so taken by her.
"Well then, I'd have to say…" She brought her hand to her mouth in the usual position one takes when in deep thought. Then she turned to her friends and said, "Dynasty Galaxy is still open right? I haven't been there in forever."
"Yeah," Krillin answered around a mouthful of popcorn. "I just went there a week ago."
"With who?"
"Some friends."
"Who?"
"Chi," he laughed. "I have other friends besides you guys. No one I'd hang out with over you, of course, but other friends. Guy friends. People I can talk to about other stuff I can't with a bunch of girls."
"Well I'll be, little Krill is sprouting wings and growing up," Bulma cooed in his ear as she mockingly snuggled up against him. "My little man."
Bulma wouldn't have had time to react, even if she knew what was coming. And now, as she sat, stunned, and covered in buttery popcorn, all she could do was laugh, throwing scattered pieces at Krillin, and then Maris when she too started to laugh.
"The people I associate with," Chi-Chi fake groaned. "Bye you guys! We're leaving!"
"Bye Chi! Have fun!"
"Yeah! And use protection!"
"Shut up Krillin!"
"Hey! Let go of my head!"
"Ow! You got popcorn in my eye!"
"Hey! What're you—" And then the noises of her friends were completely inaudible as she shut the door and made for Goku's car. Nothing flashy. Green in color. Four doors. Sun roof. Ordinary.
"So, what's this Dynasty place?" he asked once behind the wheel. "Sounds like an arcade."
"And here I thought you were just a great bass player," she laughed. "Yes, it's an arcade, with laser tag."
"Kuso!" He swore before he could stop himself and nearly ran down her mailbox. "Kami, how have I been living my life without you?"
A deep blush crept onto her cheeks and she only nodded.
She'd been thinking the exact same thing.
*************************************************************
"I just don't like the girl, ok?" 18 grumbled, picking at her peanut butter cup. She had several packages in front of her, but at the mention of Maris, suddenly lost her appetite.
"But how?" 17 asked, almost pleadingly. "I don't get it. She's a great girl. If I weren't so caught up in the band, I'd consider getting a little closer with her. Dates are great, fine for now, but someday I want a relationship with a girl, and I think Maris is just the type for that. Well, either her or Bulma."
"Because, 17, she's vicious. You just can't see it because you're so clouded by your lower brain's thoughts. And I don't care how nice and sweet she is to you, I'm telling you, she has it in for me. And you know how I am with people who get under my skin."
"You're not going to beat her up, are you?" He grimaced at the thought, thinking of the last person who was unlucky enough to make her angry. Him. He could still feel the long gone bruises and his nose would never quite be straight again. Since then he's made it a point to never upset her when it wasn't worth the fight. "'Cause I mean, I love ya sis, but if you're going to go after a girl and not even tell me what she did, then I'm gonna have to step in, and you know how much I'd hate to do that."
"I know," she laughed, bitterly, turning her head to the side. "How do you breath out of your nose?"
"I manage," he stated simply, then, eagerly, he asked, "Please, tell me. What did she do?"
"She challenged me."
He waited for her to continue. She didn't.
"Challenged you?" 18 nodded. "How? I've been with you every time you've seen her."
"She didn't have to say a thing. I knew exactly what she was thinking. You know, little bro, actions more than not speak louder than words. And her actions were deliberate."
"You don't know that I'm younger than you, so stop calling me 'little bro'. And when the hell did all this happen? From across a room?"
"More or less. It was when we went bowling. She…"
"She what?"
"Forget it. I'm not going to beat her up, that is, unless she comes at me first. So stop worrying. I need to get going anyway. I'm meeting with Sen for dinner."
"Sen?"
"Yeah. She's got a proposition for me and I'm just bored enough that I'll hear it." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the check, then stood. "Don't worry lil' bro. I'll tell you all about it when I get back." She headed for the door, ignoring his groans as she'd called him his hated nickname again. And, as she was pulling on her knee-length jacket, said, "And one more thing, kid. If you want a relationship then pick the right girl to have one with. It won't matter that you're in a band and travel all over the country. If she's right, she'll understand, and you'll know when she's right. Just don't make the mistake of waiting for your career to slow down before you start looking, 'cause you might just walk right by her."
"Insightful," he murmured, looking at the table they'd been seated at, wondering how in the name of Kami he would know, without a doubt, who was the right girl for him. "Thanks sis."
"No problem. Oh, and don't mention this to Vegeta. He still thinks I'm a hard ass."
"Sure thing. But don't you make the mistake either. If that's what this thing with Maris is about, and don't think I don't know you like the little bald dude, then you have my blessing to fight her for him, and I don't mean physically."
"Man, you really like raining on my parade?"
"What're brothers for?"
***************************************************************
Vegeta walked dismally through the rainy streets of Satan City, the collar of his coat pulled up just far enough to conceal his identity. His hair was matted down slightly from the rain, but his appearance was the last thing on his mind. He could still taste her lips, feel her soft skin under his hands, smell the sweet perfume that was a woman in the heat of a moment. So why—with those senses for sensitive, so very fresh—could he only think of a different woman with shining aqua locks and a fiery passion that rivaled his own?
He continued on, though, as if he were destined for a certain point, as if his feet were guiding him to a specific place when really he only wanted to clear his head. Why was it that when you wanted so badly to think of nothing, that all you could think about were the most troubling thoughts?
A screaming mother with three tantrum-throwing children brushed by him, bringing him to a halt in front of an antique shop. He looked around and realized suddenly that he'd passed into Townsend, a small section of the city that was cut off from the rest, displaying old buildings and an old way of life. All the stores weren't really stores as he was used to, but tiny shops, like the one he stopped in front of, each bearing a hanging sign in cursive lettering. He felt as though he'd been thrown back a few centuries, aside from the obvious fact that everyone around him was wearing modern clothes. But big blue mailboxes? Evenly sectioned cement sidewalks? Cars? No, not even cars were permitted into this mock village. A road went right around it that cars were allowed on. But the cobble-stoned street he'd been unknowingly walking on? Never.
He was about to turn around and head back towards the hotel, when on pure impulse, he walked into the antique shop. It was what one would think to find in the normal consignment shop; antique tables and chairs and all sorts of things that seemed to grow dust, rather than be buried in it. Each tiny side room was filled with related objects. One room housed strictly children's toys, while another was dedicated to kitchen wear, and still another to clothes and hats and gloves. And then, directly after a room full of paintings, those huge wall sized ones, and some small enough to fit in your palm, Vegeta entered an antique library, complete with a ladder to slide along the shelves.
He didn't much like to read. A certain few books made their way into his life that he actually liked, and re-read, countless times. But he was by no means a reader. He liked the look of all the broken and brittle bindings sticking out with their faded colors and Kami knows what kinds of stains.
"Looking for something inparticular?" came a high womanly voice from the next room. A small middle-aged woman went scurrying by the doorway, her arms full of boxes. When she entered the room a moment later, her hair was askew, though she didn't seem to notice. "I cataloged every item that's come and gone in this place myself. If you want I could give you a list of the books we have as of now, if you don't mind sloppy handwriting and the disappointment of seeing what you wanted already crossed off my list."
"Sure," was all he said, his eyes still on the relics before him, scanning the bindings for certain names he was familiar with.
"Here you are, young man." She handed him a bulky leather-bound book, then hurried out of the room and down the hall, as though he were about to throw it back at her.
Out of sheer boredom, and in need of something to keep his mind off his problems, he scanned the crinkled and sometimes torn pages, finding nothing to his taste. And then, just as he was about to close it and leave, his eyes fell on the most unusual of names: Anzai Anzai. He knew next to nothing about the man, whose name he only heard a few times from his mother/tutor. He was born in the early 1400s in Japan, lived in London for a great deal of his life, then Paris, and then came home to Japan to die, having written thirty-three books total, so far as anyone knew.
His finger ran along the entry with Anzai Anzai's name, stopping at the book's title. His mother loved this man's work, and could list all of his books, of which she own, but he knew he'd remember if she'd said this name.
"Through the Eyes of the Blue-Haired Goddess," he said aloud.
"So, I see you're an Anzai fan, huh?" The small woman was in the room again, one hand clutching a bag of what appeared to be furniture polish and old rags. "I love him myself. That book, there on the list, is one of four original copies made. I own two, and so I put one up for sale. There are other paper back modern versions of it, though its not as widely known as his other works. You do know how he died, right?"
Vegeta shook his head. No. His mother never mentioned that.
"He was beheaded by his lovely wife. He traveled the world, lived in many different countries, and always bringing his wife and children along with him. But, then he wrote this book—" She pointed to the entry on the page. "—his last, and his wife was furious."
"I take it the Blue-Haired Goddess wasn't his wife?"
"Nope. He loved Hisa, his wife, dearly, but his true love, this Blue-Haired woman, was who the book was about, and for that he lost his life. She told him straight out what she planned to do, and all he asked was that he be able to die in his home country."
"How much?"
The woman balked at his question.
"Well?" He was beginning to grow annoyed. The room was stuffy, he was soaking wet, and she was going on and on about some guy that died centuries ago. Although, he had to admit, he was slightly intrigued by the guy.
"I'm sorry. You look like you must be eighteen. How can you afford such a thing?"
"Just give me your price. I'm sure its well within my spending limit."
"Eight hundred thousand," she stated matter-of-factly. He didn't flinch.
"Is a check ok? My credit cards can't hold that much dough."
"Do you actually think I'd let you walk out of here with my book and a teenagers' check? You can't be serious."
"Fine," he sighed, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a stack of bills, all hundreds. "One, two, three, four…That's three thousand dollars for a down payment, and the rest I'll put on the check. Now can I have it?"
"Your parents must really love you."
"Its my money, lady. Now get the book."
"If you weren't so rude, I'd laugh at that little joke."
"You really think I'm joking?" She nodded. "Do you have kids?"
"Yes."
"How old?"
"I have a daughter, about your age."
"Perfect. Call her, now."
"What?"
"Just call her. I want to prove something to you."
Irritated, the woman pulled a cellular phone from her pocket and dialed seven numbers.
"Hey, Maya, it's your mom."
"Ask her who her favorite band is."
"What's your favorite band, dear?" She listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece and said, "Green Dragon. What's this have to do with anything?"
"Ask her who her favorite member is."
"She said some guy named Vegeta."
Vegeta smiled. That's exactly what he'd been expecting.
"Perfect. Bye bye Maya."
"I'll see you when I get home later, hun. Bye." She hung up the phone then glared angrily at her customer. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You got a camera?"
"Kami. You're the worst sell I've ever had. Yes, I have a damn camera."
"Ok. Take my picture, show it to your daughter. If she doesn't squeal or faint then I'll bring the book back, and you can keep the cash."
"Who the hell are you?"
His lips curled into a devilish grin.
"I'm Vegeta."
**********************************************************
---Chapter 10!! Yes! Yay! Woohoo! I know, I know. Not much happened, but there is a purpose to this chapter. Even the scene with Vegeta in the antique store. It'll all make sense in a few chapters, I promise!!!
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Reviews=More Chapters)
Next time: Vegeta and Bulma have another encounter????
Note: Remember, even though I'm obsessed with Bulma and Vegeta, and this fic is mostly about them, it's also about the other couples too.
"I told you, its for Ryoko…and…well…"
"Yeah," he groaned as he pulled off his shirt. Even if she was the most annoying woman he'd ever met he couldn't deny his attraction to her. She was by far one of the sexiest women he'd had the pleasure of taking to bed, though, sadly, not the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. She was yet to be branded by him, but he wasn't about to give up on her. Someday he would know Bulma Briefs, and when he did, he'd have his prize. With a smirk he lifted Sen off the ground and tossed her onto the bed. "This better be worth my time."
***************************************************
"What time?" she asked, holding the phone tenderly to her ear, her eyes hazy with those usual teenage feelings of young love.
"What time are you free?" came his reply. His voice had just the right mixture of depth and confidence, along with a sort of childhood innocence that still shined through, giving it the perfect "to die for" timbre. If she hadn't been so caught up in it, she might have sensed his nervousness, which would have significantly lessened her own.
"Well, its only Wednesday," she sighed. "School gets out at 3:00 tomorrow, and my curfew is 10:00 during the week. Damn, I sound so juvenile, talking about school nights and stuff. You probably don't have to deal with such things when you go on dates."
"Its not a problem at all," he laughed. "And I don't really date. I've been out on a few blind dates set up by 17, and they never work out. You're…" He drifted off as though he'd said something foolish or wrong, and she realized suddenly that he was embarrassed.
"Yes?" she urged him on.
"You're the first girl I've really ever wanted to see more than once."
"Well," she said, trying to keep the fluttering in her stomach at bay. "You can see me as many times as you want, starting tonight if you'd like. I'm not busy."
"Alright." He let out a long breath, of which he didn't realize he'd been holding, then said, "I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."
"Great. See you then. Bye."
"Bye."
As she set down the phone, she couldn't help the squeal that escaped her lips, nearly scaring her friends into fits.
"Chi!" Bulma cried, whose head had collided with Krillin's as they both jumped in their seats on the couch. "Don't do that!"
"Sorry." She gave them both apologetic looks, then turned and ran towards her room to prepare for her date.
"Remember!!" Krillin called, still nursing his bump. "He doesn't like flashy girls!!"
"I know!" she hollered back. "But that doesn't mean I have to look like I've been lazing around with my friends all afternoon!"
"But you have!"
"Shut up, Krill!"
"Wow, you guys sound close," Maris laughed as she entered the room, bearing the bowl of popcorn she'd insisted on retrieving. "Date with Goku?" she asked as she sat beside Bulma, giving Krillin a small, private smile.
"Of course. What else would get her so worked up?"
"Does this mean we have to take our loser party some place else?"
"Loser party?" Bulma snorted playfully, then, "Nah. Doesn't matter if she's here or not. Her dad thinks we're family anyway. Or at least he treats us like it. 'Bulma, do the dishes, will you?' Sometimes it doesn't always work out for the best though."
Five minutes later, in record timing, Chi-Chi came bounding down the stairs, her hair pulled back in its usual ponytail, her body clad in a plain red tee-shirt and blue jeans cut off at the knees; plain white tennis shoes.
"Man," Bulma laughed. "The more we hang out, the more you look like me."
"Well, I took your advice. You were right, I don't need to dress like everyday is a fashion show. No one's judging me on what I wear, well, not REALLY. And who cares if people at school do, they're not important to me, and if the people that are important can't get past a designer dress, then I don't want those people in my life."
"Bravo!" Bulma declared as she encased her friend in a bear hug. "I couldn't have said it better myself." Then a playful smile curled at her lips, her ears having picked up the sound of a closing door and a dying engine. "You're sure you want to go? I mean, we're gonna watch Monty Python. It's one of your faves."
"I'll tell you what. If I stay home with you guys, then you have to go on another date wi—"
"Enough said. Enjoy." She took a step aside and let Chi-Chi pass, nearly toppling her over as she ran to the door, only to stop and fix her hair before she opened it, feigning calm.
"Hey Goku. Where're you taking me?"
"Your choice," he said, trying to force his smile from growing any bigger. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off by being overly excited to see her. They're barely just met, and he felt somewhat ashamed of being so taken by her.
"Well then, I'd have to say…" She brought her hand to her mouth in the usual position one takes when in deep thought. Then she turned to her friends and said, "Dynasty Galaxy is still open right? I haven't been there in forever."
"Yeah," Krillin answered around a mouthful of popcorn. "I just went there a week ago."
"With who?"
"Some friends."
"Who?"
"Chi," he laughed. "I have other friends besides you guys. No one I'd hang out with over you, of course, but other friends. Guy friends. People I can talk to about other stuff I can't with a bunch of girls."
"Well I'll be, little Krill is sprouting wings and growing up," Bulma cooed in his ear as she mockingly snuggled up against him. "My little man."
Bulma wouldn't have had time to react, even if she knew what was coming. And now, as she sat, stunned, and covered in buttery popcorn, all she could do was laugh, throwing scattered pieces at Krillin, and then Maris when she too started to laugh.
"The people I associate with," Chi-Chi fake groaned. "Bye you guys! We're leaving!"
"Bye Chi! Have fun!"
"Yeah! And use protection!"
"Shut up Krillin!"
"Hey! Let go of my head!"
"Ow! You got popcorn in my eye!"
"Hey! What're you—" And then the noises of her friends were completely inaudible as she shut the door and made for Goku's car. Nothing flashy. Green in color. Four doors. Sun roof. Ordinary.
"So, what's this Dynasty place?" he asked once behind the wheel. "Sounds like an arcade."
"And here I thought you were just a great bass player," she laughed. "Yes, it's an arcade, with laser tag."
"Kuso!" He swore before he could stop himself and nearly ran down her mailbox. "Kami, how have I been living my life without you?"
A deep blush crept onto her cheeks and she only nodded.
She'd been thinking the exact same thing.
*************************************************************
"I just don't like the girl, ok?" 18 grumbled, picking at her peanut butter cup. She had several packages in front of her, but at the mention of Maris, suddenly lost her appetite.
"But how?" 17 asked, almost pleadingly. "I don't get it. She's a great girl. If I weren't so caught up in the band, I'd consider getting a little closer with her. Dates are great, fine for now, but someday I want a relationship with a girl, and I think Maris is just the type for that. Well, either her or Bulma."
"Because, 17, she's vicious. You just can't see it because you're so clouded by your lower brain's thoughts. And I don't care how nice and sweet she is to you, I'm telling you, she has it in for me. And you know how I am with people who get under my skin."
"You're not going to beat her up, are you?" He grimaced at the thought, thinking of the last person who was unlucky enough to make her angry. Him. He could still feel the long gone bruises and his nose would never quite be straight again. Since then he's made it a point to never upset her when it wasn't worth the fight. "'Cause I mean, I love ya sis, but if you're going to go after a girl and not even tell me what she did, then I'm gonna have to step in, and you know how much I'd hate to do that."
"I know," she laughed, bitterly, turning her head to the side. "How do you breath out of your nose?"
"I manage," he stated simply, then, eagerly, he asked, "Please, tell me. What did she do?"
"She challenged me."
He waited for her to continue. She didn't.
"Challenged you?" 18 nodded. "How? I've been with you every time you've seen her."
"She didn't have to say a thing. I knew exactly what she was thinking. You know, little bro, actions more than not speak louder than words. And her actions were deliberate."
"You don't know that I'm younger than you, so stop calling me 'little bro'. And when the hell did all this happen? From across a room?"
"More or less. It was when we went bowling. She…"
"She what?"
"Forget it. I'm not going to beat her up, that is, unless she comes at me first. So stop worrying. I need to get going anyway. I'm meeting with Sen for dinner."
"Sen?"
"Yeah. She's got a proposition for me and I'm just bored enough that I'll hear it." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the check, then stood. "Don't worry lil' bro. I'll tell you all about it when I get back." She headed for the door, ignoring his groans as she'd called him his hated nickname again. And, as she was pulling on her knee-length jacket, said, "And one more thing, kid. If you want a relationship then pick the right girl to have one with. It won't matter that you're in a band and travel all over the country. If she's right, she'll understand, and you'll know when she's right. Just don't make the mistake of waiting for your career to slow down before you start looking, 'cause you might just walk right by her."
"Insightful," he murmured, looking at the table they'd been seated at, wondering how in the name of Kami he would know, without a doubt, who was the right girl for him. "Thanks sis."
"No problem. Oh, and don't mention this to Vegeta. He still thinks I'm a hard ass."
"Sure thing. But don't you make the mistake either. If that's what this thing with Maris is about, and don't think I don't know you like the little bald dude, then you have my blessing to fight her for him, and I don't mean physically."
"Man, you really like raining on my parade?"
"What're brothers for?"
***************************************************************
Vegeta walked dismally through the rainy streets of Satan City, the collar of his coat pulled up just far enough to conceal his identity. His hair was matted down slightly from the rain, but his appearance was the last thing on his mind. He could still taste her lips, feel her soft skin under his hands, smell the sweet perfume that was a woman in the heat of a moment. So why—with those senses for sensitive, so very fresh—could he only think of a different woman with shining aqua locks and a fiery passion that rivaled his own?
He continued on, though, as if he were destined for a certain point, as if his feet were guiding him to a specific place when really he only wanted to clear his head. Why was it that when you wanted so badly to think of nothing, that all you could think about were the most troubling thoughts?
A screaming mother with three tantrum-throwing children brushed by him, bringing him to a halt in front of an antique shop. He looked around and realized suddenly that he'd passed into Townsend, a small section of the city that was cut off from the rest, displaying old buildings and an old way of life. All the stores weren't really stores as he was used to, but tiny shops, like the one he stopped in front of, each bearing a hanging sign in cursive lettering. He felt as though he'd been thrown back a few centuries, aside from the obvious fact that everyone around him was wearing modern clothes. But big blue mailboxes? Evenly sectioned cement sidewalks? Cars? No, not even cars were permitted into this mock village. A road went right around it that cars were allowed on. But the cobble-stoned street he'd been unknowingly walking on? Never.
He was about to turn around and head back towards the hotel, when on pure impulse, he walked into the antique shop. It was what one would think to find in the normal consignment shop; antique tables and chairs and all sorts of things that seemed to grow dust, rather than be buried in it. Each tiny side room was filled with related objects. One room housed strictly children's toys, while another was dedicated to kitchen wear, and still another to clothes and hats and gloves. And then, directly after a room full of paintings, those huge wall sized ones, and some small enough to fit in your palm, Vegeta entered an antique library, complete with a ladder to slide along the shelves.
He didn't much like to read. A certain few books made their way into his life that he actually liked, and re-read, countless times. But he was by no means a reader. He liked the look of all the broken and brittle bindings sticking out with their faded colors and Kami knows what kinds of stains.
"Looking for something inparticular?" came a high womanly voice from the next room. A small middle-aged woman went scurrying by the doorway, her arms full of boxes. When she entered the room a moment later, her hair was askew, though she didn't seem to notice. "I cataloged every item that's come and gone in this place myself. If you want I could give you a list of the books we have as of now, if you don't mind sloppy handwriting and the disappointment of seeing what you wanted already crossed off my list."
"Sure," was all he said, his eyes still on the relics before him, scanning the bindings for certain names he was familiar with.
"Here you are, young man." She handed him a bulky leather-bound book, then hurried out of the room and down the hall, as though he were about to throw it back at her.
Out of sheer boredom, and in need of something to keep his mind off his problems, he scanned the crinkled and sometimes torn pages, finding nothing to his taste. And then, just as he was about to close it and leave, his eyes fell on the most unusual of names: Anzai Anzai. He knew next to nothing about the man, whose name he only heard a few times from his mother/tutor. He was born in the early 1400s in Japan, lived in London for a great deal of his life, then Paris, and then came home to Japan to die, having written thirty-three books total, so far as anyone knew.
His finger ran along the entry with Anzai Anzai's name, stopping at the book's title. His mother loved this man's work, and could list all of his books, of which she own, but he knew he'd remember if she'd said this name.
"Through the Eyes of the Blue-Haired Goddess," he said aloud.
"So, I see you're an Anzai fan, huh?" The small woman was in the room again, one hand clutching a bag of what appeared to be furniture polish and old rags. "I love him myself. That book, there on the list, is one of four original copies made. I own two, and so I put one up for sale. There are other paper back modern versions of it, though its not as widely known as his other works. You do know how he died, right?"
Vegeta shook his head. No. His mother never mentioned that.
"He was beheaded by his lovely wife. He traveled the world, lived in many different countries, and always bringing his wife and children along with him. But, then he wrote this book—" She pointed to the entry on the page. "—his last, and his wife was furious."
"I take it the Blue-Haired Goddess wasn't his wife?"
"Nope. He loved Hisa, his wife, dearly, but his true love, this Blue-Haired woman, was who the book was about, and for that he lost his life. She told him straight out what she planned to do, and all he asked was that he be able to die in his home country."
"How much?"
The woman balked at his question.
"Well?" He was beginning to grow annoyed. The room was stuffy, he was soaking wet, and she was going on and on about some guy that died centuries ago. Although, he had to admit, he was slightly intrigued by the guy.
"I'm sorry. You look like you must be eighteen. How can you afford such a thing?"
"Just give me your price. I'm sure its well within my spending limit."
"Eight hundred thousand," she stated matter-of-factly. He didn't flinch.
"Is a check ok? My credit cards can't hold that much dough."
"Do you actually think I'd let you walk out of here with my book and a teenagers' check? You can't be serious."
"Fine," he sighed, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a stack of bills, all hundreds. "One, two, three, four…That's three thousand dollars for a down payment, and the rest I'll put on the check. Now can I have it?"
"Your parents must really love you."
"Its my money, lady. Now get the book."
"If you weren't so rude, I'd laugh at that little joke."
"You really think I'm joking?" She nodded. "Do you have kids?"
"Yes."
"How old?"
"I have a daughter, about your age."
"Perfect. Call her, now."
"What?"
"Just call her. I want to prove something to you."
Irritated, the woman pulled a cellular phone from her pocket and dialed seven numbers.
"Hey, Maya, it's your mom."
"Ask her who her favorite band is."
"What's your favorite band, dear?" She listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece and said, "Green Dragon. What's this have to do with anything?"
"Ask her who her favorite member is."
"She said some guy named Vegeta."
Vegeta smiled. That's exactly what he'd been expecting.
"Perfect. Bye bye Maya."
"I'll see you when I get home later, hun. Bye." She hung up the phone then glared angrily at her customer. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You got a camera?"
"Kami. You're the worst sell I've ever had. Yes, I have a damn camera."
"Ok. Take my picture, show it to your daughter. If she doesn't squeal or faint then I'll bring the book back, and you can keep the cash."
"Who the hell are you?"
His lips curled into a devilish grin.
"I'm Vegeta."
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---Chapter 10!! Yes! Yay! Woohoo! I know, I know. Not much happened, but there is a purpose to this chapter. Even the scene with Vegeta in the antique store. It'll all make sense in a few chapters, I promise!!!
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Reviews=More Chapters)
Next time: Vegeta and Bulma have another encounter????
Note: Remember, even though I'm obsessed with Bulma and Vegeta, and this fic is mostly about them, it's also about the other couples too.