[Chapter Eight]
"You're alive," Dende joked as Piccolo flew over the edge of the tower.
"Barely." Piccolo smiled half-heartedly.
"Popo's bringing out some tea, you gonna join us?" Dende offered.
"I guess." Piccolo shrugged.
Piccolo took one step, slipped, and fell flat on his face.
"Ouch." He moaned into the tiles.
"Did you just trip over?" Dende asked, stunned.
Piccolo pushed himself up to his knees, and rubbed his sore nose.
"How did that happen?" He asked himself, getting to his feet.
"Oh! Piccolo, you're back!" Mr Popo commented, walking across the tiled courtyard with a tea tray and tea set. "I see Bulma didn't mess you up too badly."
Piccolo frowned. "Not yet, anyway."
"Here, hold this while I get another chair." Popo handed Piccolo the tray and walked back to the palace entrance.
"So, what did Bulma do?" Dende asked, walking over to the white garden table and chairs that Popo had set up and sitting down.
"She has this stupid bet with ChiChi." Piccolo grumbled. "I--"
"Watch it!" Dende snapped, pointing to the tea tray.
"Wha?"
Piccolo pulled the tray back to level, just in time to stop the china tea set from dropping to the ground. Unfortunately, the cups flipped up from their saucers, knocked the teapot, and the whole thing came crashing to the ground.
Piccolo and Dende stared at the mess, then at each other.
"What just happened?" Dende asked.
"Oh dear." Mr Popo said softly, staring at the mess of broken china.
"Its okay, Mr Popo." Dende asked. "Piccolo can clean this up. We have another tea set, don't we?"
"Yes, of course. I'll make another pot." Mr Popo offered, and walked with Dende inside.
Piccolo glared at Dende for ordering him around, and vaporised the pieces of broken ceramic and puddle of tea. He followed them inside, whacking his head on the doorway, and sat at the kitchen table, frowning.
'What did Bulma do?' Piccolo thought, rubbing his sore head.
Anger started to build again when he realised why two lumps were missing under his bandages.
"Here you go," Popo handed Piccolo a cup of tea.
"Thanks," Piccolo grumbled, taking the cup.
He then promptly dropped it.
The three of them just stared as the brown liquid spread across the table and dripped to the linoleum floor.
"Uh, Piccolo," Dende asked after a long time. "Bulma didn't happen to remove your antennae, did she?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because that would explain why you've been dropping, tripping over and bashing into things." Dende nodded, like a wise man who knew. "A Namek's antennae co-ordinate actions and thoughts."
"What?" Piccolo snapped.
"I'm not sure how, but they do." Dende looked up at Piccolo and grinned. "You're going to be totally unco until you get them back!"
Piccolo made a fist and growled, punching the table. Or at least, swung and missed.
"See?" Dende pointed. "You're a klutz!"
Piccolo sighed. "I need to work some stuff out."
Piccolo got up and walked to the door, opening it in his face.
"Damn it!" He cursed, and walked out.
When they were sure Piccolo was out of hearing distance, Dende and Popo burst into laughter, not to finish for a very long time.
Two days and many dinted walls later, Piccolo got out of his cracked shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Treading carefully, he walked over to his vanity and grabbed his toothbrush. Brushing had proven difficult lately, so he was forced to put all his concentration into squeezing the toothpaste onto the brush.
But something caught his eye in the mirror as he lifted the brush to his mouth. Something on top of his head, something blue.
He reached up and touched it. It was fuzzy. Short and blue and fuzzy...
So, his hair was finally growing. Quickly too, he noted, as it appeared to have grown an inch overnight.
It was odd, running a hand over fuzz where once not even follicles resided. It seemed against his nature to have hair; green demonic features would contrast so against blue locks. And what cut would suit him? Certainly not Trunks's bowl cut!
Piccolo sighed, finding himself yet again questioning Bulma's decision. It had happened a lot, and usually ended up with him running into something by lack of concentration.
Piccolo picked up his toothbrush again.
Dende and Popo burst into a fit of giggles again as a loud cry of pain and annoyance rang through the tower again.
"Whaddaya reckon?" Dende asked. "Toothpaste miss the brush? Or did he stab himself in the eye again?"