Chapter Nine

Bulma sat at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand. She sighed as she stared dully at the plain wall, mind elsewhere. A fly landed on her nose without invoking the slightest flicker. This was someone deep in thought.

It was the third day, and Piccolo hadn't turned up yet. Try as Bulma may, she couldn't hold back the feeling of worry that was creeping up on her. After all, it was a completely untested procedure. What if something had gone wrong? It would be all her fault.

Bulma was so deeply inside her own mind she didn't notice the white gloved hand waving in front of her eyes.

"Hello? Woman!" Vegeta yelled, clicking his fingers in her face.

"I dunno, Vegeta. Maybe something's wrong?" Goku suggested.

Vegeta stood back, frowning.

The doorbell rang.

"Come in!" Goku replied automatically.

"This isn't your house, Kakarot!" Vegeta snapped.

"Oh yeah. Oops!" Goku scratched the back of his head in the Son way.

"Is Bulma here?" Piccolo poked his head around the corner, speaking quietly.

Vegeta and Goku jaw-dropped.

In place of his turban, Piccolo now had pale cobalt blue, straight, shoulder-length hair. It resembled Future Trunks's hair, once he'd exited the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and flopped softly over his face.

"You're here!" Bulma squealed, jumping from the table and hooking her arm around Piccolo's. "Come on, there's still so much to do!"

She dragged the reluctant Namek down the hallway, with the shocked gaze of Goku and Vegeta unwavering.

"What is going on?" Goku asked, after a full minute of staring at the empty hall.

"He can't do that, can he?" Vegeta asked.

"What, grow hair?" Goku frowned. "I don't think so."

"No, I mean, walk of with my wife's arm like that!" Vegeta's voice was tinted with rage.

"Actually, I think Bulma walked off with Piccolo's arm." Goku scratched his head.

Vegeta growled. "I'm going to keep an eye on this."

Goku looked at him with uncertainty. When Vegeta said he was going to keep his eye on something, he had generally already made up his mind to destroy it, piece by piece.

Piccolo was befuddled. He had never seen so many items of clothing in so many cuts, styles, or colours in one place at once. He knew this wasn't much, after all, it's not like he was ever allowed inside a clothing store before, and the only wardrobe he'd ever looked in was Goku's when ChiChi was finding something for his driving lesson. But he knew that the number of racks and racks of pants, shorts, shirts, jumpers, vests, hats and shoes that Bulma had somehow summoned to the lab was ridiculous.

"See anything that catches your eye?" Bulma asked.

Piccolo gave her a lost look.

"Now, I know you're not a man of fashion, so I asked a local designer to come in and lend a hand. He's had quite a bit of success around these parts." Bulma ushered Piccolo past a few racks until they found a young, blonde man in skin-tight clothing poking about the underwear. "Piccolo, this is Bruce."

Bruce turned on his heels at the sound of his name. Piccolo had the instant impression of an overbearing old woman with a sticky nose.

"Bulma, darling! I'm so delighted you chose me to help you out on your little project." Bruce held out his arms and embraced her. "So, is it Vegeta again? Some other new man in your life?"

Bulma giggled. "Bruce, I'm married!"

"I see, helping out a friend." Bruce frowned slightly, slowly circled Piccolo and began thinking out loud.

"Unusual skin colour, yes, I'm sure we can make that work. Built up, do you work out? Of course, of course." He lifted up Piccolo's cape and began prodding. "Not bad, not bad. Tall, tall is good, but maybe a bit big for the racks..."

Bulma was biting her lip. Piccolo was twitching so badly it was surprising he hadn't blown something up.

"Something casual to start with?" Bruce suggested, and clapped his hands. "Let's find some denim!"

He disappeared into the racks. Piccolo sent Bulma a death-glare.

"Maybe I should have a word to him." She said sheepishly.

Once Bulma had laid out for Bruce the Piccolo no-go zones, Piccolo found that he could barely tolerate the young designer, who besides being a bit too outgoing and brash for Piccolo tastes began sliding in small comments about Piccolo's appearance. It was the compliments that irked Piccolo the most; he just wasn't used to it.

"Get used to it!" Bulma snapped playfully. "You're going to be getting a lot when I'm through with you!"

By the end of it, with all three very weary, Piccolo had ten pairs of pants, six long-sleeve shirts, three tees, three jumpers, and two pairs of shoes stuffed into a bag.

"Remember, you can mix-and-match those." Bruce said. "Just don't let me catch you mixing hot pink, lime green and lemon yellow, that's a big no-no. Sooo twenty years ago."

Piccolo grinned uncertainly.

"Only one thing left to do now! Put it all to the test!" Bulma announced, and whipped out a small pile of paper and a pen. "All you have to do is fill this out and sign, and you're in the competition."

"Good luck!" Bruce squealed, and gave Piccolo a weak punch on the arm before waltzing off down the hall.

"Bye Bruce!" Bulma called after him. "He's not such a bad guy, is he?"

"Humph." Piccolo replied.