Blending In
2



Playing cards flopped down onto the kitchen table, making soft pat-pat noises. Tonkeshin sought the braille label on the upturned card nearest to him. A four - the suit didn't matter.
"I have a six." Greg's tenor voice came from across the table.
Tonkeshin turned the other card over and discovered a three. "Hit me."
"Sure thing."
Flop went another card. Tonkeshin's fingertips located the number. This time he held a Jack. He smirked to himself and waited while Greg dealt a few cards to himself.
Greg slapped his hand down. "Damn, I busted again! You play some mean Blackjack, Tonk! You beat me all through high school and college! I never win, ya bum. Are you looking at the cards or something?"
Tonkeshin faced the voice and grinned toothily, "I didn't peek, I swear!" He held a hand up and wiggled his fingers, "Pay up."
"Green bastard." The voice carried a smile behind it. Something papery slid onto Tonkeshin's palm, slightly crumpled from being wadded up. "It's a twenty, just so you know."
Tonk nodded, his antennae flopping gently up and down. He folded the twenty into fourths and inserted it into his wallet. Folding money made keeping track of it easier than the paperclip method. He kept ones open, folded the fives once vertically, folded the tens horizontally and the twenties into fourths. He never carried anything bigger than a twenty.
"You'll win someday, just keep practicing," said Tonkeshin in a friendly, yet mocking tone.
Greg's chair creaked. "Now what's the real reason you invited me here? You never ask me to come over just for cards, there's always something else going on. You've been acting like your brain is somewhere else all day. I've never seen you so out of it."
"Well. . ." Tonk was waiting for this to come up, "I got an ad for the World Martial Arts Tournament in my email today. I'd like to go to this one."
"What's the fun in going to a tournament you can't see?"
A thin smile stretched Tonkeshin's lips. He rested his chin on his fist, his eyes staring down towards the table. "I'm not going as a spectator."
Greg emitted a sharp gasp. The chair creaked again, louder than last time. Tonk just hoped it wouldn't break under his rotund guest's weight. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! How can you compete? You're blind! Those guys will knock the stuffing outta you."
The bubble of elation in Tonkeshin's stomach flipped over and sank. His hand dropped from his chin. He faced the sound of his friend's breathing and scowled. "I'm not that helpless, Greg! I thought you knew me better than that."
He softened and went on, "Nobody ever treated me like I was helpless when I was little. I was taught the alternative skills I needed to get along on my own and then sent out to join my brothers. I did everything they did. That includes learning how to fight."
"Yeah. . .but - "
"But what?" Tonkeshin's smooth voice gained a hard edge. His natural frown deepened.
Air puffed out through Greg's nose. "Sorry. . .so why do you need me?"
"Well," Tonk quirked his mouth into a smirk, "Someone has to read the airport signs and make sure I find the right gates. But don't worry, it isn't for three months. I'm gonna take some time off to train for it. I think my skills need some brushing up anyway. If you can't do it, you have plenty of time to bow out. I'll just harass someone else."
Long silence followed. Silence of the pondering kind.
"Fine, I'll do it. Somebody that knows braille should come along, right? You might need something embossed." Greg chuckled under his breath, "So maybe this is why God struck my dad blind. To prepare me for dealing with the likes of you."
"Hah!" Tonkeshin searched the table, gathered the cards up and neatly shuffled them. "Poor you. I put you through too much."
Two greasy potato chips nailed him square in the face. More crunched between Greg's teeth, muffling his voice. "You wish. C'mon, deal."
"Ack! All right, geez." He felt the cards shift in his hands and dealt them accordingly.
Sleep didn't come easy to Tonkeshin that night. His mind wouldn't stop drifting to the tournament. What did it feel like? Smell like? Sound like? Was it a huge arena or a small, secluded place inside a dojo?
When slumber refused to come, Tonkeshin got up again. Writing out his thoughts always settled his mind. He headed into the living room and prodded the couch for his slate and stylus.
The slate was a simple device - two pieces of aluminum joined by a hinge. Four lines of twenty eight braille cells were cut out of the top, and their outlines were stamped into the bottom so the dots wouldn't become holes. To use it, Tonkeshin simply fitted a piece of heavy braille paper between the pieces and used the stylus(a tool resembling a drawer handle with a nail stuck out the end) to punch the proper dots into the page. Just one catch: he had to write backwards so the patterns faced the right way when the paper was turned over. It was like mirror writing, yet simpler. Tonkeshin wrote this way as fast as a person using a pencil. Maybe even a little faster, since braille had contractions for whole words and word-parts.
An hour and four pages later, Tonkeshin experienced his first yawn. His mind was finally emptied of its wild thoughts.
Back to bed. . .
He felt like he'd scarcely closed his eyes when the alarm woke him five hours later. Sleep still hung heavily over him, so he took a cold shower to wake up. He rushed through the rest of his morning routine(sucking on a breath mint since he forgot to buy toothpaste on the way home) and hurried the short distance to his workplace.
Tonkeshin wound up removing his tie at the office because he grabbed the wrong one without realizing it. The guys he worked with got a laugh from it. Just like the time he wore orange socks with his gray suit. Of course, Tonk didn't "get" why a periwinkle tie didn't go with a black suit or why orange socks didn't match his gray one. Color was the one thing his mind just could not imagine.
Luckily he kept two ties, one black and one white, and a pair of white socks in his desk just in case. Everyone said those colors went with practically anything. Changing his tie took less than two minutes, though he didn't really pay attention to which one he donned. Nobody commented on it.
". . .so I need to take three months off to prepare for it." Tonkeshin explained quietly in the safe confines of Mr. Latte's cool office, which smelled like new leather and fresh coffee. He held the handle of his cane tightly in his fist like a long dagger. Apprehension made his mouth feel hot and sticky.
His suspicions about the coffee were confirmed when Mr. Latte poured some into his mug. A coffee maker hissed and the pot rattled back into its cradle.
The silence became disturbing. Why didn't the man answer? Was he giving an odd stare? Was he secretly laughing? Did he plan on laying him off?
The boss's chair shifted on squeaky wheels. He didn't sound overly pleased. "That's quite a vacation you're asking for, buddy. I'll only be able to pay you for one of the three months you'll be taking off. Think your finances can handle that?"
Tonkeshin loosened the death grip on his cane. He jiggled the leather handle with his fingertips. "Yes, I've never done anything expensive since I moved into my apartment, and the rent's cheap. I don't have to buy food and rarely use anything electrical except for my computer and washing machines. My bills are always pretty low. I can afford it, Mr. Latte. I wouldn't embark on this journey if I didn't think my money would hold up. Please, let me do this."
He was thankful Mr. Latte didn't rebuke him like Greg did. That didn't make asking for the time off any easier.
Mr. Latte's pen scribbled something down. More choking silence. Tonkeshin gazed blankly across the room, his pointed ears straining to catch the slightest sounds. Even then, he jumped when a piece of paper was suddenly ripped off its tablet. The chair squeaked again and Mr. Latte's footsteps approached.
"This is the check for the month's pay. You can cash it now, or save it for a rainy day. I want to make one thing clear, though. I'm only doing this because you have a decent record here. You're always on time and don't hang around the water cooler too much. That better not change when you get back from your tournament."
Tonk stretched a hand out to receive the rectangular piece of paper. His left hand was sore from gripping the cane so tightly. He switched it to his right, the one he used to swing it, and smiled. Relief almost swept his knees out from under him.
"I promise it won't, sir." Tonkeshin exhaled, "I might come back a little beat up if I don't win, but I'll still work just as I did. I swear it."
"I believe you, kiddo. Now get outta here so I can call up a temp. Don't worry, I'll tell them not to move anything in your work area."
Tonk quivered like a bird in search of freedom. He wanted to start training NOW! "Thank you very much. See you in three months!"
In his excitement, he forgot the door was shut and didn't use his cane to check. He found it with his face.
"Oof!"
"Of course. . .you won't have that problem. I hope," commented Mr. Latte.
A little embarrassed, Tonkeshin felt for the doorknob and slipped through without another word.
Click-tap, click-tap, click-tap!
He could barely keep his cane in rhythm as he exited the building. Forcing himself to walk normally, he didn't disguise the grin spreading across his sharp lips. Finally, I can prove I'm just as capable as everyone else.
A whiff of mint brought his mind back to Earth. He stopped in his tracks. "Toothpaste. Gotta get some toothpaste."

Warm sand oozed between Tonkeshin's long toes. His ever-sweeping cane created zig zag patterns that his feet quickly erased. The ocean bombarded him with cool spray, a salty scent and soft swooshing sounds. He knew the sun was shining by the warmth on his bare skin. Clad in nothing but swimming shorts and a tight wifebeater, with shoes in hand, the ocean in his ear and sand between his toes. . .he wondered if he just discovered Heaven.
Of all the places on Earth, Tonkeshin loved beaches the most. The sea always enchanted him. It felt like velvet rushing over his feet and around his ankles. Sometimes he walked a little too close and the water rose to his knees. He wasn't perfect at judging distance by sound. The ocean was tricky.
Tonkeshin sat down near a large rock jutting out over the water. He folded his cane, drew his knees to his chest and turned his face towards the fine mist that billowed up each time a wave crashed. "Ahhh...perfect way to cool off without getting soaked."
With a sigh, he let his mind drift back to the past. To the days when he asked every warrior in his village for battle training. Only one had enough patience for him. He was the Namek Tonkeshin looked up to all his life.
His name was Nail.
Tonkeshin remembered Nail well. His gentle, patient voice. The careful hands that manipulated his body through the many motions of fighting, and later came back to strike him down during lessons. He even remembered the time when Nail let him touch his face and see what he looked like. That memory made Tonk smile.
"I want to look like you when I'm grown, Nail!" Tonkeshin's unchanged voice trilled happily. He kept his hand on Nail's leathery face to feel his expression change, "That way everybody will know I'm strong!"
Nail's hand patted Tonk's shoulder. The other Namek's breath felt warm and moist against his cheek. The sharp cheekbone under his palm rounded as a smile formed, "We'll find out in a few years."
"Heh. . .it's been so long since we last met, Nail. I hope you're happy, wherever you are." Tonkeshin directed a smile at the sky. "I'm going to make you proud!"

Author's note: That wraps up another chapter. Don't worry, you'll see the Z guys pretty soon! Sorry I take so long, it takes my ideas a while to congeal in my mind.

I'm not messing with canon here, by the way. Tonkeshin doesn't know Nail fused with Piccolo. Just letting you all know so you don't get confused. smile