Her eyes were on his body as he moved about the kitchen, watching the odd, almost unlikely grace with which he moved; the gentle stride in his hips, the way his hair fell about his shoulders. At night when he would read his books next to her in bed, Eighteen often found herself tracing the veins in his arms, watching his eyes move back and forth as he read. He was her brother, utterly, everything about him so unsurprisingly familiar to her, and yet she was ever fascinated by him. She knew only him in her memories and wanted to continue knowing only him, though this world full of saiyans he spoke of did intrigue her. Were they really stronger here than they were in that world of memory? She couldn't fathom such a weakness. Eighteen had been unamused and unimpressed by those four saiyans she had known in her life. One was nice to look at, but he looked better with the twisted grimace of pain on his face.
"What are you in the mood for?" he said, plopping down in the seat across from her, wearing a little grin.
"What am I in the mood for, huh? Oh, you mean for food?" Seventeen's grin turned into an all-out smirk at his sister's words. She rolled her eyes, smiling at him.
"Well, you tell me, brother. What are my choices?"
" Well," he started, "everything is about twenty minutes away, I'd say. Anything good, that is. We're in a pretty suburban area -- no, I wouldn't even call it suburban. More like..."
"The sticks?"
"Yeah," he grinned. "Except it's like an upscale version. Main street's a pretty busy place."
"There's a main street? Why'd you pick a place like this?"
"It's quiet. And I don't like living too close to the city."
"Really?" Eighteen marveled. Seventeen shot her a tired look at the exclamation. Glancing away with a sigh, he shifted back in the chair.
"Yeah, really. It's better out here." He leaned forward again, resting his elbows against the tabletop. The tone in his voice grew lighter, trying to shake off the irksome feeling that had suddenly blossomed in his chest. "There's a decent noodle place you might like," he said with a suggestive brow. "With ambiance." Eighteen glanced over to catch her brother wagging his eyebrows up and down at her and could barely help the grin forming on her lips.
"How far away?"
"Not that far. At the center of town, actually. This is a mostly human town, too, so you don't have to deal with any saiyans. Do you wanna go?"
Deal with any saiyans? she thought to herself. What on earth did that mean? She still couldn't figure out just he was talking about when he mentioned things like that, but she knew better than to ask him. He got annoyed easily whenever saiyans were involved...
"E? Do you wanna go?"
"Oh. Hu'yeah," she muttered, coming back from her thoughts.
"All right. Go get ready," he said, pushing off the table with a gentle smile. Eighteen nodded, collecting the robe around her as she got up and started to move off to her room. "And don't take forever, just throw something on," he added with a stern, yet playful look. The light-haired sibling stopped then, a realization coming to mind.
"We're flying, right? Won't it be cold outside?"
"There should be a coat in your closet."
"A nice one?"
"Yes, a nice one, Eighteen. Can't believe you just asked me that," he muttered, shaking his head. With a perked brow and growing smile, she shuffled over to her brother, giving him a quick hug before she went upstairs to see just what kind of 'nice' coat he had gotten her. With any luck, it would be that cute pea coat she'd seen in the catalogues he'd been giving her.
Seventeen remained in the room after she had left, now leaning on the island counter top, staring out of the sliding door windows. There was something about his older sister that he still couldn't quite get over, despite the passing of several weeks. She was constantly bringing up these memories of hers and it grated on his nerves. Why, he couldn't even figure out. She clung to them, challenging nearly everything he told her about the world outside their dear, abandoned mansion. The information the rx-IN took for him showed no signs of this being some sort of bizarre program or software error, but maybe there was a hidden objective he hadn't found yet (he'd make sure to check for a possibility like that next time).
Despite all this, he was relieved to have his sister back. He'd spent countless days after the destruction of Gero's lab, wandering aimlessly along the streets of Gingertown, not bothering to eat or sleep. What would he do without Eighteen? Where would he go? What was there for him now that she was gone? And then one day he was approached to enter the tournament, by some weasly promoter looking for easy money. Sure, Seventeen said. It was something to do. Maybe he'd get killed and not have to worry about himself any more ... or maybe he'd win. If he won, well, that would be nice, he thought. What did it really matter?
He left that ring battered and bruised, clothes burnt and tattered like he'd been wrestling with a lion lit on fire. But he did better than that promoter expected; he didn't get killed. He didn't like losing so badly to punk saiyans either. So there was something to life after all. When he had healed up enough to go out in public again, Seventeen went off in search of Gero's labs, looking for parts and schematics and unfinished software packs, something to improve upon himself with. There were quite a number of useful things in that madman's secret lab, things Seventeen hadn't even expected to find. He visited often.
At the sight of Gero's primary laboratory, however, little more than machine fragments and rubble existed. He started looking for his sister again when he found a notebook of scientific ramblings on himself and Eighteen at the other lab. Every day the sun rose, he would look for her, evidence of her body, anything. He combed through the destruction with utmost meticulousness. And yet he found nothing, not a strand of hair, not even the metal O-ring from her boot straps. In the meantime, he found the mansion, so grandiose and ironically abandoned, and made it his home, setting up a laboratory of his own design in the enormous basement, though its purpose at the time was only to maintain himself.
He continued to fight in the tournaments, becoming an increasingly popular underdog amidst a lineup full of feral saiyans. Over time he found ways to increase his fighting prowess, much to the annoyance of his opponents, and began to win more matches, make more money, and buy better equipment. And that is how he lived his solitary life.
Until she reappeared. He hadn't even thought about furnishing the mansion until she started to complain about it ... rather, it was when he noticed the twin bed he'd been sleeping on wasn't fit for two.
"You're not even dressed yet?"
Oh yeah. He should get ready.
The air that evening was cold, chilling Eighteen to the marrow in her bones as they flew along the tree tops. She wondered why her brother didn't have a car they could drive instead, but then remembered he probably didn't have the money. Or he did and just spent it all on equipment and supplies for his lab.
To her, the countryside didn't look any different from before that day Seventeen found her. She didn't know if saiyans built different houses, but she didn't see anything strange. No saiyans with fiery auras streaking through the air and brawling in the streets like her brother made mention of. She didn't see any signs of their existance anywhere, no craters or scattered landscapes. All she saw were quaint little country houses with cars resting quietly in their lots. Seventeen had mentioned, though, that there weren't so many of the "half-monkey nimrods" in the burbs; they were far more numerous in the cities. She was growing a bit apprehensive as they continued on, the distances between houses shrinking more with each mile they flew.
Eventually, she saw the little roads converge into a bigger road where there seemed to be no residential buildings, and suddenly it was time to touch down. Main street. A tiny hub of bustling shops and small restuarants. And not a single person seemed concerned or frightened to see the two of them drop out of the sky. Eighteen found herself momentarily baffled, eyeing the passers-by, searching for the thick and wiry spiked hair of a saiyan. Although ... maybe they were different looking in this world.
Her raven haired brother took on an air of apprehension, also looking for the simian-tailed creatures it seemed, the way his brow had fallen low over his eyes. With few words he led his sister along the street, not bothering to stop and let her have a chance to look at the other stores. She didn't really mind, either. She only felt the numbing sting of the cold biting on her skin. After a few blocks, though, he pulled her inside one of the store fronts, the delicious, long-forgotten smell of spicy broth and noodles immediately filling her lungs. Why hadn't they just touched down here, she wondered.
"So now you see what downtown looks like, " her brother said to her with a slightly sarcastic bite. "When you're back to normal, I'll take you back to shop," he added, his voice softening. "There are a few little places you'd like." Eighteen smiled at him and squeezed his hand, causing a gentle smile to break her brother's usual harshly unamused demeanor.
A few moments later, some seats finally became available at the window of the packed noodle house, and they sat down on the high stools across from each other. Eighteen watched her brother glance at the menus sitting quietly on the table, silently amazed that they were out at dinner, just like two ordinary people. Seventeen let her stare at him as he looked idly out the window, watching passers-by in their heavy winter layers. The snow had started to fall again and looked rather whimsical in the soft glow of the town streetlights. He sat back in his chair and let a sigh escape, feeling some sort of pressure move off of his heart. He felt relieved. Here they were sharing dinner, returned back to their relatively normal lives ... though what life was like before Gero, he still dreamed about. In all the times he'd ransacked Gero's labs, he never found any video footage or logs of any kind of what he and his sister were like before. Why that madman would've kept such documentation, he couldn't know ... but it was one of the few hopeful thoughts he had.
"Hi," came a friendly, low voice, breaking the twins' wandering thoughts. "My name's Sorata. I'll be your waiter. What can I get you two tonight?" Eighteen blanked. The waiter was here already, placing down a small pitcher and two cups, and she hadn't looked at the menu once. She looked to her brother quickly, knowing how he didn't like to wait, and blurted out to the waiter before actually thinking.
"I'll have whatever he's having."
"All right then," came the voice, a vaguely amused expression on his face as he looked to Seventeen. "And what will you be having?"
Seventeen's lip curled up in a faint sneer as he met the waiter's expression, spitting out his order in a low grumble. Eighteen straightened up at her brother's sudden shift in attitude and looked over to the waiter with curious eyes, half ready to apologize for his behavior. But her breath left her as she finally processed what she'd been looking at.
The waiter had a perfectly wild mane of spiked, dark hair that cascaded down his back. The muscles in his arms popped with every subtle movement, the shirt he wore tight over his frame. His shoulders were broad, his cheekbones strong and high, and as her blue eyes trailed down him, she saw a dark brown cord wrapped close around his waist, the saiyan tail. She'd never seen one up close. It was far better looking than she anticipated, smooth and well groomed (she had been expecting something more ratty), and when the saiyan turn to leave with their order, she saw the tip was dyed a sharp red color. Amazing...
"Well there you have it," Seventeen scoffed, eyes rolling back as he leaned on the back of his chair, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. "Your first saiyan. He wasn't too bad, actually," he added, well-defined brow perking.
"What do you mean he wasn't too bad?" she said, coming out of her tiny daze. Seventeen looked to her and laughed.
"He's pretty scrawny for a saiyan. Plus, he's our waiter, meaning he's the kind that values money over seeing blood ... or isn't strong enough to fight for money. Or he is and just doesn't care for it." He glanced to the street outside and then back to Eighteen, who still looked mystified, much to his annoyance. "It means he won't be any trouble, though the way you were looking at him ..." He rolled his eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked in a shrill voice.
"Nothing," he answered quietly, sipping at the hot tea cup that had been set down moments earlier. Eighteen expected her brother to give up a little laugh, to show he was playing around, but as he began sulking into the steam of his tea, it became apparent no such thing would happen. Her expression dimmed, a small frown forming on her lips, and she sat back in her chair. How long would it take for the noodles to come up?
The night time routine that evening was, thankfully, unmarred by the brief upset at the restaurant. And what was that all about anyway, Eighteen asked herself. Seventeen had been quiet the whole meal, leaving his sister to wonder what she had done wrong. He was acting like a jealous boyfriend more than an overprotective brother. No, she had no right to say that. She had no idea what might have happened to him here on this earth, what grudges he might have good cause to hold against saiyans. But their waiter seemed absolutely harmless. He was just a waiter, she told herself. But even so (and this she did feel guilty for), the emotional response he stirred in her was ... unexpected.
In her memories, she could count the saiyan population all on one hand. They were of two distinct bloods, and even so, they looked very similar with their bulky muscles and thick necks. They didn't have tails either, though she knew they were born with them. But this saiyan, their waiter, he had his tail. And it was dyed red at the tip, no less! His hair was spikey like the saiyans she'd known before, but it was styled. His build and bone structure was impressive (even attractive, though she couldn't admit that) and svelte. His demeanor calm, his posture carefree, his dress that of a typical, fashionable youth. He was everything she did not expect. No fighting uniform, no harsh voice or fiery aura. Just the dark eyes and strange hair. She had been prepared to feel a wary hatred overcome her bionic heart, but instead found herself speechless with wonder.
Seventeen noticed this immediately. She knew he noticed, and found herself caught up in the balance of tending to his feelings and trying to figure out her own. The enjoyment of eating one of her favorite meals after such a long period of recovery was wasted on this eggshell dance, but the moment the twins had left that building, Seventeen's mood lightened. He seemed just slightly apologetic underneath his mellow scowl, and even took her to a place to get some bubble tea for dessert.
Now they were wrestling around on their sizeable bed (with a firm mattress, of course) like two young kids, giggling as they rolled about on the warm, plush comforter he'd gotten. Eighteen was happy that the awkward night was fading away with their roughhousing. Tomorrow she'd wake up, hopefully feeling a little bit stronger still, and they'd spend another fine day together. They sure would, Seventeen thought to himself.
The next day was rather cool for the time of year, and Eighteen spent a fair amount of time quietly wandering outside in the snow-blanketed garden behind their fairytale abandoned mansion. Seventeen had been gone when she awakened, and while at first she was upset because of the previous night, she had to tell herself he was almost always gone when she woke up.
Sometime right after the evening had just settled down and the moon was bright in the clear sky, her raven-haired brother returned, a cold huff of breath escaping his lips as he smiled to see his sister. His face seemed happier than usual. His arms seemed to open to her the moment he stepped through the door. She hugged him tightly, and, as expected, withdrew with a concerned look on her face. The was a light smattering of blood on the bandana tied around his neck.
(careless...)
"What's this from?" she asked, gently flicking the oversized orange bandana, her other hand tucking a stray hair behind her ear. The concern in her eyes made his heart beat too fast for a second, and maybe it showed on his face because she gave him an even more questioning look, her brow perked high now.
"Take a wild guess, dear..."
"I'd rather you just tell me..." she said with a frown, already giving up on the game. His face seemed too gentle and apologetic already to give him a hard time, and she had long since learned that too many questions all at once made him irritable. He glanced down and noticed with a frown that she wasn't wearing her slippers on the cold, cracked marble floor. Gently he turned her around, slipping his arm across her shoulder as the other started to untie the bandana around his neck, and they both walked back to their room where she had come from. Eighteen was silent, her shoulders up in a huddle, her arms grasping the opposite bicep for warmth.
Upstairs, Seventeen threw the bandana in the dirty laundry. He changed out of his loose jeans, throwing them initially on the bed, but quickly remembering to put those in the hamper, too. The layered shirts came off next, the white one underneath in the hamper, and the black one back against his skin. Now he was just in his boxers and black t-shirt, sitting cross legged on the floor by their fireplace. Eighteen sat on a pillow across from him, her elbows on the low, polished table, chin in hands. The book she had been reading was creased open, face down on the table, along with a small cup and pot of tea. She looked at him for a long time, and he only looked back at her. Finally she poured some more of the hot tea into the half-empty cup and pushed it over to him.
"If you got into a fight, I don't care, Sev. I do ... but ultimately, I know you can take of yourself." Her brother took the cup in both hands, holding it underneath his nose, savoring the sensation of the steam rising to his nostrils. He wasn't much of a tea drinker, but there was rarely a time when he didn't oblige his sister. He took a quick sip and then set the cup down, sighing.
"Well then, I guess you have nothing to worry yourself about then. I can take care of myself. And besides ... the guy that jumped me wasn't that smart." Seventeen's clear, pale eyes darted over to see his sister's reaction. Of course she didn't approve. Of course she seemed worried. Of course there was that little concerned frown on her lips. He grinned and reached out to deliver a playful little tap to her cheek, to which she put up with this time, frowning nontheless.
"I just don't get understand, though. Why do people always bother you when I'm not around? There's never any trouble when we go out together."
"Yeah, well that's probably because there's two of us."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"How doesn't it?" he shot back, finding that irritation creeping up the nape of his neck. Eighteen huffed and looked away, annoyance set into her delicate brow. "Look, here's the rundown, E. People see me. Saiyans see me. They know who I am. Any saiyan worth his tail follows the tournies, and they know I hand them their asses on a regular basis. Who wouldn't want to have a piece of me, especially if they see me traveling alone?"
"But that -- !"
"I don't know why they don't bother me when you're around. Maybe they actually have some respect for a female presence. I don't know, E. I just know that if they're looking for trouble, and they wanna find it in me? I'm gonna give them what they're looking for."
With that, Seventeen sneered and glanced away. Both his hands were palm down on the table now, held tensely in place. Eighteen only continued to sit there, glaring at him. He could feel the anger in her eyes burning into him. He could, out of edge of his peripheral vision, see that look. It was hard to ignore. Finally he saw her eyes shift and he looked over to see her pushing up to her feet and what seemed to be a hint of ... disappointment buried beneath her annoyed expression. His arm shot out and had her wrist in his grasp before she had a chance to go anywhere else.
"Wait."
"Why?"
"I'm sorry ... "
"What for?"
"Come on ... "
"Come on what? You're the same as always. You never listen to me when it really matters." She tried to jerk her hand away, but his grip was too tight. She looked at him, all the more annoyed. "Let go of me."
"No." Seventeen got to his feet quickly , only letting go of her wrist when he had both his arms around her. He smiled at her, that disarming, apologetic smile that she hated when he used it in situations like this. Her expression shifted to another one of her little frowns and she finally gave in, stepping further into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. He hugged her gently around the waist. Things always boiled down to this. "You know ... sometimes I wish I was taller ..." he mused.
"Oh? Why's that?" she said in a tired voice.
"Hmm ... you'll think it's silly. But I wish I could look down on you." She laughed and picked up her head to look at him.
"Why? Is this another one of your silly things only men do?" Now Seventeen laughed, kissing her cheek quickly.
"Maybe ... "
"Oh geez ... " she muttered, rolling her eyes. Seveteen smiled at that, his hands rising to rest on her shoulders, and at seeing his face growing somber, she rolled her eyes again.
"Hey. I'm trying to be serious now." Eighteen straightened up with a sigh.
"What is it ... "
"I'm just ... sorry. I don't like hurting you. I don't try to do it on purpose. But you know how I am. For you, E, I'd do anything. But there are some things I can't change." He watched his sister frown yet again. His squeezed her shoulders gently. "I'm serious."
"I know," she sighed. It seemed that frown just wouldn't leave. "There's just ... "
(just what?)
"Just what?"
"Mmm ... oh, it's nothing. I just worry about you is all."
(worry about you ... worry about the way you were back then...are you the same now?)
"I think I know that by now," he said, smiling gently. He gave her shoulders another squeeze, and then hugged her tightly. "Should we do your exercises now?" Eighteen glanced internally to the clock that was ever projected in the upper lefthand corner of her vision and promptly sighed.
"It's that time already, huh?"
"It is," he said with a little sadistic smile. "How do you ever expect to get better?"
"Yeah, I know," she said, waving a hand, stepping out of his embrace. She was still a touch colder than she would've liked to be at this point, but her brother was right. Every day he gave her exercises to do, tests to undergo in order to improve herself. At the rate they were going, she would be "normal" in just another couple of weeks. This rehabilitation time was killing her though, but what else could be done about it? Reluctantly she left her cozy terrycloth robe on the crisply made bed and went downstairs, down to the climate-controlled basement laboratory with her brother.
It seemed things were back to normal yet again.
Miles away, in the unsuspecting wind-blown fields of the quiet suburbs, not too far away from the bustle of Main street, there lay a body, face up in the snow. Blood stained the glistening purity in a tiny radius surrounding the corpse. The dark, viscous fluid was matted into the thick hair, splattered all over the corpse's chest and hands. It lay, sprawled out in a pitiful fashion, bits of skull crushed into tender smashed globules of what once had been brain matter. The eyes bugged grotesquely from the broken orbital lobes, mouth agape in an eternally horrified expression, tongue lolling out pitifully. The tail, with it's red-dyed tip, was still wrapped tightly around the waist, though it too was soaked in the quickly-chilling blood.
Nearby a fox in its winter coat crept curiously by, waiting to see if the figure was still yet to rise before it would move any closer to scavenge. This was a very good thing to find, if it was really as dead as it seemed. Saiyans were very nutritious creatures.
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Dragonball © Akira Toriyama. All other nonsense © number18.