Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ . . . sadly.
A/N: Long time no see, folks. :gets on hands and knees: I'm soooo sorry for the wait; I beg your forgiveness, Please! I feel aweful! I've barely had any time to write, since my friends from Germany got here two weeks ago; and also, if any of you have read my bio, and tried emailing me to answer my question, something's wrong with my account, and I didn't get it. So please, accept Microsoft Word?I know it says it does, but I've tried once before, and it wouldn't accept it for some reason.
But anyway, please forgive me,O Mighty Reviewer!
The Perfect Flaw
Chapter XVII
Well, it was nice to get away from freezing climates, she guessed. Unfortunately, Bulma couldn't really agree that humidity was any better.
In the cold she hadn't had to worry about her image (well of course she had looked drenched from the frozen rain, but no one could have seen her anyway through the obscurities),unlike this weather. Here, her normally vivacious blue locks were nothing more than unsightly pieces of yarn that clung to her forehead from the sweat, straggling down to frame her damp, sheen face.
And it was all draining her energy as well. Her body began to sag in Vegeta's arms as they flew through the gray skies,and her eyes began to droop. She hadn't looked this beat since the all-nighter she pulled a while back at the Palace. She had smuggled her invention into her dorm in a desperate attempt to finish before her deadline, and she did succeed--- but the next day a guard found her face first in her notebook, drooling, and gave her a first and final warning not to fall asleep on her job again. The tone of his voice had promised unimaginable pain.
"It's here."
Bulma started, and she didn't have to be teeming with brain power to know he was referring to the Dragon Ball.
But did he expect her to say something? Because if he did, too bad; she felt too weak to bother. Instead the human remained silent, and tightened her grip around Vegeta as they swooped down to touch ground. When feeling dirt beneath her feet, Bulma pushed away from the Saiyan's chest, looking into his eyes.
They held their entire focus on the Radar's readings, and gleamed with something that frightened Bulma.
And then as he started forward, she found it was too much to bare. "Prince Vegeta, please,"--- in a bold move to restrain him any further, she blocked his path--- "let me handle this one. This is dealing with civilians."
She earned a growl in return. But nevertheless, to her surprise, he stood back and nodded curtly.
Giving an inward sigh, Bulma then held out her palm expectantly. This is it, she thought, when he gives you the radar, remain calm and wait until you're out of sight before you grab for the motorbike.
Vegeta stared at the extended hand as though puzzled. After another moment, when her hand did not retreat, his brows lowered in askance. "What are you waiting for?"
"The Radar." She made a slight beckoning motion with her fingers. "I need it to find the Ball."
He didn't look convinced. Hidden suspicion laced his words, "It's over there"--- he pointed to catch her attention--- "in that dwelling."
God dammit! She had been so close, she just knew it! Was this guy ever off guard!
Cursing, silently, she turned and made her way without protest to the hut he'd been pointing to.
Inside was a shop of some sort; People buzzed around, oblivious to her presence, while they studied items from small to large that lay on shelves.
The room was tiny, and with the abundance of individuals, it made Bulma feel--- anxious. In normal circumstances, yes, of course she would have been the usual, social butterfly she was born to be, but right now she was on a mission, and these fellow humans would only make it more difficult. Next thing she did was look around to study the items which held the folks' attention. Most were small, looked like hand woven bowls or jewelry or toys---
and then there it was, in all its glory, on display--- for sale.
Bulma caught her breath. Hurriedly she pushed past busied customers, coming to a halt before the front desk. There a man greeted her with a smile, which somehow only made her more anxious. "Holà. Como te puedo ayudar?"
Huh?
Bulma stuttered.
"Busca algo especifico?"
What the hell was he saying! "I . . ."
"English?"
The baffled scientist turned to the new voice. A woman stood beside her, her head cocked to the side as a crooked grin spread across her features. Her skin was a lighter tone than the man's, and wisps of fire red came down about her glowing face. "Do you speak English?"
"I . . . er---uh . . . y-yes."
"Hey; have we--- met before? You look so familiar."
Bulma's brow creased in bemusement. "N-no."
The woman laughed prettily, placing a hand daintily to her lips a she did so. "I'm sorry; my mistake. What can I help you with?"
Bulma didn't answer immediately. Instead she found herself replaying the woman's words in her mind, analyzing the strange accent that laced them.
She soon snapped out of it, however, when an unpleasant image of an impatient Prince flashed behind her eyes. "Um, listen, it--- it's critical that I have that ball,"---- Bulma pointed shakily before adding, "extremely critical."
The woman laughed again, tossing her rich red locks. "Okaay---. I don't see what you need help with there; that'll be $7.99."
Bulma made an incoherent noise of panic. "M-money?" she squeaked. "B-but I . . . I don't have any money."
The woman's smile vanished and her bright, glowing gaze turned sympathetic. "Well, then I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you can't have it then. I need $7.99."
"Mommy, I want that one; it has stars!"
How Bulma had managed to catch those words amid the abundance of other strange, foreign words that passed her by was a mystery--- perhaps it was because they were in a language she understood--- but that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that her assumption was correct: the small toddler was pointing to the Dragon Ball.
Bulma turned back to face the woman. "Please, you don't understand!" she wheedled, clasping her hands together and wringing them in wrought. "I need that ball!"
The look of sympathy was rapidly transforming into one of annoyance. "I don't know why you need it so much--- it's just a toy--- but it doesn't matter; you have to pay for it."
Bulma could feel her inner volcano beginning to boil. Fists clenching, her full, lush lips began to thin and contract over gritted teeth.
And then unexpectedly, without explanation, that evident anger subsided. Straggly strands of blue fell forward as Bulma bowed her head in surrender, and in a deliberately broken voice, "I understand. It was nice meeting you."
She didn't dare lift her gaze to see that woman's idiotic smile as she turned and made her way to the exit. Instead she kept her chin low, and her eyes downcast.
But soon she crossed paths with the little kid who held the Dragon Ball in his grasp. He smiled as his mother asked him something, turning his head to look up at her. And just like that, in the blink of an eye Bulma dashed forward and past, extractingthe ball from his small hands. It took the child a moment--- when he looked back down at his palms, only to find that they were empty.
It felt fiendish robbing from a toddler. So with a twinge of guilt, Bulma couldn't help but yell over her shoulder, "Sorry, Kid!" as she sprinted for the hut opening. "But I need this more than you do!"
The boy stood dumbfounded and blinked as though he were a newborn child, before erupting into heart wrenching sobs. He clutched his mother's hand, and togetherthey began to create a scene.
Unfortunately, as close as freedom seemed, it was crushed when Bulma felt two female hands coil around her arm, halting her in her escape. Hissing rabidly, she whirled to see the woman from before.
"Let go!" Bulma screamed.
As though to make her point, the blue haired freedom fighter thrust a fist viciously into the woman's nose; the redhead's protests and shouts ceased instantly as she fell back to make contact with the hut floor.
You're more Saiyan than you think, Bulma thought to herself, distantly. If Prince Vegeta were here right now, he'd probably be so proud of you.
Or--- laughing hysterically.
Bulma gave another earpiercing shriek as she again attempted freedom, only to feel more hands enclose around her flailing arms--- stronger hands--- masculine.
Now two men flanked her. One she recognized from the counter, the one who couldn't speak English, and the other just a bystander.
And it was obvious, as she continued to struggle without result, that she was out matched. Soon, all she could do was gasp as the Dragon Ball was ripped forcefully from her grasp. They said something she couldn't understand, one raising a hand as though threatening to backhand her.
"Pare!"
Bulma recognized that voice.
Sneering, she looked up into the redhead's face. The woman's eyes burned a brilliant green, as blood smeared her nose and trickled its way into her mouth, staining her teeth. "Don't hit her! She is a criminal, and just like any other thief, she will be dealt with accordingly." As calm and controlled as her words sounded, Bulma could hear the hidden malice.
"Now,"--- the woman beckoned for the Dragon Ball, continuing when it was placed in her open palm--- "what I don't understand is, why anyone would make such a fuss over a toy ball."
Bulma stammered. "Well, l-look---,"
"That's it! I'm tired of waiting!"
Everyone silenced when hearing the bone-chilling voice.
Oddly, Bulma was actually relieved when hearing that familiar complaint. In most instances she, as well as any other slave, would be terrified, but as hard as she tried, she just couldn't ignore the voice in the back of her mind:
something was changing.
Fuming, Vegeta entered the scene, his tail unwound and lashing--- which only happened on two occasions: 1. when a Saiyan was angry, and not just angry, but seriously pissed. And 2. a sign of a Saiyan taking a liking to something, like a member of the opposite sex, or a favorite meal perhaps. Otherwise, having one's tail unfurled was a high risk fighting hazard, and was therefore to be locked around the waist at all times.
Vegeta's tail seemed to relax slightly, however, when he took in what was happening. His eyes first studied the fugitive as she stood impotent in two men's holds, a look of pure surprise writ across her face. Then they shifted carefully to another woman,who had turned her head in his direction with a mixture of confusion and horror swirling in her green orbs. She stood just feet away from Bulma, a red blotch on her face stark and hideous against her pretty features.
After a moment of making a conclusion, Vegeta wasn't able to repress the dry laugh that cut mercilessly through the silence. Crossing his arms, he cocked his head and regarded Bulma with a genuine smirk. "Is this how you 'deal with civilians'?" He was shaking with laughter now. "If so, I think we both know I would have done a better job!"
"I didn't mean to hit her!" Bulma snapped in defense. The grips on her arms tightened from her sudden outburst, and it was a good enough reminder to harbor her temper. She lowered her head as though in shame, her voice softer. "It was just kinda . . . instinctive."
He would have retorted to that, had something else not caught his attention. Something small and spherical.
Instantly Vegeta materialized before the redheaded woman, causing her face to pale, and causing him to smirk. But whether he was taking pleasure in her fright--- for Saiyans loved to be feared--- or in the sight of her bloody nose Bulma didn't know.
"Give me the Dragon Ball."
By now, incomprehensible whispers had begun to flitter about the room.
"I-I-I know w-w-ho you are!" the woman exclaimed suddenly, not hearing his command. She pointed a shaky finger in Bulma's direction. "I-I knew you looked familiar! Y-you're the girl, B-bulma Briefs!"--- Bulma grunted as she was thrown immediately to the floor--- "And that means . . ."
She trailed off, then became even paler when turning back to the smirking Saiyan.
"B-but they said you'd gone once you had gotten what you wanted!" The woman took an involuntary step back.
Vegeta chuckled--- such an ugly sound. "Yes, but then I remembered a quick errand I had to run before I left." He extended a hand expectantly. "Now are you going to give me the Ball, or am I going to have to take it from you?"
"Please!" Bulma cried out. "Please just give it to him!"
Obviously, the woman thought as she dropped the item into the alien's hand, this thing is more than just a toy.
A genuine smile graced Vegeta's lips as he studied the possession in his hands, and as it quickly disappeared Bulma knew that that was probably the one and only time she would ever see affection in his dark eyes.
"We're done here; let's go." A slight motion of his head was all that was needed for Bulma to climb to her feet obediently. She scurried after him, biting back the scream that tickled her throat. How many more Dragon Balls did they have to find? Two? Three? She had made a vow to herself not to let him get his wish, but God Dammit, now that she really thought about it, she must have been an idiot to actually think she could overcome the Prince of all Saiyans, in either wits or strength.
Bulma watched absently as Vegeta capsulized the Dragon Ball with the others. Then he stood and looked to her, impassively, his hand extending to take hers. She observed through empty eyes as she accepted--- it was a rote by now---, just as emotionlessly, and was pulled to his hard, heartless chest. Lost in her thoughts, she rested her head with a sigh against his shoulder, while his arms enclosed securely around her.
What was she gonna do? Time was running out. And not just for stealing the Radar, but for being alive as well.
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"I'm nervous," Krillin admitted into the silence. "I can still feel that monster out there, somewhere. Why hasn't he left yet?"
The room was pitch black---due to everyone's agreement on getting some rest---, yet somehow the Earth warrior knew that not one person was asleep, not with the repulsive aura that hung in the air.
"Yeah, Krillin," came Goku's voice. "I feel it, too. And Bulma's still with him." There was a small silence after that, before he added, inevitably, "We have to help her."
Chichi's voice came next, loud and stern. "Oh, no you don't! You're not leaving me again!"
"She's right," Krillin agreed. "We know she's your friend, but you're too injured to do anything about it, Goku. Right now, the best thing to do would be to just wait till Korin or Yajirobe come with the sensu beans."
"Yeah, and when the time comes, don't think you're gonna be fightin' that guy alone!" said Yamucha a-matter-of-factly, encouraged by a small chirp from Puar beside him.
There was a small growl from Chichi, as she all but shouted, "No! I mean you're not leaving at all! Period! Haven't you taken our baby into consideration, Goku! What if something happened! It's too dangerous to risk!"
"Chich', calm down! And what if we were to leave the situation alone? Vegeta already annihilated an entire city; what makes you think he won't do it again? The point is, there's gonna be a risk, even if we don't do anything about it."
A small "hmph" followed this statement, along with a sharp intake of breath, which indicated her upcoming retort. But at the last second, her angry words were muffled by a hand as large as her face. "Chichi, you have to relax!" Her father's voice rumbled deep like thunder. "You can't stop Goku from trying to save the Earth! Or your friend, Bulma! Don't you want to save your friend?"
Chichi only sobbed at that, her eyes watering, her cries softened by her father's hand.
"Don't worry Chich'; I'll be fine," assured Goku, weakly. "I'll be fine."
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Bulma wasn't exactly certain where they were now.
It was a canyon of some sort, that much was obvious. Vast . . . empty . . . and all was silent save for the ghostly wind and famished scavengers that circled overhead.
They were on foot now, due to the Dragon Ball being nearby. And it was something Bulma wasn't used to. Sure, she walked through corridors in the palace, but they were just corridors; there was no energy or endurance needed.
Not like now.
And now Bulma was sad to say that she wished she hadn't taking the humidity for granted. This heat was even more unbearable. Unlike with the humidity, with which she had been incredibly restless and had felt---entrapped, this heat literally beat down on her. She felt as though she were on the Saiyan menu, in the frying pan cooking over-medium. It enveloped her and seared her skin to a rosy red; her thin blue main was a nothing a burden atop her head, and burnt her ears with each step she took.
The sun which she could clearly recall praising when she first arrived on Earth, was now presently her greatest enemy.
But still Bulma was determined to remain in good spirits. For surely the heat was affecting His Majesty as well? And she knew the last thing he wanted in his mood was her complaining.
So, what better way to get their minds off the heat than striking up a conversation?
Bulma took a second to ponder a formidable topic. Now what did Saiyans talk about when they weren't killing each other? The weather? Food? She'd never really contemplated it before. Interesting thought.
"Um . . . so---," Bulma drawled, quickening her pace to catch up with Vegeta, "what's--- it--- like being a Prince?" Bulma, that's gotta be the stupidest question you could've asked.
Vegeta's s sideways glance held a hint of suspicion, before it was replaced with a sardonic glint. "Not that interesting really. Oh, but please; tell me, Bulma, what is it like being a slave?"
That was as painful as a blade gliding through Bulma's tender, human flesh.
Appalled,her mouth fell agape. That had been the first time he had said her name, and she wasn't sure she liked it. The way it came from between his lips sent a chill racing down her spine."Was that really necessary!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the canyon. Well if he was going to ask such a question, she might as well answer honestly, right? Bulma's glare saddened, and she turned her head away. "It's horrible." She waited a moment after that, as though expecting words of comfort from him. When they didn't come, "As if you would know what it's like."
Though she whispered this, Vegeta's Saiyan ears easily caught it. Both corners of his lips curled in pure cruelty. "No, I wouldn't."
How could someone not feel any trace of guilt when she'd said it like that? Wasn't there a limit on how cruel someone could be?
"Aha! There!"
Bulma turned in curiosity to see Vegeta's eyes wide with joy . . .
well . . . joy as far as Saiyans go.
And she took that moment to study him, the way his lips spread into that true smile again. There he was, completely oblivious to how painful his words and lack of sensitivity had sliced through what little confidence she had left.
And then she thought, was it possible to change someone? Was there a way, somehow, to change this man? If there were even the opportunity, would Vegeta want to change? Was he really happy with whom he was? Were all Saiyans truly content with whom they were?
Bulma started when Vegeta spun on her. "Stay here."
By myself?
But before she even had the time to open her mouth and protest, he was already gone, having disappeared over the edge of the plateau.
Deft, Vegeta plummeted with eyes still glued to the Radar. He came to a halt when the contraption beeped confirmation. Then he shifted his gaze to a large nest of some kind which lay before him within a cove in the plateau, and the small Dragon Ball which stuck out like a sour thumb amidst the bundle of eggs.
Vegeta smiled. Too easy.
But just as he hovered forward with an outstretched hand, a discordant sound rang through his sensitive eardrums, and he hunched forward with his palms clasped to the side of his head.
He shut his eyes for but a mere instant to will away the screech. And in that mere instant, the blackness of his eyelids darkened subtly.
If it hadn't been for his Saiyan instincts, who knows what kind of scar would have marred his face.
It wasn't that he saw it coming at the last second exactly--- more like felt it. Similar to when one rests their eyes, and then just has that--- feeling that someone's there. Call it an extra sense if you will.
But he felt it at the last second, and swiftly leaped back to avoid his unknown attacker.
Unfortunately, he was one half of a second too late as something sharp grazed against his skin. He felt the sting as it dug into his forehead and trailed down his cheek.
Once at a safe distance, Vegeta regarded his giant, bird-like foe with a smirk, and licked up the drop of blood that glided over his lip. "How dare you . . ."
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The squawking was unlike anything she'd ever heard.
And if I'm having a hard time with it, I wonder how that royal ass is doing.
Not that she thought he was going to have a hard time exterminating a gargantuan reptilian-bird. Hell, she felt sorry for the animal.
Suddenly, Bulma felt a series of chills flitter down her spine as the squawks became more incessant, each bloodcurdling and filled with undescribable anguish.
Yep, it's almost dead.
But wait a second . . .
Bulma listened carefully, her brow furrowing. Perhaps it was it just her, but . . . was the squawking getting--- louder?
Immediately following the dreadful discovery, Bulma's entire figure became engulfed in shadow. Before she could even look up, she felt as the creature's talons locked themselves around each arm--- nearly dislocating her shoulders, she noted distantly--- and roughly pulled her air born.
"VEGETA!" she screamed. A pure, raw sound that resembled that of a child's nails raking down a blackboard. It ripped through canyon, matching, perhaps even drowning out her captor's screech.
Meanwhile, down below, the Prince stood with one royal boot atop his prey's severed head, victorious, a look of smug writ across his face as he held his prize: the Dragon Ball.
But of course, the smirk was wiped clear off his face when that familiar, banshee like scream reached his ears, one that also made him wince. He swore, that was probably how she had managed to escape! That voice of hers would freeze any Saiyan in their tracks! He had a hunch that she could shatter glass with that pitch of hers!
Vegeta cursed, going on about the damn woman, as he took off after the damsel-in-distress. She was but a speck in the distance when he flew above the plateau. All thought vanished from his mind as he immediately sped through the sky after her, the diffusing light of ki glowing about him as he cut through the air at light speed.
And light speed was all that was needed to catch up with the animal instantly. Seconds later the ki ceased with a hiss from his abrupt stop, and Vegeta's fist (which mind you had the impact of a canon being fired) flew mercilessly into its side. It veered off course, the sudden flash of pain also causing it to release its grip on Bulma. The girl gave a bloodcurdling cry as she plummeted into the canyon; her body performed a series of twists that ended with her hurdling face first toward the jagged rocks that lay below.
And Bulma found that in that moment, her life flashed before her eyes. Memories of those horrid, leering faces that used to stare down at her flashed in her mind; her tears and breathless howls when she had had the ki whip across her back; then the smile that had tickled her lips when she received the first gift from her parents.
She remembered Mark, and the smile he'dgiven her on their date; the moment she first sank her teeth into those chocolate chip cookies; her mother and father's faces etched into the picture within her locket, which grinned each time she'd open it, giving her a feeling of hope.
Then finally, Bulma could recollect the first Earth-sunset which she had witnessed. In Vegeta's arms.
And just as she clenched her eyes shut to await the oncoming penetration from the keen rock, it never came. Instead she opened her eyes, bewildered. I-I'm alive? It took her another moment before fully realizing she was in the Saiyan's arms. Bulma blinked, as though her mind were struggling in grasping what had just happened.
Had he just saved her?
Although she knew the reason for his action---his mission to get her back to Planet Vegeta alive, blah blah blah--- it still . . . felt strange. Never in her life time had Bulma ever foreseen a Saiyan protecting her.
It took her asecond longerto realize that she was still in a daze, even after Vegeta had already released her. He stared at her, his expression unreadable--- how typical, thought Bulma---, his arms crossed.
Giving his head a slight tilt, he grunted, "Come on, I've got the Dragon Ball," as though nothing had even happened.
When Bulma did not comply (and believe me, everyone complied with the Saiyan Prince), Vegeta only scowled. "Well?"
Bulma's lips pursed in thought. "Oh, wait a second!"
Vegeta blinked at her sudden exclamation, feeling a rare twinge of helplessness as he watched the woman reach into her pocket and retrieve a capsule. When it hit the ground and the billow of smoke cleared, he immediately recognized her bag. Then she crouched down and began rummaging through her items. In usual circumstance Vegeta would not have had the patience to wait there as long as he did, but a strange curiosity gripped him.
Standing straight, Bulma turned toward Vegeta with an "aha!"; immediately Vegeta's eyes snapped to the hidden object in her hand. As far as he was concerned, he had perfect reason to be on guard at all times around this wench: after all, she had managed to escaped from Planet Vegeta.
But she only smiled as she stepped up to him, stopping when she was inches away. Then Vegeta saw what was in her grasp.
A thin, flimsy sheet of paper was made evident as she meaningfully twirled it around her fingers. Then, with a boldness worthy of going down in history, Bulma carefully raised the paper to Vegeta's wound.
What the hell?
He had completely forgotten about the minor battle scratch; it wasn't as though it irritated him or anything, such a small laceration wasn't worthy of medical attention.
Vegeta merely stared, astonished, as the little human held the tissue to his wound, occasionally giving a dab here or there. She's either extremely bold, or extremely stupid, he thought, blinking.
Bulma's lips pulled tighter. "Whoa, it's gushing!"
As though having been pulled from his daze, Vegeta gave a sudden growl, and pushed her away. "Get your hands off me!" he snapped, crossly.
Bulma glared. "Sheesh! I was just tryin'na help!"
"Don't be stupid." Vegeta scoffed, royally.
Eyes flashing, Bulma turned and made herself busy by recapsulizing her belongings. "I sure hope that doesn't scar," she said after a minute. Vegeta scoffed again.
"Absurd. A scratch as meager as this is not worthy of a warrior's attention. It'll be gone before tomorrow morning."
Bulma turned away at that, and muttered, "Well aren't you sure of yourself."
But she knew he was right. Saiyans' recuperative skills, along with their immune systems were amazingly superior to that of other races. So it was most likely he was not lying.
"Now come on," ordered Vegeta. "We've no time to waste."
Oh, yes we do. "But look;"--- Bulma pointed to the rapidly coloring sky--- "the sun is setting. And we haven't even eaten anything."
Vegeta seethed. The harpy had a point there. As though on cue, a vicious growl came from Vegeta's stomach, reminding him that he had neglected his appetite the entire day. And now that she had mentioned hunger, he wasn't sure he could just push it to the back of his mind. Damn woman, he thought with a scowl. She will be the death of me before this journey is over; I'll eat her if she doesn't watch it.
"Very well," Vegeta grumbled, holding out his hand.
Bulma stared intently at his glove a moment longer, which caused Vegeta's brows to twitch in suspicion, before she stepped forward and slipped her slender hand in his strong one. And as she felt that first familiar rush as they soared into the sky, he was completely oblivious to the gears that were turning fervently within the slave's mind:
So she'd admit it: she was no martyr. But hell, she was going to die anyway, as difficult as it was to accept. And it was because of that fact that she felt it best to at least try her best to steal the Radar back. And if she died trying, at least she'd go into the next life knowing she'd done her best to save the hundreds of lives that would be destroyed were Vegeta to get his wish.
So, no more goofing off; no more cowering. Tonight, Bulma was going to steal the Radar--- and make her escape.
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A/N: Hah ha! I'm torturing you, aren't I? Muahahahaha! And guess what? The next chap's going to be a hell of a lot shorter, but it's going to be worth it. Heh . . . heh heh heh. And besides, you can't just stop reading now!
Okay, here's the deal: updates are going to be a tad slower now that school's gonna be starting. No, not as slow as this last one was (sorry again about that, folks), but it's just because I'm gonna be busier this year, that's all.
Hmm . . . what else? Ohhh, yeah: PLEASE REVIEW!
Kim: Ach, es tut mir leid! Ich habe vergessen, daß du mir nicht e-mailen kannst. Und ich konnte das Problem noch nicht loesen! Ahh! Aber ich habe eine loesung: so lange mein Postfach nicht funktioniert, kannst du an diese Adresse schreiben:
Ingrideebert ('at' sign) web.de