Hi everyone! Yes, I'm writing once again. I took a break after "Dark Past" and have decided to write a much lighter story without so much angst and pain and blood and…well, you get the idea. But don't worry, this story will still have the usual Vegeta drama and running emotions, but it will be much lighter than my latest story. This is a story that I mainly wrote out of curiosity to see what people think. It's mainly just random thoughts and a bunch of quick little stories about Vegeta's time on earth after Namek and little situations that occur while he stays on Earth. So, sit back and enjoy some good humor, and fun little tid-bits on Vegeta's time on earth.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own DBZ or any of the characters. They are all Akira Toriyama's creations.
This first chapter takes place on Vegeta's stay at Capsule Corp. right after he's wished back and is invited to stay at Bulma's.
Chapter 1
He had been at Capsule Corp. for only two days and he felt as if he was losing his mind. Vegeta sighed to himself and looked out the large window on the wall of his spacious room. He felt himself losing grip on reality as the current events he had just endured rushed through his head as they had been doing since he first arrived on this miserable mud ball after he died on Namek. Being imprisoned by Freiza was better than this. It was better because…he had way too much freedom on this planet. These earthlings were being way too kind to him. They actually trusted that he wouldn't decide to blow up the planet now that Kakerotto wasn't here? Well, he had already decided that he wouldn't anyway. What was the point? Frieza was dead and Kakerotto had done it. Not him.
Again the saiyajin prince sighed and slowly stood from his bed. He knew that he couldn't just sit there and dwell on all of his miserable happenings. He needed to do something. He saw his weary expression in the mirror that hung above his dresser which held no clothing of his.
Vegeta saw that he just looked….beaten. He wasn't able to get much sleep on Namek…..actually, only about an hour of sleep, and then he died.
'That was enough sleep for me,' he though bitterly as he recalled his disgraceful tears before he died.
He could feel them begin to form again, but he shook his head defiantly and regained his composure. But he did look like shit. The skin around his eyes was much darker than usual, his hair was more spastic than normal, and he could see the defeat in his own eyes. This image before infuriated him greatly and he looked away.
He needed to do something to keep his mind off this. For the past two days he had just sat in his room and pouted. The blue-haired girl's mother was the only one who really visited him and that was to bring him food. And God, what a damn psycho she was. He was used to being alone, but having at least one somewhat intelligent person to speak to was better than nothing, and Bulma's mother was like nothing.
He slid on a large pair of brown sandals that he had discovered in his room one day after he showered, and made his way downstairs wearing a loose blue shirt and baggy tan pants. Whoever owned the garments before him was much larger than he was. He didn't really care, though. He found himself not caring about a lot of things lately except for his defeat on Namek.
He entered an empty kitchen and was relieved. The Nameks that crept around the compound were usually outside so he didn't have to endure their sneaky glares at him and spiteful hisses. He made his way to the sink and caught a scent of a very aromatic fruit substance. A large bottle of a green fluid called "Palmolive" sat next to the faucet. He picked it up slowly and looked at it. Bringing it to his nose he sniffed the lid.
The smell was amazing! His stomach growled loudly and he sniffed again. Whatever this was, it made his stomach churn hungrily. He found that if he squeezed the bottle as he sniffed, he could pick up the scent more. Doing so, he accidentally squeezed too hard and some of the sticky fluid went up his nose. He jerked back quickly and began to sneeze violently.
Looking around quickly, he made sure that no one had seen this idiotic error and resumed his attention on the bottle. Turning it up side down, he squeezed the bottle again until some of the gooey, green substance began to ooze out of the lid. He turned his head to the side and licked some of the stringy green fluid. Instantly he hacked it up and threw the bottle into the sink.
"Ew, what is this stuff?"
He spat into the trashcan nearby and wiped his mouth.
"That's "Palmolive"," a voice from the doorway replied.
Vegeta spun around quickly and saw the blue-haired girl suppressing a laugh. Had she seen? He said nothing but scowled deeply.
"It's dish washing soap. Green apple flavored actually."
"What is it with you humans and making everything smell like fruit?" He growled angrily, a red blush spreading across his cheeks.
"Because fruit smells good," she replied sharply. "Not everything is fruit scented, though. We have flowers, too."
Vegeta twirled his finger in the air and rolled his eyes. "Woo-hoo, my life is so much better now that I know that flowers, too, are a worthy scent among you humans. Woman, if you have nothing better to do than explain to me your simplistic ways of living through life with scented soaps and cleaning solutions, I suggest you leave me alone."
Bulma stared at the man before her. She hadn't spoken to him since she invited him to stay at her house, but speaking to him now was intriguing. He was a mystery to her and she wanted to delve into his mind. She heard about what happened to him on Namek and she was always wondering what he was doing in his room. She saw the exhaustion clearly etched on his face and wondered whether she should leave him alone or not. Perhaps she should because an important client was coming today and Bulma needed to entertain her for a while before her father could return from a business trip.
Bulma looked into his dark eyes. "Vegeta," she said slowly. "Are you ok? You look tired."
Vegeta scoffed and crossed his arms. "I'm perfectly fine, woman. I'm just a bit hungry."
"Well, help yourself to the fridge. Just don't empty everything out."
With that, the blue-haired woman exited the kitchen muttering something about eating soap. Vegeta growled quietly and made his way to the refrigerator.
At 6:30 the doorbell rang and Bulma quickly opened the door. She was expecting this guest so she dressed nicer than usual. Bulma wore a pair of dangling earrings and a comfortable cocktail dress made of a velvety black material. Her father told her to make appetizers and serve drinks and keep the guest entertained while he was making his way back from an important business meeting. The client before her was very important and Bulma was nervous about a certain saiyajin prince in the upstairs, plus about a hundred Nameks camping out around the complex.
Vegeta was bored. Television could only hold him over for so long. Plus, he was hungry….again. He ate at 2:30 and not eating again for four hours was a killer for a saiyajin. He sniffed the air and found to his delight that he smelled food downstairs. Again, he made his way to the kitchen.
Stopping on the steps, he saw Bulma sitting on the couch with a lavishly dressed woman. He had to hold in a laugh at this guest as his eyes traveled up and down. She was a stringy women with dark skin, almost a bronze color. He recalled his recalled his blue-haired host referring to this "look" as a "fake-bake." The almost pure white hair on top of her hair seemed even more dyed as it rested against her dyed skin.
Neither lady had noticed his entrance and a slow, cruel smile crept across his face. He wasn't going to be bored anymore.
Vegeta hopped down the stairs, alerting the two women of his presence. The expression on Bulma's face was priceless. She whipped around in her chair, her blue eyes wide with fear. The large guest with her glanced up.
Thinking quickly, Bulma stood up and made a short bow to him. He stopped in his tracks, taken back by her strange actions. She gave the older woman a sweet smile.
"Mrs. Stanford," she said, not quite able to keep the nervousness from her voice, "allow me to introduce Prince Vegeta. He's staying with us for a few days."
Prince Vegeta! What the hell was the woman getting at? He noticed with much dismay that this Stanford woman raised a skeptical, penciled eyebrow. What? Did he not look like a prince? She'd pay for that lack of respect.
"And of what country are you a prince of?" Her shrill voice demanded.
Before he could answer, Bulma spoke up. "A small country. On the outskirts of….of….India! He…his customs are a bit different than our own, so don't be surprised if he acts…er….different?"
Bulma glanced at the arrogant saiyajin and saw that he gave her a sly smirk. Oh shit.
"Ah yes," she muttered. "He looks it, alright. That's a relief. Although, not much. He could look like he's from some third world country," she sneered.
Bulma felt her pulse begin to race, not only because of her terror of Vegeta's temper, but for Mrs. Stanford's lack of respect. She'd heard her father speak of this woman and her reputation for being racist, prejudice, and unfair to anything that wasn't first class or dressed up. Bulma noticed Vegeta stiffen. And then, at the worst moment, she heard the back door slam and several Nameks entered the living room. This was it, now, the end of a relationship with a very important client.
Mrs. Stanford's great, brown eyes widened at the sight of five Namekians entering the living room. Never had she seen creatures with such green skin, pointy ears, and antennas sticking from their foreheads. If she couldn't accept Vegeta who only had wild, black hair and tanner skin, how could she handle this?
"Sorry, Miss Bulma," the elder Namek Mori said when he saw the small gathering in the living room. "I certainly hope that we did not intrude on your meeting."
Bulma gave them a warm smile. Her heart was pounding in her ears, though. "Hey, no way, you guys! Do you need something?"
The elderly Namek smiled back. "I fear we have run out of the water you supplied us with. But, we can wait until you are finished."
"A….a science experiment gone horribly wrong?" Mrs. Stanford suddenly whispered.
Bulma felt her anger rise up with these words.
"No, Mrs. Stanford," she said sharply. "More guests."
The 'tan' woman's eyes darted from the saiyajin to Bulma and then to the Nameks.
"A zoo," she stammered. "This company holds nothing but wild animals."
Vegeta felt his annoyance rise. First off, who was this skinny human to insult him or the reptilian people? Only HE could do that! And she was disrespecting the host, Bulma. Again, that was his job.
"It is a zoo," he sneered. "But once you leave, it will be back to normal."
Bulma gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. Mrs. Stanford's leathery face darkened even more.
"The nerve! You scoundrel!"
Vegeta smirked. What a great night this was turning out to be. Not only was he tormenting Bulma, but he was succeeding in enraging this flamboyant woman as well.
"Vegeta!" Bulma turned on him, her eyes flashing with fury. What did he do, he wondered. "Apologize to Mrs. Stanford right now!"
He laughed arrogantly. Apologize? Hadn't he just stood up for her and the Nameks just now? Besides, this "guest" had it coming.
"I should have known," Mrs. Stanford bellowed, standing suddenly and eyeing Bulma. "He's just a wild brute from some third world country. Why he's just…he's just a…."
She let out a string of racist slurs. Bulma gasped and turned to look at Vegeta who stood with a confused expression. Of course, he hadn't known what she said, nor did the Nameks. But Bulma Briefs was not going to let that kind of language slip in her house! She thought she felt only rage against this woman for using those words under her roof, but deep down, she felt the anger that it was used against Vegeta: one of her guests.
"Mrs. Stanford!" Bulma yelled. "I will not tolerate that kind of language in my house!"
Vegeta edged away slightly, amazed how much taller the blue-haired woman looked when she was pissed. He understood that this woman had just called him some kind of offensive name, but he didn't know what, nor did he care. He had been called a monkey throughout his whole life, and was used to it by now.
Mrs. Stanford walked straight up to Bulma.
"I don't think I want to do business with a company that holds bizarre creatures within the house and gives shelter to rude, low-class peasants!" She screamed, spit flying on Bulma's face as she pointed at the five namekians and the saiyajin prince.
Bulma's face turned red and she spat back, "Good! I don't want to do business with a racist, tanning-bed obsessed, close-minded bitch who has nothing better to do than insult the visitors of different countries!"
In the background Vegeta gave an amused clap for Bulma. Surprisingly she bowed her head slightly in his direction and smiled. Mrs. Stanford began to huff and puff, her face deepening in color as her rage boiled. It was bad enough that this short little Briefs girl just gave her the scorning of a lifetime, but it enraged her even more that the strange, foreign man was applauding her. Her wild, dark eyes turned to him and she pointed a fat finger.
"Ohh, no!" She boomed. "Ohh, honey, no you didn't!"
She almost seemed to swell, reminding Vegeta of one of those puffer fish things he had seen on the discovery channel. In anger, her skin almost appeared as red as Jeice's. He hoped she wouldn't explode and get him all messy. His arrogant grin grew wider as she spluttered on her words.
"Wooohhh, honey! I am going to SPANK YOUR ASS!"
His grin instantly vanished. "You're going to what?!"
As Mrs. Stanford panted and seethed, Bulma had to hold in a grin as she looked at Vegeta's terror-stricken face. She could see that the mere notion of this overbearing woman getting anywhere near his rear-end frightened him greatly. She heard the Nameks behind her begin to snicker. Vegeta's pale face turned to them and his moment of horror quickly turned to anger.
"It's not funny."
Mrs. Stanford grabbed her coat off the couch. "Miss Briefs, I hope to never see your face again!"
Bulma watched her angrily as the woman shoved past Vegeta and made her way to the door. Upon opening it, Bulma saw her dad just about to open it himself. His eyes widened as he saw the rage on the fuming woman's burning face. She pushed past the purple-haired man, as well.
"Good bye, Dr. Briefs!" She yelled as she stomped down the sidewalk. "We are through! Ask your daughter about it!"
The disheveled doctor already knew, though. He sighed, lit up a cigarette and slowly entered the house to see a sheepishly grinning Bulma, a gaggle of nervous Nameks, and one pouting saiyajin prince.
"This is going to be the death of me, I'm afraid." And he took one long drag on his cigarette.
**'Well, what'd ya think? A little lighter than some of my others, this one is. Please let me know, and I'll try to get the second chapter updated as soon as possible.