Correct, this one does focus on Oolong. His own moral standing is on pretty shakey ground, on several occasions he's proved himself to be a selfish coward. But I see more in the pig, and that's a big part of what this story is about. :)


"There I was, Mighty Lord Pilaf, a god among mortals.. I was goo.. ga.. going to rule over 'em all! People would have worshipped me!" The stout – and not a little inebriated – megalomaniac span away from the mechanical barman, who was proving a poor audience, and rocked on his barstool before continuing in his rant. "I could've been the best thing to ever happen to that planet! 'N what happens!"

A bottle blurred through the dead air of the bar and missed Pilaf's nose by bare inches; the metallic barman fielded the bottle with one hand, set it down on the bar and continued to wash the glass in it's other two hands.

"Exactly! Exactly my friends! It was destra.. destre.. destroyed! Wiped out! Turned into dust! And what cataclysm could possibly render my home non-existant, I hear you cry!"

Time was a sketchy thing in space – all kinds of species had their own understanding of how long a day was. However it was decided by general consensus that it was getting pretty damn late – the alcohol was dripping away and leaving most feeling sick and completely unwilling to receive a lecture.

"No we fuckin' don't!" "Shut the hell up!" "Where're mah shoes?"

Pilaf swayed slightly, blinking as the alcohol that held his system rewrote what he was hearing into what he wanted to hear. It wasn't a particularly hard task; his sober mind had, after all, gotten it down decades ago.

"A damned pink monster! That is what; some rotund chunk of retarded bubblegum! The insult, the outrage, to be put through such a thing by a monster that ridiculous! Buu! Who here has ever heard of something so.. so.. so dumb?"

Silence reigned the bar for a moment. There were no thrown bottles, no curses or threats pierced Pilaf's body or soul. Even the robotic barman appeared to have paused, staring at the little lord in frank horror.

"S-say.." one of the bars constituents forced himself up from his seat; a reptilian creature with a pointed snout and slitted eyes, "say again, friend. Did you say 'Buu'?"

"Yes, man," Pilaf just managed to keep his balance, "are you drunk!"

"This Buu thing, I've heard about it.." another drunk, this one a good step closer to sober, lay back against the table he rested on, "people used to think it was just a legend but it was real. It came back not so long ago – like yah said – and totalled a couple of planets.. then it just vanished again."

Pilaf blinked, not used to being interrupted and even less used to finding something someone else said interesting, and opened his mouth to speak. He was, however, cut short by the lizard creature.

"That is but part of the story.." it whispered in something close to reverence, "for all the planets that were destroyed have returned. Were it not for a trusted friend witnessing some of the destruction, I would not believe in it at all.."

The planets returned! Pilaf rubbed a hand across his face and tried to concentrate. That could only happen if the Dragonballs were still around.. Earth is still there! Earth and the Dragonballs!

He was ecstatic; it's not every day that you discover the home you thought you had lost was back. All he needed to do was return and round up the Dragonballs, then he could take the world and everything would be alright!

Except..

Son Goku.

Pilaf didn't doubt for a second that the monkey tailed brat had a part in the end of Buu; didn't he always? What was the point in wishing for control of the Earth if that dolt was strong enough to defeat a creature that could tear planets in two? Surely Son could just waltz up and crush him were he to try anything of the sort.

The fact of the matter was that while Son Goku was alive Pilaf had no chance of taking control of the world – Dragonballs or no Dragonballs. He didn't have any choice really. Son Goku would have to go.

It was a testament to Pilaf's determination – a drive which had kept him going for years upon years – that he did not once consider the fact that he could not defeat Son Goku.

"Well this has been enlightening," he beamed at the others and hopped off his barstool, stumbling slightly but still feeling the glow of achievement – and alcohol – flowing through his system. "I wish you all well in your endeavours as I trust you wish me." Pilaf turned towards the exit and took one small step for himself.

"Sir?" The mechanical barman was peering across its bar, lights flashing behind the lenses it used for eyes, "your tab?"

All at once Pilaf's appearance changed; his glowing smile melted like snow to reveal a hard frown. One hand reached into the backpack he kept by his side without once letting his gaze leave the robot.

"I shall take care of it when I return." His tone made the space outside of the station seem positively balmy.

"Sir," the droid's voice was apologetic but firm, "I must insist that you make good on your-"

In one fluid movement Pilaf's hand rose out of his backpack, the dim lights of the bar glinting off the cool grey metal of the device that was closed around his right hand. The metal above the back of his hand had a display and a series of buttons; just beyond his knuckles the object tapered off into thin, o-shaped hole. A glowing hole.

"That," murmured Pilaf, "was rude."

The deep purple of the laser leapt from his weapon – the droid's head landed five feet away, blackened and smelling of burnt circuits. Pilaf, meanwhile, crowed with delight. What a weapon! What a find! He would have to credit his servants when he got back; their raid on Capsule Corp had been a complete success!

With that, gibbering happily to himself, Pilaf turned from the broken remains of the robot and the terrified drunkards. Before him was his ship, his destiny and, perhaps most important of all, the death of Son Goku.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hey Oolong, you wanna get that?"

The pig in question was lying across the couch, observing with great interest as half a dozen young, shapely women stretched and grunted across the screen of the T.V. Roshi, wishing to keep up the pretence, was moving back and forth in time with the girls but really everyone in the family – except for Maron.. hopefully - knew why he was watching it. Personally Oolong doubted many martial artists watched the 'Lets Get Fit' hour in order to be educated.

"Oolong?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Krillen's request but made no more effort. He was sitting on the porch of the house in what, to Oolong's expert eye, appeared to be an attempt at meditation. It was preparation for Yamcha's arrival. Ever since his second date with death the ex-bandit had been throwing himself back into training. Krillen was about as close to his level as he was going to get and even then he was out of his league, but some feelings of guilt or something like that kept him coming.

"Anyone going to get that?"

Oolong watched as Krillen's form shook under the repeated rings; he felt slightly guilty over not going for the phone but not much. This wasn't his house – no matter how many years he lived there, Oolong refused to think of himself as anything more than a house-guest – and he was damned if he'd fill in for an answering machine as well as a babysitting service.

"Gah, fine, fine.." Krillen broke, as Oolong expected, and rose from the wooden floorboards. He darted inside and within another second was cradling the phone, apologising for not getting to it quicker.

There now, Oolong thought smugly, wasn't so hard, was it?

"Yeah, Bulma. We're all great thanks, what about... huh? ... Uh, not much I guess, Yamcha's comin' over for a sp- ... I guess I could ask. What's this abo-"

Krillen replaced the phone on the hook and sighed expansively, running a hand through his long, black hair as he turned to glance in Oolong's direction. It was lucky, Oolong conceded privately to himself, that Krillen was such an amiable guy; lesser people, Oolong himself for instance, probably would have taken a little pent up annoyance out on anyone nearby.

"Looks like I'm taking a trip to Capsule Corp," the former monk dropped himself down on the remainder of the couch and stared blankly at the screen, "You guys mind watching Maron for me? Bulma says she wants 18 and Yamcha along as well.."

"Shouldn't be a problem, m'boy," muttered Roshi without looking around, turning his torso from side to side. "Just so long as your gorgeous wife has a kiss for an old timer as thanks," the old man glanced over his shoulder and cackled as Krillen blushed in embarrassment and pressed his palms against his face.

"Gah, Master Roshi, please.."

"Just kiddin', you gotta loosen up, son."

Krillen nodded, smiling slightly, and rocked back onto his feet.

"I'll just go tell 18 about Bulma.."

"That's the way, m'boy, you go loosen up!"

"Master!"

Oolong snorted and rolled over to stare up at the ceiling, reflecting on the unlikely combination of 18 and Krillen. I mean really, she's this complete babe – even if she is as loving as a brick – and Krillen is, no offence meant, a complete dork. To be painfully blunt Oolong had been shocked not by the fact that 18 could have children but by the fact that Krillen could even lie down in the same bed as her without fainting.

The couch shifted slightly but Oolong didn't respond, you didn't have to sense energy to guess that Roshi had sat down. Or that Roshi's attention was now falling solidly on the pig.

"What about you?" Roshi asked, Oolong could picture his leering grin perfectly.

"What about me, Roshi?"

"When're you gonna meet up with some young, beautiful female and raise a couple of piglets?"

"Shortly after HFIL freezes over. You know me, Roshi. I have never and will never want kids – as for the beautiful young women, they're not such a big thing. More trouble than they're worth."

Not strictly speaking true, but the old man doesn't need to know that.

"I might as well ask when you're going to find some old woman and settle down, raise a pension or whatever."

Roshi snorted, "I already have."

This received nothing but incredulous silence as Oolong slowly sat up and stared at his friend who was meeting his gaze with some irritation but no humour whatsoever.

"Why so surprised? I was young once, you know."

Roshi may have meant it jokingly but it still shocked Oolong; part of him really had believed that Roshi had been old from birth. The idea of Roshi as a kid – worse, a young, vibrant warrior – was almost ridiculous.

"Seriously? A wife? Kids!"

"'Course, that's the way it was back then. You find someone, you settle down."

The old man shrugged and, for perhaps the first time ever, Oolong caught a glimpse of just how old the man was. Over three hundred meant nothing to him.. but the idea of outliving an entire family managed to hit home.

"They got older, I didn't. They're probably up there somewhere, waiting. Maybe one day I'll get tired of being down here and waltz on up.."

This was not the sort of conversation Oolong wanted to have. Serious discussions were things that he and the old man avoided easily.. this was new and disturbing territory and Oolong wanted out.

"Anyway," muttered Oolong, lying back and trying not to think about Roshi watching his children grow old, "it's not for me. I had girls once.. but things got in the way." One thing. One person. Goku, again.

Before Roshi could make any kind of reply 18 and Krillen stepped into the living room, 18 dropping Maron on the old man's lap with a warning glare for both him and Oolong. Krillen nodded at them and opened the door for his wife:

"We're going to meet Yamcha half-way and go on from there, shouldn't be more than a few hours.." Krillen hesitated, taking into consideration what sort of things could happen when all of the so called 'Z-Warriors' were called together, "probably. Take care guys!"

The door swung back on itself, the wood not enough to muffle the crackle of energy as Krillen and 18 launched themselves into the air.

"One hundred Zeni says there's going to be another 'world-threatening' battle."

Roshi snorted.

"Best not to tempt fate.. besides you don't have a hundred Zeni."

"Grampa?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Need to go.."

"Where do you need to go, Maron?"

"Nooo.. need to go!"

Two male grins became fixed and frozen and petrified. Maron crawled into the space between the two of them and squirmed unhappily. The silence stretched to the breaking point, then both men simultaneously stood up and ran into each other.

"I gotta-" "Need to get-"

They met each others gaze – wise men of the world – and Oolong was the first to turn away... and the first to launch himself over the couch and sprint for the door. He didn't even make it past the porch, Roshi spiralled into his path and Oolong found himself writhing on the floor.

Damn, damn, damned bloody ancient martial artists!

"Maron," Roshi was grinning again so at least they had skated out of 'bad-conversation' territory, not that Oolong cared much about that then and there, "your Uncle Oolong will be with you in a moment."

Your fault, Son Goku! I don't know how and I don't know why but this is your fault too!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Yes, woman, that's absolutely correct. I am so petty that I stole your journal and hid it. What deductive reasoning."

"Don't joke, no one else even knows about it!"

"But I don't care about your journal! You only told me about it because of your ridiculous infatuation with me and never once did I show even the slightest interest in it!"

Forehead twitching, Bulma stood resolute at the door to the Gravity Chamber. The key was somewhere on her person, Vegeta knew that much. She didn't keep her advantages hidden, she flaunted them in order to get her way. Were it not for the fact that the door needed to be intact to use the Chamber he would have powered up and walked right through the damned thing.

"Give. Me. My. Key!"

"Give! Me! My! Journal!"

The two glowered at each other.

"Why is me that you immediately distrust? What about the brat!"

"Don't you dare try to blame Trunks for this!"

"All he ever does is play pranks, him and Kakarots' spawn!"

Groaning, Bulma strode past her common-law husband while nursing her forehead. Of course it was ridiculous for Vegeta to have stolen her journal; if he wanted to know something he asked. Sneaking around wasn't his style; mostly it was a positive trait.

"But I didn't misplace it! I keep it locked up in the lab at all times, I even write on paper because I don't trust the security systems on the computers."

"Who would want to read your journal that much!"

She turned on Vegeta, seething red.

"Someone, obviously, as it's been stolen! What about you, big Saiyan Prince, can't keep a common thief out of our home."

"Maybe if we lived in a normal home!" Vegeta snapped back, "Instead of a zoo/science centre/refugee camp!"

"Perhaps you'd prefer to live in a space capsule!"

The two entered the house proper, coming in through the kitchen door. Trunks was sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through another of his comic books, where Vegeta joined him. The argument continued regardless, even as Bulma turned on the kettle and grabbed two cups.

"At least the company would be better!"

"Huh, and maybe I'd be able to keep some food in the place!"

She poured tea for the two of them and handed Vegeta his mug. He sipped on the steaming liquid reflectively, then glanced at his wife as she leaned against the counter.

"What's dad done now?" asked Trunks, not looking up from the comic.

"Your mother," replied Vegeta pointedly, "has lost her journal. Being insane she jumped to the conclusion that I stole it."

"Did you?"

"Please, if I wished to annoy her I would have destroyed it and left the evidence on the kitchen table."

"Vegeta!"

"Well, brat? Did you steal it?"

"I didn't even know mom had a journal."

"Well that's just great.."

"Honestly, woman, does it really matter?"

She sighed and finished off her tea with grim determination. The point was that the journal contained everything, not just her own personal feelings. What had happened – really happened rather than what most people believed – in the real world. The specs for a couple of Capsule Corp prototypes. Everything that she had felt like writing about for half a decade.

Quite a bit about Vegeta, mostly unflattering.

"No, I suppose not. It's just that I finally finished something I had been working on and.. well I feel better after writing about it." She glared at Vegeta, a shade defensive. "Lots of people do it!"

"Would this be the project you've remained so secretive over?"

Vegeta tended not to care about Bulmas projects; outside of minor ship and scouter repair, mechanics had always bored him. Princes weren't meant to do the work of common grunts, after all, and that mentality still held strong. In the beginning Bulma had tried to bring her work to bed, chattering endlessly into his ear over mundane problems and even more mundane solutions. He had ended that quickly.

And yet when she purposefully hid something from him, he became curious. She tended to at least mention what she was working on – possibly to get the strained wince on his face – but this he had only found out about through overhearing a conversation between her and her father.

"Maybe. I'm going to have to gather everyone together for this one though."

"Excuse me, by everyone you mean Kakarot and the rest?"

"Yes, our friends."

"And I will be seeing this, for the first time, with them. As though I were on the same level?"

"Think of it as reminding you of your place. I'll call Krillen first, to get him and 18. Then Goku to gather up Piccolo and Tien and Yamcha, plus Goten and Gohan. You know that Instant Transmission technique's really quite useful."

The Saiya-Jin Prince grunted but ignored the obvious dig.

Smirking now that her newest prized possession was about to be revealed, Bulma grabbed the house phone from it's hook and punched in the numbers for Kames House. She brought up to her ear and waited.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Damn it, woman, you never gave me the key!"