About It's My Life: I've always been intrigued by what happened during the seven years but not just to 18 and Krillin but everyone. How did Chi-Chi handle her pregnancy? What made Vegeta and Bulma decide to get married and how did Yamcha feel about it? Do Gohan even know who Videl was before he met her at high school? So, some four or five years ago I decided to write my own version. Instead of a story this is more like an extended filler. The story is based on the song It's My Life by Bon Jovi as every chapter starts with a line from the song so I hope you all enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I, of course, don't own Dragon Ball Z or any of its characters. I also don't own It's My Life by Bon Jovi. However, I do own Ada, whom you will find out about at the author's notes at the end of this chapter.
Author's Note: It's been over three years now, since I updated this story. Once again, another chapter three years in the making. Luckily, in exchange for your unbelievable patience, this chapter is over 5000 words long. I hope you all like big word counts; the more words, the merrier, I say. The reason for my absence covers such issues as finishing High-School, starting Uni, and the incarnation of my original story staring the ever annoying Ada. Can't promise to update more often, but will try very, very hard. Now…on with the story…
Chapter 5: Final Showdown
When I shout it out loud
Bulma didn't come down to dinner that night. She didn't come down for dessert either, which was rare. Bulma never missed dessert, though her figure somehow managed to.
Vegeta didn't notice. Or rather, as Dr. Briefs was certain, he didn't care. He disappeared after dinner, back to the gravity room. The responsibility of putting Trunks to bed fell upon Mrs. Briefs, who happily complied. Dr. Briefs appeared the only one disgruntled with Bulma's uncharacteristic absence. It wasn't that he minded having to take care of his grandson. He had long accepted that his daughter still acted somewhat childish despite her familial responsibilities. What disgruntled him was the fact that he knew the absence had more to do with Vegeta than anyone had acknowledged.
He still didn't entirely trust the Saiyan Prince.
Gohan found that he didn't really mind clothes shopping as much as he used to. The surprise meeting of Lime and Videl had, strangely enough, perked him up. His mother had enjoyed a day devoted to buying almost the entire baby section of various stores. When they had finally arrived home, well past dusk, she had thrown together a quick dinner and retired to bed. Gohan only assumed she spent the remainder of the night imagining his new sibling dressed in everything from sailor suits to leather jackets and cargo pants. Oddly enough, they hadn't purchased anything feminine. Gohan had a sneaking suspicion his mother already knew the gender of the child she was carrying.
When Gohan retired to bed, he found himself lost in dreams, not of his father as which normally haunted him, but of the girl he had met today. Lime wasn't anything new – she still possessed her frivolous red hair and exuberant personality. But Videl, she puzzled him. He had never met someone, besides perhaps Vegeta (and even that he doubted), who seemed so downcast. He lay in bed for what seemed like an eternity perplexed over what he had witnessed and what it had meant.
Somehow, he felt deeply troubled and insanely happy all at the same time.
Vegeta didn't return to the main house until morning. He had slept on the rock surface of the gravity room once exhaustion had overcome any other function. It wasn't the most comfortable or desirable resting place, but he knew he would be damned if he even thought of returning to his regular habitat.
He hadn't actually acquired any further knowledge on what exactly Bulma had been wishing to discuss so fervently with him the day before. He didn't really care either. The woman gibbered on about anything she thought was of concern in the slightest. Most of the time it was the boy. She became so caught up in her imaginary world of stupid melodramas that Vegeta had reached the point of not caring.
When he stalked into the kitchen at 5am the next morning, he was surprised to find his so-called mate eating feverishly at the kitchen table. She didn't look up as he walked past, nor stop her consumption of what seemed an entire cheesecake. It had always perplexed him how she managed to eat as much as she did and still not gain a pound.
'It would have been nice if someone had told me dinner was ready, last night,' she accused, once Vegeta had taken a seat across from her at the kitchen table, a mega meal of his own set down around him.
'I'm not responsible for your eating habits, woman,' he managed out, mouth full of sausage. Bulma rolled her eyes.
'Big revelation there,' she said, standing to return the leftover cheesecake to the fridge. Vegeta ignored her. She rejoined him at the table, moments later. Evidently, her anger from the day before had subsided. She studied her nails for a while, clicking her tongue to the beat of a non-existent song. Growing bored, she began to study him, as if she had never laid eyes on him before. Slightly agitated with her staring, Vegeta nonetheless ignored her for as long as possible.
'You know,' she said, after ten minutes of studying him closely, 'Trunks has the same shaped eyes as you. My colour though.' Vegeta glanced up at her, taken aback by her ludicrous statement – as if he had never noticed such a thing. She smiled innocently back at him, as if it was a warranted statement. For just a second, he questioned whether she still possessed a shred of sanity.
'On the ball today, woman,' he finally muttered, returning to his breakfast. Bulma laughed.
'Funny how you notice things,' she commented. Vegeta restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He ate on in silence, trying very hard to ignore the persistent stare, but her damning blue eyes were boring into his skull.
'Is there any other revelations you like to present me with the s'morning, woman?' he asked, tersely. Bulma's cerulean brow narrowed.
'Actually, yes, there is,' she revealed, curtly. 'I have a name, Vegeta. It's Bulma. Spelt B-U-L-M-A. I gather that's a big revelation for you!' She shoved her chair back and stormed out of the room.
Vegeta rolled his eyes.
Krillin was subjected to a bad case of guilt by the time he woke up the next day. After the second argument in two days with the vexing android, he had forced himself to believe that the fight was, in no uncertain terms, not his fault, but his conscience caught up with him. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was an over eager guilt complex – something he seemingly possessed.
He spent what seemed like days but was surely only a few short hours, staring at a pale ceiling, wishing he could take everything back – the harsh words, the accusations. The slap.
What had come over him to do such a thing evaded his knowledge. He had never, ever, shown such outward physical anger to anyone he cared about, especially not a woman. The very thought that he, Krillin, had slapped her made him repulse away from himself. He was utterly disgusted in his very existence.
Something inside of him prayed he could close his eyes and never open them again. Something even deeper prayed he would never desire to set eyes on her pristine pale face again. Something so deep he barely comprehended its existence told him he would, and soon.
Oh god, he hoped not.
Lover's tiffs' were not an uncommon occurrence in the Briefs household, especially in the recent weeks. Mrs. Briefs took no notice of the silly arguments; she had undying faith that in every situation things always turned out for the best.
Bulma did not share her optimism.
Her relationship with Vegeta had often been a series of vicious games and she had come to accept that over time. Being involved with someone so stubborn wasn't without its compromises. However, over the last few months, since Goku's death and the sudden lack of threatening menaces, patience had been strained. Vegeta was incomplete without a foe to train for, a rival to beat. Bulma was just happy everything was peaceful for once.
Half an hour of angry swearing, and a shower, later, Bulma had returned to the kitchen, feeling slightly better. It was empty by that stage – Vegeta had seemingly left to continue training. It hadn't gone unnoticed his absence from the bed the night before, but his G.R. vacations were not uncommon and therefore Bulma wasn't entirely worried.
It had been the earlier outburst that had ticked her off.
She had never quite understood Vegeta's desire to engage in verbal sparring. He pursued it with as much delight as a physical fight and his rival and preferred sparring partner was none other than herself.
He had once mentioned in the heat of a much different moment, that he long desired the fire that ignited in her eyes when she was angry. Bulma never quite understood how anger could be a turn on, finding such arguments an annoyance and a waste of time. She always treated him with much-deserved disdain for several days enduring. He never learnt.
A strange bubble of uncertainty rose inside her stomach, now she sat staring at her computer screen. She glanced around the room, irritably, half expecting someone to be there, watching her think. What if? What if he never learnt because…?
Nope, no chance, what ifs weren't coming into the equation – this was no time for maybes?
Perhaps…
Nope!
No chance. She glanced back at her screen, watching the chameleon ball bounce across darkness.
Vegeta's face smirked at her.
"Think you're so clever, don't you woman?"She shook her head. Vegeta's face was not bouncing around her computer screen. Great! Now, she was hallucinating.
What if he never really loved her?
What if it meant nothing?
What if? What if? What if!
Ahhhhh! She really was going insane!
But what if her what ifs were right? What if her what if about her what ifs wasn't just a what if?
Okay, okay, that was way too many what ifs for even a genius to comprehend.
She stared at the screen again, shaking the mouse to remove the ball. It was annoying her. The ball dissipated into nothingness, along with the dark screen. Her white, blank program blinked at her. It was furiously bright.
She exited the program, the insanely white screen fading to a desktop of black and cobalt. She opened a new program and watched thoughtfully as the computer churned the images across its artificial face, allowing her a private viewing.
Bulma knew she really was a sick and twisted person. But, then again, he deserved it.
The blinking lights of the Gravity Room flicked off, the gravity dropped and Vegeta grunted as he lost control of his body, landing face first flat against the ceiling.
It was not, and never would be, a pleasant experience.
Peeling himself off of the ceiling, Vegeta forced himself upright and floated to the ground. He was not at all happy. He knew exactly what had happened, and the reason why, and it did nothing for his mood. His desire to eradicate the planet he currently resided on grew with each passing day, but it had nothing to do with the reasons of the past. In fact, it had a lot more to do with a blue haired genius named Bulma, as she had so eloquently put it that morning. She knew how to grate him like no other. Genius was an incorrect characterisation; that woman was a bloody pain in the ass.
Huffing indignantly, Vegeta marched himself to the door and forced it open, as it had automatically locked when the stupid woman had shut the machine down.
Why did she do these things? Really, it was just another example of how stupid she was. Did she think she improved his mood by invoking that stupid shutdown function?
He was marching indignantly towards Bulma's lab, a foul expression on his face as he huffed and puffed over her insolence. He was so wrapped up he didn't notice Bulma's mother until she had walked right in to him.
Mrs Briefs let out a squeak of surprise – she clearly hadn't been paying attention to where she was going either – and backed up, readjusting Trunks on her hip. Vegeta glared hard at the woman, before realising angrily that she was carrying around his son like he was a toy doll. Another thread of anger coiled itself around Vegeta. Was Bulma completely incapable of looking after her own child? Whenever he saw his son, he was either on his own or with someone that definitely wasn't his mother.
Mrs Briefs had clearly recovered from her surprise encounter with Vegeta, and was now smiling up at him, like the daft fool she was.
'Oh, Vegeta, dear, have you seen Bulma? Trunks does really need to have a nap and Bulma has disappeared again.' She continued to prattle on uselessly, but Vegeta ignored her, instead reaching forward and snatching Trunks from the silly woman's arms. Mrs Briefs squeaked in surprise again, turning around to watch Vegeta march in the direction she had just come. Finally she called out down the hall.
'Thank you, dear!'
As he walked, Vegeta growled, the venom in his throat incomparable to anything he'd ever felt before and only rising as he approached the door to the insufferable woman's lab.
Bulma was staring at her computer when he threw open the door. She spun around in her chair as he entered and glanced up at him in surprise. It was fake though; she'd known exactly what was going to happen when she'd ordered the emergency shutdown.
The surprise in her expression became genuine a few moments later, however, when he practically threw Trunks into her arms. He remained where he was though, arms crossed over his chest, his expression more furious than she had seen it in a long time.
'Are you happy now?' he asked her, his tone unreadable, but his face livid. He may as well have spat the words at her. She knew she would piss him off but maybe, just maybe, she had gone too far. He hadn't looked that mad on the GR camera when she had first initiated the shutdown mechanism. She wondered vaguely if something had happened on the way to her that had pissed him off further? And what was he doing with Trunks?
Maybe it was just the last straw, the last very strained thread of his patience with her, but Vegeta knew he had really had enough. And the more he thought about it, the madder he became. He had put up with so much of her shit over the years. Her stupid mind games and her attempts to tie him down, to make him stay within her ridiculous confines, they had served to wear him down, to make him weak. But he wasn't going to put up with it anymore. He wasn't going to deal with her anymore. She could play her little games all she liked but he would be her pawn no longer. She would have to find someone else to control.
Bulma was so surprised by Vegeta's seemingly unnecessary rage that she truly did not know what to say to his question. She had wanted to get him out of the Gravity Room. She'd wanted to talk to him. And yes, a little bit of her had wanted to piss him off, but he had clearly overreacted. It wasn't like he'd never been subjected to the emergency shutdown function before. For all he knew, it could have been an accident. He had assumed so much, jumped to conclusions as usual. And besides, really she should have been the one mad at him. He was the one who treated her like dirt beneath his royal Saiyan feet.
Vegeta had realised he had nothing more to say to her and she clearly had nothing to say to him. Besides, he didn't think he could stand to be in the same room as her for much longer. He sneered angrily at her, and turned away, severing the charged gaze between them. He began towards the door, leaving her with Trunks.
With barely contained venom, he bid her a parting comment.
'You may like to remember your responsibility to your son, Bulma.'
Krillin would have been okay, even in his moping depressed mood, if he'd been left alone all day. He could have handled himself and his tortured soul. He'd done it many a time before. He could deal with himself, with his own mind. What he could not deal with was everyone else's insane interest with what was going on inside his head.
Why they even cared he did not know. It wasn't like he was really that amazingly interesting. But for some strange reason, Master Roshi, Oolong and Turtle all decided to choose today to try and dissect his brain. And they were no amateurs at it either.
They wanted to know everything.
Turtle was fascinated with Krillin's depressed mood. He couldn't seem to take a hint, and took it upon himself to try and find out why Krillin was depressed and subsequently fix it.
But though Turtle's effort were well meaning, Oolong and Master Roshi were downright selfish. The first thing that left Master Roshi's mouth was a comment about how with every battle they fought, the villains got better looking.
And he wasn't referring to Cell.
So it went on like this all day; one question after another. And when it wasn't a question, it was a vulgar comment about 18. They were a disgraceful bunch, and Krillin was almost embarrassed to acknowledge them as friends. He tried to ignore them as much as was possible, but in the end, by about midday, he'd had enough, and with a book in hand, he disappeared to the other side of the island. Not that he really read much. His mind couldn't help but wander.
It was so hard not to feel so bogged down by guilt. He so badly wanted to help her, to make her life easier, after what she had been through. Yet every time he tried, it ended up blowing up in his face. He either embarrassed himself, or infuriated her. Not that it was hard to infuriate her. She seemed to have the patience of Vegeta.
He was sitting on the sand, staring out at the serene blue water, when he realised he wasn't alone. The sand settled around her as she sat down about a metre away from him, her legs pulled up, and her arms wrapped around them. She too stared out at the gentle ocean. He vaguely wondered why she kept coming back.
After ten minutes, he chanced a glance at her. The cheek he had slapped faced him. It wasn't marked; there was no welts, no imprint of his hand. Just the same pale flawless skin. He let go of the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.
She didn't look at him, didn't even acknowledge his presence. She could have been on any island, sitting there, staring. As if for a moment she had forgotten that this was where he lived.
But her actions were very deliberate. That was obvious. As much as it would have been easy to pretend that she had arrived there with no intention of seeing him, it wasn't the case. It could not have been the case. Why she kept coming back to him he did not know. Why she kept coming back to the same argument he did not know. Maybe she thought that if she annoyed him enough, he would put her out of her misery. Or hand her over to Vegeta. It was pretty clear that he would have enjoyed a round two.
But he wouldn't do that; put her out of her misery. She would have to face it like everyone else. Life wasn't easy.
Perhaps she thought that if she kept coming back, he would kill himself. Then she would finally rid herself of him. Rid herself of his attachment to her. He could no longer stalk her if he was dead.
But he wouldn't do that either. She could wear him down as much as she liked. He wouldn't break. Much.
As he sat, trying to understand her motives, and trying to figure out what to say, he realised she had begun to speak.
'You were out of line.' Her voice was so soft; he barely heard it over the crashing waves. And when he finally processed what she had said, he felt like he'd been slapped in the face.
He stared out at the ocean with wide eyes. Did she think he didn't know that? Had she come all this way to tell him something he already knew? Couldn't she see that he felt bad enough as it was? What on Earth did she want from him? A formal apology.
'But, so was I.'
This time he glanced at her, wandering if he'd heard her right.
Had she just admitted fault on her part? Had she really just said that? Was he dreaming?
He glanced back at the ocean quickly, searching it with still wide eyes, looking for a million answers, but finding only questions.
When he glanced back at her, she was looking at him.
Her face was blank, staring, waiting for an answer, maybe. Was she waiting for an answer? She could have been waiting for anything. An answer, another slap, for him to reach over and grab her face and kiss her, like part of him wanted to do so desperately.
He turned back to the ocean. So did she.
'I…I'm sorry.' He barely recognised his own voice. She didn't look at him, didn't appear to acknowledge him, and suddenly he wanted to rein those words in as fast as possible, draw them back from the world. Had he said the wrong thing?
'Me too.'
He turned to her so quickly, he practically gave himself whiplash. She glanced to him, slowly, hair dusting pale shoulders. He vaguely realised she was wearing an outfit he didn't recognise. She had new clothes.
She gazed at him, with those cornflower blue eyes, a look so serene it was almost peaceful. God, she was so beautiful.
He couldn't help it; his mouth opened before he could gain control of it, the words spilling over one another, racing to come out.
'I just wanna help 18, that's all. Just help you, after all that's happened. I didn't mean to get mad at you. I'm sorry, I really am. It's just like you don't wanna listen or something, and I'm only trying to help. But you keep coming back here and it can't help thinking that maybe you want me to help, but I don't know. If you don't want me to help, I won't, I promise. But I don't understand. If you don't need help, then just tell me. We can be friends. I'm not trying to stalk you, I promise.'
As he spoke his rushed monologue, he watched her face, flickering from serene to intrigued, from confusion to what looked like fear, and then to anger.
He knew it was already too late.
Bulma fed Trunks and put him down for a nap. And as she did, she stewed. She paced the floor of her bedroom, arms crossed over her chest, chewing her tongue.
She was so mad.
How dare he act as if everything was her fault? How dare he dump all responsibility for their son on her? How dare he pretend that she was one making their relationship so difficult?
She had waited for over a year now, hanging onto the tiny shreds of hope that he threw her, when he deemed into possible. She had put up with his shit, day in day out. She had dealt with a traumatic pregnancy on her own, because he had deemed his training more important than her health and his child's life. She had spent excessive amounts of money providing him with a home and technology to allow him to achieve his stupid Super Saiyan status.
And what for?
He treated her like dirt, walked all over her. And she'd had enough. She would not be his lapdog one day more.
She had known this had been coming. He had known this had been coming. They'd both known, probably since this whole angst ridden relationship had begun.
No matter how distressing and emotional this was, she was going through with this.
This was it.
Master Roshi had trudged out of the house to find Krillin and fulfil his duty as a wise master. And for his efforts, he had received a face full of sand.
'Hey!' he spluttered, spitting sand and shaking his head. But it was in vain, because a moment later, a ki blast exploded to his right and he was once again bathed in sand. Shaking his head and cursing, he rushed back into the house.
'Why do you think I want your help? Why do you think I want to be your friend? Can't you just LEAVE ME ALONE?'
'But 18, you came here.'
She ignored him. 'Don't you get it, you stupid imbecile? I don't want your help!'
'Then why do you keep coming back?'
'You just don't get it, do you, baldy?'
'I don't understand what I'm supposed to get!'
A ki blast erupted a hundred metres out to sea. The island was sprinkled with sea spray.
'You don't get it because you're stupid!'
'Well, apparently I'm not the only one!'
Further angered at the insult, she sent a ki blast hurtling into the ground near his feet. Sand rocketed into the air, hitting both of them.
'You know, you obviously don't get anywhere being nice to people all the time. No one's ever nice back to you. No one ever takes you seriously. Even Vegeta, a mass murderer, has someone. What have you got?'
Krillin grimaced unconsciously. That stung. 'You don't have anyone either?'
She snorted. 'I don't need anyone. I don't want anyone! But you,' she waved an arm at him, and a ki blast disappeared up into the clouds, 'you so obviously need someone. You're so desperate.'
He sneered. 'Well, I'd have to be desperate to ever find you attractive.'
She narrowed cornflour blue eyes dangerously, and then, with one final ki blast into the sand, rocketed into the air, disappearing at the speed of light into the horizon.
Krillin dropped to his knees and sunk into the sand. He put his head in his hand, gulping for air like he'd run a marathon, trying to calm his heaving chest. And then, his heart breaking, he began to cry.
Bulma stomped down from her room, thoroughly pissed off. She was on a mission to find Vegeta. She was going to say what she wanted to say before she lost the courage.
She cut across the living room and headed down one of the winding corridors. The gravity room had recently been incorporated into the structure of the house – they no longer had to cross the yard to get to it. The corridor that led to the training room was long and winding, and somehow seemed darker than the rest of the house. But Bulma marched it confidently. She would not be trumped.
She slammed a palm against the override button at the door and then slammed a button above, the one that opened the door.
Conveniently enough, Vegeta met her at the door.
'You don't learn, do you?' he growled, menacingly.
'Well, that appears to be a problem we both have,' she replied, the inflection in her tone challenging. She was daring him to disagree. He snorted and turned around, walking away from her.
'I have a bone to pick with you,' she continued, following him across the GR floor.
'When don't you?' he muttered, rhetorically, back to her.
'I wanna talk about my responsibility - my responsibility – to our son. How 'bout we talk about your responsibility, huh?' she waved a hand at him, as he turned around to face her, arms crossed over his chest. 'Do you randomly forget that he's your son too?' Vegeta went to speak, but she cut him off. 'Because, you see, how I remember it, is that you were keen to be there when he was created.' Her voice had begun to rise in volume.
'I was there for one reason, woman.'
She snorted. 'Yeah, sure. You never cared to begin with. I shouldn't be surprised that you forget. You don't give a shit. You didn't give a fuck about what I went through to have him. You'd already gotten what you wanted.'
He rolled his eyes. 'Well, haven't I paid every day since for that?'
Bulma stamped her foot angrily. 'Oh, for fuck's sake, Vegeta. I nearly died having him.'
'Would have saved me the trouble, you dying!'
'That's it with you, isn't it?' she sneered, angrily. 'As long as you get what you want, it doesn't matter. You never think about the consequences!'
'There shouldn't have been any consequences!'
'WELL, THERE WAS!'
Vegeta growled deep in his throat. Bulma stood in front of him, arms clenched at her sides, chest heaving, blue eyes blazing with anger. When he spoke, Vegeta's voice was low and dripping with an emotion he rarely displayed.
Regret,
'I didn't want that boy. I didn't want you. I wanted power, and you manipulated that, because you were upset about losing that pathetic human you called a lover.'
It was like every single word he said was an individual needle, dipped in acid, and pierced into her skin. What he said hurt, and it hurt bad, because it was true and it was a lie, all at the same time.
She couldn't help it; tears formed behind her eyes. She blinked furiously; she was mad at herself for letting him get to her. For letting him have so much power.
'Fine,' she whispered. 'If that's how you feel.' She crossed her arms again because it was the only way to stop her hands shaking. She raised her head, tried to square her shoulders and at the same time, swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. 'That's it.' She shook her head. 'No more. It's over.' Her eyes narrowed. 'But don't expect to have any role in Trunks' life. And don't expect to get any sex when you want it.' She shook her head, and then, steeling herself like she never had before, she turned and began towards the door. The torrent of emotions threatened to burst, balancing on the precipice. She would make it to the door before she allowed herself to cry.
Vegeta's voice followed her. 'Fine by me.' The hollowness to his tone pushed against the balance, and when she blinked, some of the tears escaped, trailing down her cheeks. She bit her lip; the door slid open. She crossed the threshold; her lip began to bleed, she was pressing so tight.
She made it down the corridor, even up the stairs to her bedroom door. She didn't even register opening it, but she did register closing it, leaning into the wood, sliding down to the carpet. Then, she burst into tears.
Unrest had prevailed.
Ratty: So what did you think?
Ada: Don't ask; you don't want my opinion.
Ratty: The other thing that has changed over the last three years is that I have acquired the habit of writing in tandem with Ada. For those of you who don't know, Ada is a pissed thirty-something who occupies my head.
Ada: Along with a lot of other people. It's rather crowded in your head.
Ratty: You know you love all those bodies rubbing against each other.
Ada: Depends on whose body.
Ratty: Ada, behave yourself.
Ada: He is pretty hot.
Ratty: (rolls eyes) That's irrelevant. You may scar certain people. Now please introduce the soundtrack
Ada: They already know how they were created.
Ratty: Soundtrack, please.
Ada: Fine. The following soundtrack was used in conjunction with the creation of this chapter. You may choose to acquire it (legally please) and listen to it while reading the chapter. The soundtrack is:
- Are You Happy Now? – Michelle Branch
- Rearview – Anastasia
- Vindicated – Dashboard Confessional
- Bad Day – Fuel
- Million Tears – Kasey Chambers
Ratty: That was very nice.
Ada: Thanks…can we go now?
Ratty: Gotta get your hands on him while you're not fighting with him, huh?
Ada:…
Ratty: Ada. Ada! God, she's off. Let me go rescue the others. Hope you enjoyed the story. Toodles, peeps!