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King Vegeta shoved open the double doors to his throne room. He was aggravated with tension mounted on his shoulders. He took a seat alone on his obsidian chair. His face was less craggy than his sons remembered, less burdened with responsibility and age. His rust-colored beard had just begun to cover his cheeks and upper lip. He looked sown his sharp nose with his brows, heavy as ever.
"Court will commence," he says dryly, "What do we have?"
"First on the agenda is a monetary dispute," the scribe answers, "This commoner owes over 50,000 garlands in technology taxes."
"Of what class were you born?," Vegeta sighs without even looking at the man standing in front of the alabaster stairs.
"I'm a middle-born sire but stratified as a low class warrior based off of battle power," the man said.
"How many exterminations have you done?"
"I work hard for your majesty, over sixty planets, sire."
"And you've never paid your space pod taxes, not once," Vegeta said as he milled through the payment logs.
"I thought they were automatically deducted, sire."
"Lord Freiza's commission does not automatically post. You are responsible for the rest," the king said as he rubbed his brow bone.
"I was unaware," the man responded.
"Unaware or not, you will sell your assets and you will be a slave to the highest bidder. Your master will pay the standard of 500 garlands per year toward Lord Freiza's commission until your debt is paid," Vegeta said matter-of-factly.
"Twenty- twenty five years," the man stammered.
"Yes. Dismissed," the king called.
"Your majesty, please reconsider," the Saiyan begged, "A loan from the court-yes. I will make it well worth your while."
"Pathetic pleas will garner no sympathy," Vegeta said.
"Your majesty, we all know you are too mighty to falter, but I also know that you are wise and shrewd with your dealings. Let your servant benefit you," the man reasoned.
Vegeta paused, framing his chin with his hand, "Hurry," he groaned as if he already regretted his decision.
"I will offer you a lease for my sister. She would make an exquisite concubine your majesty."
"No whore is worth 50,000 garlands," Vegeta laughed.
"You see, she's not a whore. She's clean sire, a virgin."
"I've no need for another plaything for my cock," Vegeta said.
"She's a high-class by battle power sire, and- and she's a lucent ozarue," the man vomited up with desperation.
"A lucent ozarue?," Vegeta questioned.
"Yes, she even talks in form!"
"If I find out you're lying, I'll kill you- understand me?," Vegeta said pointing at the low- class man.
"Understood, sire."
"Bring her to me for examination in one hour. Don't be late," the king offered.
Evening settled onto the palace. The king straightened his attire as he strolled to the edge of his court yard. His upper back felt refreshed, free of his heavy cape. His armor still hung over his chest, lacking the hard pointed spades over his shoulders. His dark blue under garments were stiff with the day's sweat. His white boots were stained red from trudging through the dessert capitol.
"Come Yucca," Vegeta said to his uncle turned man- servant.
Yucca's tall, thin frame followed the king. His permanently shaved head gave off a waxy glimmer beneath the planet's sun. The nostrils of his broad flat nose glistened with sweat. His thick salt and pepper eyebrows raised high onto his wide forehead. Yucca knew that he was no more than an advisor to Vegeta; it was an unintended mercy in his advancing years.
"Are you certain about this, Vegeta?," Yucca said.
The king popped his gaze over his shoulder and looked back at the older man. Yucca braced himself for a harsh reply, but it never came. Instead, the king scanned the cracking ground with his darting pupils.
"Yes," Vegeta said after a brief pause, as if he actually considered his servant's cautionary tone.
For a moment, Yucca remembered that this was indeed his sister's son and that he had watched Vegeta grow from a boy to a man. Yucca hoped that the king remembered too, and that it was just hidden beneath his cold bureaucratic exterior. Yucca could see little whispers, miniscule glimmers of a child's admiration, keeping this hope alive.
They approached the modest carriage parked at the stable house gate. The low-class man at the court hopped down from the coach seat, leaving the reins sitting on the bench. The creatures tethered to the carriage began to bicker. The large flightless birds sported scaled faces, ending in thick black beaks. Their thick cream-colored plumage darkened with a speckled red ombre on their rumps. Their thick bodies balanced on long gangly legs. The weight of their bodies were cushioned by wide, splayed feet sporting two rounded toes. They shrieked and plucked at each other with their near translucent needle teeth.
"Awe shut up," the young man growled at the beasts of burden.
He rounded his coach with haste, thumping the instigating bird on the thigh with a tight fist to quell the argument. Part of the king knew the man was taking unfounded frustration and anxiety out on the beast. Vegeta couldn't quite bring himself to care, but a persistent thought rattled around in his mind.
Royalty should make you perspire, but something isn't accounted for here. Wouldn't you be glad to weasel your way out of slavery?, Vegeta thought.
The low-class man yanked the door of the coach open and fished a small woman from the cabin by her bound wrists. Her sturdy frame goaded against him, kicking and screaming to high heaven. The woman's voice cracked with long-suffering insults.
"I'm sorry your majesty," the man said as he tore a strip of linen from his own sleeve.
He crammed it to the corners of her mouth and tied the lose ends behind her head. The tight blue fabric dug into her red cheeks. White plastic cables seized her wrists.
"Stop it!," the low class man demanded with a stern shake, "You're in the presence of the king," he snapped.
The woman paused long enough to catch her breath. Her calloused voice disappeared beneath the king's prodding eyes.
"Well what do you think?," the indebted man asked Vegeta.
The king's eyes prowled over her olive complexion. Her stocky shape perplexed him; her wrists and ankles were strong and blocky. Long black curls swept the small of her back. Her almond shaped eyes were black. Her pupils were lost in the inky abyss of her irises.
Do you really have that much meat on your bones, or is it just because you're so short, Vegeta thought.
"How old?," Vegeta asked.
"Twenty-three."
"She's a mite small," he said unconvinced.
The king paced around her. The woman's black eyes desperately tried to follow him. Vegeta pulled a small two-inch blade from his pocket. The woman's eyes widened, and muffled curses escaped her mouth. Vegeta seized her elbow with a single hand. She tugged away from him. An amused chuckle burst from his mouth. Malice roasted the woman's ears. Her brows furrowed over her tear-chapped eyes.
"No, no!," she barked despite her gagged mouth.
"This feisty bitch is your sister?," the king laughed as he ran his knife down the seam of her brown dress.
The brown wooly fabric fell to the ground, revealing her bare curves. The woman gritted her teeth. She hunkered down, desperate to cover her nakedness. Water leaked from her eyes as her contrite heart spilled over. Her black tail whipped through the air like a flustered cat's.
"She is," The low-class man muttered. He looked away from her as if he couldn't bear the sight.
"Of your father or your mother?," Vegeta asked unbothered, "She can't be a full sibling. She's built like a brick shit-house" he said, eye balling them again to make an unconscious comparison.
Sweat dapples the low-class's face, "Father- we share our father," he coughed up.
"Your father doesn't need a bill of lease for her?," the king questioned.
"Um no, no she's under my household now. He's deceased sire."
"I see," Vegeta said with a quirked brow.
The king squatted down in front of the writhing woman. He whittled at the binds on her wrist. He quietly finessed the wooden handle of his knife with gentle dexterity. The binds popped off with a loud snap, leaving deep red bands in her skin. The woman immediately folded her arms across her chest. The handle of his knife buzzed after he plunged the blade into the red clay.
"I'm sure she'll please you," the young man added.
"Oh, you are?," Vegeta questioned him an annoyed grimace.
The king turned his head to see the low-class cast his gaze away from the bare woman at their knees.
"I'm certain," the man said, "Of course sire," he rattled as if he needed to be convinced as well.
"How exactly would you know that?," the king asked with a squirmy frown.
"I've heard you enjoy foreign tastes," the low class said with a nod, "Her mother was from the Nibal peaks in the North."
"I supposed I do. It makes sense; the mountain clans tend to be rather short… and burly," Vegeta said.
The king yanked the gag from her mouth, pulling it down over her bottom lip and chin. He wouldn't be bothered to take the time to untie it.
"Open your mouth," the king said with a cool, stern tone.
The woman paused, quiet at last. Her brash, dark eyes met his. Most subjects paid the king a passing glance, at most, when their faces weren't cast to the ground. Some high-ranking generals of his army, like his retired uncle, dared to look into his face. She lacked the numb distant obedience he was used to. This was reckless and filled with unmasked malice.
"No. Suck your own cock," she growled before sending a glob of spit to his beard and neck.
"Raksasha, he'll kill us!," the low class man cried out.
The king snatched her face with his hand, forcing her to look straight ahead. His thumb and fingers rolled her cheeks toward her eyes. His grip, pried her mouth open until her face resembled the puckered mouth of a fish. She braced his wrist with her hands, trying to relieve the pressure.
"Your obstinate little mountain-goat is just a little snuff of meat," Vegeta said as he wrenched her head back and forth to get a good look, "Average at best, but she does appear to be sturdy and cost effective."
The king released her, leaving her there to rub her aching jaws. Raksasha gathered her ripped, useless dress from the ground and slipped her arms through the sleeves in slow motion. Quiet sobs chocked from her mouth as shock glazed over her black eyes.
"What do you think sire," the low-class man said, "I believe she would be a good sale for you."
"You're going to sell me?," the woman wept bitterly, "You're no good- a dog!," she panted, "…reducing me to a whore- you irresponsible, careless bastard!"
"Whore," the king chuckled as he wiped her spit from his face, "Not even a whore. You'll be fodder for our scientists to see if you remain conscious while you're a great-ape."
"What?," she spoke up.
"You're no more than a flat-faced animal-spitting in my face like a diseased beast. I won't disgrace my flesh with you...yet."
"You're a faithless king, selling your own people to a galactic bully. Lord Frieza has a ring in your nose, leading you around like a big dumb stud-yak!," she spat.
Yucca and the low-class man studied each other before silently deciding it best to not intervene.
"Shut up bitch," Vegeta said red faced, "You know not what you say."
"Oh, I do. I won't keep quiet. It's the truth."
"Is that so?," he fumed.
"Yeah," she said refusing to let go of the power struggle.
"Be quiet," he commanded with a wagging finger.
"No," she said.
"Yes woman, now do as I say."
"What are you going to do exactly- huh? Kill me, just go ahead and kill me you gangly, overgrown, sand-monkey," she grumbled.
"No, woman, I don't think I will. I'm going to make you useful. When they are done with you at the lab, I'm going to get them to pull every last tooth out of your thick skull so you can accommodate me."
Raksasha fell silent. Her chest heaved with bottled emotions. King Vegeta banded his fingers around her forearm and pulled her. Yucca sucked in a deep breath, but he failed to mask the weary crow's feet marking his eyes. He never knew how to take his foul tempered nephew. It wasn't uncommon for Vegeta to make insincere threats in the heat of the moment only to relent when reason returned to him. His temper had a short fuse but was usually mitigated with a strange reluctance- grace even. However, Yucca remembered all the times he misjudged Vegeta's behavior. He thought about the times when the 'wild hair' couldn't be plucked out and the king actually went through with heinous things that made Yucca's seasoned, battle-hardened gut sour.
It's hard to tell when the grace runs out, Yucca thought, He's unpredictable.
"Come woman," Vegeta said with a grin, "Do you know what will happen next?," he asked her.
Raksasha kept her lips sealed, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"After I'm done," Vegeta began, "I'm going to go to whatever little shit hole village you crawled out of. I'm going to buy the biggest, hairy bull-yak that I can find," he paused as a crooked toothy smile crept over his face, "I'll give you to him."
Raksasha leaned back on her heels. The blade of Vegeta's forgotten knife glimmered beneath the sun. She saddled the handle in her balled up first. She hacked into his arm over and over. He shoved her down with his maroon painted shoulder. Blood pooled into the fingers of his white glove.
Cackling erupted from his mouth. His lips twisted into a half-smile. He whooped and hollered, riding the adrenaline rush. The king wiped off his bleeding, chipped arm with his navy handkerchief. Raksasha heaved for air and tried to wipe the blood splatter from her eyes, certain that she would die. The shiny knife blade winked at her from the ground. The low-class man clamored to Raksasha, guarding her body with his own. His lips trembled but he managed to speak as the blood flushed from his face.
"Please- please have mercy sire. Don't hurt her. You- you can have me instead," he rambled in a desperate raspy whisper.
"Yucca," Vegeta firmly called his servant, ignoring the pleas of the low-class Saiyan.
"Yes."
"Draw up a six month contract," he huffed, "With the option of renewal after the term."
"Renewal?," the low-class man gasped.
"What is your name, hateful bitch?," Vegeta seethed, ignoring her brother.
"Raksasha," she muttered.
"Yucca, take Raksasha," Vegeta said her name through gritted teeth, "Give her quarters and provisions for this evening," he finished as he stuffed his soiled handkerchief in his pocket.
"This way," Yucca lulled Raksasha with the wave of his hand.
She silently shook her head 'no' and looked to the low-class man. Her stern expression washed away as misery dripped from her eyes. Her lips crinkled under his condemning silence. She wrapped the ripped dress tightly around her and clutched the ends with her white knuckled fists. She followed behind Yucca, letting her tears drip onto the cracked red clay. Vegeta pressed ahead, leaving the speechless low-class man by his carriage.
"Um, excuse me your majesty," the man called out, "What do I do now, sire?"
Vegeta whipped his head over his shoulder, "Come back tomorrow. Go to the court office and sign your lease with the scribe. If you don't show up, you forfeit the girl and I'll see to your trifling carcass personally," he said before their outlines shrunk in the widening distance.