The Horse with No Name


Chapter Twelve

Let's Face the Music and Dance


There may be trouble ahead,
But while there's music and moonlight,
And love and romance,
Let's face the music and dance.


Age 777

Space Station #341, The Hazy Strip, Bar #32

Beyond the line-up of cubicles, hidden behind a rusted door and against the script of graffiti, two bodies press against the decay. Neither care, groaning, gyrating, as the music from next door keeps them in pace. The beating of rhythm hums in the backdrop as he throttles his body hard against hers, her thighs pulling him closer and deeper whilst he breathes in the musk of her perfume. Damp, he presses his forward against hers. She's grinning as she kisses him, and Gohan drunkenly laughs, breathless, as the room sways around them.

Over the toilet, he shifts her and re-angles his body. The rotten stench of the hovel means nothing to him now. There's only him and this girl, here alone as the music hollers from beyond. The beat climbs and climbs until racing flashes of colour skid across his vision. From the way she grasps onto his shoulder, he knows that she's feeling the same. Her kisses turn sloppy, and then die on his lips.

"Fuck," she curses, breathless. Her hands curl around his neck as she leans all her weight against him. They stay like that until the next song starts, naked from the waist down and sweating. When he goes to pull himself free, she yanks him back.

"Again?" she purrs.

Gohan laughs and drags himself and then her up from against the wall. "I need a drink."

She seems to like that well enough. Dressed, they emerge from out of the toilets and into the hustling club. It's over capacity for sure, with the heat of thousands of bodies keeping the enormous dance floor sweltering. Steam hangs in the air as she drags him through the crowds. There's chaos as spotlights wildly bounce into vision, unhinged. One moment he's blind, the next, red and blue shade his entire worldview. He stumbles into it, loving the instability.

The girl turns and mouths something to him but it's so loud in here. Gohan grins when she gives up, and then proceeds to drag him in the direction of the bar. After battling through a sea of people, she leans over it; Gohan firmly pressed behind her, and orders for the two of them.

"Did you get it?" he asks her. To answer his question, she turns around and presses a small bag of something powdery into his hand along with his drink. "Yeees."

Away from the bar, he opens the bag and sprinkles the contents into both drinks evenly.

"Bottoms up," he says, giving cheers, and then downing the entire thing. She does the same, eyeing Gohan with growing lust. He returns the look, smirking.

It's unfortunate that he doesn't see her again from that point on, not that he can remember much of it.

Hours later, Gohan comes to with one arm around Roarg's shoulder and another around Rixas'. They're outside now, with the break of daylight teasing the dark skyline, harbouring the temptation of warmth; gold against blue. Whatever star hangs around here can't be too close –Gohan's freezing. Even with Rixas' stinky pimp jacket over his shoulders, he's shivering, enough so that his teeth have started chattering.

Under his arms, Rixas and Roarg are talking. Gohan can't make out what they're saying but it doesn't sound too serious. Sometimes, when they lumber out of clubs with Gohan as their baggage, they talk about him in these solemn tones and low whispers that he hates. Well, it's more that Roarg talks smack about him being a lightweight and Rixas defending him –he's good like that, even with his smelly pimp jacket.

They stop briefly and Gohan feels a bottle of water being stuffed into his mouth. He coughs and splutters but whoever is doing this to him is relentless. Water courses down his throat without mercy until Gohan is next lowered against a wall for support, which is excellent timing because the entire street has started spinning.

"Myra is going to freak out," Gohan hears his brother say, slur really. He hardly sounds much better than him. There's a hitch of panic. "Think she'll tell Quell?"

"If we get him some food he should be fine," Roarg replies, but she doesn't sound wholly sure.

Gohan wafts the water bottle away from his face. "Mm' fine."

Rixas ruffles his hair. "Oh, hello, Sleeping Beauty."

He grunts, pulling away.

"How was your night? Have you been busy? And if so, how busy?"

"You're a pig," Gohan manages.

Rixas leans down and bops his nose. "We're both little piggies now."

Roarg's voice cuts through. "Food, please."

It always impresses Gohan how Roarg can remain both respectful to Rixas and impertinent at the same time. A long sigh echoes as she watches Rixas disappear down a long stretch of takeaways. She then batons the bottle of water between her hands, probably thinking about how she's going to deal with today's drunken idiots. Gohan, meanwhile, just hopes that whatever the dolt brings him back is deep fried and slathered in cheese. Resting his head back, he closes his eyes in wait.

Just as he goes to nod off, icy fingers angle his face up as she pours more water past his lips.

"You stink something rotten," she tells him as he obediently drinks. "Were you sick?"

Gohan's lips pucker as he pulls away. No, he bloody wasn't. "It's his shitty jacket."

Roarg chuckles as she lowers the water. "There is no shame in it."

He peers an eye open and gives her his best glower. An outline of morning sun envelops her frame, making her too shiny to look at it, and the way her braid keeps smacking him across his face as she bottle feeds him is oddly endearing when completely sloshed.

This close up, she's not exactly hideous to look at.

And with her vision in mind, his eyelids pull close and he's plummeted into another ice-cold memory, another dream.


They're not irregular, especially these days and especially after drinking, but each dream is becoming harder to decipher, to separate from what is Mori's past and what is Gohan's. Sometimes, Gohan dreams of Earth. They're shiny dreams, sparkling as he recalls different memories and experiences. He'd dream of his dad mostly; about his chaotic childhood and the times they'd tried to spend together without the universe pulling them apart, about the many times his dad would go…

As if to confuse him, Gohan's and Mori's lives also intermingle. Situations would blur and people would fuse, melding together into something familiar and ugly and making Gohan twist in displeasure as he watches the concoction unfold. Rixas' face would be everywhere –on every person on Earth, and his dad would become Quell, and Gohan would feel sick with the lot of it.

However, Gohan knows that this is entirely Mori's memory today, because he's sat a hair's breath away from Quell, with the latter managing to look magnanimous as he pours Mori a fresh glass of wine. They seemed to have done this a lot; sit, drink, and talk as they look over the estate's impressive scape. Gohan feels Mori's soft comfort –his affection, he notes with mild disgust—when he's with Quell, the sort of feeling he'd probably most associate feeling when with his dad.

As usual, the two are discussing books or research or whatever else Gohan really can't get his head around. It absolutely came as no surprise that Quell is as much a history buff as Mori and the two talk hours about topics Gohan can't bring himself to care about.

"This is far too tarty for my taste," complains Quell as he reads the label aback of the bottle. "Next time, we try something from the vineyard westward."

Mori doesn't mind, however. It's sweet enough and so he takes a generous sip before gesturing down to his stack of research papers. "I compiled my analytics on Rixas'… performance at the Battle of Grey Skies. I think you were right about his ki utilization growing weaker –it had been even more of an abysmal display than usual."

Quell smirks as he collects the papers, eyeing the writing with a fondness Gohan's only ever seen spared in these memories. "Now, now, little brother, not everyone has excellent energy control like yourself. Do spare him some sympathy. It would be the same as expecting you to perform well on the physical stage."

Something about the comment discomforts Mori, but he's quick to bounce back. "I suppose you are right. I just find it strange that despite his efforts, he cannot improve."

"Balance," Quell replies, throwing the papers down. "Between all four of us, there is a tug and pull of such abilities. There's only so far each of us can stretch our growth, and whilst Rixas cannot be expected to perform a competent ki blast, you cannot be expected to cast magic at Famis' level."

Mori takes another sip, staring over his brother's head and into the setting evening sun. "Such is the way of the collective."

"Correct. This is why I don't understand your insistence on duelling with that strange little sword of yours."

Mori hums but says nothing. Gohan, however, feels his head swim with a variety of emotions. Mori's frustrated, a regular emotion for the god, but he also feels, what Gohan strangely thinks to be… smug. Mori seems to feel very satisfied about something –Gohan's unsure of what that is exactly but he's guessing it's something to do with the Z Sword with how his chest flutters when Quell continues on the subject.

"I do admire it, though. It's rather fetching in design so I'm not surprised you're so taken with it."

"Its simplicity is a part of the charm," Mori agrees.

"But, I do think you should allow a blacksmith here in the realm to access its strange properties. It has an odd ki signature which needs-"

"It's quite alright," Mori interrupts softly, "I've already examined the sword in great detail. I'm comfortable that it's safe to use, and the power being released from it only makes me more enamoured with its mysteries."

Amused, Quell leans back into the soft padding of his chair. "Tch, you and your research... Yet you'll tell me nothing of it, will you? Not even of where you got it?"

"Of course not, brother."

"What little surprise," he laughs, "Don't change, Mori. You do amuse me so."

But Gohan knows where Mori must have gotten it, or at least, must have put it back because Gohan later retrieved it himself. Had the kais not noticed? How was it that it had come into Mori's possession in the first place? And why would he care about the sword anyway –feel so smug about it—when there'd been the Elder Kai stuck in it? Something tells Gohan that he must have known, or at least understood that there was something fishy about the sword.

"Have you spoken with the destroyers yet?" Mori next asks, smoothly changing the subject. "Beerus seems famished for devastation these days. Three high populous planets were destroyed this year in his name for the restoration of balance, but I see little balance about it, especially when considering the rumours."

"Oh? And what rumours are those?"

"One," Mori begins, leaning forward, "is that the destroyer has a weakness for anger. Apparently, he destroyed the planets out of reaction –something to do with offending his status, heaven knows what was said—but it matters not, as any other reason beside duty is worth little." Mori says it all very levelly despite the rage in his chest. "Someone in his position should take it far more seriously than he does. He is an embarrassment to godliness."

"Beerus does as Beerus wants," Quells replies with a sour expression. "No matter how much I complain, the beast thinks he is above order. What else did you hear?"

"That the destruction order had been in response to the rebellion being initiated. That's hardly about protecting any balance, no matter how the kais frame it," Mori puts out there, still calm, far calmer than he really feels about this. "The Zealites will respond."

Quell hums, tucking stray hairs behind his bejewelled ear. "You think the kais were attempting to quash them?"

"Don't you?"

"Honestly? I believe the Zealites matter very little."

"It is the principle. The power at-"

"I think it doesn't concern us."

"Brother…"

"Let the destroyers and the kais play politics. We serve the Almighty and the old and true ways. When politics blinds them then it is our duty to realign our focus onto what truly matters, and that, Mori, is acting as the Almighty's vessel."

For once, Gohan feels exactly as Mori does; disgust. But whereas Gohan would say something, Mori says very little, choosing to nod and drain his glass of the residing red. "Of course."

"Another?" Quell offers.

"No," Mori says, smiling, smiling so pleasantly that whilst Gohan knows it to be a false one, even he could be swayed. "I do apologize for cutting our meeting short, but I promised Rixas my companionship tonight."

"Oh. Oh, all right then. Then don't let me keep you."

Mori stands, and so does Quell, accepting Mori's courteous bow of the head with an offer of a smile.

"I'll visit with you when I return from my venture," the older brother promises, "Do enjoy your research whilst I'm way. I'm eager to hear whatever you choose to tell me about it. Keep safe and wear your mask where you should need to." Gohan feels Quell's hand rest atop Mori's shoulder. "Be well, little brother."


When Gohan awakes, he's still slightly drunk. And he lies there (somehow back in his own bed), reminding himself, as he does after most memories, what a piece of work Quell truly is –and how much he hates him, and how much he is nothing like his father in any way whatsoever. Then Gohan spends the rest of the early morning trying to forget about both his father and Quell, and then forget about Mori's simmering frustrations.

That's when his door starts to rattle from the abuse.

"Open this thing! Open it; I know you're in there, Lord Mori." More bangs follow and Gohan's almost tempted to rise from his bed. "I'll—I'll break through the window if I have to!"

Gohan reclines further into his covers and stares over in the general direction of the door. He'd love to see that, actually.

I wonder how long she's been knocking…

More banging follows and Gohan is a little impressed with the perseverance; whatever she wants must be important. When the knocking deescalates from banging into tired, meek taps after ten minutes, he decides to take pity and get up. It's just sad when she gets like this. When he opens the door he finds that his assistant has dissolved against the frame, looking like the world had given up on her.

"Good morning, Myra," Gohan greets with enough chirp to hurt her.

"Lord Mori," she caws from the floor, "you were supposed to meet Lord Quell an hour and a half ago."

"Oh, it must have slipped my mind."

She doesn't buy it, scrambling up and trailing after Gohan as he turns back into his room and strips from his nightwear.

"Y-You stink of alcohol."

"Thank you for noticing. Pants, please."

"Lord Quell's still in the forum, my lord," Myra says as she passes him his folded pants from off of the dresser. Gohan tries not to visibly roll his eyes as he sticks one leg through the fabric; Quell could be in Gohan's bathroom and he wouldn't be able to care less. "His assistant tells me that he's still willing to meet with y-"

"Thanks but no thanks."

"Lord Mori-"

Gohan whirls around, holding two very identical looking cloaks. "What do you think, Myra? Oxford blue or Prussian blue?"

The notepad in her hand slaps against her own cloak as she stares him down. "This is important."

"I know…" he sighs, and then considers the cloaks again. "They're just so different."

The young man knows he's probably gone a step too far when her blue-tinted skin starts to burn purple. It feels horribly good to watch her seethe, plus he's still sour over yesterday's events of her confiscating his collection of mortal candy so it feels especially satisfying. What kind of assistant steals from her boss? She's not a helper, she's a hindrance.

"Lord Mori," she starts. Oh boy. The notebook slaps against the dresser before she points it towards him, her eyes now an aggressive red as Gohan tries not to visibly sag. "You were out again last night, weren't you? Out of the realm, right? Lord Quell clearly forbid such actions, forbid you from going out of the realm without-"

"Rixas was there," he defends, waving the Prussian blue (?) cloak in admonishment.

"Like he's any better."

Gohan snorts. "Myra, that's nearly a treasonous comment if I've ever heard one."

"My loyalty is to you, my lord, not Lord Rixas. I can have my opinions on him."

"Loyalty to me means not running around doing Quell's bidding on a Sunday morning. I told you yesterday that I didn't want to meet with him."

Myra stiffens. "I cannot say no to Lord Quell. You know that, sir."

Neither can Gohan, really. There's only so long he'll be able to put off this meeting. Quell doesn't habitually organize meetings like he used to. Usually, he only requests Gohan's presence if he needs to pass along a message or give him a direct instruction, such as; 'don't leave the estate alone' or 'stop speaking in languages other than Lanit Tongue'. But more often than not, he's not around. His role as the eldest has him predisposed to trips away, meetings in far-off lands, and doing whatever else the guy gets up to whilst Gohan hides from view.

"Tell him that you couldn't find me," he says snappily, "In fact, tell him the truth if you want. He's going to hunt me down anyway, better be it on my head than yours, I suppose."

"Lord Mori…"

Gohan breathes out, harsh, exasperated. "Mori will be fine, Myra. How many times –or Gohan, you can call me that if you want."

"I could never," she repeats as always, and as always, Gohan shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. Myra watches, quiet, until finally she says the magic words befitting her role as his assistant. "Would you like a tomato juice, sir?"

Gohan forces a smile, "Yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

He drinks the juice on the go, thankful enough not to be angry at Myra for bothering him this morning, but not thankful enough to go and meet with Quell. Whatever he wants can't be good, and whilst Gohan thinks it might be about his rendezvous outside of the estate, he also suspects that if Quell was truly angry Gohan would already know about it.

Instead, he makes his way down to the courtyard to complete his daily training.


In the courtyard of the estate, the clashes of steel against steel hiss in quick succession, rolling, over and over, as two after images bounce around the grounds. It's with impeccable speed that swords ricochet in their silver dance, singing whenever they meet, whispering in frustration when they miss. Gohan's sword appears the more frustrated, hissing as it slices down at where Rixas was supposed to manifest. Instead, the smarmy idiot appears at Gohan's other side and rests the cool blade against the vulnerability of naked skin.

Rixas grins, enjoying Gohan's gulping beneath his sword.

"Nearly," he says simply, and Gohan nods. Nearly indeed.

Gohan's getting better, faster, stronger. And whilst Rixas still bests him in the matter of everything (which isn't using ki; something Gohan had hilariously discovered when Rixas couldn't so much as summon a slither of energy), Gohan has noticed the gap between them grow thinner. Even now, he watches as his brother's chest rises and falls faster than it used to. Speckles of sweat have now spread into wet patches, and over Gohan's laboured breathing, the hitches of lost breath rattle about Rixas' throat.

The younger of the two puffs his chest. "Need a little rest?"

"Ehhh, don't tease me, sweetie. I'll slice and dice you and then serve you up to either Myra or brother-dearest."

Gohan snorts, helping himself to water as Rixas collects both practice swords and sheathes them. There's a satisfying sound as they fall into their rightful places. "Are you leaving the realm again today?"

"…I am."

"You know, sneaking around all the time will only piss off Que-"

Gohan clicks his tongue and squeezes his water empty. "It's not like I'm returning to Earth. There's only so long I can stay around here without going crazy."

"And who are you going with?"

"A book. It doesn't hassle me."

Rixas groans. "You shouldn't be traipsing here, there and everywhere without protection. If Quell knew…"

"Like he doesn't," he scoffs in reply, "and I've been travelling to different stations for the better part of a year, for so long that he must have noticed by now and yet he's said nothing. It's not like I'm going to war-torn planets. I'm only going to regulated locations."

"And if you see someone you know there –someone from your mortal life?"

"I won't." And then bitterly, he adds. "I'm dead, remember. It's not like they're looking…"

Rixas still doesn't look reassured but Gohan finds he couldn't care less.

"If you get to come and go as you please then so can I," he next tells him, raising a hand to silence his brother when he goes to speak, "It's not up for debate, Rixas."

Something sour passes over the blonde's face as he reaches for the training equipment. "I forgot how stubborn you are."

It's not that Gohan's stubborn, it's more like he's determined; determined to at least have a semblance of individuality away from the realm and even from Rixas. They're practically connected at the hip these days. When they're not drinking, they're training, and when they're not training, they're only down a few hallways from one another. It's only natural that Gohan's craving the space, the freedom. Even the solo trips into the Spire centre stopped being enough many moons ago, as with being as well-known as he is, it was hardly a private affair anyway. Quell has eyes everywhere.

Although, Gohan knows the trips around the Spire hadn't been entirely fruitless. Many books had laid unopened, awaiting Gohan to purchase them. And, with great satisfaction, finally he could enjoy something that isn't factual and depressing, something that isn't drivel about either the estate, war, ki, history or whatever else Mori loved to dampen his mood with. And god, did Mori ever love his books about history. Gohan thinks he'll tear his eyes out if he so much as looks at a historical book cover ever again.

And over the top of the pages of these history books, Gohan would gaze out over the spectacle of the Spire, over the hilly buildings, and over the sea of rapidly differing faces, all making their home here, practically in his backyard. Proudly, he has been able to look upon the centre with appreciation. The Spire is also host to some of the most intricate and breath-taking architecture Gohan's ever seen (including his recent travels out of the estate). Plaited builds, interwoven in a fabric of brickwork, knots together under the green of vines. The haphazard effect is charming, something Gohan would have believed to have been out of fairy tale should his local bar not have been smack bang in the centre of it all. And whilst Gohan still enjoys its beauty, he yearns for more.

And so, one day, he left through the doors of the estate, as he often did alongside Rixas when travelling to foreign lands and made his way to the teleportation gate. The lone adventure had been everything Gohan had needed, and more –he'd only gone to their previous hotspot bar and ordered himself a single drink, before returning home. But it'd been the first step, and since then, Gohan's travelled to a variety of places alone. Libraries, parks, bars, scenic spots; Gohan's seen some of the most wondrous places he could have only dreamt about once upon a time ago.

And with a strange realisation, Gohan's come to find that language barriers aren't as much of a problem as they ought to have been. Mori, apparently, had been quite the linguist. Gohan's come to find himself comfortably replying to someone with words unknown until moments before. This has happened so many times now that he's lost count on what phonics belong to which language, and what phrases belong where.

To add to the experience, the people he meets are all varying in flavour. Some are welcoming, whilst others don't give him the time of day. Old people, young, and everything in between, Gohan finally feels like he's seeing existence as the spectrum that it is. Earth is a bubble, a tiny and insignificant world with limited reach. And as much as that'll always be his home, he's learning, understanding, the universe as united place; a society. With the heights of individual micro-societies, Gohan's found that the lows are both humbling and maddening. Class separates all everywhere, it seems.

And war is in abundance. Yes, Frieza is gone, but his empire still remains, fragmented and fought over by the many power players lurking about the depths of the universe. Gohan's been tempted to involve himself, several times in fact, but he knows not to… knows that, with Quell looming over him, he can't. It's funny in some ways, with Gohan's most recent dream, because Gohan's been thinking so often about the horrors of the universe, and about how little they seem to do as gods.

In fact, one day, Gohan had actually watched one planet explode from a far-away space station, only later to read that some evil bastard had blown it up after failing to conquer it. Millions died, and all Gohan could do was sulk about it over dinner. Rixas hadn't even cared.

"It happens all the time," he'd said, mouth stuffed with bread.

With so much power, Gohan doesn't understand why they've never involved themselves in the first place. It hurts thinking about all the change they could bring the people, all the good they could do. Yet… they do nothing. Gohan, too, does nothing.

He drinks, trains, and does nothing. Oh, he takes trips. That's about it. And when he gets home from a these trips, Quell is nowhere to be seen. But on those rare days that the terrifying asshole does frequent the estate, he ignores Gohan's absence in the first place (though, that might have to do something with Quell just ignoring him entirely). Sometimes, the ignorance annoys Gohan, and even though he should just count his blessings that he can continue doing as he pleases, he can't help but revel in the frustration that Quell oversees and allows all this evil to continue in the universe.

They're gods. That should count for something.

Apparently it doesn't, for Gohan's never so much as contributed to anything. He doesn't talk to the kais, go to meetings or do anything of value. Neither does Rixas, really. Quell does it all.

Mori had been right. They should be doing something.

And so Gohan does –he sips his drink; something sweet and spicy.

What's the point…? What difference can I make?

Today's venture brings him to a new watering hole, one over-looking the canyon of a vast waterfall of purple. The locals are a strange-looking people to Gohan, scaled-skin, with horns and thin, pointed eyes. Their language is rough and totally non-understandable to him, and the few who speak a better known language do so in accents so thick that they may as well not bother speaking at all. Still, their drinks are divine.

And the abundance of other travellers makes it all the more worthwhile. With thinly veiled desire, Gohan watches a pretty nomad make their way along the aisle of seats.

Even though he can't do much about the mass murder, planet destructions and power dynamics… at least he can sample the universe's offerings.

What else can I do?


Even as the days fed into weeks and the weeks into months, Gohan's routine varies little. The moments blend together and living becomes existing, just from one flat beat to the next, the dance of life lilting as Gohan meanders drunkenly. And as much as he gets stronger, he feels his drive leave him –his personality warp. Just who is he these days? So long as it's not the foul god he's supposed to become then it's fine. But… but where does that leave his identity? Gohan's… just… he's just so confused.

The experiences of clubbing, of seeing the seedier side of life, of understanding the raw underbelly of how people truly live, it gives him direction, however weak it is. But even so, Gohan thrives, if only because he revels in the mortality of it.

Quell be damned. Gohan is mortal. He'll show the asshole how mortal he truly is.

And so, Gohan's, once again, very much not sober.

Rixas is gone, vanished into a sea of faces on the dance floor, and the young saiyan had managed to give Roarg the slip hours ago after sneaking into the bar next door. He'd joined a group of misfit-types, smoking a drug similar in appearance to a common Earth cigarette. But Gohan imagines that a cigarette back home doesn't make you see colours explode across your vision, that they don't make you feel so light that you could be flying. The only common ground is the smoke, and if Gohan were to guess (as he never tried a cigarette), the ashy taste.

The group disbands, and he's left alone with the one girl who hasn't left his side all night.

It'd been inevitable that he'd go back to her hotel with her.

It's there that they continue to smoke the drug and take a rainbow of pills she'd collected. Gohan's sense of time starts to spiral, and he feels himself come and go throughout the night.

At one point, Gohan breathes in the heavy aroma of smoke, relishing how the ashy flavour expands about his chest, and then enjoying it burn his nostrils on the way out. Against the neon lights outside, its moody grey clouds climb against the window and fizzle away before it reaches the ceiling. He likes to watch it disappear. There's something soothing in how the toxicity just fades away, gone into the night.

The back of Gohan's head presses hard against his pillow as he watches another puff disappear. He then takes in another drag of the drug, one long and hard, and breathes out a ragged breath the exact moment she thrusts her body against his. He didn't even realise he'd been having sex.

"Am I boring you?" she asks, panting.

The neon signs illuminate her bare skin and the speckles of sweat atop. Gohan brushes his free hand against her damp waist and pulls her deeper, giving her his best smoulder. "I'm just savouring it."

She smiles and shakes her hips in Gohan's grasp. He laughs, and so does she when he breathes a cloud of smoke into her face.

"You're lucky you're hot because you're a fucking asshole," she says, and this time the laugh Gohan gives is genuine.

He flips her on to her back, taking sweet satisfaction at the fleeting shock in her eyes as he does so. The smoky drug is discarded, and then he shows her how much of an asshole he really is, how broken and shit he's become, when he sneaks out of her room after she falls asleep.

His forehead presses against the door and he takes in a ragged breath, still seeing the world in a flurry of colours.

What are you doing? Drawls a familiar voice, his own familiar voice –except it's not Gohan's, it's… someone else's. It's his.

Gohan's eyes blow wide, and he swivels, back falling against the walls as a battering of gold and blue assaults his vision. Only beyond those colours can he see the outline of a person; something faint and teasing, as though his eyes may be playing tricks on him.

Why do you ravage our body with such substances?

"Mori," Gohan breathes. He reaches out, feeling nothing except for the chipped paint of the hotel's walls.

You have work to do.

The world spins. Blues churn into ugly splotches against the night, and Gohan feels his earlier drinks threaten reappearance. "You're no' real."

I am about as real as you. Whether you are imagining me or whether I'm a real, actualized version within you is of little relevance. Only that I exist as an ideal is of importance. Me and you? We're one and the same, whatever lens you look at it through.

"Wh-What?"

You drunk fool, you would understand if you had not drowned yourself in poison.

"You're not real," Gohan confirms, dragging his hand along the corridor's wall as he goes. The echo of steps follows him as he leads on. "I'm jus' thinkin' too much about you… and I'm having dreams… too many…"

They're memories –stop disassociating yourself from them. They're yours, take ownership and face the music.

"I know wha' they are. I don't need you ter tell me to do anything –you're dead."

I very much am not.

"I… god, I shouldn't have smoked tha' thing. I think I'm gonna' be sick."

You think immersing yourself in this culture of alcohol, drugs and self-pity will help you? It only makes Quell see you as inferior, makes Rixas worry -makes us useless. Is becoming me really that painful for you that you'd drink yourself stupid?

"I'll never become you," Gohan vows despite knowing this is all in his head. "An' I don't give a fuck," he spits, "what Quell thinks."

Liar.

Gohan finds his feet unable to carry him a step further. It's here, in this mangy corridor that he reclines back against the filthy wall. Colours dance, bright and obnoxious, running down like the rain, and all he can do is watch.

There is only so long you can delay this. Our duty is awaiting us. We must be the difference.

"No… No' real."

One day, you will accept this. You will flush your mortal life away and embrace me, embrace what we must do to save them all.

"Oh my god," he groans, bringing his hands up, scraping fingers into his hairline, pulling and yanking hard. Hair nearly rips. "Stop."

Your biggest fear is to lose yourself completely… but what do you think you are doing right now? You are subduing yourself with toxicity, drinking yourself into oblivion, refusing to grow and change. Even Gohan Son would have grown up should he have lived.

"I am G-"

Pitiful, that is what you are. But worry not for this state is not permanent, it is but a growing pain for us until we reach our most powerful form yet.

"Arghhh… Get outta' my head…"

Do not be afraid. The voice whispers. Gohan can practically feel the warmth of breath against his neck. Like the dawn swallowing the moon and the night, it will happen naturally and without any contest. But… until then, you must stop inebriating yourself, otherwise I'll keep presenting myself vividly upon you if only to keep reminding you of our duty."

"S-Stop."

Gohan's eyes squeeze shut, and the last thing he sees is a pair of gold amongst the darkness, watching him, seeing, waiting…

Enjoy the dance whilst you can for even the most chaotic waltz comes to an end.


Soon, we'll be without the moon,
Humming a different tune, and then,
There may be teardrops to shed,
So while there's music and moonlight,
And love and romance,
Let's face the music and dance.


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Nihaoo. Sorry for the later update! I've been busier than expected, and I'm actually moments away from leaving my apartment to go on a trip but I NEEDED to post this thing before I left. I'll try and get around to replying to reviews later today. Have a lovely day where ever you are in this world. Thanks again to Kags for the beta-ing, and also thanks for the reviews, favs and follows. Please do let me know your thoughts -especially after this smut-fest, haha!

Song: Let's Face the Music and Dance from the film Follow the Fleet