Goten yawned. He was sore and stiff from the beating. He shuffled down the hall of Capsule Corp, feeling satisfaction in his exhaustion. It was the well-earned kind of tired leading to quiet, dreamless sleep. Today's training was like any other. He knew he wouldn't cover new ground or reach a new level; he felt content just being included. He lived for the in between, the sweet slow days separating the sparing sessions. No doubt about it, he was Goku's blood, and that made fighting an obligation, but he was not his son in spirit.
With her head down, Bulla cut through the hall. She broke the sun's setting orange shadow. She hardly noticed him. She was already miles away with Whis, prepared to be beat to a pulp. She hadn't bothered to change her clothes from earlier that morning.
"I didn't see you at dinner, Bulla-Chan," Goten said.
Bulla paused and turned to his voice, "Oh, I ate in my room. I need to hurry to meet Whis."
"You did great today."
His compliment lit up her face like a struck match. A grin stretched from ear to eat.
"Thank you. Not too shabby yourself," she said.
"I don't know about that. Whis basically called me a powderpuff when you left."
"Really?"
"Ho-ho, yes," Goten exaggerated, mocking Whis' charming mannerisms.
"Quit that," Bulla rolled her eyes over her smiling mouth.
"I'm sure he already knows about it. Haven't you met the guy?"
Bulla appreciated Goten's sarcasm. Off kilter humor was a seldom occurrence from him, but this was flat out rare in the Son family.
"Anyway," Goten started again, "You're a good kid. Thank you for what you did- didn't do really. Maybe I can return the favor one day. I'll miss having you as a sparing buddy. Good luck in the west. You're gonna do fine."
"Thanks," she said.
"Be careful out there."
"Will do," She called over her shoulder, not even bothering to look back at him.
His words echoed through her head, even when she found Whis in the front foyer.
"Have a headache, do we?," Whis said.
Bulla became aware that she was shaking her head, as if to try to shake Goten's words from her ears.
"No I'm fine."
"Good, let's go somewhere more suitable."
Bulla refused to acknowledge her parents standing in the den. Her mother sent the Sons off with long spoken goodbyes. Goku's goofy laughter veiled the sheer tone of her father's voice.
"Back by 10," Vegeta demanded.
"Of course," Whis replied, "Get your mind out of the gutter Vegeta. She's in good hands."
Bulla looked up at Whis' smiling face. He offered her the shaft of his staff. Whis held it just below the crystal bulb. Purple smoke clouded the bulb, like merlot swirling in a dainty wine glass.
"Take it," Whis encouraged her.
Bulla nodded and snatched the staff with a gulp. Bulma blinked and they disappeared in the shrinking bubble. The air fizzled, and a flash of pastel colors drew her eyes. Bulma thought of a bursting soap bubble, leaving grainy rainbow mist behind. She rubbed Vegeta's arm with her hands. He looked down at her brick red nails and her small fingers laced over his skin. They were prim and pretty, like pink ribbons decorating his bruised hand.
"Oh honey, don't worry. Whis won't hurt your baby," she teased him, "He's an angel- literally, and this was your idea after all."
"Just because he's an angel, doesn't guarantee he'll be a gentleman," he answered.
Whis and Bulla burst into existence again. Bulla dunked into the warm salt water below. Whis hovered above the still water.
"Poor reflexes," Whis frowned.
Bulla raised from the water, like a dripping cat clawing itself out of a bathtub. The evening breeze nipped her wet skin.
"Couldn't you have gave me a heads up?," She complained.
"That's just it. I didn't tell you where we were going. Preparedness is crucial. Now, come," He said as he patted the air beside him like a chair.
Bulla's brows quirked at the silly gesture. She pushed herself into the air with her ki. She crossed her legs and straightened her back adopting a meditation like position. There was nothing but royal blue as far as her eyes could see. Still waters traced the horizon. A pale moon climbed the rosy sky. Despite the serenity, a nervous titter wiggled her fingers.
No land in sight, how long can I keep myself up?, she thought.
"Water, water everywhere huh?," Whis said.
"Where are we Whis?"
"Tell me, have you ever heard of 'still waters run deep'," he asked her.
"Yeah, but-"
"It's the same principle at work. Look down."
Bulla craned her neck forward. Her reflection was crisp and untouched. The quiet girl stared back at her from the water's surface. Small ripples buzzed away from Whis' body. The vibrations were subtle, nearly unnoticeable at a quick glance.
"All living things have a resting Ki," Whis continued, "Close your eyes."
Bulla halfway closed her eyelids. Whis's eyes closed. His lashes framed the steep bridge of his nose.
"No peeking. Now, close your eyes," he reminded her.
Bulla squeezed her eyes shut and her head squatted over her shoulders.
"Forget where you are. Listen to my voice but try to forget that I'm even here. You're in a glass elevator in a red desert. Nothing but sand as far as you can see from the ground. There's something far off that you want. You're in the elevator. Use your ki to push the box up the tower shaft. So, 1…," he instructed.
Whis opened his eyes . Stray hairs danced on Bulla's forehead.
"2," he said.
A vortex of hot air spiraled above her head.
"3."
She clenched her hands into balled fists. Yellow sparks crackled around her body.
"Good- you're on the 4th floor now," Whis staged the scene in her mind.
The ends of her pony tail began to hover steadily off of her shoulders.
"5. Keep in mind, you should be at half of your capacity now."
Whis propped his chin with his fist. Streaks of yellow flashed through her hair, but they were short lived, like flashing lightening.
"6."
Sweat evaporated from her brows as soon as it seeped through her pores.
"7," Whis counted.
Swirling air churned around her body, skimming water from the ocean's surface.
"Good, go ahead and take it to 10," he requested.
Pockets of salt water floated into the atmosphere in boiling gelatinous blobs.
"Hold it there," Whis said.
"Bulla's body trembled under the strain. Whis casually popped his staff in front of his face, like a teenager checking their phone. He lowered the glass bulb in front of Bulla and kept his eyes peeled on the purple haze in his staff.
"Stop. Come back to the present-"
Whis's voice was cut off.
Bulla's eyes popped open. Molten salt water rained down, stinging their skin. Bulla imagined that someone had cracked open a lava lamp over their heads. Before she could blink, Whis enveloped them in a protective force field.
"Now," Whis started, "How would you get down from a tower Bulla? Jump over the side? I wanted you to scale back down."
"You said to stop," She defended herself, "I'm sorry."
"No worries. Remember the same technique is good for your temper too."
"Technique?"
"Yes, there's technique involved in proper power scaling. I'm going to demonstrate for you. You'll be counting too, this time."
Whis laid his staff across his lap and gripped the shaft with both hands. He propped his hands on his kneecaps.
"1," Bulla began.
The water below Whis' body buzzed.
"2."
White caps expanded beneath him in neat ringlets.
"3."
A stiff wave circled them, like a shark prowling the sea for blood.
"4," She skittishly sputtered.
Whis raised higher in the air. Bulla found herself in a deep well of water. The sea broke over itself, only to climb high again.
"Whis?"
"5," he yelled down to her.
Panic stole Bulla's breath. Walls of water roared high above her head. Wind rushed by her body as it escaped the funnel. Bulla abandoned the meditation position, raising to her feet. She hovered in the air, confident in her ability to fly, yet she desperately longed for solid ground.
"6," Whis continued.
The black silhouettes of fish wriggled in the water curtain. They began to school in the swirling torrent.
"7," Whis hollered.
Bulla barely heard his voice over the ocean static. It was a flighty whisper in her ear. Her eyes had to raise to the brim of her brows to see Whis' shrinking figure in the pale pink sky.
"8."
Sunlight beamed through the high water, painting Bulla's face in nature's own stained-glass window. Water sprayed over the sides of the funnel, like foaming champagne sloshing over the rim of its glass.
"9."
Bulla's misted skin dried. Salty crust baked onto her dry lips. A wave of heat sucked the air from her lungs. Every stitch of clothing seared her skin, threatening to unravel into scorched ash. Columns of steam rose from the funnel.
"10."
I'm going to die; he's gonna kill me, she thought.
The evaporated water gave way to salty fog pouring out of the funnel, like puss from a boil. Bulla collapsed to her knees, crumbling under the atmospheric pressure change. She barely made out Whis' thin silhouette. He stared into the well he had created, unbothered, with his staff clasped behind his back. Bulla's eyes lulled shut. Numbness spread over her grey skin. Her lips tingled and a blue hue nipped the hollows of her cheeks. Cool water popped her eyes open. She had sunk, hip deep into the sea. She summoned her ki with all her being in attempt to pull herself from the ocean mire. Her mind dipped into chaotic unconsciousness of roaring water and flashing color. Bubbles crashed into her back. She began to drift in dark, dreamless limbo, like being wrapped in cool black suede. A firm hand snatched her arm, pulling her up before the jaws of death sunk its teeth into her. She popped out of the water in a spastic coughing fit. Water gurgled from her lips. She hung limp from Whis' grip, like a strung up fish. Her frantic breath slowed. Her blinking eyes burned as the intense color saturation of the world returned.
Whis released his grip from her as she hovered on her own again. She halfway leaned on his staff to catch her breath.
"I apologize for your trouble. It was necessary," Whis said, chipper as ever.
"What?," she gasped, "How?"
"You've had enough for one day. Come now," he said, focusing his attention on his staff.
"Wait a second. I can do this-," She huffed barely stringing the sentence together.
"Absolutely…you survived."
Her brain wracked itself, trying to process the change in scenery. A headache pressed her skull between her eyes. She looked down at her soaked sneakers. The edges of her dirty, yellow converse disappeared in the blonde sand. Bulla stood on the edge of a crescent bay. The cyan tide washed over her shoes. Whis lead her into a thick grove of bushy trees. Piercing orange blotches drew Bulla's eyes to the webbing branches. Round pieces of citrus rumbled in the rustling breeze.
"Wondering why I brought you here? We mustn't forget Lord Beerus. He'll enjoy a sweet treat when he wakes from his nap."
"Really, you can't be serious?," She grumbled.
"Absolutely."
Whis circled his staff in the air, like a wand. A clear bubble formed, bobbing behind Whis as he walked. He plucked a piece of fruit from a tree. He casually popped the piece of citrus up with an underhanded toss. It sailed into the bubble. It swirled around the walls like a marble in a glass bowl. Bulla began to follow suit, too tired to question his logic, let alone physics.
The bubble was soon filled. It followed Whis like a nubby helium balloon. Bulla imagined a bumpy orange gumball.
"Ready to return home?," he said.
"I'm beat," Bulla responded, "We can't leave fast enough."
"One more thing," he said.
Bulla's heart fell into her gut, burning like a shooting star in earth's atmosphere. She sucked it up, refusing to let discomfort creep onto her face. Whis swept the inside of his plumb sleeve with his finger, just above his wrist. Beads dangled from his long fingers. They were almost the same color as Whis' grapey finger nails. They were linked together with brown leathery twine. Its fastener was a simple loop and sinker. The large rounded fastening bead was pale blue, like Whis' bangle halo around his neck. The other beads were pebbly and triangular in shape.
"Thank you," Bulla said as she latched it around her wrist. Her voice was well mannered and robotic. The sentiment was genuine, but the confusion drowned her gratitude. She twisted the scratchy band around her arm, reluctant to admit it was uncomfortable.
"You're welcome. You're leaving soon, Bulla."
His lips puckered into a grim pout. His lilac eyes sat, heavy on his face. His voice was steep and slow, curdled with something foreign. Bulla quirked a brow.
Are you…sad ?, she thought.
"Just for a semester," she responded.
"Well," Whis began, skimming over her comment with a quick nod, "This is fitting for your journey. Favoritism is strictly forbidden, by the high priest. So, I arranged this exchange for your labor."
"Oh, the fruit."
"Yes."
"My dad has talked about the high priest before. What's he like?"
"Think of him as a coordinator for the angels."
"I wouldn't of thought you needed one, to tell you the truth," Bulla said.
"Even angels need a father," Whis rebutted.
"What?"
"Now," he caught her attention with his sternness, "Hold still."
"Okay," She shuddered.
Whis took her hand, popping her wrist up. His long fingers were warm. Bulla found it cozy, like sticking her hand in her jacket pocket on a cool winter's day. She hoped he didn't notice the tackiness of her sweaty palms. He leaned over, bringing his mouth close to her arm. Bulla's mind flashed to movies and TV shows where knights and gentleman kissed the hands of royal ladies. Bulla jerked her hand away. Her body reacted as her mind drilled through the plausible ramifications. She held her arm close to her chest. Her eyes settled on Whis, unconsciously stepping back from him.
"What are you doing?," she asked him.
"I assure you, it's all right. Trust me, this is a gift," he said.
Bulla looked long and hard at Whis, calculating the risk in her head. He was patient and quiet with her reasoning. The same slight smile was plastered on his face as always. She remembered the tales that he 'poofed' her into existence although she seldom believed them until Vegeta and Bulma confirmed it themselves. In her mind, Whis was a weird alien uncle rather than an angel. Sometimes, his deity was lost on her let alone that he is teacher to the God of destruction. It still boggles her mind that the 'grouchy kitty-cat man' as she called Beerus as a little girl was charged with the task of ending life as she knew it. Bulla thought of her mother, appreciating the privilege provided to know these beings from such a young age.
I just wish she had taught me to revere them more rather than letting me figure out the heavy parts on my own, she thought.
"No," she finally concluded, "I'm merely mortal."
"Oh my goodness, you're mind is just as bad as Vegeta," Whis laughed, "Very well, I will not force you, so let's do it this way. Hand me your bracelet."
Bulla surrendered the trinket to Whis. He carefully held it in the bowl of his hands. He cupped his fingers around it, like a child who caught a firefly. His shoulders and ribs raised with a deep breath. He blew into his hands as if to warm them. A sky blue aura clung to his hands, like flame on a candle.
"Come on," Whis said, waving out Bulla's wrist with his fingers.
Bulla speechlessly offered her wrist. Whis snugged the dainty bracelet against her skin. The glow on the beads slowly dispersed, dimming to a shimmer. The pebbly shapes softened to foamy bubbles, seeping into her skin until they vanished altogether. Bulla rubbed her vacant wrist, feeling the moisture left behind.
"Huh," she managed slack jawed and wide eyed.
"Huh, is right," Whis teased her with a nod, "I've been granted special permission for this. Please refrain from squandering my efforts," he said, wagging his finger in her face.
"I understand," she lied.
Bulla heard the instructions, but her mind groped along in the dark. Searching for plausible explanations. Whis' gaze drifted to the tide lapping the sand. With his fixed gaze, his mind seemed to leave him standing there next to her. Bulla knew best what a 'zone-out' was, but Whis' stillness spooked her.
Whis broke his trance and reached to the floating bubble. He smacked it with the palm of his hand. A single piece of fruit fell. Bulla thought of the cheap candy dispensers that every child in existence, at one point, harassed their parents for coins to use. Whis handed her the round fragrant fruit. He then retrieved one for himself.
"Please, indulge me," Whis said, gesturing to the piece in her hand.
"Thank you, Whis-Sama," she said with a curt bow.
Bulla picked at the fruit rind with her nails. It smelled like a tangerine but peeled off in gritty sheets. The white belly of the rind was sandpaper coarse. To her surprise, the flesh was custard yellow and as smooth as gelato. She sunk her teeth into the silky flesh. It was bland with subtle, zesty hints. A slight suction like biting into a stick of butter caught her off guard. Tiny brittle seeds popped between her teeth leaving a slimy residue on her tongue; it was honey-sweet, like a mango battered in sugar.
"Things aren't always as they seem," Whis mused.
"Whis, what are we really doing here?"
"Perceptive aren't we. I'm readying you. You'll be out in the world soon. You may not understand now, but you will," he said.
"Dad takes this all way too seriously. He's using this as an excuse. It's the perfect cover up to try to beef me up. I'm sorry, he bothered you. He has no shame- except in me. He wants me to be stronger for his pride's sake."
"Is that so?," Whis softly asked her.
"I feel like he wasted your time. I am who I am. I can't help that I didn't win the genetic lottery. This must be how uncle Tarble feels. At least dad hasn't sent me away, like his father did."
"That's enough self-loathing, Bulla. Consider this: what do you do with something that's valuable and you don't want others to take it?," Whis said.
"You lock it up and hope no one sees it," she said rolling her eyes.
"Okay" Whis sighed, "Now, what do you do with tarnished silver?"
"You polish it."
"It's still precious metal underneath. Now, suppose there's a table set, made of silver. The fork is not more important than the spoon, or a cup more than a plate. Different vessels- for different purposes."
"What about when you're a pair of shitty-warped chopstick crammed in the knife drawer," Bulla grumbled.
"One thing's for certain, you're just as obstinate as your father. I can't change your mind, but I want you to remember two things. The grand priest has compassion on all that has been made. The chopsticks and the knife were cut from the same steel."
"Yeah, sure."
"Good, now let's get you home."
