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Pan ran her fingers through Midnight Sparkle's hair.
"… then grandpa took me back to his house. Me and grammy'n uncle Goten make cook—"
"Cookies?"
Pan looked up at the sound of Vegeta's harsh voice.
"Kakarrot took you home, and you just made cookies."
"Uh-huh."
Pan looked around. Bulla's seat was empty on the floor. Rainbow Hash laid on her side with her comb still stuck in her mane. Pan sat alone by the space heater. Bulla sat in Vegeta's lap. The eyes at the table made Pan's palms sweat.
"Hell of a story," Beerus mumbled.
"Yeah, what a story," Bulma's voice quivered, "Does your mommy and daddy know about your stories?"
"Yeah, Grandpa said we had to tell them this one, not like the time I fell in the river when it was icy. How come?"
"Probably because he wants to have your head checked."
"Don't be an ass Vegeta," Bulma scolded him.
"Whatever woman. It's for her own sake."
"Actually," Whis interceded the bickering, "I would love to see Mr. Ramu. It's been too long."
"You're kidding?"
"Not at all, Bulma. I remember the day Zeno commissioned him. If you call it a day. The partitions weren't made yet—"
"Whis this isn't funny!," Beerus sneered.
"Oh, thank Kami," Bulma exhaled.
"I never said it was, Lord Beerus."
"Whis, you know that was the day Zeno decided that eating too many sweets is a sin!"
The color flushed from Bulma's cheeks.
"It was also the day I was granted Tull," Whis tittered with nostalgia.
"Who's Tulo?," Bulma asked.
"My first destruction apprentice!"
"His favorite, that's who," Beerus added.
"Lord Beerus, don't be so jealous."
"Whis," Bulma grimaced, "Does Earth need to be concerned about this Ramu, dude?"
"I wouldn't be. He's the in-between. He's necessary."
"What are you talking about?"
"Yemma and Kami said the same thing. Life is remembered as a series of highlights, Bulma. He's the in-between."
"Let me get this straight. Zeno made a guy to make life suck in general,"Bulma tried to reason.
"No," Whis said, 'Pan, do you have it?"
"Have what?"
"The rose. Check your pocket," Whis suggested.
Pan stuffed her hand in her pink jacket pocket, the same coat she wore on that windy, grey day. Pan pulled the shriveled flower from her pocket.
"I forgot about it. I'm sorry," she whimpered.
Despair flooded her heart.
"Bring it here," Whis whispered.
Pan shuffled to her feet and obliged him.
"Now do you know why your grandpa wouldn't work?," Whis asked while he plucked the dried flower from her.
"Not really. Cause he don't get sad?"
"I'm afraid not. No one is immune to sadness or the negative feelings of life, but he didn't have it—the it Ramu talked about."
"Enough hair?"
"No," Whis laughed, "The lack of selfishness, the…love."
"Grandpa loves us!"
"Clam down," Whis grinned, "You're right. He does, but sadness is born from your love. Your heart mourned for the namekian although he hadn't died!"
"I don't get it."
"Well, I don't understand plenty of things, like your human fascination with death."
"So."
"So? To lose means you had, to mourn means you love, to be disappointed means you trusted, and to cry means you laughed. Darkness makes the light all that much brighter. Ramu is hope's shadow, to make a beacon for life. You can't have one without the other."
"What a wacko job to have."
"What do you know of work?," Whis chuckled, "It's a difficult job," Whis nodded and dropped the stem of the rose into Piccolo's wooden flask.
Bulma found Vegeta's hand and squeezed it.
"Look daddy!," Bulla gasped.
The withered flower bloomed maroon, fading into some pathetic Half-life, like a caterpillar festering in its cocoon.
"I didn't know crimson could be so…so filthy," Beerus said.
"Not filthy, but sickly. Very, very ill," Whis contemplated.