Concerto Seven: Rehearsing and Reversing
A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating this! Between Smutfest (my story Oracular Spectacular is up and finished, but more on that later) and Tumblr prompts, I've been a busy gal. But now here we are with the latest chapter! I usually save my Author's Notes for the end, but I wanted to touch base on something before we start. In response to a review (and I don't know if any of the other readers feel this way) but I am VERY much aware that the Bulma portrayed here is slightly OOC. There's a reason for that, in terms of character development, but no sense in spoiling that, now is there? ;) And please understand, to those of you who are not hip to OOC Bulma, this is an AU story, which means that characters may or may not portray their DBZ counterparts. So if that's not your jam, then this story may not be for you. But if you're willing to take this ride with me, then without further ado, I present Concerto Seven.
oooOooo
Even if his body was protesting being awake so early, Vegeta always relished being home in the theater, the comfort of rosin smells and the tuning of instruments welcoming him.
He was in a bad mood today, no thanks a certain blue haired woman who dared to follow him around like it was some insane scavenger hunt, and his fingers itched to leave his irritation at the podium. His nerves were jittery, and the only solace that he would find would be to bathe in the music.
The members of his orchestra were not up to their best, he discovered, as most of them were slumped down in their chairs, their mouths filled with yawns and unspoken complaints, and Vegeta growled as he watched them all from the hallway of the rehearsal room. Ingrates, the lot of them. Here he had spent his two weeks off slaving away over blank pieces of paper, scrambling through the chaos of his mind to write the perfect symphony for his upcoming spring musical, and they had the audacity to pile into the room and comment about how they couldn't wait until they could crawl back into their beds. It made his teeth grit with anger, and he swallowed before he approached them. His temperament reflected how well the entire rehearsal would go, and he would not hold himself responsible for his piece turning into a trainwreck.
"Goodmorning, Vegeta!"
He closed his eyes tightly and sighed at the voice approaching him from behind. It was cheerful; a complete contrast to the sleepy vibe of the persons ahead of him, and he really didn't know if it bothered him fully or not. Nonetheless, he turned around to greet the ever bubbly Goku, who was carrying his bass under his left arm with ease, his mouth stretched into an impossible smile.
He nodded to the friendly man, the most he could muster without being insulting, and turned back to the group. Goku walked to his side and took a deep breath, smiling at him in pleasantries. "Feels good to be back, doesn't it?"
Vegeta grunted, hoping the gesture would cease the conversation all together.
"Yeah, I know," Goku continued, unperturbed (as always) by Vegeta's lack of communication, "I thought I would just die if I didn't get back here. I mean, being with my family is awesome and all, but I feel so out of place without the bass in my hands. And Chi Chi doesn't want me playing during the day when Gohan is napping," Goku rubbed the back of his head and chuckled, making Vegeta growl in impatience. He hated the way Goku name dropped members of his family like Vegeta knew them personally, or even gave a shit for that matter. Like they were friends. The absurdity.
"So anyways, did you write something challenging for us?" Goku looked at him with a giddy expression on his face, his hands squeezed into fists of excitement. "The last concert really pushed me to my limits and it was amazing! So I really hope you outdid yourself this time."
"Are you always this chummy so early, Kakarot?" Vegeta glared at him from the side of his eye, his impatience with the conversation showing in the disapproving lines around his mouth.
Goku shrugged. "I guess, I mean it's hard to be blue when you've got a toddler running around. And for the last time, Vegeta, it's Goku. Say it with me…?" His mouth finally curved into a frown, his hand looping to urge Vegeta to repeat him. Vegeta stared at him with the expression of a brick, his stance on the matter firmly cemented. Goku sighed, repositioning his bass and taking steps forward. "There's just no changing your mind, is there? . Well, you can make it up to me by giving me a really hard solo. And I mean really hard. I've been practicing the violin and going up several octaves, so if you want you can write me something for that!"
Vegeta shook his head as he watched Goku enter the rehearsal room, striking conversation with Krillin and Yamcha. Vegeta would never admit it out loud, especially not to the man himself, but he respected Goku for always rising to the various challenges he put him through and passing with flying colors. But even through the respect, something was bothering him. And it came in the form of the scar faced man that Goku was speaking to. There was no way he could even look at Yamcha without thinking of that nosy woman who overstepped her boundaries. He snarled and finally entered the room, cutting daggers in Yamcha's direction.
"What's his problem?" Krillin whispered, covering his mouth with his hand. "I know it's early, but he's the one who set the time. The least he could do is set an example for us."
"I don't even know," Yamcha watched Vegeta carefully out of the corner of his eye, frowning as he realized he was the target of Vegeta's irate glare, "but he's giving me the creeps. Let's just hope he doesn't take it out on the rehearsal. I'll bail, if he does. I'm sure I can occupy my time with Bulma instead of being the victim of a grown man's tantrum."
"Oh, he's fine guys!" Goku smiled reassuringly, putting his palm in the air as a sign of peace, "I just had a good conversation with him. I think that he's got something big for us, and he's probably just nervous if we'll like it or not."
"I wish I could have that same naïve outlook as you, Goku," Krillin sighed, "because something tells me it's not as easy as that."
"What do you mean?" Goku blinked at him with innocence and ignorance. Krillin opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the loud tapping of Vegeta's baton against his black metal stand.
"Enough chit chatter!" His voice boomed in the high ceiling room, his face serious, his lips pressed tightly together. "We have business to attend to this morning. So get those lazy bones working and behave like proper members of my orchestra."
Groans settled over the musicians, several of them mumbling curses towards Vegeta under their breaths, and Krillin and Yamcha tossed Goku an 'I-told-you-so' look before grabbing their instruments and heading to their assigned chairs. Goku stood, picking up his bass and walking to his stand, leaning against the wood of his tall instrument.
Vegeta let his eyes scan the room over each pupil until he was satisfied. He cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at them that spoke a thousand words, and many of them recognized that look and straightened their posture, taking deep breaths to swallow their sharp tongues. Finally, he was pleased at what he saw. A group of men and women musicians who looked ready and capable to handle what he was going to pass out.
"Very well, then," he said, picking up his briefacase and removing several stacks of sheet music, "while many of you were probably filling your belly and lounging about during the vacation, I was working on hard on making our next musical a successful one."
"Umm, excuse me, Vegeta?" A short man in the second row of violins raised his stubby arm, trying to elongate it so that Vegeta could see him properly.
"What is it, Chiaotzu?" Vegeta sighed in irritation, hating to be interrupted.
"Well," Chiaotzu replied in that irritating squeaky voice of his that Vegeta hated, "I was talking with Tien over the break, and he said something about this concert being really important? Like Broadway important?"
Vegeta clenched his teeth and raked his eyes over to the cello section, landing them firmly in the face of the first chair cello player. Tien stalked his gaze away timidly, not being comfortable with Vegeta's stare.
"Well," he said, his tone dripping with venom, "if you two spent as much time practicing over the break as you did gossiping, then I'm sure you would have a lot more accomplished. Like Chiaotzu finally making first chair." He watched as the short man's eyes widened at the insult and he sulked back in his chair. Vegeta was sure that he had colorful words stored in his puffy red cheeks, although he didn't dare speak it. Something inside of him felt bad. Chiaotzu was a nice man who played to the best of his abilities, but Vegeta did not believe in coddling. His way was old fashioned, and he truly felt that no one got anywhere without a little tough criticism as motivation. "Does anyone else want to chit chat about things that may or may not happen in this musical?" The adults were silent, not wanting to be cut by his sharp words. "Good," Vegeta nodded, separating the sheets into different sections and passing them out to the instrument groups. "All you need to know is that this concert is just as important as any other concert, and you all need to treat is as such. As far as any broadway rumors go, you should be playing like you are always on stage. And you should rehearse like you're always auditioning. That's all I have to say on the matter."
The papers were passed out, and each player looked to their stand to go over their selections, raking their eyes over the whimsical notes that Vegeta carefully placed on the bars. Goku stretched his arms in the back and yelped gleefully, slamming his hand on the top of the bass. Vegeta watched him with a stern expression, waiting for the man to make eye contact with him.
"Oh, sorry, " Goku smiled, "but I see that you gave me a wicked solo! And all these note progressions and octaves in the middle of a triplet? I'm gonna have to work extra hard to complete this! I'm pretty excited, Vegeta!"
Vegeta nodded stiffly, although he was very pleased on the inside. It was good to see that someone would appreciate his hard work. The rest of the musicians' faces were buried into the sheets, their expressions tainted with confusion and hatred. He chuckled at how easily they were to give up. What did they think, that he was going to compose an elementary style piece? That he would let their bows dance to the melody of Canon in D? Absolutely not. He was Vegeta, not Beethoven, and he would challenge them until they made a name for themselves and for him.
He turned to his side and flipped on the bar to his metronome, a steady sound of clicking washing over the room. He raised his baton in the air to gather their attention. "I'm willing to bet that no one has touched their instruments at all during break, so let's begin with some scales. And I don't want to spend an hour on this, so make it easy on yourselves and get it right the first time." He watched their faces lock into his, and smirked at them, bringing his hand down smoothly. "And a-one, and a-two…"
oooOooo
After twelve grueling hours of rehearsal, the musicians sluggishly packed away their instruments, many of them relaxing in their seats and stretching their aching back muscles. Vegeta watched them all with his hands stuffed in his pockets, frowning. While rehearsal had gone well for the most part, a part of him worried that many of them wouldn't be able to handle his genius of a piece, and he had no time to spare in training the professionals. Aside from Goku and a few others, they were struggling. And Chiaotzu was telling the truth, this spring concert would be important because the head of the music department for Broadway would be coming to see them. But telling them that would get them too excited, and they would overthink their playing, and he didn't want that. He wanted them to play naturally so that they didn't fail, so that when the time came they would breathe the notes through their skin as if they had been born to play it. But now, he wasn't sure that they would even make it to the concert in one piece.
He growled, leaning against the wall in the hallway, a red curtain almost drowning him in the shadows. He needed to get to his office to concentrate. The more he stared at them, the more irritated that he was becoming. And that would ultimately get them nowhere.
"Yamcha!" A sugary voice called from the doorway to the rehearsal room, and Vegeta's ears tingled with familiarity, his fingers twitching against the fabric lining of his pocket. He extended his neck slightly to gaze over the tiled wall into the large room, and his eyes narrowed as they gazed over a woman entering through the door, carrying a drink and brown paper bag.
Bulma.
He scowled as he watched her enter, her expression as bright as her obnoxious blue hair, and he hid in the shadows so as not to be seen by her.
"Hey babe!" Yamcha replied, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. She giggled in a teenage way that sickened Vegeta, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene.
"I brought you dinner," she said, looking at him with complete adoration as she handed him a bag, "I figured you'd be starving and I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to just drop it off to you."
"You're so sweet, babe!" Yamcha smiled at her and grabbed the bag with an appreciative hunger, kissing her on the cheek again. Vegeta watched as he looked in the bag, his smile fading into something dismal. "Bulma…" he said softly, trying to contain his confusion, "what's this?"
"A meatball sub!" she said giddily, throwing her hands behind her back, "I picked one up from the deli across the street. Chi Chi told me that they were really good and saucy, and after having one myself, I knew you had to try it!" There was a proud reassurance under her words, and Vegeta called her a fool for not being aware to Yamcha's disapproval over her words.
"You…you ate one of these?" he asked her incredulously, looking at her as if she had three heads.
Her smile faltered as she studied his face, resting her hands on her hips. "Yeah, so what if I did? It was good and I don't regret it."
"Babe," Yamcha balled up the paper bag in his hands, sandwich and all, and tossed it into a garbage can nearby, "do you know how fattening these are? The sauce alone probably carries so much sugar! I'm surprised you're still able to walk around after eating that. And what's this?" He looked at her drink container, a pink shake of some sort and took a sip, grimacing. "Is this a strawberry milkshake?"
"You love strawberry milkshakes, Yamcha! What the hell is with that face?"
"Nothing," he sighed, gripping his nose with his thumb and index finger, "it's nothing. I just want to watch how much dairy and sugar I consume, and you should too, babe. Tell you what," he smiled and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her closer, "how's about I take you to this vegan spot down the street? I heard they make an amazing zucchini pasta that I've been dying to try. What do you say, my favorite girl?" He nuzzled up to her ear and whispered something, making Bulma blush and giggle, clearly forgetting his small tantrum at her token. Vegeta scoffed, disappointed. There was no way in absolute hell he would ever allow that to happen to him, nor would he do that to someone he called his girlfriend. He shook his head at the thought, reminding himself why he hadn't bothered to have one of those in the first place.
"Okay, okay!" She pulled away from him flirtatiously, blinking at him through her thick lashes, "we can go. I guess I'll try these soodles or doodles—"
"Zoodles."
"Yeah, those. I just, umm…" she looked around the room as the musicians spilled out of the door, appearing slightly uneasy. Something told Vegeta that he needed to bail, but her next words hit him in the face with a forceful slap, "Is Vegeta here?"
"Yeah," Yamcha cocked an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes, "he hasn't left yet. Why?"
"Oh, well," she bit her lips and Vegeta could tell she was lying, " I just have to talk to him about something really quick. About the property. Where can I find him?"
"Oh yeah, that's right," Yamcha smacked the middle of his forehead with his palm, calling himself an idiot by the signs of the gesture, "I forgot about this whole property business. He should be in his office, he's usually here long after we're gone from what I'm told," he pointed a stupid thumb in the direction of Vegeta's hiding spot, and Vegeta called him several obscenities as he tried to leave the area.
"Thanks, Yamcha," Bulma leaned in and pecked his lips lightly, pressing her nose to his, "it won't take long. I'll meet you outside?"
At that, Vegeta turned quickly, thinking he could make it through the private exit through his office before she had a chance to catch up to him.
But of course, he was wrong.
"Vegeta!" she called after him, and he scowled as soon as he heard his name spill from her lips with want. Goddamn her. He stopped in his tracks, his hands angrily stuffed in his pockets still, and swallowed roughly while clenching his teeth.
"What do you want?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.
"Well, I, uh," her feet made small clacking noises as she rounded him, and he took a deep breath as she appeared to his front, her face seemed determined for him to listen to whatever she had to say. He refused to look at her, however, choosing to instead stare straight ahead to a poster in front of his office door, a little girl playing the tuba with sunglasses looking back at him. "Listen, I just really wanted to say how sorry I am about yesterday. I was out of line, and I realize that now, but at the time I just wasn't thinking."
He remained silent, his eyes still pressed forward, the vein in his neck throbbing. She sighed, looking around the floor as if searching for something, before peering at him under her lashes, looking as innocent as a schoolgirl. "I know you're really upset with me, and I really don't blame you, but with Yamcha and the property, I really don't want there to be any bad blood between us. So whadya say?" She extended her arm, raising her head up as she confidently smiled at him, her fingers positioning to be intertwined. "Can we start over? Or at least just be on the same common ground?"
He looked at her hand with a stoic expression, his eyes slowly sliding up her arm to her face before finding his cold irises found home in her warm ones. She appeared a little unnerved by the intense stare, and he saw her swallow hard before regaining her composure. He clicked his teeth.
"You've got some nerve," he bit at her after what seemed like a life time of silence, "marching into my theater like this and giving me some unwanted apology. After you practically stalked me yesterday—"
"I didn't stalk you, " her brow lowered and she looked taken aback at the accusation, "Okay so maybe I did follow you around-"
"-without my consent,"
"Well, yeah, sure but-"
"And that is the literal definition of stalking."
She pouted, lowering her arm and staring at him with a gasoline fire swimming in her eyes. "Look, I'm trying to apologize here and be the bigger adult. I didn't mean to stalk you, nor did I have any intention on doing so, but either way it wasn't cool. And I'm sorry, okay? I was just curious about you, and it's not like talking to you gets me anywhere."
She looked at him for several tense seconds as if she expected him to apologize for that. He didn't owe her anything, and it really annoyed him that she was parading around here like he did. Finally, he clicked his teeth and repositioned his gaze elsewhere, anywhere but her dainty little face.
"I do not want nor need your weak apology," he said with venom, "something tells me that this won't be the last time you make an utter fool of yourself, so you'd best save those words for a better deserved occasion. You seem like a woman who is constantly making a fool of herself."
"Excuse me!?" She roared, looking around after she finished yelling to make sure that she wasn't heard. She looked back at him with her head low, her cheeks red as irritation danced on her skin, and breathed deeply to quiet herself. "Who the hell are you to say that kind of shit to me, huh? I'm getting really tired of you talking to me like that."
"Oh?" He laughed mockingly, looking at her again, "You're tired of me talking to you like that?"
"You're damn right I am!"
"Funny," he stroked his chiseled chin, his top lip curling over his teeth in amusement, "I thought you loved for a man to disrespect you with his words and actions. That ties in well to my whole 'you make a fool of yourself' sentiment."
"What the fuck are you talking about!?" She rose her arms in disbelief, and Vegeta snorted at how much she resembled a goal post.
He nodded his head toward the rehearsal room, his eyes locked squarely with hers. "That little display between you and that pathetic excuse of a man you call your partner back there. It was utterly embarrassing to watch. Even more so that you're still agreeing to dinner with him."
"You saw that?" She dropped her arms to her sides, a pink tint of humiliation playing over her skin tone, and she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper, "you were watching us from behind here?" She shook her head and crossed her arms, looking off to the side. "And you have the nerve to talk about me." Her fingers drummed her forearms as she pursed her lips.
"For your information," he leaned down so that she could hear every bite of his bark, "I didn't choose to have you display your train wreck of a relationship in front of me. You, on the other hand, followed me around like a homeless puppy begging me to adopt it. Our cases are very different."
"You incredible asshole!" She spat, her eyes burning into him again, "You have the audacity to talk about my relationship when you wander around town like some caped crusader? You're a rotten low life! Train wreck of a relationship? Yamcha and I are very happy!"
"Oh, are you? Because it's very entertaining to me that you choose to sit here and yell at me when you couldn't even reprimand him for being a selfish prick! Tell me, do you save the fire for the bedroom or is that just as one sided as that little shit show I just witnessed, hmm?"
"I…" She became flustered as she tried to manage a comeback, but the words became lodged in the back of her throat, her frustration painted clearly on her face. Her cheeks puffed out before she swallowed the stale air, and he watched her blink away rapidly as the corners of her eyes turned red. "You're fucking impossible," she muttered, but he knew that the truth to his words had really created a weight in her belly, "absolutely fucking impossible. And to think, I thought there was something good to you. What a waste of pure talent."
Something about her words stung, and he felt himself stooping to a level that he always knew was beneath him. Vegeta normally kept his words clipped, tight. He never raised his voice to argue against someone who he did not respect, and if he did, he always managed to win the debate with a few choice words that left his contender confused. But this woman was managing to creep into his skin in a way that was foreign, and he was spitting out his words before thinking them over carefully. Very un-Vegeta like.
"How ironic, that the woman with no spine has the nerve to talk about me? You can't even stand up to something as mundane as your boyfriend's rudeness, and yet you talk about my waste of talent? I'd guess…no…I'd bet with all the money in the world that the very cowardice you possess is the same reason why all those paintings are sitting there collecting dust."
She whipped her head around to him, her eyes widened with shock, and he used it as fuel to his fire as he continued. "I'm willing to bet that the reason you're hiding under your father's company is because you're too much of a coward to make a name for yourself. That's the reason that you never made it as a painter successfully."
Bulma's face crumpled at his harsh words, her mouth hung open. She didn't blink away the tears that crawled to the center of her eyes this time, instead choosing to let them fall and stain her porcelain cheeks. She gasped, her voice full of wetness and threatening to crack, and stepped slightly backwards.
"How…how dare you?" She whispered, her lids quivering as more tears raced down her face. A slight tinge of guilt pulled tightly in Vegeta's chest, but his pride in winning this disagreement would not let him falter, so instead he watched her with a solid expression and closed lips.
She looked at him for a moment longer before making a choking sound and darting around the corner. Vegeta heard the door to the outside slam with a fierce weight, causing the echo of the action to bounce off of the walls and slap him across the cheeks. He clicked his teeth, a small inkling of regret coating his tongue, and looked down to the his feet, studying the chocolate leather of his Oxfords. Shit, he spat in his mind, clenching his eyes tightly shut, why did I stoop to her childish level?
He ran a hand down his face and sighed, feeling the itch of needing to leave all of his problems at the piano. He walked into his office and shut the door behind him, pulling a seat up to his keyboard and letting his fingers convey the apology that he refused to say.
oooOooo
A/N
Ouch, pretty harsh, huh Getes?
Canon in D was my favorite to play when I played cello.
So that's it for this time folks! Oye the agony! Oye the pain! Oye the pleasure I soak in as I let this unstoppable duo experience ALL the feels!
As I was stating above, my finished piece for the 2017 February Smutfest, hosted by the Prince and the Heiress community is live! It's entitled Oracular Spectacular, and it's a sci fi piece that is COMPLETELY kid friendly!(I don't need to point out the sarcasm, do I?)
Thank you to everyone for the reviews. If you're still enjoying this story, please leave a good one! It really makes me smile in an ugly way. Also be on the lookout for all of my tumblr prompts to be combined in a story on and AO3. Working title will be 'Drabble Ball Z'.
I'll probably be working on this story for a while before I head on back to Swapped, just an fyi.
Talk to you soon friends!
