Concerto Nine: Baby Steps?
oooOooo
Vegeta found his control again.
Standing at his conductor's podium, his eyes running across every musician that sat patiently and anxiously awaiting his cue made him feel like he was in charge. Alive. It gave him a sense of pride that he thought Bulma had shattered when she wrapped her arms around him. When was the last time he had been held like that? Been so vulnerable? The answer was sickening and he didn't wish to dwell in it anymore than he had been already. He shook off the internal questions that subdued him over their last meeting, now a week old, and brought his hand up to start the first rehearsal of the day. He took a deep breath and brought his hand down, letting the crisp strings come alive with music.
His arm moved in a synchronized rhythm as he multitasked in looking down at his sheets and his orchestra. After spending countless hours gorging in the notes he wrote, his mind was stuffed, and it sought rest in the images of Bulma.
For the rest of his days, whether he wanted to admit to it or not, he would never forget how her eyes had pulled him in and washed him clean, a metaphor for the lake of blue that she called her irises, and it settled in his stomach in a fury of nerves and relaxation. It baffled him how he had never noticed how he could have drowned in them before, and a foreign emotion tugged at him as he wondered if Yamcha appreciated it.
Yamcha.
He danced his gaze over to the cello section, locking eyes on a mop of black hair that was simultaneously studying his music sheets and looking at Vegeta for direction. He tried to hide the frown that wanted to creep on his face, but he was sure he was losing. What did Bulma see in someone like him, he wondered? His mind raced in scattered fury, just in time for Goku to run his bow across the strings of his bass furiously, while the other instruments lulled their melody by way of staccato, giving the voice of the orchestra temporarily to a low, bellowing, haunting sound that Goku was executing marvelously.
It made Vegeta smile in a rare fashion; hearing what he had worked so hard over being played exactly the way he wanted it to, precisely how he envisioned it in his mind. He saw himself running through a dark forest when he wrote it, escaping the trials of his anxieties and the ghosts of his past, his heart racing in an unforgivable beat, the deep chords providing a soundtrack to his torment. The only difference now, a noticeable one that made his breath hitch in his throat, was that when he turned around, the one chasing him was Bulma.
He swallowed roughly and ran his eyes over to Goku, ready to signal him for the end of his solo. The man's eyes were stuck on the page in front of him, not even bothering to look up at Vegeta, and yet he followed his every movement as if they had written the piece together. Vegeta studied the way his jaw clenched as his bow rubbed across the strings in his final notes, and he finally looked up at Vegeta. Goku smiled lightly, nodding to Vegeta that he was ready to give back the reigns. He wondered when he had so effortlessly given Goku the control, but oddly, he was comfortable with the ceasing of power. He nodded back, and turned his attention to the rest of the orchestra.
He flipped the page as the violins chimed happily with the sudden turn of mood. It was beautiful, the notes coming across as the dawn after a night of terrors, exactly what Vegeta had wanted when he wrote it. A dawn that shone the light on the hope of tomorrow, a new day with new promises that he sought after so desperately. And as he saw the movie playing along in his mind to the harmony, a blue haired woman waved at him, staring into the sun as the warmth tickled her face, the smile that stole her lips just as radiant as the orb in the sky. He found himself wanting to reach out and touch her, see if she was as ethereal as she looked from a distance. Instead, his hand came away with smoke as the sad tone of the cello took over, making his mini film grainy with afternoon rain.
Vegeta sighed and tried to shake off his somber mood, berating himself for not being able to get her out of his mind. Ever since his arms had known the comfort of her waist, all his brain could focus on was how she fit against his mold. It infuriated him, Goku accompanying his mood as he picked up his pace again on his beast of an instrument, and Vegeta cursed under his breath.
Vegeta's attention was demanded by the cello section, and he hesitantly looked over as the notes became more aware of their own power. He narrowed the heart of the section coming from Yamcha, or at least he thought, as a giant beast bared his fangs at him in his daydream. An ugly thing, Vegeta concluded, that wanted to scare him away from his territory. Originally, it was supposed to be a home that Vegeta was running to for shelter, but now it came in the form of her. Goddamnit, what had the witch spelled him with to make him see her in every shadow of his mind?
His saving grace came in the form of the viola, blending in smoothly with the cellos as it serenaded the beast, and Vegeta found that the notes were his own voice, unafraid and unmoving. The beast whimpered as the cello died out, the mighty viola reigning victorious. Suddenly, the entire symphony became one, with each instrument singing its own powerful song, combining into a force that sang the triumphs of the flame haired hero, ready to claim his prize. It was emotional, in a sense, and Vegeta found himself swimming with the tide of the strings, the finish goal of the shore just within his grasp.
It was almost over, and he could see her lying on the creamy sands, her body getting kissed by the soft lapping of the waves. The tempo increased along with anxious heartbeats, ready to grab her hand and be saved from the threatening water. So close, so infuriatingly close, and the music reflected his goal as they rallied together in a crescendo of finality. Just as his hand breezed against her flesh, his fist closed around in a tight circle, the final monotone note of D ringing in his ears. The vision was gone, along with the music as it completed. The haze of the film faded from his eyes, bringing his attention back to his orchestra. They all looked at him with widened eyes, satisfied smiles slowly beginning to spread across their faces. The room was eerily silent compared to just moments prior, when the walls were alive with the vibrant music. Vegeta swallowed, completely in awe of their performance.
"Wow," Goku broke through the silence, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, "that was intense! That was the first time we ran through the whole song without any issues!"
Vegeta blinked slowly as he realized that Goku was right. They had successfully played the entire piece for an hour, and Vegeta had not stopped once to correct them. Maybe they were finally getting it.
"Yeah!" Krillin said, setting his viola in his lap, "That was perfect! That bass solo, and the cellos…everything. I can appreciate this piece you wrote now, Vegeta."
"Me too," a violinist woman, who referred to herself by numbers instead of an actual name, smiled at Vegeta, making him raise an eyebrow. She was usually cold and unapproachable, which by all means was perfectly fine with him, but her sudden expression made him oddly curious. "I can honestly say this is the best piece of work you've written for us so far."
Vegeta looked down at his sheets, the page half blank from unwritten bars, and felt fulfilled at the compliments.
"I wonder what was on his mind?" He heard a cellist unsuccessfully whisper to Yamcha. "I felt like he was somewhere else the entire time. Do you think that had something to do with why we played so well?"
He looked at them just in time to see Yamcha shrug his shoulders and mouth something to the man next to him, proving to be better at being inconspicuous. Vegeta grit his teeth, a selfish part of him wanting to tell Yamcha exactly where his mind was.
His stomach dropped at the thought. Had he really been so preoccupied with Bulma that he successfully conducted such an intense rehearsal? His mind became dizzy as he searched for an answer, only to come up empty. He slammed his book shut, rattling the metal stand, and raked his eyes over the orchestra.
"Go home," he said in a low voice, making them look at each other quizzically, "practice is over for the day."
"But Vegeta," Goku piped up, scratching his head, "are you sure you don't want to go over the piece again? You can never be too thorough."
"I said," Vegeta repeated with finality, shoving his book in his briefcase and stepping down from the podium, "go home. There is no need to overexert yourselves. The play through was," he swallowed as he let the next word coat his tongue, "perfect."
He walked to the back to grab his coat as he heard their confused voices asking questions, the locking of their cases following shortly afterwards. The last thing Vegeta wanted was to go through those visuals again by way of rehearsal.
The only thing Vegeta wanted now was a drink.
oooOooo
The smoky black of the dim lit bar infiltrated his vision as he pushed past a small group standing close to the entrance. His eyes scanned the almost crowded bar, locking with the bartender. The muscular, long haired man nodded down the wooden countertop to the far end before turning back to wipe another glass clean. He sighed, his feet walking across the sticky floor and making his way to the exact destination.
He pulled up a stool next to the man who held his chin in his palm, looking at the wall as he played with an empty shot glass. He counted the small collection that circled around him. Seven. Seven shot glasses that were stained with a coffee brown liquid at the bottom, and he could practically smell the strong stench of whisky that spilled from his flesh. He motioned for the bartender and mouthed a request for beer, before dropping his head low enough to talk to the drunkard next to him.
"Vegeta," he said softly, letting his eyes rake across his frame, "what the hell are you doing?"
Vegeta turned around to face him, the white around his eyes slightly red, his lids narrowed. "Na-ppa," he slurred, grunting and sitting up straighter, "the hell are you doing?"
"Raditz called me," he pointed to the bartender as he approached with the beer, "said something about you drinking yourself into a stupor and threatening to beat him up when he refused to serve you anymore."
"Hmph," Vegeta snorted, rubbing his eyes, "fucking Radish. Talks too goddamned much. I should introduce his face to my fist for even bothering to call you." Vegeta ran his glossy gaze up to Raditz as he placed a beer in front of Nappa. Raditz pressed his palms down on the counter and lowered himself to Vegeta's position.
"Look, if you were any of these other dumbass patrons, I wouldn't give a shit if you pissed in the alleyway out back from being so drunk. Hell, if you were anyone else, my call would have probably been to the police. But since my brother thinks so highly of you, and talks about you like you're some sort of god, I wanted to give you a better treatment than that. And Nappa here," Raditz nodded towards the bald man, "is the better treatment."
"I appreciate it, Raditz," Nappa stole a look at Vegeta, "actually, we appreciate it. And as soon as he gets some water in him, I know he'll agree."
"Fuck you both," Vegeta swore, slamming his fist against the counter, "I'm not a child and I don't require being babysat."
Raditz sighed, shaking his head. "I'll bring him a couple of spring waters. On the house for you, Nappa. Just get this guy home safe and sound before he causes a ruckus. No need to soil his name."
Nappa nodded and watched as Raditz walked down to the fridge, and he looked at Vegeta again. "This isn't like you. I've known you for pretty much your entire life, and I don't recall getting a call like this. The only thing you get drunk off of is the music. So tell me," Nappa brought his bottle to his lips and gulped down a good chunk of his frothy beer, "what's the special occasion for?"
Vegeta growled, gripping his head as he tried to settle his shaky vision. "Nothing."
"Bullshit," Nappa spat, wiping his mustache free of foam, "I didn't leave my wife in the middle of dinner for nothing. We're already worried sick about you, Vegeta. Her especially."
"Tch," Vegeta looked away, his face growing hot, "tell her don't bother."
"Oh, sure, I'll get right on that. Hey honey, your only sister's oldest kid wants you to forget about him. How's that sound? Should I tell her over a glass of wine?"
"You're grating my fucking nerves, Nappa," Vegeta clenched his teeth, finding words becoming a chore to say, "she should know me well enough by now to know I don't want her fussing over me."
"Yeah she knows you all right," he said, chugging more of his beer as Raditz placed bottles of cold water in front of them, "she told me about how you were acting in front of the shop last week. She was almost in tears with how cold you were to her, and I had to convince her for hours not to take it personally. She's family, Vegeta, we're family. And the only ones you go-"
"I don't need you to remind me," Vegeta bit before sighing, squeezing his fists together tightly. "I know that, Nappa. I have enough ghosts haunting me to never forget."
"Then act like it," Nappa burned an intense glare to the side of Vegeta's face, "and tell me what's going on? It's been five years since they've been gone, Vegeta, and you've been pretty quiet about it. It bothers me how you hold it all internally like that. I know the odds are stacked against us, but the least you could do is talk about it. Not drink yourself silly before the sun has even gone down."
"What's there to talk about!?" Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut, trying to still his beating heart. "They're dead Nappa, because of my shit stain of a father, and nothing I do or say can change that." He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Not even this."
Nappa looked at it suspiciously before grabbing it, unfolding it slowly. His eyes skated over the print, and he shut his lids as he accepted the message. He ran his fingers down his mustache, running his tongue over his teeth. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit." He folded the paper back up and handed it to Vegeta, motioning for another drink. "I guess I can see why you're drinking like this."
Not the only reason, Vegeta wanted to say, choosing instead to swallow the words down with his freshly opened water.
"This is major shit, Vegeta," Nappa rubbed his palm over his smooth head, "goddamn your father for putting you all through this shit!" He sighed, swallowing the rest of his beer. "What are you going to do?"
"What can I do, Nappa?" Vegeta looked at him with irritation as he placed his water bottle back down on the counter, "Imagine what happens if I don't get the money. Then what? They come after you? After Natsubi? It has to end with me. I don't want any more blood on the hands of this family."
"I get that, Vegeta, but this isn't some run of the mill loan shark calling to harass you. This is some pretty heavy shit, and I would think twice before you just fork over all that cash! What happens if they want more? Then what?"
Vegeta chugged down the rest of his water bottle and grabbed another, feeling the refreshment of the liquid pool in his belly. "I will pay what is on that paper, Nappa, and not a penny more. I don't know how, but I will pay it. And I will deal with anything else that happens afterwards."
Nappa watched Vegeta as he brought his new bottle of beer to his lips. He chuckled, dropping his head and shaking it. "You sound just like her, you know?" He brought the beer up to his lips, swallowing a little bit before continuing, "That statement has your mother written all over it."
Vegeta smirked at the compliment, drinking some of his water. "I suppose. My personality is the only thing I have left of her."
"Not true," Nappa said sternly, "you have so much more that is Yasai if you look hard enough. Now that was a good woman, and don't tell Natsubi, but if I had met your mother first," he whistled, throwing a heavy hand on Vegeta's shoulder, "let's just say you would be calling me dad."
"Don't put those thoughts in my head, dip shit," Vegeta brushed the hand from him, "I'm sure you would have made a bigger mess of things than my own father ever did."
Nappa shrugged. "Nah, if you were my son, you'd be at the top of this world right now, and not just some prodigy from Metro City. I'd have made sure that you were a household name, with a family and a pretty little wife to cook you nice meals every night. Instead, you're a brooding son of a bitch who scares all the ladies away." Nappa laughed as he brought the bottle to his lips again. "The last woman who was drooling over you came in the shop the same day as you. Now she was a looker. I thought to myself, 'Vegeta fucked that up?' She was pretty adamant about whatever you two had."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Vegeta knew he was drunk, but he wasn't that shitfaced to not remember having a fling with a woman in the recent years.
"I didn't catch her name, some young lady with blue hair. And fuck, she just took my breath away with one look. Had me flirting around like some love struck teenager. It's a good thing Natsubi came after you did. That red hair of hers would have been flying all over the place as she yelled at me."
Vegeta caught his breath as he listened to Nappa, blinking his eyes as he tried to wrap his head around. Of course he was talking about Bulma. That was the same day she had followed him around, of course, but what really bothered Vegeta was how he felt anger in listening to Nappa talk about her like that.
"So what happened with that anyways? Not to completely go off subject, but I gotta know how you blew that."
Vegeta's brows knitted together as he opened his mouth to say something, but the ringing of his phone interrupted him. He opened it without bothering to check, bringing it up to his ear.
"Yes?"
"Ah, Vegeta my boy. This is Dr. Briefs, you know, the owner of the lot you bought?"
"Yes, I know who you are," he said with annoyance, rubbing the corner of his eye.
"Good, good. So listen, I have some contractors that want to put some flooring in to replace the wood my daughter dirtied with her paint. I have some samples on me that they want you to sign off on so they can get started in the morning. I know you're a busy man, but is it possible that you could meet me there in about an hour? I promise this won't take long."
Vegeta banged his fist against his forehead, cursing under his breath. He really didn't feel like dealing with any sort of business, especially in his current predicament. But then again, maybe something as mundane as picking out floor samples would prove beneficial to his clouded mind.
"That will suffice," he breathed into the phone, gulping down the last of his water.
"Excellent! I think you'll like what I have for you, it seems fitting to a musician's taste. I'll see you soon, my boy!"
Vegeta ended the call before Dr. Briefs could properly say goodbye. He stood up and tossed some money on the counter, grabbing his coat. Nappa eyed him curiously.
"Where the hell are you going?"
"Property business," he replied simply, feeling a yawn threaten to rise out of him.
"Oh, I don't think so!" Nappa reached out and grabbed Vegeta's arm. "I'll be damned if I let you drink and drive anywhere."
Vegeta yanked his arm back, glaring down at him. "I'm walking you shit head," he said, buttoning his long, black coat, "the property isn't too far from here."
Nappa glared at him in return, ultimately releasing his arm. "I swear to god, Vegeta, if I hear that you went cruising around tonight, I'll return you to Yasai sooner than she'd like."
Vegeta snarled at him, turning to walk out of the bar. "What an ill-fitting threat, asshole. Talk to me like that again and I'll accept it as a challenge."
And with that, he walked out of the bar and out into the busy streets, the orange haze of the setting sun washing over him.
oooOooo
The door to the lot was unlocked, and Vegeta made his way inside with no complaints.
He was about twenty minutes early, and he was grateful to Dr. Briefs for being careless so that he didn't have to stand out in the grueling cold. The inside of the place warmed him, prompting him to shrug off his coat and place it on a table near the entrance.
Bulma had obviously been cleaning; the walls shone with a sort of pristine white that had not greeted him the last time he was here, and most of the dust had been removed. Her paintings stayed behind, still littering the walls, a showcase of her promise that he could have them. He walked over to the canvases, properly studying them carefully. He lifted the first one so that he could see it better, an image of a woman floating in water staring back at him. The woman's long, brown hair fit against her slender body in deep waves, and Vegeta admired the usage of the color scheme that Bulma intricately picked out. The tendrils covered her most private of parts, yellows and whites being used to show the reflection of the sun on the surface of the pale blue water. Vegeta could feel what Bulma was thinking when she painted this, and that is what made her a genius in his mind. She got him to feel through her paintings the same way he was able to through his music.
He sat it down, imagining what she titled the unnamed piece, maybe Freedom or something like that, and moved to the next one. This painting carried a different tone, one more haunting, showing an elderly woman gazing at herself in a mirror. Her skin was wrinkled and worn, and from the angle drawn, her face was contorted into a sad frown. Her counterpart, however, was vivacious. In the mirror's reflection, the woman's head was tilted, smiling smugly at the older woman as she paraded her youth and beauty in front of her. Her unscathed hands were clutched around an emerald stone necklace, just as the older version was doing. The background was shadowed in black so that the attention was solely on the two women. Vegeta turned the painting around, reading the title of Deadly Youth scratched into the back. Fitting, he admired, and sat it back down.
His mind was still rattled from the effects of his drinking, and he found himself paying compliments to Bulma that he had never said aloud. It made him even more furious that she wouldn't take charge of her own life, and he wondered what would be the catalyst in finally making her able to do so. Art as glorious as hers did not deserve to wither away like a rose in the shade of winter.
The door to the lot opened, and Vegeta walked to greet Dr. Briefs, smoothing down his shirt. He should have asked Raditz for another water, as each step still seemed slightly wobbly.
"Dad?"
Vegeta stopped in his tracks at her voice, knocking on the door to his eardrum uninvitingly. Since their incident, he hadn't seen her, and was sure she was avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding her. But with only one entrance to leave between them, it seemed like fate had other plans for the duo.
Her footsteps clicked across the wood, and Vegeta braced himself for her as she rounded the corner.
What he didn't brace himself for, however, was the sight of her.
She was dressed extremely different than what he was used to. A black hourglass dress hugged her tightly, the neckline dipped low and falling off of her elegant shoulders. The bottom of the dress came to just above her knee, wrapping tightly against her frame and giving him a look of her shapely legs that ended in a pair of red high heels. Her hair was curled, with the right side pinned back behind her ear. She looked as if she stepped out of a classic Hollywood movie, and Vegeta swallowed as he drank her in.
Nappa had put the money on the head in this instance. She was stunning.
"Oh!" She said in surprise, grabbing her chest, "I didn't know you were here. I-I was looking for my dad."
She was nervous, he could tell by her stuttered words and her shaky demeanor. He nodded, betraying his own anxieties. "I believe he is on the way."
"Oh. Okay." She pressed her eyes down to the floor, closing her painted pink lips tightly as the silence slept between them. Vegeta grunted and turned away from her, not wanting to drown himself in awkwardness. Besides, he had seen enough of her in the corners of his mind, and he didn't need her taunting him physically too, especially not looking like that.
"Vegeta," she spoke, not surprising him in the least bit, "about last week…"
"Don't," he cut her off, feeling his head go light as he tried to claw his way back to sobriety, "There's no need to speak on it."
"Right," Bulma said, although he heard her walking towards him, her heels taunting him with every click of her step, "except I think we should."
She rounded him so that she was in front of him, and he tried to will himself to not look at her. But the spell of her mixed with the seven shot glasses he inhaled won over his sense of reason as he slowly raked his eyes up to hers.
"I don't want it to be like this all the time, Vegeta."
He stared into her pleading eyes, and he found himself searching for her just as he did in his daydream. "Be like what?" he replied in a tone lower than intended.
"I don't know, awkward? Or where we're always arguing with each other? It doesn't have to be like that, does it?"
Vegeta sighed, tearing his gaze away from her hypnotic stare just long enough to become preoccupied with the walls. He really didn't know how to answer her. It wasn't as if he intended to always get a rise out of her, or her out of him, it was just his nature. It was how he acted with everyone that tried to get a little too close to him.
But she was the first person to make him second guess in doing it. And solely to her.
She nodded as she looked down to her feet, turning around to walk over to the window. She folded her arms and stared out into the sun, the purplish tint of the sky beginning to cloud the room and turning on the automatic sky lights. He heard her breathe deeply and he watched her from behind.
"It's funny," she said softly, "I was on my way to dinner with Yamcha and his parents, and I remembered the silliest thing. It was about when I was in high school, and how one of my art teachers gave me an F on an assignment because they told me I wasn't risky enough. I'm sure that doesn't surprise you. I came home crying to my dad about it, and he was pissed. But instead he fixed his face and told me to put on some old clothes. Then he took us out back and had me paint my portrait in mud. Said that would show her how risky I was, indeed."
She giggled and turned back to him, locking her eye contact with him. "The next thing I knew I was driving over here to tell him that."
"Why?" Vegeta asked before he could stop himself, "Why drive out of the way to say something in person when you have a cell phone?"
"I don't know," she shrugged her shoulders, "I just felt like I had to come here."
"And here you are."
She nodded, a ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. "And here I am."
It bothered him that she told him that story, and a part of him wanted to tease her by saying that he wasn't the only one who noticed how complacent she was in her box of ease, but the words refused to spill from his lips. She tore her stare away to look at her paintings.
"I guess I wanted to prove something to myself? By driving half an hour away from dinner with my boyfriend and his parents to come here and talk to my dad would show that I was risky. It's stupid, isn't it? I just couldn't get that story out of my head and I had to tell it."
"So you're telling me instead?" Vegeta was positive that it was the whisky, and certainly nothing more, that was making him entertain her for so long. There was no way in his sober mind, he told himself, that he would carry on this conversation past its prime. Certainly not.
"Well, you're here aren't you?" She blew a breath out of her mouth in the form of a chuckle and shook her head, her blue curls dancing across her cheeks. "I'll just be honest here, Vegeta. What you said really rattled me. I know it was in the heat of the moment, and I know you apologized, but a part of me can't shake off what you said."
Vegeta took a deep breath, grunting slightly. He thought they were over this. He really didn't want to spend more time marinating on this any longer. "Bulma-"
"No," she brought a hand up to stop him and smiled, "I'm not saying that to open a can of worms. I'm saying it because…" she looked at him shyly, batting her lashes nervously, "…because I think I needed to hear it."
She turned around to her paintings and began to rummage through them, stopping as she reached the back. She picked one up and looked at it, frowning at whatever was staring back at her. "Do you remember when you first came here and I told you I had a painting I was working on that you may want to see?"
He nodded, his eyebrow perched in curiosity.
"Well, after you left, I went back to it. It was the first thing I painted in years, and I wanted it to be perfect. And then some sad part of me realized that I could never reciprocate the wonder I witnessed the night I saw you conduct the concert. So I stopped working on it all together."
"Hmph," Vegeta chided, "Now that is the silliest thing I heard you say."
Bulma glared at him, pursing her lips. "Stop that. Let me finish what I was going to say before you start judging."
Vegeta shoved his hand in his pockets but let her continue.
"After I saw you last time, I became….inspired."
Vegeta felt his cheeks heat up as he recalled the intimacy of their embrace, and he tried to stop it. He was given some solace as he watched her face absorb the color of cherries, and she dipped her chin to her chest and turned the painting around, closing her eyes tightly.
Vegeta was awestruck at the piece in front of him, and he felt the space around him freeze in time, the only things existing in his universe being him, her, and the beauty that was captured on the canvas.
The painting depicted the night of the concert, the heads of the audience painted with different shades of black. Fuchsias, lime greens and pale yellows were splattered around the stage where the members of his orchestra sat, taking on the form of lights. Like the music from his dream, he remembered, and he could hear the gentle melody serenading his memory. The faces of the orchestra were all drowning in the shadows of oil paint, only the center of the painting demanding the audience's attention. There was no denying that the sharp flame hairstyle was Vegeta, but what struck him was the manner in which she portrayed him. He looked happy; the warm colors in his face adding to the allure of a smile that stretched across his lips, his arms raising in mid conduct.
The yellow light that shone directly over him made him out to be some sort of god and it made it impossible to take his eyes off of himself. The painting depicted everything he wanted his concerts to be, alive in color, captivatingly beautiful, and she had managed to capture it with a brush and oil paints.
He brought the painting down and ran his eyes slowly up her frame until they reached her face. She was anxiously waiting his response, her chest slowly moving up and down. Something about her eyes invited him to approach, and he graciously accepted the offer.
"Is this," he said in a whisper, his eyes narrowing, "how you see me?"
He watched her swallow thickly, and he could practically taste the hesitation as it fell on the shadows on her face. "It's what I thought of you that night. It's the reason I became interested."
"Is that so?" The damned whisky was working against him again. It was making him act without thinking, move without his consent. Vegeta felt like he was on an astral plane, hovering in the wonderment of the stars as he watched them down below. Her puzzled face, his slow steps, the space between them decreasing.
She nodded, linking her eyes directly to his. "What do you think of it?" She whispered.
Vegeta was inching closer, surprised that she was not moving away from him. Her eyes were screaming at him, and he found himself desperately wanting to remedy her peril. "I think exactly what I told you before," he was in front of her face now, looking down at her as she watched him with her lips slightly parted, "you're too talented to not showcase it to the world. It bothers me, to see such a gift lying dormant."
"I wanted to," she confessed, "I really did. But Yamcha said—"
"Fuck Yamcha," he said with venom, and in which way he meant it he wasn't entirely sure, "if he isn't pushing you, what is he good for?"
She opened her lips to say something but fell short. Vegeta watched the entire scene unfold in the multi window of third and first person, wanting to stop his hand it reached out to touch her face. Time really slowed down for him then, her face turning with widened eyes as she looked at his hand that found home in the warmth of her cheek. Her eyes gravitated upwards to his, saying his name before her lips did.
"Vegeta…."
Vegeta was unable to ignore the temptation that her face and the whisky brought anymore, leaning in closer. "What is he good for?" he repeated, before finally crushing his lips against hers.
Her lips were softer than he would have ever anticipated, and something about them made him come alive. It was as if he was living in a world of blacks and whites, and she had been the missing color. She kissed him back, sighing into his mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her curvy body against him. He coiled his arms around her waist like a snake, noting how perfect her mold felt in his. Their kiss was experimental at best, slow and careful, both of them taking the time to even wonder if this was happening, why it was happening, and pleading for it to not stop.
Vegeta screamed at himself to stop, but her mouth was so sweet, and the kiss was too intoxicating, even more so than the whisky that made his body tingle.
"Ahem!"
Vegeta was brought forcefully back into his body as time resumed its relentless ticks, as they tore away from each other, whipping their heads around to the entrance. Dr. Briefs stood there, smirking at them, small squares of flooring hanging from his hands.
"Dad!" Bulma gasped, moving from in front of Vegeta and trying to smooth out her dress.
"Hello there, Bulma. I didn't expect you to be here. Had I known, I suppose I could have just asked you to show Vegeta the samples."
"I, uh, was on my way to dinner, Dad," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I only came by to…uh…"
"No need to explain, dear," he sat the bags on a shelf and stuffed his hands in his pockets, "but since you're here, maybe you could help Vegeta pick out some flooring. If you're not too busy that is," he grinned at them both.
"D-dad!" Bulma hid her face behind her hands, flushed in embarrassment, "I don't think—"
"Actually," Vegeta spoke up, feeling more sober than ever, "You two can pick out the tile. I don't care which you choose, so long as it matches the walls." He walked past Dr. Briefs, leaving behind a startled Bulma, and grabbed his coat. "I need to get some sleep. It's been a long day."
"Vegeta," Bulma called behind him.
"I'm sure I'll see you around," he said, turning to look at her briefly. Her lipstick was smeared, but she was still smoldering, and he had to leave to recoup his thoughts. He had just kissed another man's girlfriend, and even if he thought the man to be superior, it still made him question his morals.
He turned back around and headed out of the door, throwing his coat over his shoulders and vowing never to drink whisky again.
oooOooo
A/N:
Oh boy. Finally made some ground here!
Okay so first of all a MILLION thank yous to everyone for their lovely reviews! You guys are the best!
I hope you all enjoyed this meaty chapter I gave. If you're still confused about Vegeta's backstory (although I'm more than positive that I'll get a review hitting what's going on here on the head) everything will be explained in due time.
It's only up from here guys! Or not…but you gotta tune in to see what happens next.
Next chapter will probably be live sometime next week.
If you enjoyed, please R&R! Thank you friendos!
