He stomped out to the cross-country course and leaned against a tree, staring out at the jumps he couldn't even see anymore. With a sudden snarl, he stepped back from the tree and punched it. Bulma jumped at the suddenness of the movement, but didn't try to stop him. He seemed to need the release, because he braced his back against the tree after the first punch and cursed softly as he looked at his scraped knuckles. He blinked in sudden surprise when he saw Bulma. "What the hell are you doing here?" he barked, scowling at her. "Why are you following me?"
Bulma blinked, caught off guard. "I'm not sure," she admitted finally. "I guess I was just worried about you."
"Why?" Vegeta snapped. "I'm a competitor, remember?"
"I don't know why I am out here or why I'm worried," Bulma said, crossing her arms. "You seemed upset; I guess I just like to help people."
"That's stupid," Vegeta grumped. "Why would you help someone who will beat you?"
"Its not just about winning," Bulma said, clenching her jaw. "It's about proving what you can do. And with Master out of competition, that is one less chance to prove that I have the better horse. And if you hurt your hand punching trees and have a diminished performance on your other horse, then again I have lost the opportunity to compete against you."
Vegeta stared at her for a long moment before saying, "So, this is all concern for your own prestige?"
"Mostly," Bulma admitted reluctantly.
"Mostly?" Vegeta asked. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet," Bulma said with a shrug. "I'm not sure."
"So you're out here, concerned about your prestige and something else for reasons unknown to you," Vegeta said, wearily rubbing his face with his hand. Laughter bubbled up in the back of his throat, and he bit it back, wondering why he found this exasperating conversation humorous.
"Sure, why not?" Bulma said with a smile. She watched him shift against the tree, then become still; while he didn't move, his hair and clothes blended into the shadows and only his pale face could be seen, hanging in the air like a ghost. After a moment, she asked, "Are you going to be all right?"
"Mostly," he answered.
"Mostly?" she parroted with a quick smile. "What does that mean?"
Vegeta looked at her, eyeing her quietly as he tried to decide how much to tell her. Finally, with a sigh, he admitted, "It means that Master and I won't have our perfect year."
Bulma frowned as she replied, "But you have next year. It's not like he's that old. What is he, ten, twelve?"
"He's ten," Vegeta muttered.
"Then you have a few more years with him," Bulma said, cocking her head to one side.
Vegeta stared at the ground before finally conceding with a sigh, "He was to be sold at the end of the season."
"Sold?" Bulma blinked in surprise. From what she remembered about the horse, he was just in the beginning of his prime. "Why?"
"So that he could get out of his sire's shadow," Vegeta said bleakly. "Warlander eclipses all of his offspring; my father won't even name one without the Warlander tag. And he breeds only to black mares so that all he gets is black foals. Warland Master looks like Warland Commander, and like Warland Prize and so on. And who is going to breed to Warland Master while Warlander is still alive? My father turns away more broodmares for Warlander in a month than Master would see in a year."
"I don't think I'm following," Bulma said, frowning slightly.
Vegeta sighs, looking irritably at Bulma. "Do you stand a stallion?"
"No yet," Bulma admitted. "I have one horse that I will put to stud when he makes his name, but he's not ready yet."
"If you are a small operation with one good stallion, you treat him as a prize. Warlander foals are rarely sold by anyone," Vegeta said. "So if you were looking for a breeding stallion, and saw that a performance-proven Warlander foal was available, wouldn't you be interested? And wouldn't you treasure him as an investment? I would prefer that Master to be a premier stallion at a smaller barn instead of just another Warlander foal at Saiyan Stables."
"And you wanted this year to be perfect since it was the last year he was yours," Bulma deduced.
"Yes," Vegeta admitted after a moment.
"I'm sorry about that," Bulma said softly, tucking her hands into her pockets. "I couldn't stand the idea of selling Flawless, so I don't know how I could deal with the idea of counting the days down, wanting each to be perfect." She cut back her next remark as it left her mouth, wondering why she felt such a strong urge to compliment Vegeta on how well he was handling the situation. She finally shrugged and said, "I'd probably be a complete nutjob by the time it was done."
"That would be difficult, since you can't become something you already are," Vegeta added in such a neutral tone that it took Bulma a second to realize she'd been slammed.
"Hey!" she yelped, putting her fists on her hips. "I am not a nut, you ass!"
Vegeta laughed, a strangely melancholy sound in the quiet night. "You are so easy to rile. You must be a hoot at dinner parties," he sneered.
With effort, Bulma gathered her temper, "So must you. After all, it's not often you see an ape trying to use silverware." Vegeta shot her a glowering glance and Bulma smirked as she said, "Now, who is easy to rile?"
"Whatever," Vegeta grumped as he pushed off the tree. "It's late and we both need sleep."
"Ok," Bulma said, surprised to find that she had enjoyed the conversation. She had never thought that the Saiyans could have anything smart to say, but Vegeta had a quick wit that she was hard-pressed to match. It was an interesting situation, talking to a guy who could banter with her. "Well, see you around tomorrow?"
"We'll be competitors, not chatty pals," Vegeta warned.
"I know," Bulma hissed irritability. "You didn't have to tell me that."
"Fine."
"Great," Bulma finished and stalked away, fuming impotently. They had been having a nice conversation, and he had to go and ruin it! What is his deal, anyway?, she huffed to herself as she went back to her truck to get her bags. From there, she went to the dorm room that she was to share with Chichi. Quietly, so as not to wake her friend, Bulma set her alarm for five and settled into the hard bed.
Morning came too quickly, and Bulma and Chichi both found themselves caught up in a mad dash to get ready. Chichi had to ride at eight, so Bulma braided Priss's mane and wrapped her tail in the barn while Chichi showered and dressed. When Chichi came down to the barn, she started working on Red, Bulma's first ride that day, while Bulma showered and dressed. To her disgust, Bulma found dirty straw in her hair from last night's adventure. As she pulled it out, she hoped that she could beat the pants off of Vegeta – it was the least she deserved after what she had put up with last night.
When she was dressed, Bulma critiqued herself in the mirror; the dressage event required her to look impeccable. She was dressed in the required white breeches with black, polished boots, a pale grey shirt with white caveat carefully pinned in place and her dark blue short jacket with tails. She had her blue hair tucked into a proper net, giving her a professional, mature look she didn't feel right now.
"This is it, girl," she muttered to her reflection. "Kick their asses." Her prep talk done, Bulma pulled off her jacket, tucked it over her arm inside out and snatched up the top hat that she hated but was required to wear. She gave the room one last check to see if she had forgotten anything, then she was racing back to the stable.
Chichi was just finishing Red's braids. "Crap," Bulma said, carefully laying her jacket and hat on the tack box, "I thought I'd get back in time to help you."
"That's ok," Chichi said with a smile. "He didn't give me much trouble." She fondly rubbed the gelding's face while Bulma inspected the horse's small, tight braids. "Are they alright?"
"You do such a good job," Bulma sighed to Chichi, "I wish that I could braid as well as you do."
"You have other gifts," Chichi said with a smile, reminded of her talk with Goku last night.
"You ready?" Bulma asked nervously as she moved to Priss' side. "Cause I'm about ready to throw up."
Chichi picked up her saddle cloth and moved to Priss' other side. "Don't throw up!" the black-haired woman exclaimed. "Cause then I will and I don't think that we'll make it through the day." Chichi laid the fleece saddle pad onto Priss' back and carefully adjusted it.
Bulma made sure the pad was properly laid on her side before picking up the saddle. "We'll make it," Bulma said, lifting the saddle into place on Priss' back.
As Bulma dropped the girth, Chichi reached under Priss and grabbed it, drawing it up under the mare's belly. "I know, but I still feel like I'm going to faint from the pressure," Chichi mused as she began the process of tightening the girth in steps. Priss had a bad habit of expanding her barrel so that the girth would hang loose.
Bulma stepped around to the tackroom again and got Priss' bridle. As Chichi worked on getting the girth set right, Bulma slid the bridle on the calm mare. She allowed herself to wonder if Red would continue to be calm this morning, or if there would be a fight to get him tacked up. Out of her peripheral vision, she realized that Chichi had stopped moving. She glanced up at her friend to see her staring up the aisle, watching that Saiyan, Goku, prepare one of the many black Saiyan horses. "Chichi?" she asked softly, putting a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "Are you ok?"
"Yes. No. Oh, I don't know!" Chichi said, pressing her hands to her face. "I like him, Bulma, I know I do. I've just met him, and I really like him."
"Does he like you?" Bulma asked as her heart constricted painfully.