Singing beguilingly, "Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name," Bulma softly padded into the solarium with arms extended above her head. Stretching, she felt the heat of the rising sun begin its magic on her skin. She smiled, rubbing her bare stomach and quickly towing her hair up into a messy ponytail. Her routine was not unlike her "superhero" friends, every week day morning consisted of a three mile jog in darkness and by dawn moderate yoga and light weight training, after which she would promptly fall back into bed for a cat nap.

Today she did not feel like slipping into a temporary slumber and decided to sunbathe. So a tan session was not so much the goal as the regenerative powers of solar rays, yeah, she almost believed that. It was too cool in the early morning air to lie outside therefore she remained in the glass cage of the solarium. Interesting to consider such an enjoyable room as a cage, maybe she did have unsettled issues of sorts, by now the damages were irreparable anyway. Laughing at her own internal monologue of pessimism and dry humor, Bulma spread her body out next to the cherry blossoms her mother coddled.

"My eyes have seen you, stand in the door, meet inside, show me some more," abruptly halting her tune, "damn him."

Tightening her lips she did not regret his absence upon her arrival home the other night. And if by chance that disdain had shown in his face to taunt her relentlessly, she would have without exaggeration or remorse permanently emasculated the alien. How did she even know for sure if he wasn't castrated? Mocking herself for the absurdity of her thoughts, she rolled onto her stomach and sitting up widened her legs into the splits. Vain of her flexibility, she laid on her belly with her head on her arms and her legs closing somewhat behind her. Staying in that position, Bulma entered a daze inconsiderate of any possible reproach for her stance or attire.

A figure discreetly moved over the resting female with their shadow cast as a sheet throw over her legs. The person titled their head watching the movement of the females breathing. Shaking their head at her disposition, the intruder decided the peril of the resting lioness could not be too great at the moment. Bulma hardly noticed the change in her environment until the individual bent down and prodded her shoulder with a pink manicured nail. Bunny Briefs quickly retracted her finger remembering the temper Bulma had had yesterday after her evening out, as if disappointed expecting something like a forgotten birthday gift.

"Honey, I was wondering if you wanted a nice Shirley Temple," Bulma pushed herself up into a sitting position eyes still downcast, "with vodka of course!"

Bulma was feeling a rush from the endorphins released by the therapeutic rays and smiled sweetly, "Mom, it's not even eight yet."

Bunny's brow furrowed, "Oh," thoughtfully, "well how about a Bloody Mary instead?"

Bulma sucked in air laughing at her mother's antics, "Well if you insist, I will tend your beverage myself." Bulma retreated to the marble tiled sitting room and her mother wound a convenient wrap around her exposed flesh. Bulma listened intently as Bunny recounted her day yesterday taking immense effort to describe in intricate detail the catastrophe with her Brazilian Bikini Waxer. "Mom, really I don't think you need to worry about one gray hair."

Mr. Briefs soon entered and greeted his two favorite girls, "Morning ladies," the cat on his shoulder mewed. Pecking Bulma on the cheek, he most indiscreetly smacked Bunny on her ass eliciting a high-pitched squeal. Bunny hid her face behind on hand as she readied the whiskey for Mr. Briefs' coffee. Exhaling through his nostrils the smoke from the cigarette hanging from his mouth he inquired, "What will you wonderful ladies be doing today?"

Before the women could answer a brooding Saiyan clomped into the room with a metaphorical rain cloud over his head. Bunny giggled uncontrollably while Mr. Briefs' shoulders noticeably fell. Bulma crossed her arms and her mother scurried to tidy up the bar, calling the maids to make food available. No one actually spoke to one another until Vegeta stopped at the couch and addressed the room.

"Are all human families so dysfunctional?" Mr. Briefs flinched at the sharp tone but Bunny was ready to prattle on incessantly about how happy she was to have such a wonderful family, recalling the wonderful memories of an adventurous Bulma and how wonderful an addition Vegeta was to the wonderful Briefs family. Raising his hand in motion to silence, "You sicken me with your assumptions."

Bulma no longer held her tongue, "Do not dismiss my mother so rudely, she is the only one here whom actually cares about your well-being."

Vegeta strode in front of her almost touching noses. Bunny again tried to hide her giggles behind her hand while Mr. Briefs hoped to intervene, "Vegeta, I believe breakfast is prepared." With eyes opened wide, he watched the electricity in the air surrounding them and grasped Bunny's elbow to exit, disregarded.

"Are you intentionally ungrateful," her words low and deliberate, "or did you lose half your sense when Frieza whipped your ass?"

Sneering, he watched her smug expression, "Is it that you wear so little fabric to distract people from your stench or out-whore your mother?"

Taken aback, her mouth agape and eyes blinking in astonishment, "You haughty, egotistical, monomaniacal pig. Don't ever judge or even think that you could—," his hand tugged on her wrap, pulling the fabric free and to the floor. "What the hell?"

"You are nothing but a pathetic, frivolous, narcissistic bitch." Shaking her head in confusion she lowered her head to look between her body and his. "Insufferable," the fabric in his hand, she could see him rubbing the satin between his fingers, slowly, "Excruciating."

Taking in a quick breath her eyes darted to his, "Damn you."

Moments passed as hours and her chest heaved uncontrollably, he smirked countering, "We are both damned."

He was gone along with his memento.

Tearing her attention from the schematics she had been attempting to decipher, she realized the effort was not in their level of encoding but rather in the preoccupation of her thoughts. Brooding, she removed her reading glasses and inserted a cigarette between her lips. Peering at her home office she turned towards the window behind her and passed the frame toward the gravity room. The chamber experienced fleeting light and she simpered raising a lighter to her fag. Drawing in oxygen deeply, she turned on her speakers.

A jaunty guitar plucked playfully and Morrison's god-like voice sighed into the air, throaty and sexy as all of Bulma's dreams could have prayed for…

"Well, she's fashionably lean, And she's fashionably late, She'll never rank a scene, She'll never break date; But she's no drag, just watch the way she walks... She's a twentieth century fox, She's twentieth century fox; No tears, No fears, No ruined years, No clocks. She's a twentieth century fox, She's the queen of cool, And she is the lady who waits, Since her mind left school, It never hesitate; She won't waste time on elementary talk. She is a twentieth century fox, She is a twentieth century fox... Got the world locked up Inside the plastic box…"

Waiting for the chorus, Bulma realized she was this gorgeous but wholly superficial girl. Her body was her shrine and her desires were her motivation and curse. Vibra's Id was hardly ruling over her actions as Bulma's did her behavior. For Dende's sake, Vegeta was right! She was damned to her own life of loneliness and insatiable thirst for self-fulfillment. The best things in her life were sex, money, and fighting. And in spite of her initial revulsion, she knew that this physical gratification was not a mere habit but a lifestyle; her secular had become her spiritual. Feeling confident with her introspection, she exhibited a crooked smile and laughed to herself.

"Dende be damned."

Torn from her insightful soul-searching, the phone rang, "Bueno?"

Vibra announced her existence on the other line and continued to recant the male species, "Fucker screwed me and then some other whore waltzed into the room with a bottle of KY and two-way dildo!"

"Whoa! Thank you for the imagery after two weeks of not hearing from you but what the hell is this conversation leading to?"

Vibra heard Bulma's amusement and smiled despite her trials, "Let's get shit-faced."

Meeting outside the club Vibra apologized for her absence; she had been on a shoot across the ocean and was swept away by a native novelist whom in conclusion was no novelist but a womanizer and pizza delivery man. Chucking and taking hands they skipped up to the entrance. Bulma flashed her teeth at the broad shouldered bouncer. He immediately let them in, not without Vibra giving him a peck on the cheek and grope of the groin. Making their way to the bar they began their stretch of booze, boys, and a little bunk.

Hysterically guffawing, the two women assisted each other in finding the keyhole in Bulma's front door. Thoughtless of the possibly sleeping Saiyan, they made their way noisily to the living room kicking off their shoes at the door with resounding clunks. Vibra hooted Bulma's twirl in the middle of the carpeted entertainment room and they started up a movie and the radio. Thank God Bulma's parents had decided to downsize, leaving her the house and their detached living quarters, when she was thirteen.

Sniffling, "Bulma, I cannot believe you punched that guy!"

She shook her finger, "He was all over you and I was wired. I love you, no worries."

Vibra almost started cackling, holding her stomach and bending in half, "I think you broke his nose, I love you too!"

"Woman!"

The bellowing roar quieted the intoxicated females. Vibra gasped at the awoken roommate clutching a sheet around his hips. Bulma was not shell shocked as an under-the-influence Vibra. Scoffing, Bulma proceeded to stomp from the room into the hallway to address Vegeta in private. Vibra practically fell off the couch extending her head to witness the scene.

Now she whispers, "What?"

"If you insist on keeping me up, put your mouth to better use!" Eyes half-lidded, Bulma placed her hand on his clasping the sheet. "Woman, why are you touching me?"

Bulma blinked, sniffing, "I thought you said…"

"That if you insist on keeping me up, put your energy into making more bots!"

Pouting with tender lips, she moved onto his body her hand running trails on his fist, "No need to shout your highness, I just thought you might utilize one of my many talents?"

Sneering he spit the words out with distaste, "Do not touch me, you are incompetent."

"That rhymes with impotent!"

Bulma looked over Vegeta's shoulder and animatedly demonstrated a mime scene where if Vibra spoke out of turn again Vegeta would slit her throat. Vibra rushed into the kitchen and out of harm's way as Vegeta became more irritated with each passing second. His eyes closed in annoyance, muscles tensing with the endeavor not to strike her or the interloper. He took in some refreshing air and opened his eyes to find Bulma standing with slanted hips, one arm over her stomach and the other candidly tugging at her hair. The curls had become limp and flowed lusciously below her shoulders. The straps from her dress warped, one hanging to the side and exposing slightly more cleavage than was appropriate.

He swallowed, bottom lip jutting out as he chewed the inner walls of his mouth, "You are incompetent."

With that said, he marched out of the room with an air of sanctimoniousness. Bulma called to her friend to make herself at home as she chased after Vegeta into his room, adjacent to her own. Vegeta came to a halt at his balcony sliding door and dropped the sheet to reveal his naked posterior. Bulma blushed as she turned the corner into the room and stopped at the threshold, held up only by the mantling of the door. He reached for boxers, watching her with his peripheral vision. She hung loosely on the molding, her left arms supporting her body by gripping the side while her right hand hooked on top in order to straighten her physique. Disheveled, she loomed portentously.

"Dende be damned."