6
Tuffle
The sand on which he stood was hot. Felt more like coal, only it didn't burn through his boots. The temperature here was extremely humid. And his body felt much heavier than what was normal for earth. Fortunately he was far past that stage in his life where anything under six hundred times Earth's normal gravity affected him in even the slightest. Nevertheless it was notable. As was the stench. The air smelled like factory exhaust. And Trunks spotted why, way in the distance. Tons of pollution spilled upward, mushroom throughout the horizon. Somewhere, someone was very industrious and yet very ignorant at the same time. He smirked and turned to gaze in all other directions. He floated up to get a better look.
The layout was similar to parts of Earth. Rockier, though, and less green by a mile. In fact, the little bits of what he assumed where grass and trees just East of him, beyond jagged mountain formations, were more black than green. Not pitch black, just very dark. Burned grass, maybe. Or at least that was the appearance. And the place had a red glow to it. Faint.
Looking to the sky, Trunk spotted two suns and noted the clouds where tinted orange. Which meant the water here must have a strange chemical component. And the sun hitting off those clouds was the cause of this tint. He turned his hand over to see even his skin appeared pinker.
He wondered if the entire planet was this ugly.
"Well," Trunks said aloud to himself, "I guess I'd better figure out where I am. Hopefully I did my homework right." And with that, he landed for a moment to recapsule his time machine and place it in his pants pocket. Standing once more, facing the jagged mountains, Trunks thought about all his father had been telling him over the past few weeks. More than Vegeta ever spoke of his home Planet. Sure, growing up, Trunks had heard his fair share of Planet Vegeta this and Prince that, Warrior race and yadayada. But Vegeta hadn't ever really sat down and talked casually about much anything else regarding the place or the people. Until recently. And once that faucet had been uncapped, the water kept on flowing. Nightly, while Trunks worked on the time machine, hidden off at Dende's tower, Vegeta had watched his son. At first in silence, occasionally handing over a wrench or some part. Then Trunks had asked his father what the planet Vegeta had really been before Frieza's control over it . And for weeks after that question, Vegeta opened up slowly. Naturally the time line Trunks had entered would be much more cavemanish than the more up to date information Vegeta had given, save the legends and history of which his father knew. Trunks wondered what he was truly in store for.
At first, flying over the rocks, Trunks spotted only strange animals clinging to crevices; he didn't see his first Saiyan until he'd been floating around curiously for quite some time. The girl he saw was maybe nine. Her tail was around her waist, confirming for Trunks that he was definitely on the right planet. She was pummeling away on a stump which was charred. All around her was burned up grass, pieces of land chipped away like meteors had landed. She wore fur and her hair was a mess of onyx spikes, chopped unevenly and frayed. Trunks looked at her grayish skin and thought she was at least three weeks due for a bath and already scarred up worse than a pregnant woman's stomach. He floated above her, watching to see if she planned to stop her assault on the stump soon. Maybe she could lead him to an adult.
To be honest, he had no idea where to even start looking for the so called Moon Stone. Vegeta had said the stone remained in a Saiyan's possession far before the Tuffle and Saiyan war. Which was to when Trunks had traveled. Now he just had to figure out which Saiyan had it and where. He doubted the girl would even know what he spoke of.
A thought occurred to him then that the Saiyans of this era may not even speak a language he knew. His father had planned on making this trip himself, so he hadn't taught Trunks the planet's native tongue.
"Shit," Trunks sighed to himself. Maybe he shouldn't have fought his father for the time machine. What had he thrown himself into?
The girl finally took a breather. She fell back onto her ass and sighed hard, wiping her forehead. Humming, she fell flat, hair splayed out and arms folded behind her head, staring up at the sky. Her eyes widened as she spotted Trunks and his in turn winced. He hadn't wanted to be seen yet. Not until he knew what to expect. Not that he couldn't handle himself; clearly he was lightyears ahead of these Saiyans. It was the confrontation he'd hoped to avoid by perhaps remaining low key. After all, he knew that the Saiyans of this era didn't possess a means to detect power levels. Remaining hidden should have been easy. He'd been careless.
"Tuffle!" The girl shouted, springing up quickly and glaring at Trunks. But she looked confused.
Probably because the Tuffles had apparently been ground ridden weaklings who relied only on technology and intelligence, much like the human race. So while Trunks assumed he looked more like a Tuffle than Saiyan, his flight confused her.
"Comment allez-vous là-haut?" she barked at him, baring her sharp teeth. Her tail jetted out, swishing. She stood firm, ready to pounce.
Trunks had no idea how to speak with this child. He couldn't decipher what she'd said in the slightest. So he held his hands up as a show of peace. Which, in hindsight, was a stupid action. Saiyans were rarely a peaceful bunch, and the girl would probably see this as a sign of weakness.
She indeed did. She grinned then, wide and wicked. Pushed her hands out in front of her, clasped them and aimed for Trunks's chest with a bolt of red energy.
It felt like snuffing out a candle when Trunks popped the shot away briskly, frowning down at her. He was at loss. He needed her to find others, but she was clearly looking to fight him. And Trunks was not going to fight this nine year old girl. He chuckled at the mere thought. It was ludacris.
"Vous êtes différent," the girl growled up at him. "Ce que vous êtes? Eh? N'êtes-vous pas un Tuffle?"
Groaning, Trunks let himself fall into a graceful landing. He put his hands on his hips, startling the girl as he stood directly before her. She jumped back but he followed. She fired at him again and he easily dodged it with a playful smirk.
"Arrêtez!" the girl cried out, furious and also scarred.
Trunks pointed to himself then, sighing. How could he communicate with anyone here? This was thus far a disaster. "Trunks," he said of himself. "I'm Trunks."
She flinched away, smacking his elbow, then hunkering down like a cat, eyes narrow. "Quoi?" she said, tart.
He sighed heavily and scratched his head. He wondered if it were true here as it was on Earth. Often times, languages shared a few words with the same meaning. He doubted it could be true if the language was from an Alien planet. But Maybe. "Where's your mama?" Trunks asked the girl, hoping that she would understand. Mama was a pretty relative word. He thought anyway.
At that, the child stuttered. "Maman?" she finally asked, her face softer and wary. "Quoi? Maman? Vous la connaissez?"
Growing more and more frustrated, Trunks shook his head and placed his fingers against his forehead. Transmitted himself back to where he'd landed.
"How about starting over," Trunks said to himself, now far away from the probably in shock girl. He decided maybe it would be best to start with the Tuffles after all. Because if the Tuffles were as technology savvy as his father claimed, then perhaps they had already created something to decipher languages. One could only hope.
Translations:
"Comment allez-vous là-haut?" IS "How are you up there?"
"Vous êtes différent." IS "You're different."
"Ce que vous êtes? Eh? N'êtes-vous pas un Tuffle?" IS "What are you? Eh? Are you not a Tuffle?"
"Arrêtez!" IS "Stop!"
"Quoi?" IS "What?"
"Maman?" IS "Mom?"
"Quoi? Maman? Vous la connaissez?" IS "What? Mom? You know her?"
