Had he ever actually bothered to stop and consider it, Vegeta would have admitted that one of the things he appreciated most about the distinguished Dr. Briefs was how he was easily the least vexing of all the creatures the former intergalactic mercenary was now compelled to share the same oxygen with ever since becoming a resident at the sprawling Capsule Corporation compound. Unlike his babbling moron wife or bitch daughter, Vegeta could and had endured the doctor's company for longer than ten minutes at one time - literally the only person on earth he'd done so with. The aging man spoke sparingly, kept to himself (offering the royal saiyan the same luxury) and did exactly what Vegeta instructed him to do without complaint and only minimal balking.
On the contrary, the older scientist seemed to relish the challenge of building a 300G gravity room to the diminutive noble's requirements once he'd gotten over the initial shock of the idea. Much to the impatient warrior's satisfaction, the room for his specialized training was completed within the month. Like a kid with a new toy, the saiyan had almost giddily leapt into his GR training regime, swiftly working his way up to full capacity.
So pleased was he with his superior new facilities (certainly much better than anything that pauper idiot Kakkarot had to work with) and the novel level of privacy it afforded him, that for weeks Vegeta barely even left the training enclosure. At last he could train his brains out for as long as he wanted with no interruption, and the room even had its own living quarters complete with food-stocks - yet another favorable mark in Vegeta's book. The only downside was a huge monitor affixed to the ceiling that provided contact with someone in a control room at any given moment of the day - that 'someone' generally turned out to be Briefs himself, or even more often, the blue-haired bitch harping at him about one thing or another. He'd considered destroying it, but knew to do so would most likely damage something else on the complicated machine, so he endured the mild inconvenience while mentally adding a dark mark over the favorable one he'd given the doctor earlier.
Nevertheless, after so many weeks of (virtually) uninterrupted training, even the activity Vegeta loved best after actual combat was beginning to become a bit tiresome. The elite found, as he wearily dragged his battered body up from the cold metal floor early one morning to the blaring of the room's built in alarm clock, that he actually didn't feel 'in the mood' for training right away! Assuming it must be because he was hungry (because he certainly was) he tersely commanded the alarm to silence and forced himself to his feet.
Plodding to his refrigerator he promptly emptied it of all edibles, and then did the same of the pantry. Vegeta chewed thoughtfully on his last bite of sausage before washing it down with a large gulp of milk, slamming the empty glass down with a decisive thump. Slightly more at ease, he still felt the nagging reluctance to jump straight into training once again. He stared around absently for several minutes at the awaiting GR that seemed to hum its impatience at the Prince. I probably should go ahead and see to the restocking of my provisions while I'm still fresh, he finally reasoned.
Not long after, the heavy door to the gravity room creaked open and Vegeta's squinting eyes met the natural light of the sun for the first time in days. He crossed the silent, immaculately kept lawn, the occasional CC employee darting between buildings, a landscaper spreading mulch in a nearby garden, these were the only signs of life to be seen anywhere on the sprawling compound. Leisurely he reached the entrance to the main building and residence of the Briefs family, stepping inside.
A pair of hovering sentry-bots immediately bobbed around him, but the Prince spared them scarcely a glance and they quickly whizzed away. His remaining progress to the kitchen went unimpeded. Before he even reached his destination, his sensitive nostrils were already being tantalized by the sweet scents of baking.
"Oh!" A high-pitched, nauseatingly feminine voice squeaked next to his elbow as he stood before the spacious room with its appetizing aromas. The saiyan's head whipped around to behold none other than Mrs. Briefs beaming back at him.
"What a nice surprise, Vegeta darling," the blonde curly-top tittered as the swarthy assassin silently pondered how in the hell she'd managed to sneak up on him during just a fleeting moment of distraction. "You haven't come out of that gravity room in so long I was beginning to worry! It just isn't the same around here without your charming face to brighten up our little home, you know!"
As usual, he was at a complete loss on how to respond to her delusional gibberish other than to cut the airhead off as quickly as possible. "Listen carefully," he commanded, "I require provisions for my personal pantry without delay."
"Oh, of course, dear," cried the Briefs woman, a look of pure solicitude tightening her vacuous features, "I'll get on that for you right away - but is there anything else you would like in the meantime?"
Vegeta considered this for a moment as Mrs. Briefs waited expectantly.
"Yes." He motioned toward the large marble island where a steaming, beautifully stacked arrangement of apple and cheese danishes sat like a picture out of a magazine, "I will also require one of those."
The prince looked on dully as the older woman scurried over and plucked out one of each type and placed the pastries on a dainty napkin which she, in turn, placed upon a delicate, flower-adorned porcelain saucer. She then bustled back up, grinning delightedly, and held out the offering to him in both hands. Vegeta reached onto the miniature plate, crushing both sticky deserts in one fist before stuffing them unceremoniously into his mouth. He then briskly strode away before she could say anything else to him.
Vegeta roamed further into the interrior of the Briefs home; he wasn't in any particular hurry to get back to the GR and he wanted to pay a visit to his alternative living quarters in order to acquire a change of clothes and (he gave himself a quick sniff and grimaced) perhaps a shower.
He emerged from his suite several minutes later feeling considerably refreshed. Having attended to his food and grooming needs, the royal saiyan was ready to head back to begin his long delayed training for the day. He'd already made a beeline for the front door when something strange out of the corner of his eye caught Vegeta's attention. The warrior turned a sharp look on none other than the president of Capsule Corp. himself; the gray-haired man was tiptoeing cautiously along the wall of the large foyer, glancing furtively over his shoulder.
Vegeta had long since come to the realization that the Briefs (most especially the old man) were eccentric even by earth standards, and consequently wrote the current exhibition off as just another example of the doctor's nuttiness. A fine line between genius and madness indeed, he mused grimly.
He was about to dismiss the old crackpot and continue on his way when the urgent clacking of little high-heeled shoes down the hall arrested his ears, immediately followed by a piercing call that could probably have sent all the dogs in the immediate vicinity into a howling frenzy.
"Yoo hoo, Sweetie, where did you go all of a sudden; the designer is here to help us pick out the material for the new draperies!"
Dr. Briefs's eyes instantly met Vegeta's and he pressed his finger conspiratorially to his bushy mustache, urgently motioning for the younger man to follow him.
The nonplussed prince merely stood and gaped back at the bizarre human, but Dr. Briefs had already set off once again - quickening his stealthy pace toward a niche containing a palm tree planted in a massive urn. The lab-coated man slid behind the tree and promptly vanished. Vegeta blinked; this was weird even by Briefs standards.
Despite himself, the suspicious saiyan approached the niche, peering into its shadowy recess. Upon close inspection he discovered a door upon the concave surface, still ajar from the doctor's hasty retreat.
"Oh Dearest, where are youuu," sang the harebrained homemaker, her clicking heels announcing her appearance around the corner at any moment.
Acting on his second instinct (his first would have been to simply vaporize the woman on sight with a quick blast of ki) Vegeta automatically turned the knob and slipped through the concealed door before he could be discovered by the meddlesome towhead.
The first sight to greet him on the other side of the entrance was a flight of steps leading down to a faintly glowing room below. Descending inquisitively, the prince soon found himself standing in what appeared to be a lounge of some sort. The walls were covered in a crimson geometrically patterned paper while dim yellow lights, recessed into the low ceiling, illuminated a counter with many glass bottles on it at the far end of the cavern. Across from the bar, in a large leather chair, sat Dr. Briefs.
"Ah, Vegeta, dear boy," exclaimed the scientist, getting to his feet, "so it looks like you made it after all."
The reluctant visitor whipped his spiky head from one side to the other. "What is this place," he demanded shortly.
"This," declared the older man, gesturing proudly around the room, "is my own little hideaway lounge where I go whenever I need some time to myself." He gave a conspiratory wink and shuffled over behind the bar, "here, let me pour you a beer." Dr. Briefs returned a moment later holding a stein in each hand, passing one to Vegeta, he then headed back to his awaiting chair and flopped back down.
Vegeta stared down into the pungent amber beverage for a moment, and then slowly took a sip. When he looked up again the doctor was watching him curiously. "Have a seat," the host indicated the chair next to him. Vegeta thought for a moment, taking another longer swig of his drink; it was the first earth alcohol he'd tasted and he didn't find to be displeasing. Perhaps he'd finish his glass before he headed back to his gravity training.
The saiyan had half expected the Doctor to attempt small talk or possibly pepper him with irritating questions about the GR as they sat drinking their beers, but much to his satisfaction, Dr. Briefs said absolutely nothing - and for once while in the same room with the inventor of his training equipment, Vegeta had nothing in particular to bitch about either. The silence between them was companionable - in fact it was the closest thing to 'pleasant' he'd experienced in the company of anyone since his resurrection from Namek, or even prior.
Vegeta awoke with a start to the sound of his own snoring, his face slumped into the nearly empty glass still clutched in his hand. Glancing up at the clock, he was shocked to realize an entire hour had passed while he sat around wasting valuable work-out time. The Doctor himself was getting out of his chair with a large stretch.
"Well, back to the old grinding stone," he turned to Vegeta, lighting a fresh cigarette, "Feel free to come down here whenever you feel like taking a break; I don't mind one bit."
The scowling prince made no reply, but only watched the old man head back up the steps and out the door. Allowing several minutes to pass before he followed, the royal saiyan then made a hasty exit from the main building and immediately back to his training.
000
"So let me get this straight," the blue-haired woman, hands on the hips of her baggy, grease-stained jumpsuit, inhaled sharply through her nose in that I'm-surrounded-by-idiots way which made the compact warrior's teeth gnash, "you ordered the computer to perform four separate tasks-"
"Five," he amended tersely.
"Oh right, five separate tasks, all at once?"
"Correct."
"And - amazingly enough - it stopped working?"
"Yes; I was right in the middle of a flying uppercut punch under 300G when suddenly everything cut off!" He brandished a lividly swollen hand that had unintentionally plowed the entire way through the top of the gravity room at the abrupt lifting of the GR's crushing pressure - instantly taking out the com system and much of the essential wiring that powered the machine in one devastating blow. "Damn that senile old idiot - how dare he build me this defective piece of equipment!"
"My father is not to blame," the harpy suddenly shouted, stomping her foot, "it's your fault for crashing the system in the first place; now I have to spend the rest of my day fixing it for you!"
The obsidian-haired alien clenched his entire body against her screeching protests. "Then instead of standing here with your stupid lips flapping why don't you hurry up get it fixed," he ground back between clenched teeth.
"Why you," the now scarlet-faced woman's mouth worked furiously, no doubt grasping for her own withering comeback, but Vegeta, satisfied with gaining the upper hand, promptly took flight (making sure to power up with a blast of energy strong enough to knock the flimsy girl on her ass and leave her coughing in the wake of his dust). Despite himself, he couldn't help the smug smirk that spread over his face as he heard her incoherent bellow of rage follow him all the way to Capsule Corporation HQ.
Vegeta didn't have to worry about running into either of the other two Briefs as he entered the sprawling foyer, both the Doctor and his silly wife were gone on a 'business trip', leaving their horrible spawn in charge while they were away - which was precisely the reason why he was reduced to calling on the blue-headed shrew to fix his room instead of the president of CC himself.
Muttering a curse as he considered how long it was going to take before he could get back to his 300G (the rest of the day she'd said, but considering how royally he'd gone out of his way to piss her off, he wouldn't be surprised if she took longer out of spite) he crossed the lobby until he was standing in front of the secluded door revealed to him by Dr. Briefs weeks earlier. The old man had said he was welcome to come down to the lounge at any time, and he hardly thought it made any difference anyway with no one home. Vegeta decidedly pushed the door open and descended the stairs.
The room was dark and cool, the scent of must and fermentation mingling in the damp basement air. Flipping on the lights, he stepped over to the bar, pulled down a stein, and filled it with dark liquid from one of the taps. Vegeta took a seat to begin enjoying his beverage when he noticed a magazine laying on the edge of the counter; it bore the image of an excessively enhanced woman spilling out of a negligee at least two sizes too small for her printed on its cover. Absently, he slid the item over and leafed idly through the pages as he drank.
There, folded into the center, the man suddenly paused at a picture of a model in a garage setting. She was garbed in a one-piece suit very similar to the one Briefs's daughter wore whenever she puttered around with her many gadgets (though he'd never seen Bulma wear hers in as quite an exhibitionistic fashion). The woman was half sitting, half leaning against a car, back arched indolently so that her ample breasts lolled out of her open uniform like a ripe pair of erotic fruits. He contemplated what their warm supple weight against his rough palms would feel like and snorted to himself as he considered how long it had been since he'd actually experienced such sensations.
Eyes traveling hungrily up the creamy torso like an unwrapped snack cake, Vegeta looked past the vapid pout of the model and instead into a pair of familiar blue eyes framed by a fringe of turquoise colored hair. Suddenly she was smirking at him - daring him to take her right on top of the awaiting car. He smirked wickedly back, more than up to the challenge. However, before the fantasy could progress any further, the engrossed prince sensed the approach of someone coming down the stairs.
"Dammit, what's her problem," muttered a voice that immediately soured the saiyan's expression.
Slapping the magazine shut, he glowered toward the doorway as a scarred face sporting a blackening eye suddenly emerged.
Yamcha started in surprise when he noticed Vegeta hunched over the bar, then he too favored the shorter man with a grimace. "What are you doing down here?"
"What does it look like," shot back the saiyan, taking another deep draught from his glass.
Vegeta imagined he could hear the gears grinding inside the earth-fighter's head: on the one hand, the last thing Yamcha wanted to do was sit in a lounge alone with Vegeta, however, he was far too cocky to immediately slink away just because the saiyan was already there. The prince watched smugly for several more seconds until the other man resolutely strode over and snatched his own stein from behind the bar and filled it. He then took a seat in one of the reclining chairs away from his unwanted companion, nursing his own beer.
The spike-haired space traveler continued to regard his unwilling companion out of the corner of his eye until the other man finally glared back.
"What are you looking at?"
"Who gave you that," Vegeta jerked a thumb at Yamcha's shiner, only causing the taller man to glower even more deeply. Vegeta chuckled nastily, "Did your woman do that to you? I always knew you were a weakling, but this is an all new low even for you."
"Shut up, you prick," snapped the former bandit, "you and your stupid gravity room have Bulma going completely berserk; I don't know why she even puts up with your bullshit! We were supposed to be going out for lunch today, but for some reason she insists on spending all her time fixing your crap instead." He took a vicious swig of his alcohol, "I told her she was an idiot for always bending over backwards at your beck and call - so she threw a wrench at me!"
If what the low-class fighter was telling him was supposed to somehow make Vegeta feel bad, it was having the exact opposite effect. The saiyan prince simply guffawed, no longer quite so resentful for Yamcha's intrusion. "Is that right, well I'm sorry if your woman would rather service me than spend time with you; that's too bad."
As intended, Yamcha caught the double entendre and immediately bristled. A slew of profanities and threats issued from his mouth at the alien prince. He rose to his feet and pointed at the still seated Vegeta, "I swear to Kami, if you've been threatening her..."
"Yes, I'm very intimidated." Vegeta snickered a bit more, but waved off the retaliatory insults. Much as he enjoyed baiting the weaker warrior, it was just too easy - besides which, he wasn't particularly in a combative mood at the moment. Perhaps the alcohol's warm influence was actually beginning to mellow him. He indicated to Yamcha to sit back down as he unconcernedly took another drink.
Once again, Yamcha carefully debated his next move before finally accepting the offered 'out' and sinking back into his chair, privately relieved (though he would have sooner died than admit it) to have an excuse not to fight the would-be conqueror of earth.
He settled on shooting Vegeta a sullen look, "How did you even find out about this place anyway?"
"The old man showed it to me - obviously," answered the other man.
"Why would he do that?"
Vegeta shrugged in mild irritation, "The same reason he'd show you I suppose - he was bored and had nothing better to do."
Yamcha snorted derisively, but said nothing (advisable as the former villain's amiable mood was beginning to wear thin). Vegeta finished off his quaff and refilled his glass. Meanwhile Yamcha's eyes traveled absently over the bar to the forgotten magazine Vegeta had discarded upon the second man's entry.
The bandit's eyebrows rose with intrigue bordering on amusement, "It seems you found some interesting reading material."
Vegeta spared his companion a humorless glance. "Vaguely interesting, perhaps," he replied, noncommittally.
For some reason, Yamcha seemed particularly pleased by the prince's answer; he took a final long gulp and stood to get his own refill. As he approached the bar, he leaned conspiratorially toward the stout saiyan, a glint of mischief sparkling in his dark eyes, "I'm just curious, Vegeta, do you have any other interests besides training your ass off to beat Goku?"
The aristocratic mercenary immediately turned a dark smile on the other fighter, "Certainly - just like you have other interests."
"Um, what?" Yamcha's brows suddenly puckered in wary surprise.
"You heard what I said," his eyes shifted momentarily toward the porno mag, and then met Yamcha's once again, his smile never wavering.
"Look," the increasingly flustered human began, "I don't know what you're getting at, but I don't appreciate your..."
"You can drop the innocent act," Vegeta interrupted flippantly, "you may fool her, but who exactly do you think you're talking to right now? You should be glad she stays so busy, or even that thick-headed woman of yours might start to catch on to your meanderings."
Yamcha's gaze dropped to his mug. He stared into the light brown liquid for a long time, the tinge of shame reddening his cheeks made Vegeta's lip curl with disgust, before he looked the saiyan squarely in the face. "So are you going to say anything to Bulma, or what?"
Vegeta scoffed, "Why should I? It isn't as if I have anything to gain from it - other than more drama from that blue-headed harpy."
After glaring at the comment, Yamcha fell pensively silent for several moments. He leaned against the bar and drank deeply, staring absently over Vegeta's spiked tufts of hair at a spot on the wall.
"It isn't that I don't still love her, you know," the bandit spoke up abruptly, still gazing at the space behind Vegeta's head, "It's just that we've grown apart; ever since being wished back over a year ago, I don't know, things haven't been the same between us." He paused to run a hand through his shaggy mane, "I mean we've definitely had our rough patches in the past - hell, we've been a couple since we were sixteen!"
Vegeta regarded him as if Yamcha were a vaguely interesting show he'd found while randomly flipping through channels on TV, but was now growing bored with. "How special for you," he stated and slumped down, returning to his drink. He opened the magazine back up and held it in front of his face in order to effectively shut out his chatty companion once and for all.
"But every time I turn around lately it seems she's working on something for you," Yamcha went on apparently not taking - or choosing to ignore - the hint. "She never took any interest in my training before - and still doesn't."
Vegeta's eyes snapped up; he lowered his smut enough to glare at the sullen and scarred face. Much as he'd intended to completely dismiss Yamcha, The Prince of all Saiyans could not allow such an audacious statement to slide without comment. "Who gives a damn about your training," the diminutive man sneered, "If less than three years from now androids powerful enough to annihilate the strongest warriors on this pathetic planet are coming to wreak havoc, who do you honestly think stands a chance? Even she understands the chasm of difference between you and me - you'd do best to stay out of the way and stop wasting her time."
Satisfied, Vegeta took a swig and went back to ignoring the stunned human. He was more than glad to get his fully functioning gravity room back several hours later.
Two weeks following the day of the conversation, Yamcha moved out of Capsule Corporation.