Vegeta awoke later than he had expected. It had passed ten o'clock before he got out of bed. For a while, he simply sat on the edge of his mattress trying to conjure up some way to busy himself for the remainder of the day. Although he had slept off his drowsiness, he nevertheless had difficulty stringing one coherent thought after another. Simultaneously, his head felt overfull and utterly empty. Ultimately, he gave up trying to think, and he donned his battle suit, armor, gloves, and boots methodically. He realized he had not worn them in a while—weeks, perhaps—once he put them on.
The woman had made the armor set he currently wore. If he had found the set lying around on one of Frieza's ships, then he would have assumed without hesitation that one of Frieza's engineers had manufactured it. The woman had done a fine job replicating the technology; nothing about her designs had ever felt unnatural for him to wear. Armor such as that he currently wore had been one of the few constant companions of his life; it was one of the few things that had remained the same both before and after his father had handed him over to Frieza. Seemingly, this one constancy would carry over even here, on Earth, and Vegeta appreciated it immensely, even if subconsciously. With something akin to passive enjoyment, he would outfit himself as if performing a sacred ritual.
Descending the staircase, Vegeta determined that he would fetch a cup of coffee and something to eat before he did anything else. The Briefs usually left warm coffee for him, and he could take whatever he wanted from their pantry or refrigerator. Surely, a caffeinated drink and some food would aid Vegeta in thinking of some way to occupy himself. He sat down with a large mug, a plate of salami, and a loaf of bread.
Nearby, Vegeta sensed a sizable energy source; he recognized it as Yamcha's. From what he could tell, Yamcha was approaching; the Saiyan hoped he would only pass through and leave him alone.
Yamcha's footsteps paused. It seemed Vegeta did not have luck on his side. "Vegeta," the other man said, announcing his presence.
The Saiyan sipped his coffee, ignoring him.
Yamcha sighed. "I see you've got your armor on. I don't know if you're going anywhere, but if you're not leaving, I thought I'd tell you about a place you can go to train. There's a desert and some mountains just south of the city. It's close to where Goku landed. No one will bother you there even if you fire energy blasts. Capsule Corp. owns the land, so nobody asks questions. I go there sometimes."
Vegeta set his coffee down. "Why are you here speaking to me and not there preparing yourself for the androids' coming?" he said, not once looking at Yamcha or even glancing over his shoulder.
"Mrs. Briefs invited me over for breakfast."
A muffled, vicious chuckle shook Vegeta's shoulders.
"What's so funny?"
The Saiyan spun around in order to watch Yamcha's reactions. "You're looking to fuck the woman's mother now that she herself won't have you." He spoke with as little tonal variation as he could manage, but he could not contain the sneer that spread across his face.
Much to Vegeta's amusement, Yamcha sputtered with rage, then calmed himself with a single deep breath. "Yeah, right. Saying the most offensive thing possible just because you can—Saiyan humor, I guess."
"Perhaps. It's quite telling, though, that you offered no rebuttal."
Yamcha sighed again. "Think what you want. I'm pretty sure you know what you're saying is complete bullshit, but if you're serious, then I'm sure there's nothing I could possibly say to change your mind."
"No need to fret, Earth man." Vegeta shrugged as he loaded a slice of bread with salami. "The old woman practically throws herself at any man within ten feet of herself. You will have her soon enough, I'm sure."
"Don't talk about Mrs. Briefs that way even if it's just to piss me off. She's done a lot more good for us than either of us deserve," Yamcha half growled.
"So you've already had your way with the odd blonde creature, and apparently she did well by you?"
Visibly, Yamcha snapped. "At least I don't get pity sex from a girl on a rebound!"
For a little over a second, Vegeta let Yamcha's words settle. Then, nearly spitting out his coffee before he had the chance to swallow, he laughed wildly. "Ha! And there it is." He set his mug down with a dramatic gesture. "You lost your temper later than I expected. I'll admit I was surprised. No matter—waiting only heightened my amusement." He waved his hand dismissively. "You may leave me, Earth man. I will go to the place you specified."
"I don't need your permission to leave," Yamcha spat, struggling to regain his composure. "You think you can talk like that and just get away with it?"
Vegeta laughed again. "If you're offering, I wouldn't deny myself the pleasure of a fight. I am quite bored."
"No way."
"As you please." With slow, deliberate movements, the Saiyan stood, strode to the kitchen counter, then set down his dirty dishes. "Clearly, whatever delusions you have cause you more distress than I ever could anyhow."
"What do you mean by that?"
Vegeta headed for the hallway and the front door. "No more chatter. If you'll excuse me, I have training to do, then a woman to fuck senseless." He leaped into the air.
A resounding "Fuck you!" followed him.
As he shot through the air, Vegeta snickered maliciously to himself. Tormenting Yamcha had put him in a good mood; the man made himself such an easy target for taunting that Vegeta could not resist the temptation. For one reason or another, Yamcha had some special interest in his affairs, specifically those that had anything to do with Bulma. Vegeta, if he did not remain entirely indifferent, met this fact with slight annoyance only. Yamcha could never pose any threat to him, and the man's paranoia rendered his presence rather humorous and therefore tolerable. Not only this, but Yamcha had, after all, inadvertently shown him someplace to train.
Vegeta landed atop a plateau that overlooked West City. A gust of dry wind struck his face and rustled his hair, and when he opened his mouth to inhale deeply, air rushed into his lungs, expanding his chest and raising his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, relaxing and focusing his energies. Now that he did not have to channel his energy towards preserving his body from the hazards of intense gravity, he could direct it outward freely. It almost surprised him how much power he could charge into his fingertips. With perfect control, he formed the energy he had gathered into a sphere, letting none of it escape and disturb the still atmosphere.
His blood sparked, tingling every capillary in his hands. The sensation was familiar, but one that he nevertheless marked consciously after having not experienced it for some time. Strangely, he noted a similarity between it and the sensation produced by an intimate touch. He wondered why he drew such a comparison, and why presently of all possible times. The orb of energy hovering above his palms flickered and crackled as some of its mass broke away. Before he could make any grievous mistake, he released the ball into the sky and off into space. Sighing with vexation, Vegeta returned his arms to his sides.
He lowered himself into a crouch and peered over the edge of the plateau's face. Again, his thoughts raced and scattered, slipping away each time Vegeta tried to catch hold of one or another. Hoping to regain his focus, he began to breathe deeply according to a set rhythm. The exercise allowed him to narrow his mind down to a single memory. It was not a memory useful to his current predicament, but at least it was coherent. He thought of a time on one of Frieza's stations on the edge of the galaxy—a little over twenty years ago, if he had guessed the correct chronological placement.
Nappa placed a tasteless ration down beside Vegeta's right arm. Keeping his eyes fixed on the tablet he held inches from his face, the young prince took the ration and nibbled it disinterestedly. "Nappa," Vegeta said, breaking the silence. "Explain to me what this text is describing." Rigidly, he extended the tablet to the older Saiyan.
"What are you reading?" Nappa asked as the tablet exchanged hands.
"The legend of Bejita, the seventh Super Saiyan. The text says that Bejita destroyed a sun in order that its orbiting planet dies a slow, freezing death. It's funny because the people on the planet will not realize what he has done until a whole half hour after it happened. Bejita did this out of vengeance. This I understand, but I do not understand why watching a woman die warrants such a retaliation. One woman's death is nothing. I do not see how Bejita's action follows logically from the previous events."
"I don't think I know the legends any better than you do anymore, My Prince," Nappa replied after a pause. "Remind me—did the woman have a name?"
"Yes. Her name was Shallotte. Why does it matter?"
"I remember this legend now," the senior Saiyan mused aloud to himself. He returned the tablet to Vegeta before continuing. "Shallotte was Bejita's mate. He is very angry that she was killed."
"I understood that much," Vegeta half groaned. "It was still just one woman, though. Bejita should not have let it upset him. He sounds soft. I don't see how he was ever able to transform." The Prince tossed the tablet away onto his cot. He scanned Nappa's expression; something seemed to preoccupy him. "Explain quickly. Do not waste my time."
"Think of your father and mother. The bond you feel toward them is a little like the one a man feels toward his mate. The bond between a man and a woman is usually tighter, though. Does that make sense?"
"I suppose. If I had found the person who assassinated my mother, I would've tortured him, then left him to die in the dust." Once the Prince finished off his ration, he got up from the floor and sat himself on his cot, resting his back against the wall. "How long do we have aboard the station?" he asked.
"A couple weeks."
"Reserve the training chamber for me at once. For the whole duration of our stay."
"I already did while you were sleeping."
"Good. It seems you have learned since last time." The young prince glanced at the tablet that rested near his feet, then returned his gaze to Nappa, who had begun to shuffle out of his armor. "Nappa," Vegeta called, claiming his attention, "did you have a mate?"
The older Saiyan paused. "No," he answered. "Nothing formal."
"What about Raditz?"
"He was too young. And he was a third-class anyway. They were denied the ritual privileges. If Raditz had gotten involved with a woman, it would have been informal like all the other third-class pairings."
Vegeta responded only with a short "hm." He stared at his feet, lost in thought for a couple moments. "I've seen Raditz with many women," the Prince stated flatly. "Is he seeking a mate?"
Nappa snorted and shook his head. "I don't think so. He just likes to fuck around with them."
"So he's wasting time. Why does he do it? He is a fool."
"It's more necessary for him than you think."
"It isn't necessary. He won't die if he doesn't. He is a fool."
Nappa snorted again. "How old are you, Vegeta? You can't be older than ten."
"You're correct. I'm ten."
"You'll understand Raditz better in a year or two."
"You're wrong. He is perverted, and I have no desire to understand him. There are no more Saiyans with the exception of Raditz's long lost brother. Alien women—if they even are women as we define them—are disgusting. I don't know how Raditz can bear to touch them."
"He has interesting tastes—I'll give you that," Nappa remarked, nodding. "But you've probably noticed that some species look better than others. I will show you some of the best ones if you'd like. If not, you can look into it on your own time. The species profiles are good for more than just figuring out the best way to kill things."
Vegeta raised one eyebrow inquiringly.
"Let's just put it this way: if there's an opening about this size"—Nappa touched his middle finger to his thumb, forming a ring—"then you can fuck it."
The young prince's eyes widened. He had no response.
Nappa then proceeded to divulge, in magnificent detail, the most intimate secrets of Saiyan anatomy, physiology, and sexual practice.
Vegeta listened with cool detachment. "I already knew half of that," he muttered bitterly after a quiet minute had passed. "I don't know why you bothered."
"I thought the information would be useful to you, My Prince."
Suddenly, Vegeta kicked the tablet off of his cot and onto the floor. Its screen shattered. Nappa immediately began to clear away the broken glass. He would not question the Prince's actions.
"I have no life to live but that of a third-class! Humiliating!" Vegeta spat.
Nappa waited for the young man to elaborate.
"You must understand. You were an elite. How could I be forced into perverted, meaningless couplings for no reason other than my own desperation? I will be neither softened nor ruled by unchecked desires. Frieza had better find a suitable mate for me. I will demand it. If he thinks I will degrade myself to Raditz's level, he is wrong. He would not expect me to unless he means to torment me on purpose."
"I wouldn't expect too much, even if Frieza favors you," the elder Saiyan commented darkly.
Vegeta stood up, fetched his boots, then shoved his feet into them with an obvious moodiness. "Frieza always tells me to control myself. He will acknowledge my rank and find me a mate. He will not play games with me as he did with my father. I won't stand for it." The Prince kicked the door as he waited for it to slide open. "I will go to the training chamber," he announced, and Nappa let him go without a word.
Vegeta kicked a small rock off the ledge of the plateau. Before it had the chance to strike the ground, Vegeta vaporized it with an energy blast. Remembering the training chamber aboard Frieza's border station only reminded him the non-operational gravity simulator. He sighed deeply. He hated the openness of cool, desert air. Inside the gravity chamber, Vegeta did not have enough freedom or energy to think; he went there not just to train, but to tranquilize himself. Instead of struggling for his life, here he stood reminiscing as if caught up in some sentimental rapture. He could scarcely remember a time when he had felt so utterly distracted and scattered.
In the valley, the tower of the Capsule Corp. Headquarters rose above all the other points that pricked the horizon. Bulma would be there. Doubtlessly, Vegeta could force her to aid her father in repairing the gravity simulator. He desired nothing less than to see the woman, but he would have to risk her presence if he valued his sanity.
Author's Note: Remember to check out Frozen Truths, a story about Vegeta's past under Frieza by LadyLuckRogue, a good writer friend of mine! After talking to LadyLuckRogue and brainstorming with her, I can promise you that Frozen Truths will prove a gripping, epic tale! She already has the prologue and first chapter posted. If you like The Mistaken Wish, you may like Frozen Truths, and you should check it out!
Remember that after I, your author, finish The Mistaken Wish (don't worry, though, I still have a ways to go!), I hope to add a bonus chapter in which I answer frequently asked questions pertaining to my story. I thought it would be a cool way to interact with my readers and give them a way to enjoy the story in new ways even after I finish it. If you have a question, don't hesitate to ask in a review or in a personal message. I'll give you a couple examples of some questions to get you guys thinking: "How do you choose chapter titles?" "Why did you write The Mistaken Wish from Vegeta's perspective?" or even "What have been your greatest influences as a writer?"