Human Hospitality
by pureleaf
Chapter 3
Appetite and Measurement
A/N: Thanks for your reviews and comments so far. I love reading them!
After the blue-haired girl had helped Vegeta set up a custom programs on a machine she called an "elliptical" and another machine called a "treadmill", he rotated between the two machines and figured out how to use most of the weight equipment. A fair amount of it he found useful. He made mental notes throughout his workout and told himself to set up a new routine within the next day or two. He'd have to ask the blue haired girl for more assistance if he wanted to use some of the more complicated equipment.
Three hours later and Vegeta's hunger returned for the first time in what seemed like many days. He vaguely recalled eating some creature on Namek, and his light eating on Earth. Breakfast had been satisfying (aside from the eggs) but it wasn't enough to keep a Saiyan sated for very long.
His human hosts were about to discover just how much a Saiyan could really eat.
The first place Vegeta checked for food was the refrigerator. His eyes widened and a crooked smile just touched the left side of his face as he scanned its contents and pulled out everything that looked appealing: fresh fruit, a creamy white block of something he could smell through its clear packaging, some kind of still-warm roasted bird in a clear-top container, bottles of juices and metallic tins he couldn't read, a circular item that looked to be covered in a brown, fluffy substance, and a container filled with green and purple leaves.
Next, he looked through the cupboards. Some held plates and glasses, he learned, and others held shelf-stable food. Vegeta couldn't understand the colourful packaging, but he picked out buttery crackers, a package of cream sandwich cookies, nacho cheese flavoured corn chips, a jar of salsa, a jar of hazelnut spread, peanut butter, half a loaf of whole wheat bread, and two easy-open tins of tuna fish.
The humans did use eating utensils, he recalled, and pulled open all the drawers until he located one filled with silver objects. He immediately identified the serrated knife and found a large spoon, but he didn't know what to make of the utensil with four pointed prongs at the top. So, Vegeta took a steak knife and stainless steel serving spoon to the table and dug into his meal.
An hour later, Bulma came down the stairs and gasped when she saw Vegeta sitting cross-legged on the table, scooping up the last bits of salsa from the jar. He'd already consumed an entire roast chicken, two quarts of milk, a pint each of orange and apple juice, a box of crackers, package of cookies, more than two thirds of the chocolate cake Mrs. Briefs had just purchased earlier that day, all the grapes, four bananas, three oranges, several apples, a tin of tuna, two tins of diet soda, and almost half a container of salad greens.
"Don't spoil your dinner, pal!" Bulma joked as she opened the refrigerator and found he really had ransacked it. He'd even taken an 800 gram block of white cheddar cheese!
"This red stuff..."
"It's called salsa, and the crunchy orange triangles are called chips."
"More from now on. Stock your kitchen with it. I like it."
"Good combination, isn't it? You must have been feeling adventurous to try so much food on your own!"
"I was hungry, you prying girl. You humans were smart enough to provide food and I procured it when necessary."
She laughed and pushed her hair back from her face. "Whatever. Do you at least want to know what you ate? It was pretty good, huh? Otherwise you wouldn't have eaten so much of it!"
After a few moments of consideration, and debating if he even wanted to know what he was really eating, Vegeta reluctantly agreed. She explained what each item was. Vegeta decided he liked chicken, cheese, salsa, chips, and fruit the most. He didn't like the way peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth, or the way cookie crumbs stuck to his back teeth.
"This is called cake," she picked up the remaining cake and brought it to the counter, "and I'll show you what to drink it with. Did you like it?"
He nodded and stuck a chip deep into the jar of hazelnut spread, pulled it out and popped it in his mouth. After chewing only once or twice, his face went blank and jaw movements seemed robotic until he swallowed it. "That however, was awful. What is this brown substance?"
"Hazelnut spread. It's better paired with fruit or on bread and is usually eaten for breakfast or as part of dessert. Care for more coffee?"
"Yes."
"Would you care to sit down in a chair like you did this morning?"
"No."
"Okay, then," Bulma scooped ground coffee into the percolator's basket, "just sit where you're comfortable. I will have to get rid of the food you're done with, alright?"
"Do what you must, girl."
"You know," she collected the scraps and trash and threw it all into a small trash bag, "I am an adult woman, and my name is Bulma! It's acceptable for you to call me by my name and don't worry about any special titles!"
Vegeta coolly glanced over her body twice over and shrugged, indifferent to her words. "I would not mistake you for royalty. Even pathetic human royalty would possess much more grace."
Bulma scoffed and rolled her eyes, but when the opportunity to make a quick retort expired in silence she could feel her frustration building. She wanted to launch his insult back in his face, but the fear that he'd become violent held her back. His speech, she was starting to realize, managed to be formal but clunky, with an odd accent that darkened his vowels and sent some phonemes to the back of his throat. Vegeta demonstrated a sharp wit when he wasn't giving terse, monosyllabic responses. The percolator finished brewing coffee, so she focused her attention on pouring two mugs of coffee and cutting the remaining cake into two pieces so she could enjoy at least some of it.
She brought two mugs of coffee with cream to the table, followed by two slices of cake. Bulma took a seat across from Vegeta, who hadn't moved from his cross-legged position in the center of the table.
He took a sip of coffee and hummed in appreciation.
"Try a forkful of cake. It'll taste amazing now."
"How do you use a forkful?"
Oh my god, he doesn't even know what a fork is. What fucked up society did this guy come from? Did he just pronounce "forkful" as "for-ka-ful"?
"Oh, don't mind it, Vegeta. You can use that spoon if you're more comfortable with that. We'll go over utensils a bit later. Just drink your coffee while it's still hot."
When he'd all but finished his slice of cake, Vegeta finally nodded in approval and looked Bulma up and down again. "You were right. The coffee and thing you call cake do taste good together. What is the cake?"
"Cake is a sweet, obviously, food that is baked and served for dessert or on very special occasions. What you're tasting in that cake is called chocolate. The cake has other ingredients too, obviously, but it's chocolate-flavoured."
"Then I should like to try this chocolate independent of the cake."
"Wow, Vegeta, you've got quite the adventurous palate! We don't have any chocolate in the house at the moment, but I could get some good chocolate for you to try after dinner. And, if you don't mind me asking, just what the hell are you wearing? That outfit is, uh, creative."
The Saiyan felt a hot surge of anger shoot through his veins. How dare she condescend him! He took a long sip of coffee, swallowed, and glared at her. "What is wrong with it, then? I can not be faulted for your stupid and bulky clothing."
"Bulky?! That's not even heavy human clothing, Vegeta. You must have a preference for light materials that show off your great body, hmm?"
He cringed. "It is not about exhibiting my body for entertainment, you vulgar woman, it is about being able to move... but if my attempt to adopt Earth fashion is so wrong, do enlighten me on how to improve myself in your eyes!"
Doesn't take much to stoke this guy's anger, huh?
"First of all," Bulma drained her mug of coffee, "don't tuck your pants into those white boots. It's not unacceptable but it does look tacky. Secondly, you're not supposed to wear white shoes at this time of year."
"I haven't any other footwear and wasn't aware that humans considered colours to be seasonal. Unless you should like to procure footwear for me, this critique is without merit."
Bulma shrugged. "Fair enough, Vegeta. Would you let me measure your feet so I could find the right size shoe for you? I'll be going out for your chocolate anyway. Now that I think about it, you could use some of your own clothing. It's pretty obvious you're wearing my Dad's stuff! Don't worry, I'll find you stuff that'll keep you warm, let you move, and is fashionable!"
The Saiyan pulled off his right boot and held his foot in front of Bulma. "Measure!"
After the food and having his feet measured, along with his inseam, waist, chest, and across the breadth of his shoulders, Vegeta returned to the home gym to perform a movement routine he'd learned in his twenties. He didn't like being measured by Bulma, but she promised to pick up clothing he'd like wearing. He felt more alert with a full stomach, and his new environment suddenly became much more real to him.
Twenty five minutes into his preset forty minute high-resistance run on the treadmill, he jumped off the machine and held his hand over his heart. It was pounding not from exertion but from mounting anxiety. He felt his skin go clammy and stomach clench painfully.
Vegeta didn't know what to call these "attacks", but he knew the only way he could cope was to force himself to maintain steady breath and to stay still and quiet. He could only hope that the humans wouldn't see him in his state. After many painful minutes, his heart finally slowed to a normal pace and stomach unclenched. His hands trembled. He felt sweat running down the back of his neck and knew he had to get clean before it dried and the smell of his own fear clung to him, lest the humans smell it during the evening meal.