Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Changing Seasons ❯ A Feeling Of Dread ( Chapter 7 )

They were only a few days away from entering Jalamir's atmosphere and Neko had spent most, if not all, of the trip in the room built into the ship especially designed for training. She had even asked Piccolo to turn up the gravity steadily so that she could find it more of a challenge. Her heart beat out a rythum in her chest that sounded like the promise of long awaited battle drums to her ears and with every beat she knew she was coming closer and closer to seeing her dream a reality.

"I wonder how Larajin…" She began, but Piccolo interrupted her, floating, in lotus-position in the center of the room, he opened one eye and ceased his meditation for a moment, "She is Queen now, Neko. You must not forget her title."

Neko hurmphed under her breath as she watched her father slip back into his altered state. She went on with the series of kicks and blocks he'd taught her as a little girl, working up to a glowing sweat as she progressed. She did not care what the bitch called herself, she could be Miss Goddamned America for all she cared. All she knew was that, when the time came, she would be the one to weild the weapon and slick that bitch's head from her shoulders and Neko would have a brand new decoration to hang up on her bedroom wall when she returned home.

"Are you planning on just marching straight up to the castle, or where ever and annoucing yourself and your challenge to her, Neko?" Piccolo asked, his deep voice startling her out her routine and she stood there, panting, leaning forward with her hands on her knees and her ever-present tail swishing behind her. She regarded her father with a raised eyebrow a smirk, "Why not? She'll have to answer me if she doesn't want to seem a fool or a coward."

"I know you could never be a coward, Neko," Piccolo said, as he lowered himself to the floor of the ship and started over to the food storage container for the ice water they had stocked, taking out one packet and puncturing it with his fangs. He drank deeply for a few moments, then went on; "I'm just not so sure about the fool part."

He knew she was seething at his remark as he turned his back on her and headed back to the helm, leaving her alone in her misery. He did not know why, but he just could not continue his meditation around her any longer. He scolded himself for that, he had trained himself to be able to ignore even the most obnoxious intrusions upon his meditation, so he should have been able to handle his angry, moody daughter. He made his way through the ship and was suddenly caught by an odd, unexpected feeling deep in his gut.

Instictively, his thoughts flew to Alaura and as his stomach forced itself into knots too tight to simple unravel with calm breathing and exercise, he knew, instantly, that something was wrong. That she had done something…something he couldn't quite place, but knew without knowing that it was bad. Very bad. Piccolo needed to find out why he was all of a sudden feeling this way and where this feeling was coming from.

Nothing good can come of this, He thought, frowning, nay, glaring at the closed door in front of him, Nothing.