Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Chizzari-Raditz ❯ Little Warrior ( Chapter 15 )

I'm bored out of my skull. Okay, so maybe that's not saying a lot, I've got a pretty thick skull. But still! I am not permitted to leave my quarters. I can't even go to the common room - the door's bolted or barred or something. I can't get it open. There aren't any books in my room, I always read in the commons. There isn't enough room to do more than the most simplistic exercises, but I've done what I can. They took my scouter; I can't contact anyone. And absolutely no one comes to visit. There isn't even a servant. My room's been modified, my meals - a bland, tasteless mush - comes through a service shaft, and clean bedding and clothes as well. There's a laundry chute for the dirty stuff, but it's barely big enough for that, and sure not big enough for me.

I lean against the bars that keep me from the small balcony. They didn't put bars around the outside of the balcony, no; they had to put them in the door. I can't even go out into that tiny bit of outdoors. The windows are barred, too. All in such a way that I can't open the door or window to get a breeze. I work the bars absently, trying to see if they're any weaker than they were yesterday. Not that it would be safe for me to break out, I just hate the idea of being confined.

I'm not an animal! Well, except on the full moon, but that hardly counts right now. And I figure I have to be in the late stages of my pregnancy. I'm horny as hell and can't sleep at all. I think I'll make these bars my target when it comes time to have this half-breed brat. Damn Zarbon anyway! And double damn Nappa! That bastard must have remembered how much sex I got last time, because he confiscated the box of chizzari tools. If I had those, I could at least take care of part of my problem. Because masturbation just isn't cutting it. I need something in me.

Not that I haven't tried putting me in me. My tail hits the pleasure point, sure, but it doesn't do any stretching, and it seems that's what I need. I've searched through everything. There's nothing that will work. I'm almost to the point where it's a physical pain, and I'm considering… well…

I yank on the bars again, growling, and then head for the kitchen. I crouch next to the table, examining the legs, and determine that those won't work either. I'm snarling when I get up, and the scent of musk in the room would be enough to drown a harem. I've been going nude for the last two weeks, because the touch of anything on my skin is so… ARRRRGGGHHHH! Yeah, that sounds about right. I grab a cup, and fill it full of cool water. I'm wishing for ice, but there isn't any.

The shower is next. Nice and cold, and completely ineffective. Soap on my hand and soap in my tail and both at work. I get release, but there's no satisfaction, no relief. If anything, I think I need it worse. I do. I just realized I think Nappa sounds like a good fuck. Mostly because he's huge, and would stretch me out very nicely.

Ah, hell! I slam out of the shower, my power enough to dry me off before I get to the towels. My tail is a big fuzzy length of frenzied whipping; I can't keep it still to save my life. And the musk… my apartment smells like a bordello, and if it's not seeping out under the door, I'm a monkey's uncle.

I grin, since I expect that one day, I will be a monkey's uncle. Father's sure to knock someone up again, the way he goes through partners. I toss myself on the bed, spreading my legs and using my tail. Pleasure's better than nothing, I guess, and I can't stand to go for more than a few minutes without trying to satisfy my body's needs. Thinking of what I really want makes me ill, and I redouble my efforts with my tail.

A few minutes later, I'm banging on the door that leads to the common room again. Trying to break it down, since it's locked from the outside. Trying to get the attention of anyone who might be out there. I don't even care if it's Nappa, or King Vegeta. I need laid, and I need it now!

No one answers. I make my way over to the bed, and yank the bedding around into a nest. Once I have it arranged to my satisfaction, I curl up and try to sleep. There's nothing else to do.

A horribly familiar pain wakes me. I jerk upright, a cry of pain escaping. I strain my ears, listening for any sound that will indicate someone is near. There is no sound, at all, so I take it as a good indication nobody's there.

I really don't think that's a good thing. I remember how much it hurt last time, and I remember that I was breech. If this child is, and dies, Zarbon will destroy my people. I imagine he'll let Vegeta live, but he won't care about anyone else, including me. Even so, I manage to keep from screaming. I don't really know how.

I pant a lot. I remember how to breathe, and I move around a lot to try and keep the pain from really centering anywhere. Fill the tub up with nice hot water and try to relax. It helps, but not much - the old idea that I am trying to shit Nappa out my ass is still pretty much in effect. Not much difference between this kid and Turles. At least, not until I can't hold back the screams any longer.

Nobody comes. I guess I still believe someone will, even as time passes and I remain alone. Zarbon had been beyond clear with his message of how I was not to be abused or his child mutilated before being killed, the usual result of a pregnant Saiyan being renounced by a mate. He'd described an act of torture to be performed on the king, should anything happen to me or the babe, which made King Vegeta wet his pants. I figure someone is sure to be stationed to be sure nothing can go wrong.

I am pretty weak when I finally finish birthing that kid. Has all its fingers, all its toes. Hair as straight as its father's and as dark as mine. No tail. Light green skin that will probably pass for white depending on the lighting. I clean him up, feed him just as I had my Turles, and finish off what he didn't eat. Then curl up in absolute exhaustion in the middle of the bloody birthing mess.

I… I don't know how much time has passed. Zarrad has grown. He's walking, talking. He imitates me when I train. I always allow him to eat as much of that tasteless mush they send before I eat anything, but he's still small. I worry that the mush doesn't have the right nutrients for him to grow well, but I've no way of communicating with whoever is out there sending up the food. Or the clothes. There's never been clothes sent for him. More often than not, we both go naked.

It's been so hard. I had my father and Vegeta to help when Turles was born. With Zarrad, I haven't even got anyone else to talk to. I've told him every history I can remember, every scrap of poetry I've recalled. Taught him everything I can think of. There really isn't anything else to do. We're trapped here. He's never known anything else, drinks up the stories I tell him of the planets I've visited as if they were the tales I heard in my youth. I don't think he really believes me. He can see the world through the window and the balcony door, but he thinks the view is just like the other pictures on the walls, except that the colors change.

I'm not sure how much time has passed. I don't know when Zarbon will be coming. I don't know if Zarrad has had a birthday, or two, or even three. I lost track of time when I got sick after I had him. I don't really know how much time I lost, but I know I took care of him, because he was alive and crawling when I finally got better. I can't keep track by the sun, because I sometimes sleep long enough the sun is setting when I get up. The mush is sent up irregularly as well. Sometimes it's once a day, sometimes we've had four bowls. Some days, we don't get fed at all.

We try the bars every day. Both of us. I think they're a little looser. I've been working at them for a long time now, so they should be looser. But they're still stronger than I am. I can't even create a decent sized energy ball to send against the walls, and I used to be able to produce enough power to take out more than a simple wall!

I lean back in the chair, watching him sleep. His silky black hair has grown out, and reaches his knees. It's spread out across the bed, a tangled skein that I'll have to put in order as soon as he wakes. He's a little chubby, which is a good thing, considering that he only gets to eat sporadically. I always make him eat at least a little, because there really is no telling when we'll get fed. He's well-muscled, too, for as little room as we have. I've taken care to be sure he knows how to take care of himself, and not just fighting. Hygienically, too. Zarbon was such a stickler about being clean that I know he'd have a fit if he found I'd let his son be raised with the Saiyan attitude of "shower when I wanna!" we have. Besides, the ventilation in here stinks, so daily showers have pretty much become the norm.

I sigh a little. I've gotten used to the imprisonment, but I'm not used to the fact that I simply cannot get out. I could get him out, he's small enough to fit in the laundry chute and in the shaft the food and stuff comes in. I don't dare do that. No matter what the threats made by Zarbon, his son wouldn't survive me trying to get him out one of those two ways. He's too obviously mine, for all that he resembles his father more. And I know from the difficulty the royal guards had keeping me safe from harm when they brought me back to my rooms that the shame I am in is well known. My son would be tortured until he died.

My hand hovers over the wound on my neck. It aches again. I know that means Vegeta has returned, and is near enough that the broken bond is affected. Frieza has taken him. I'm sure of that, even though I don't know how much time has really passed. Even broken, the faint remains of that bond combined with my chizzari bond left me in no doubts of when that incident first happened. It's happened since, as well. I do not know what my prince will be like when I next see him.

If I ever do.

Zarrad stirs, one chubby arm flung to the side. He is unmistakably Zarbon's son, with that pale green skin, those delicate features. He's a very pretty boy. I get up and move quietly to the bed, my tail whipping out to measure him. I am fairly certain he is around two years old, even though he seems small for that age. And that means…

I sigh and move to the barred window. There isn't much to see, but I stare out for awhile anyway before moving to the balcony door. I grab the bars, just like I always do, then look over to my sleeping son. My shoulders slump. There is no point in rattling my cage. My head falls forward to rest against the bars. I… I will do what I think is due. I'll do it as soon as the sun sets.

I didn't know it would hurt. I had no idea that it would hurt so much. I tip my head, allowing the cold water of the shower to beat against my neck, and wonder how it is that I'm not dead. I feel like I should be. Zarrad cuddles next to me, still sniffling a little. I know he has to be hurting, but he seems to be worried more about me. I guess that makes sense. I don't usually scream in agony and collapse.

I've told him several times that I'm going to be fine, but I haven't found the energy to get up, away from the water's spray. Zarrad drug me in here, got the shower going. It was warm. I hadn't even known he could turn the shower on. He's shivering, and I'm slowly beginning to realize that I'm getting very cold.

I lever myself up. It's a difficult process, made more awkward by the flare of pain that settles into a throbbing ache. Frieza… with Vegeta again. I manage at last, shutting the water down. A brief flare of power warms me, but I grab a towel for my son, and wrap him tightly in it.

"Two?"

"Or very close," I agree, settling him in my chair. I've told him this day was coming.

"Warrior?"

It pains me to see how his eyes have lit up. Warriors are sent out on missions. He is a warrior now, but I don't know anymore if his father even still cares that he exists. "Yes, my son. You are a warrior now." There is pride in my voice. There should be. He is my son, and I have trained him to the best of my abilities, limited as those are.

"Mission?"

"We haven't been given one yet."

The light dims only a little, but he has other things on his mind. This time, though, his voice is much less hopeful. "Food?"

"Let's go see…" I've managed to get my hair dry, and swing him to sit on my shoulder. He clings gleefully to my hair as I make my way to the kitchen. The shaft is open, but there isn't a bowl of mush waiting.

I pull the tray out and set it on the table. The shaft rumbles. I pull out another tray. This happens twice more, while my son looks on in bewilderment. I'm just as puzzled. The trays are loaded with food. Real, honest food, not that tasteless mush. Something has to be wrong.

I sniff everything carefully, but can't smell anything but the mouth-watering smells of non-mush. So, I set the table with the one table setting I was left when my room was modified. I'm picky about what I put on it. Zarrad has never had anything spicy. He's never had anything with any sort of flavor at all. So I pick things that I know taste good, and put bits of it on his plate. For the first time ever, he's going to get to have a drink of milk. He's going to get to taste meat, and vegetables, and desserts.

I'm salivating, but sit on the counter while he eats. At first, he takes tiny bites, his face a study of concentration as he tries the new flavors and textures. His bites become bigger as he becomes more used to the food. Even so, he eats a lot less than I expect him to. I find myself eating in a similar manner when I take my turn. I don't eat as much as I thought I would, either.

I pack the leftovers into the cooler, and send the trays back. I wash our dishes, and put them away, then join my son in the main room. He is sitting on the bed, a solemn, puzzled look on his little face. I turn to see what has caught his attention.

"Zarbon!"