Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Dancing ❯ Part 6 ( Chapter 6 )

 

Dancing

 

Part Six

 

Disclaimer: DBZ isn't mine.

 

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Vegeta stood at the backstage door, impatient for his first meeting face to face with Heather De Lorey. He had purposely instructed the chauffeur to arrive at this entrance rather than to the glitz and paparazzi that had adorned his own and his wife's appearance at the front of the building. The bitch was undoubtedly out to make a name for herself one way or another, and Vegeta was determined to keep her as far away from the spotlight as he could. He looked along the dark ally, noticing with amusement that it backed onto a Chinese restaurant. Dumpsters lined the wall overflowing with rotten kitchen waste. Yes… this was by far the most suitable entrance. Let her arrive amongst the trash where she belonged.

 

Bulma's search through the employment records had turned up an interesting result. A De Lorey had once worked at Capsule Corporation, and the dates did coincide with Vegeta's first arrival on Earth. Dr. Briefs had employed the man in question, one James De Lorey, for ten years.For five of those years he had worked within the main Capsule Corporation complex in West City for five of those years as a Heavy Plant Engineer, but with no access to the kind of security clearance he would need to prove a real threat. Although not much more about this man could be found other than his address at the time and his national insurance number, it was unlikely that he had acquired any substantial evidence. Sure… he might have heard things, but gossip was negligible.

 

Vegeta, however, wasn't prepared to be too complacent. James De Lorey might be so insignificant a threat as to calm Bulma's initial alarm, but Vegeta would not be put off until he was certain of this girl's intentions. Not only was it unwise to make presumptions about something so serious - it was also entirely against his suspicious nature. He would act as if this girl really did have dirt on the family for as long as it took to find concrete evidence to the contrary. He didn't care how that evidence came about either - a confession written in blood after hours of delicious torture would suffice. He smirked and shook his head. As appealing as the thought was, this was a matter that required his smarts, not his fists.

 

He could feel Trunks's energy now. A few more minutes and they would be in sight. He scratched distractedly at his collar. The starch in the material made it itch to no end. An icy wind blew around the bottoms of his trousers and tipped his hair to an even more unnatural angle than usual. As he waited their arrival, his mind wandered to the capsule - the sapphire encrusted one that had so sentimental a hold over his wife. Why had Heather asked Bra to steal it? In all the confusion, he had not thought to ask her what relevance it had. Why did Heather want it? Was it purely for its monetary value, or was there another reason? How did she even know about it in the first place? Perhaps this was a clue that, in the turmoil of the moment, had been foolishly skipped over.

 

He resolved to talk to Bra about it immediately. He needed to find out as much as he could before the bitch arrived. He was just about to go inside in search of her when two girls appeared in the doorway in front of him. The girls, though in outfits that clearly marked them as belonging to the performance, didn't look as though they were ready to dance for the King of Earth just yet. By the looks of things, it wasn't cool to wear a tutu for any unnecessary length of time without the latest phone and high street fashions to accessorise it. Vegeta raised a curious eyebrow. Was one of them chewing gum? He shrugged his disgust away. It would certainly be a more entertaining evening if one of dancers choked to death mid-performance.

 

After studying them for a few moments, Vegeta snarled his features into as ugly and intimidating a glare as he could and congratulated himself when the life and excitement simultaneously drained from their faces.

 

“Shit!” the taller girl said to her friend, stamping her foot in irritation and turning away. “It's just his dad.”

 

Looking equally pissed off the other girl followed her friend back inside. “What a waste of time! I tell you I'm, like, so gonna kill Gemma for this!”

 

Slightly bewildered by the encounter, Vegeta watched them as they bitched their way back down the corridor. No doubt they were looking for Trunks. Vegeta might have felt some pride in his son's popularity with women if it didn't take proper attention away from his training. The intrusion did at least have one benefit. It reminded him that his daughter was already in the changing room getting ready, along with the majority of the performance's female contingent. It was unwise to go into the changing room after her. He needed someone to fetch her for him.

 

He looked long down the corridor. The two girls were the only dancers in sight. He had no choice.

 

Not caring about such niceties as walking, Vegeta was behind them a fraction of a second later.

 

“Excuse me, Fashion Whores!”

 

Both the girls turned and stared at him, incredulous.

 

“My daughter is changing backstage. Bring her to me.”

 

“Yeah right!” The taller one squalled in a way only an up-themselves-teenager could possibly master. “Fuck off, Granddad! I ain't doing shit for you!”

 

“Of course you are,” he said, calmly plucking a pen and a piece of paper from his inside pocket, and writing on it. “This,” he said once he was finished, “is my son's personal cell phone number. It's yours when you bring Bra here for me.”

 

The girl's between pride and lust lasted all of two seconds. “Fine!” she huffed, and, friend in tow, they turned a corner in the corridor, and walked out of sight.

 

It didn't take them long to find, Bra. Five minutes later they returned, escorting her, one on either side, like sparkly bodyguards.

 

“Right then,” the girl said, hand on hip and glaring at him, “a deal's a deal.”

 

Vegeta nodded in acquiescence, “Indeed,” he replied and let the girl snatch the paper from his hands. “Oh,” he said after a moment of thought, “my son likes his girlfriends to be kinky. Remember that when you call him.”

 

Bra snickered beside him, but concealed it well with a piece of silk from her dress. Vegeta smirked wickedly as the girls once again turned and walked away.

 

“Daddy!” Bra exclaimed as soon as they were out of hearing. “I thought Mum told you not to hand out Master Roshi's number anymore!”

 

“She did,” he admitted proudly.

 

Bra sighed and shook her head. “Well,” she asked, “what do you want? I have to be onstage in twenty minutes. I really need to start warming up.”

 

“I never asked you why Heather wanted your mother's capsule. I am curious to know what her intentions were for it.”

 

Bra looked to floor. “It was my fault. In trying to fit in… well… show off, I told them that Mum owned her own island. They asked more questions, and when I told them that there were no buildings on it, they laughed at me. It thought that if I told them about the palace they'd stop. Of course it didn't work. Heather decided she wanted to borrow it there and then. Her parents are separated, and her mum arranged for her to go away over the summer holidays to stay with her dad, but Heather didn't want to go. She intended to take the money for the train ticket and hire a boat out to our island instead. She invited all her friends and planned to party the six weeks away in the palace where no one could find her.”

 

“Thank you, Bra,” he said. “It was bugging me. How would a sixteen-year-old know where to sell something so distinctive and find someone willing to buy it? It would be pointless owning something that could be so easily traced back to its real owner. The lack of logic leads me to believe that this girl is making things up as she goes along. It could be that the blood test was nothing more than an attempt to gain even more control of your actions and make her own position more secure. This doesn't, however, tell me how she could possibly know about Saiyans?”

 

Bra seemed to know he didn't require her to answer this, and after a few minutes of meditation, she spoke of her anxiousness to get ready for the performance. Vegeta nodded, and she left. Deep in thought, he made his way back to the fire exit door, just as Trunks's limo pulled into the damp and grotty ally. Instantly shaking off his mood, he stepped forward and opened the door for his son's date. As of this moment he couldn't let his anger get in the way. He needed a clear head to accurately analyse the situation - an open and inviting temperament to gain her trust and thus make her vulnerable. His performance tonight was just as important as Bra's.

 

He bowed to Heather and offered her his hand as she exited the car. “Miss De Lorey,” he said, “I am sorry you have to arrive in this manner, but the press are quite vicious tonight, and I thought you would prefer to avoid their intrusiveness.”

 

Vegeta dared a glance at his son, whose astonishment was great, before he caught his father's look and instantly knew he was required to play along.

 

“Heather, may I introduce my father, Vegeta Briefs, to you,” Trunks said with a wry smile. “He's quite the socialite, whatever the papers would have you believe.”

 

Heather curtseyed, and looked a little awkward, not sure how to act at such a formal introduction. “It's nice to meet you,” she said.

 

“We will be in Mr. Satan's box tonight,” Vegeta said, “and we had better hurry because they will be opening the performance very soon.”

 

They started walking through the back stage area, and out into the main entrance hall. The room was packed with people and alive with the sound of conversation. Vegeta wasn't able to hide his displeasure at needing to circumnavigate the room and reach the attendant to the box entrance. He disguised his disgust, however, enough for it to go unnoticed. On seeing Vegeta, the attendant cleared the rope and allowed them through before instantly closing it behind them.

 

“There won't be many in the box,” he said as though apologizing. “There will be Mr. Satan, his guest Miss Trinity, my wife and us. I hope we will not be too boring for you, Miss De Lorey.”

 

“Of course not!” she protested. “It is a very great honour to meet the Champion of the World, and Mrs. Briefs as well. She is so very pretty and fashionable! I look forward to it very much.”

 

Vegeta studied this speech and was surprised to detect no insincerity or duplicity in either her words or her manner. Even when he stopped talking and his son took over, he could not find any hidden agenda woven into her words. It really did appear as if she were generally happy to be at the theatre with Trunks, and was equally pleased and honoured to meet the whole party. She was nervous; there was no denying that, but Vegeta doubted it was felt anymore than the occasion warranted. It was an extraordinary turn of events, and for the first time Vegeta began to think that maybe he had given this simple sixteen-year-old human female, greater capacity for guile and cunning than she actually possessed.

 

When they reached the box and the necessary introductions followed, Vegeta took his place by Bulma's side. Mr. Satan and Miss Trinity (his date for the evening - a female scarcely older than Heather) were seated to the left of Bulma, and Trunks and Heather were to the right of Vegeta.

 

As soon as the curtain went up, and the orchestra sprang into life, Bulma asked, “What do you make of her?” in a whisper at his ear.

 

“I think,” he replied with equal care and secrecy, “that she could well be out of her depth.”

 

“Good,” she replied, “let's find out for sure.”

 

Vegeta agreed, and they both turned to look out at the stage.

 

Once the opening act was over, and the scenes were being changed, Bulma decided it was time to interrogate Heather about her connections to the family.

 

“So Heather,” she said, taking a glass of champagne from the waiter, “I understand that you're in the same class at school as my daughter, Bra.”

 

This was the first indication of alarm the bitch had truly felt since stepping out of the Limousine. Vegeta could hear her breathing become more erratic, and her heart was beating fast. She answered with forced composure. “I am.”

 

“But I do believe we might share another connection,” Bulma added, a little more slyly than before. “I'm sure one of my father's employees at Capsule Corp had the surname De Lorey. He worked as a heavy plant engineer. As soon as I heard your surname I thought of him. It's not exactly a common name. Is he a relation of yours?”

 

Again, Heather's heart rate increased in proportion to the inquiry. She nervously took a glass from the waiter as he offered it, almost spilling it in the process.

 

“Yes,” she confessed. “He was my great uncle.”

 

“Was?”

 

“He died five years ago. It hit us all quite hard because, as you may remember Mrs. Briefs, he was a very chatty and kind person. Everyone he met ended up liking him. He always had stories to tell. He loved to talk about his time at Capsule Corporation especially, and your family was one of his favourite topics. Your father I think was a very laid back and kind man from what my uncle said. Though he always said he wished that Mr. Briefs wouldn't smoke around him so much. Of course, it's totally freaky meeting you now, Mrs. Briefs, after I have heard you talked about by Uncle Jim so much. He was always telling me how pretty you were, and even though you're not so young as you were then, I think he was right. To be honest, I think he had a bit of thing for you.”

 

Bulma looked suitably indignant at the familiarity of Heather's speech, and she glared at Vegeta when she saw his evident amusement at it. It did, however, remind her of their objective, and so she sucked up her annoyance and replied calmly. “I'm sorry for your loss. My father passed away about the same time as your uncle. I know how hard it is to say goodbye to someone you love.”

 

“It was hard,” she agreed. “He was more like a dad to me than my own father ever has been, but I'm sorry,” she said as the curtain went up again, “we're here to have fun, and watch the entertainment, not to listen to me talking about sad things.”

 

The next act was a comedy duo that had gained great accolade in the last year. They were a particular favourite of Bulma's, and so she had no attention for anything else while they were onstage. Having nothing else to do and with no interest in what was happening on stage, Vegeta nudged his son and quietly said, “How much more of this crap have I got to sit through before Bra is on?”

 

Trunks picked up a program and thumbed through it. “I think there are two more performances to go. An opera excerpt sung in Italian, and a display by the Chinese State Circus - that should be good for a laugh if nothing else.”

 

It was clear to Vegeta that, although Trunks's speech was meant to sound casual, he was in fact very agitated.

 

“Trunks,” he whispered, “you need to calm down.”

 

“Bra tells me that you two are into martial arts,” Heather interrupted.

 

Vegeta looked away and was resolutely silent, but Trunks answered that they were.

 

“How very exciting!” she continued. “I had Judo lessons when I was younger, but I thought it was pretty dull and gave it up for piano lessons. Of course, they didn't last long either. I get distracted too easily. Perhaps,” she said with a blush and a shy look up at Trunks, “you might teach me. I'm sure it wouldn't be half so boring with you teaching me.”

 

“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” Trunks replied.

 

“Oh, I'm sure you could find time for me,” she protested, holding his arm tight against her chest, and then in a lower voice, “we could go somewhere private in the evenings and do any kind of training you like.”

 

Trunks stared wide-eyed at her, and had she asked him to lick the cat tray clean, he couldn't have looked anymore more disgusted. Still, to his credit he did not act out of turn. He simply reaffirmed the impossibility of finding time to teach her when he was finding it hard to make time for his own training, and settled back down to watch the proceedings. Vegeta remained silent through the next two acts. Paying attention to a drama sung in a language he didn't understand and watching indifferent Earthling martial artists prancing across the stage, Vegeta ceded, was preferable to hearing the bitch's impertinent affectation to Bulma or her vulgar hopes for intimacy with Trunks.

 

Of course, despite all this there was the ever-gloomy thought of what the next act would produce. Soon his daughter would be out on stage, revelling and shinning in the one act that would inevitably take her away from Hyori forever. His daughter, he had no doubt, would be the star of the show. Even to a critical and unwilling eye such as his it was clear to see her true proficiency and elegance in the art, a concession grudgingly admitted by him on occasion. He was even known to feel some pride in the fact that he had been the one to further her advancement in it, but still he did not like the fact that ballet was enticing her away. As her ability and fame increased, so did the gap between father and daughter.

 

The lights dimmed and the music began. It was a slow melodic tune. The curtain rose, and there was Bra, like the princess she was, bathed in elegant blue light in her sparkling-white costume, and crouched sorrowfully in her starting position. There was a powerful feeling in Vegeta's chest as he watched her, slowly stand high on tiptoes, her head held proud and smiling in front of an auditorium full of admirers. When had his little girl grown into the beautiful teenager now standing on stage? He was sure Trunks had not grown up half so quickly, but then he had never given himself the trouble of getting too close to his son. It was only after he passed Bra's current age that Vegeta had attempted to have any relationship with his son that went beyond his training. So many years wasted to selfishness and personal greed!

 

So lost in thought was Vegeta that it was some time until he realized that Heather actually had the audacity to talk through his daughter's performance. She was rattling on about some new skimpy outfit she would wear for Trunks's benefit on their next date.

 

Trunks looked as though he were ready to kill her, and Vegeta scarcely felt less capable. “My sister is onstage,” he reminded her under his breath.

 

“I know,” she said, unconcerned. “But I'm not overly fond of ballet, and no doubt you've seen her routine a thousand times by now.” Then in a voice that Vegeta wasn't meant to hear. “We could always ditch the old guys, slip out when they're not looking, and go find some real fun!” Here she took the liberty of kissing him on the cheek, and Trunks almost leapt out of his seat. “What do you say?”

 

“I say leave me the hell alone, you psycho bitch!” Trunks snapped, unable to keep his hate for her disguised any longer.

 

Vegeta sighed and shook his head. She really was something else! He shouldn't have relied so heavily on Trunks. As talented as he was with work and training, he had never developed much of a temperament for subterfuge.

 

“I'm sorry, Dad,” Trunks apologised. “I can't do this anymore. I can't sit here and pretend that this ugly, ignorant kid is special to me, when not only is she blatantly insulting my mother and Grandpa's memory, but…” he said, addressing the last part of his statement to her face, “blackmailing my little sister as well. I don't care what you think you know about my family, but I'm not putting up with this shit any longer!” He looked over to Mr. Satan. “I'm sorry for causing a scene when you were so kind as to let us sit in your box. As soon as this bitch leaves then we'll be able to watch the rest of Bra's performance in peace and enjoy it as we aught.”

 

Heather was suitably stunned for a few minutes. It was an interesting spectacle to watch. Trunks's putdown and assault had taken her quite by surprise, and Vegeta sat back wondering if she would explode. From the mix of anger and mortification Trunks's words created, Vegeta thought it might well be possible.

 

When her mind fully caught up, Heather's emotions overflowed in a violent scream of outrage, and she slapped Trunks hard across the face. Vegeta was alarmed to see that the uproar had stopped Bra mid-dance. There was a noise like the rustle of autumn leaves that spread across the auditorium as those seated there turned to look at the cause of the commotion.

 

Heather was shaking with rage, tears streaming down her face. “Oh!” she said in a louder and craftier voice, “You don't care what I have on you, do you? You will when I'm finished with your family.”

 

“I'm not afraid of you,” Trunks snarled.

 

“Oh… I think you are,” she said, walking around to the front of the box and letting her hand trail behind her as she marched down the entire length. Every eye in the theatre was on her and, emboldened by the attention, Heather seized her moment to take up her position as though centre stage.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” she announced so the entire concert hall could hear. “This is a lovely evening, isn't it?”

 

There was a general murmur around the room, but not direct reply.

 

“Everyone looks like they're having fun! Are you guys all enjoying the evening? The free champagne, the questionable performances?” She laughed. “I'm not. Do you want to know why?”

 

Again there was no reply, just complete attention. This bitch was definitely a performer, or at least accustomed to getting her own way. She held pride in her abilities without reason, a self-satisfaction without intelligence. Vegeta had been right, she was out for all she could get, and now that she realized she couldn't worm her way into either Trunk's heart or wallet, she was out to make the morning headlines and grab all the fame she could as a result.

 

“I'm not enjoying myself because I know for a fact that there is a mass murderer in the room with us and guess what! He's not even human! He's a Saiyan - a killing machine - a life-form born and bred for destruction.”

 

The crowd gasped as though one.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to Mr. Vegeta Briefs, otherwise known as Prince Vegeta. The same Vegeta that came to Earth thirty-five years ago, determined to blow up!”

 

“You little bitch!” Bulma seethed.

 

“But you don't deny it do you, Bulma - that you married and had two children with a raging psychopath? Your husband destroyed entire civilisations, didn't he? Planets, solar-systems - millions of innocent lives were ended by his hand, isn't that true?”

 

“LIES!”

 

Vegeta, who had stayed resolutely silent and stony since the outburst began, now, with a fear he was sure he had never felt before, looked down at the stage. Bra was on her feet, a steely resolve in her eyes, and with a spell of insurmountable anger working on all her features.

 

“My daddy is a great martial artist and has saved the world with the help of Mr. Satan and Son Goku on numerous occasions! My dad,” she said, proudly lifting her chin, “is a hero!”

 

To this assault, Heather merely laughed out loud. “Oh my gosh, this is just too precious! He hasn't told you, has he, Knickers? Tsk tsk, Prince Vegeta, how dishonourable of you.”

 

“Daddy!” Bra pleaded. “Tell everyone that she's a liar!”

 

At this request, Vegeta stood. This had gone on long enough. There was only one way to make this bitch stop. It might mean the end of his daughter's unwavering love and esteem for him - her pride in his abilities, his nature, and his integrity, these things might all be lost, but his family would no longer be under the power of a silly and vain teenage abomination. There would be no more secrecy. Everyone would know he was the Saiyan Prince; everyone would fear him - everyone would respect him! Everyone apart from the one person it mattered most for him to have respect from--his daughter. He should have told her - should have spun his past into his fairytale description of Vegetasei when she was only seven years old. Then over the years, readdress and affirm those points that needed understanding. Then it wouldn't have had to come to such a critical point as this.

 

His face, however, didn't betray his thoughts. He would not let the bitch know she had affected him. Lackadaisically, he folded his arms across his chest and looked her dead in the eye. He was pleased to see her confidence take a steep nosedive as he pulled his chest high and stared through her. Now she positively cowered and slinked to the side to let him address the gathered crowd.

 

“The child who just addressed you is a scheming, blackmailing, bitch, but,” he said making sure to look directly at his daughter, “she has not lied to you. When I first came to this planet my sole intention was to destroy it. After my encounter with the Z Senshi, I left it with the intention of destroying many others. Even when I returned to Earth and was eventually called on to help save it, I should not have cared if it were blown to smithereens under my feet for any other reason than because my life required it to stay intact. I am a warrior and a killer, and I am proud of my heritage. I have not repented, nor has the killer instinct in me abated since I grudgingly chose to live my life in the peace and seclusion of your world. The only thing that I have ever cared about is the family I made on this planet, and they are probably the only reason that it survives to this day.” There he stopped to enjoy the fear on everyone's faces. It had been too long since he had last gloried in that much dread. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bra collapse onto the stage, the strength in her limbs as drained as the colour from her face. Inside he collapsed too; outwardly his strength and resolve never failed. “I have no apology to give, and nothing more to say. Goodnight.”

 

He turned away from his stunned audience, and Bulma instantly grabbed his hand. Her eyes were overflowing with emotion, but Vegeta would have no part of it. “Not now, Bulma,” he said and left the room.

 

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Thank you to LisaB for betaing.