Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Errant Exile ❯ Face in the Crowd ( Chapter 23 )

“Errant Exile”

Chapter 22: “Face in the Crowd ”

Bright blue sky framed the outline of the huge Satan City Stadium. Not a single cloud threatened the sun, but the yellow blimp that hovered over the stands caused the occasional eclipse. A slight breeze set the jewel-toned pennants waving and cooled the crowd of excited ticket-holders waiting for their turn through the gates. The scents of roasting hot dogs, spilled beer, fried potatoes, and fresh popcorn mingled with the smells of machine oil, perfumes and recently cut grass. Khri inhaled deeply through her nose and let the fragrant air fill her lungs as a noisy television helicopter flew overhead. These are the smells and sounds of life. She exhaled and took another deep breath. And the fact that I’m here, experiencing it all, and I’m not alone . . . it’s amazing how such simple things remind me it can be good to be alive.

Khri had traveled to the tournament alone in her aircar, now safely tucked into its capsule in the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Piccolo had left before dawn, determined to rid Goten of any lingering thoughts he might have about defying the decision not to use chi. Gohan, Videl and Pan had been waiting for her just outside the main gates. The others, Gohan explained, had already passed through the turnstiles and were waiting for them inside. The line to get in was long but Khri was content to wait. It gave her time to study the conflict between her memories of the stadium and the numerous changes that caught her eye.

Pan’s strong stubby fingers tightened around hers as she looked up at Khri with shining eyes and a huge grin. Khri returned the smile, but she couldn’t help but see another face in addition to Pan’s. He wasn’t much smaller when were first met here, all those years ago, and he certainly wasn’t as well-behaved! At least I don’t have to worry about this little one taking a bite out of me. She chuckled softly as she brushed a tendril of loose hair from her face.

Gohan nudged a half-step closer. “What’s so funny?”

She took another deep breath, pushing the image aside and forcing herself to return to the present. “I was here once before. It was a long time ago, but I’ve never forgotten it.”

The line shuffled forward as he stared at her in puzzlement. His eyes flew wide and he gasped, head turning to stare at the stadium’s towering walls. “You mean . . . here? This is the place where you first met . . .? “

Khri nodded, taking in the rippling flags that waved in the breeze and the huge promotional posters of Mr. Satan and other well-known fighters draping the walls. “So much has changed since then! The stadium looks the same, but there were fewer people and Mr. Satan wasn’t leering down at me. I didn’t get to see any of the actual fighting . . . unless you count what happened in the warm-up rooms.”

Gohan glanced down at his daughter, whose attention was fixed on the huge display of balloons and toys peddled by a nearby vendor. “I’d love to hear your side of that story. Piccolo doesn’t talk about his childhood, but over the years he’s made a few remarks that it wasn’t pleasant. You’re the only one I know of who knew him when he was that young.”

“I don’t know if you could call it ‘knowing,’ Gohan. Our encounter lasted less than a day.” Off to the right, Khri saw the entrance leading to the south tunnel where she’d once hidden, whispering instructions to her team through her battle array. It’s going to be easy to get lost in memories here, she conceded. I’ll think about them later, but for now I’ve got to stay focused. She shaded her eyes with her free hand and quickly scanned the excited crowd. Once their tickets had been given to the gate attendant they were free to pass through the turnstiles into the stadium.

The excitement, laughter and noise of the surrounding crowd reminded Khri of the carnival. She’d been distracted almost the entire day, occasionally catching a glimpse of a face that looked familiar. There were several that could have belonged to any of Earth’s native races, but there were exceptions. She counted at least seven different species she knew were as alien as she was. Piccolo had been so preoccupied with whatever was making him nervous he hadn’t noticed her careful scrutiny of the faces they passed. Concern fought with irritation every time he pushed or poked her into a different direction or moved to block her view. When he’d grabbed her arm one too many times she challenged him, and then discovered for herself the source of his fears. The memory tried to escape through a giggle, but she covered her mouth and changed it to a cough. He’d snarled and complained about winning the stuffed toy for her and then surprised her by going through with it. Piccolo’s gleeful destruction of the strong man game snapped the tension they’d both struggled with all afternoon, letting them spend the rest of the day in comfortable companionship.

And then there had been the fireworks.

Khri felt a tightening in her stomach at the memory of Piccolo’s faint smile and outstretched arm. It had taken a moment to understand what it was he was offering and when she did she felt stupid for underestimating him. He knew I was getting cold but knew I didn’t want to leave. Just because he’s coarse and gruff most of the time doesn’t mean he isn’t considerate.

It had been years since someone had held her that closely for so long. It had been her father’s arms around her when her brother Khedmi's' body had been brought home. His embrace held love and comfort; Piccolo's was different. She fumbled for the word and the only one that made any sense was 'safe.' But the fit wasn't perfect. A warmer feeling lingered long after he’d taken her home and she couldn't find a way to describe it. The thick, muscled arm he’d slid around her shoulders and the broad chest warming her shoulder were powerful reminders that “Junior” wasn’t so junior anymore. In fact, she admitted as her stomach somersaulted again, it’s becoming harder and harder to think of him as ever having been a knee-high Namekian.

“Gohan! Yoo Hoo! Over here!”

Bulma had to jump up and down to be seen above the crowd. Bra, Master Roshi, Kuririn and his family waved in welcome. "What took you so long," ChiChi asked as her granddaughter gave her a flying hug and crushing her box of popcorn.

"Sorry, Mother." Videl brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. "Pan insisted on wearing the gi that looks like Goku's but it was in the dryer."

“I’m afraid I was running a little late, too,” Khri admitted. “It took longer to find a landing spot for my aircar than I anticipated.”

Bulma glanced irritably at her watch. "We've got just enough time to grab any last minute snacks and find our seats before the opening ceremonies start, so let's move!" She waived Kuririn and the other towards the end of the concourse that lead to the second tier of seats.

"The only thing we’d be missing is Mr. Satan's grandstanding," Kuririn whispered behind Bulma’s back and was answered with giggles or sympathetic eye-rolling.

The path to Bulma’s reserved seats was a long one, but she promised the view would be well worth it. Khri had to fight nostalgia with every step, present day images mixed with memories of a nearly identical day thirty years ago. She struggled to hide her disbelief when they stopped at the same concessions stand where she’d met Sai, with “Junior” tucked under her arm. That day it had been empty and dark. This time all the lights were on and the area was packed with hungry spectators either waiting to order or carrying away hot dogs and sodas.

Khri spent her time waiting in line people-watching. She recognized a few of the alien species she’d seen at the carnival but no specific face was familiar. Stop it, she admonished herself, tearing her eyes from the back of a tall, fair-haired older man with a beard. I’m Dorhanhai now, whether I like it or not. It’s time to start acting like it. Watching for threats is one matter; searching for ghosts is another.

When her turn at the concessions stand window came, Khri remembered the odd lurching her stomach had done earlier. She decided to stay away from the rich foods and ordered lemonade, a citrus drink she’d never tried before. Pleased with its cold, sweet-sour taste, she followed the others out of the concessions area and down a flight of broad concrete steps. Bulma peered around her burden of popcorn and sodas and ushered them down to an empty block of seats at the front of the deck. She prodded Master Roshi in first, gave the old man a warning glare, then settled down beside him.

Bra was pouting. “Mama, why didn’t you reserve Capsule’s box seats for this?” She stepped on the toes of a heavy set man in a tropical shirt before she flounced down on the hard seat between her mother and Marron. “I hate sitting on these bleachers for so long!”

“Dear, we’ve been through this!” Bulma handed her daughter a box of popcorn and a soda. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s to never get too close to the field if Vegeta or Piccolo are competing! I swear, those two love destroying the ring as much as they do their opponents.” She turned to smile at Gohan’s family and Khri, who were taking seats on the bleachers directly behind her. “I purchased these specific seats because they’re close to the nearest exit if we have to evacuate the stadium again. They’ve also got a good view.”

Khri’s nearly choked on a mouthful of lemonade. Evacuate the stadium? You mean they’re used to these contests being dangerous for spectators? Neither Gohan nor Kuririn seemed surprised by Bulma’s admission; they simply nodded in agreement and kept munching. Gohan had mentioned earlier the tournament tickets were completely sold out. All these people are willing to risk their lives just to see hand-to-hand combat? She gave her head a little shake and snorted. I’ll never understand Earth.

Bulma’s contingency planning aside, Khri had to admit they did have good seats. Their spot on the second tier gave them an unobstructed view of the center of the ring. She was seated behind Bulma with Gohan on her right and a sour-faced old woman to her left. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to a tournament,” Marron squealed. “I just know Goten will win! He’s been working so hard lately, he’s got to be the strongest fighter out there!”

Girlish laughter twittered behind them. Marron tucked a strand of pale hair behind her ear and looked over her shoulder with a confused scowl. Khri pretended to study the program booklet while sneaking a peek herself.

A half-dozen of attractive young women sat huddled together on the bleachers behind their group. They were laughing and cooing over an assortment of large, glossy posters and photographs. The poses were different, but all of them featured the faces of four sneering young men arranged around a familiar symbol. The Golden Serpent Team’s harem, Khri growled to herself. The girls had equipped themselves with enough souvenirs to stock a mall. Most of them wore low-cut yellow jerseys with the team’s insignia and had decorated their faces with sparkling gold paint. Their lead female was a well-endowed brunette with icy green eyes. She brushed her long, black hair over her shoulder as she laughed at whatever nonsense the girl seated next to her spouted. Khri turned back in time to see Bulma punch Roshi’s shoulder and shove a tissue in his face. I just hope none of those girls are foolish enough to get caught alone with one of those “serpents.” She tugged the zipper on her jacket upward against a sudden chill in spite of the heat burning in her cheeks.

Growing up High Clan, then spending years as a high ranking officer in a public position had its perks. Constant security and a demanding job had given Khri plenty of opportunities to interact with interested men, but never once had she been approached in the aggressive, insulting manner used by the Golden Serpent fighters. She’d been so distracted she’d missed all the cues. And it wasn’t until much later – after thinking about Piccolo’s awkward explanation – that she realized the true meanings and suggestions behind the insults. Watching other men and women give each other subtle and brazen invitations had been one thing. Being the unexpected target of lines like “there’s more muscle to me than just what you see” had been quite another. When realization hit later she’d cursed her stupidity, but was grateful she hadn’t thought to ask Piccolo what the statement meant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what his reaction would have been.

The loudspeakers boomed the announcement of the start of the opening ceremonies. A roar of approval rippled through the packed stands and everyone jumped to their feet to cheer as Mr Satan strolled onto the stage. With a toothy smile stretched from ear to ear, he waved at the adoring crowd. Sunlight sparkled through the fake gemstones encrusting his long, white, fur-lined coat and glared off his balding head. Khri noticed Videl’s eyes were crinkled in indulgent fondness as she watched her father strut like an aging rock star. He may be a phony, but at least she still has him. Mr. Satan’s flowery speech came and went while Khri fought with fresh grief and an unwelcome twinge of jealousy. She got unexpected help when Mr. Satan called for the fighters to parade onto the field and handed the microphone over to the official announcer. Grateful for the distraction, Khri stood up as everyone leapt to their feet in thunderous applause.

The huge prize offered to the winner had brought in more than just spectators. Thirty teams of four contestants each sauntered out onto the field to bask in the cheers before Piccolo’s team was called. Vegeta was the first to appear, his scowl hot enough to scorch anything and anyone in his path. He was followed by a grinning and waving Trunks and Goten, and Khri could hear distant feminine squeals and shouts in addition to Bulma and Bra’s. Unlike other teams with mighty titles and flashy, matching uniforms, they’d chosen to stick with their entry number – “Team Twenty-Seven” – and individual preferences in clothing. Vegeta and Trunks both wore light armor with a noticeable Saiyan influence. Goten’s orange gi, explained Kuririn, paid homage to both his father and Master Roshi. They walked in single file to their designated spots and waited for the handful of remaining teams to file out. Piccolo stood on Goten’s left, his pristine cape waving in the breeze and a frown of stubborn challenge on his face. Khri sighed at the sight of his loose purple gi. I suppose his usual clothes are practical, but I do miss the jeans.

The paper cup crumpled and the lid came off when she nearly crushed it, splashing lemonade over her fingers. Not this again! The image of Piccolo dressed in casual street clothing popped into her mind for the umpteenth time since the carnival. Thousands of well-toned officers with broad chests and tight butts have paraded in front of me for years and I never gave them a second look. And now what gets my attention? A Namek in a pair of tight blue jeans! She pulled in a deep, calming breath and let the loud cheers help distract her from the unsettling memory. I’m still emotionally shaken, she reminded herself. I’m feeling out of sorts and I’m not thinking clearly because of all that’s happened. I just need more time and I’ll be fine. She forced herself to smile, set her mauled cup on her seat and joined in the applause.

“Go, Goten!” hooted Gohan, Videl, Pan, Marron and ChiChi as they waved madly, trying to catch the fighters’ attention. “Go, Vegeta! Go, Trunks!” screamed Bulma and Bra together. Kuririn jammed two fingers in his mouth and whistled while a dignified Eighteen applauded.

Khri looked back and forth between the competing families in dismay. I thought this was supposed to be a team effort! She took a deep breath, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Go, Piccolo!”

Arms folded and jaw set, Piccolo’s left ear twitched. He blinked, his eyes rounding as he looked up into the stands. Khri felt a nudge against her shielding an instant before his eyes met hers. He stared at her a moment, then one side of his mouth curled into a slight smile. Even at a distance she could see his cheeks take on a faint purple glow. She returned the smile, feeling her own face grow warm as she waved, oblivious to the stunned expressions and low murmurs of nearby spectators as they turned to stare up at her.

“Go, Mister Piccolo!” shrieked a high voice beside her. Pan appeared to be sitting on her father’s shoulders but Gohan’s hands were wrapped around her ankles, preventing her from “accidentally” flying off. The little girl’s eyes sparkled as she waved at the fighters on the field. Piccolo’s smile and blush deepened as he nodded once at Pan, then looked back at Khri.

A small, furry creature with multiple wings fluttered in her stomach. Piccolo held her gaze a moment longer, eye ridges knitting in what she’d come to recognize as confusion. He finally blinked again and looked away as the announcer finished with the introductions. The crowd roared as the first round of teams moved to opposite sides of the field and the rest filed back into the dojo.

Khri remembered to pick up her cup before she sat back down as everyone took their seats. She studied her half-empty cup of lemonade with a skeptical eye. During her time on Earth she’d developed a taste for juices, especially the citrus kind, but there were several she’d learned to avoid. This might be another one, she conceded. She popped off the plastic lid and fished out an ice cube as first match began.

WHACK!

Sharp pain flared through Khri’s left knee. She nearly choked, swallowing the ice cube whole as she stared down at the old woman seated beside her. The crone’s mouth was turned down beneath a wrinkled nose, her rheumy, blue eyes flecked with too much mascara. “Shame on you,” she snapped, her white knuckles twisted around the battered cane she shook at Khri. “You should be ashamed of yourself, a pretty girl like you rooting for that . . . that thing!”

“Hey!” Pan wailed from Gohan’s lap, “that wasn’t very nice!”

“I . . . pardon me?” Khri gasped, stunned.

“You’re right, Pan, that wasn’t nice!” Gohan handed his daughter off to Videl and leaned forward. “Why did you hit her? All she was doing was cheering for a friend!”

Her assailant waved the cane at the ring. “You just saw all those strong, handsome young men out there!” she snarled. “They’re Earth’s heroes! They want nothing more to protect us!” Her pale eyes focused on Gohan. “Your friend is a foolish young woman! She could be like those lovely girls there” – she gestured backward at the watching Golden Serpent fans – “cheering for real heroes, but what does she do? She wants that . . . that monster and his team to win!”

Khri stiffened and heard several angry gasps. What the hell is wrong with all the elders on this planet? She pressed her lips together and resisted the urge to rub the sting from her knee. This woman is human, and close to the end of her life span. She must have the brain wasting condition humans call ‘senility.’ She placed her hand respectfully over her heart and bowed from her shoulders. “With all due respect, elder, I believe I’m allowed to make my own choice when it comes to the fighter I’ll cheer for.”

The old woman leaned back. “Heh! You are foolish if you think they stand a chance against heroes like the Golden Boys.” Several of the young women cheered and were now openly giggling at Khri’s expense.

Khri pressed her tongue against her gritted teeth. I’m not wasting another moment on this stupidity. “Believe as you will, elder,” she said in a low voice and turned away. “It’s all right, Gohan. Let it go.”

Bulma had been watching the exchange and turned an icy glare of pure malice on the old woman. “Crowds never used to be like this,” Bulma confided, absently patting the bruised spot on Khri’s knee. “When I was a young girl, tournaments used to be about fighting one-on-one to find out who was the strongest. Now, it’s all one big popularity contest.” She waved a dismissive hand at the catty group of girls. “Mature, confident women like myself aren’t bothered by a bunch of nosy old busybodies or snotty prep school girls drooling over a bunch of color-coordinated posers.” She crossed her arms and turned back to watch the first two teams try to eliminate each other, scoring points for the next round.

Khri decided to follow Bulma’s example by ignoring the offenders and watching the tournament. Team after team – each with their own cheering fans – either left the field with heads and fists held high or on stretchers. She was disappointed to learn that no weapons were allowed but there was no shortage of entertainment. Some of the fights could have been mistaken for sideshow acts but the crowd loved it anyway. When a team dressed in fur loincloths, one of them a woman in a cheetah print bikini, sauntered onto the field, Videl rolled her eyes and offered to fill orders for fresh drinks and snacks. Eighteen was more than eager to lend a helping hand and the two of them headed for the concessions stand.

Khri leaned closer to Gohan as the woman in the bikini wiggled in a way designed to distract her opponent. “From what I’ve seen so far, I can’t believe Piccolo and Vegeta are going through with this! These so-called fighters belong in a circus, not a martial arts tournament! Can you sense chi from them?”

Gohan shook his head. “Barely enough to light a match, but,” he added with a sudden grin, “Piccolo had an idea for a new technique and managed to convince Vegeta to go along with it. It will make fighting more of a challenge for them, and a challenge is something neither Vegeta nor Piccolo can resist.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “The only times Piccolo talked about the tournament usually involved rather . . . er . . . ‘colorful’ language. He never said anything about a new technique.”

His grin softened and warmed. “Maybe that’s because he got the idea from you.”

Khri blinked in confusion. What? Me? “Gohan, he’s one of the most accomplished fighters I’ve ever seen, and I have yet to see what he can do with chi! I can’t imagine how I could have given him any ideas. The one time we . . . sparred . . . he volunteered not to use chi because of the risks around blackfire! It takes a lot of control not to use . . .” The rest of her reply apart as realization set in.

Gohan’s smile never faded. “Dad, Goten, Piccolo . . . we’ve all been using chi since before we could walk, even if we weren’t aware of it. Dad and Piccolo mastered flight about the same time and it’s been a nonstop friendly competition every since.” He suddenly chuckled. “Well, almost friendly. We all had different reasons but the same goal; to become as powerful as we could. Using chi in every day life is like breathing.”

“I hope you don’t me saying so,” Khri replied, “but your mastery of chi has had results you may not be aware of. Stories about powerful chi users protecting this planet have reached far across the galaxy. Most are more than happy to leave Earth alone or approach it on friendly terms, but there are others who see it as a test . . . “ She trailed off and looked into the sky.

“Yeah, we know,” Gohan snorted, casting a sideways glance at his daughter. Pan was currently polishing off the last bits of popcorn at the bottom of her butter-soaked box. “It’s been a double-edged sword, with Earth suffering most of the damage. I think that was one of the arguments Piccolo used to convince Vegeta to try things his way.”

Khri watched as the team in the coral gi’s from the carnival threw the last of their opponents out of the ring. “Does this mean they’re really going to try to win this tournament without using chi?”

“Yeah!” Gohan winced. “Goten was so mad he nearly ripped the roof off Mom and Dad’s house, but Piccolo said it was another example of why he needed to learn more control. I think Goten and Trunks were planning on a surprise for the tournament and the decision not to use chi ruined it. Not being able to use all that power is going to be hard, but I agree with Piccolo on one thing . . . it should be challenging.”

Videl and Eighteen returned, both loaded down with a fresh supply of hot dogs and other snacks. “Did I miss anything?” Videl panted, holding the box steady as she doled out orders while keeping one eye on the ring.

“Not really,” Roshi grumbled. “Not one of these fighters even comes close to the level Goku reached when he was a boy. To make matters worse, that female fighter on Team Cheetah managed to keep her top on.” He threw his hands up to fend off Bulma’s knuckles when the loudspeakers crackled and announced the next match.

Teams were eliminated, points racked up and favored celebrity fighters were the highlight of an otherwise long afternoon. Ears had to be plugged as the girls rooting for the Golden Serpents screamed, shrieked and nearly fainted when their team won their match. Khri caught Gohan looking at his watch more than once and Roshi kept shaking his head in disgust. Two teams that were fan favorites – the Vipers and the Mantas – insisted on provoking each other verbally as well as physically, much to the joy of the spectators. Finally, the waiting paid off as the announcement of the last fight of the first rounds reverberated through the stadium.

“Team Red Dragon versus Team Twenty-Seven!”

Khri’s cheers joined those of Gohan, Videl and the rest of her new friends as the two teams entered the ring. Goten and Trunks marched forward, hands balled into fists and heads lowered in determination. Piccolo’s face was a scowl Khri didn’t know how to interpret, but he had abandoned his weighted turban and cape. His smooth, green skin, his exposed antennae and his imposing size were powerful reminders that he was anything but human, sending a wave of worried murmurs through the stands. He’s not letting pride get in the way of using his appearance to intimidate the other team. He’s also taking this seriously if he’s discarded his training weights. Vegeta, on the other hand, appeared relaxed and more than a bit smug. His short stature was a good contrast to Piccolo, and the Red Dragon team was having trouble hiding their apprehension. Good, Khri nodded in silent approval as she worked on another ice cube. They might understand just who they’re about to fight. This could be interesting.

“Just unbelievable,” a silky voice behind her drawled. “Team Twenty-Seven? They can’t come up with a better name than that? I can’t believe they’d allow such a pathetic team to compete in this tournament!” The speaker paused for a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s just too bad they couldn’t have fought earlier when we were waiting in line for the restroom.”

“I don’t know about that, Mia.” The second speaker’s voice was high pitched and nasal. “It might be fun to see Torg take them apart . . . if they make it to the next round.”

Mia sniffed. “Oh, please! Just look at them! A short guy with a bad haircut, a pretty rich boy, some dumb loser who probably got stuck on that team and a green monster are about to fight the Red Dragons!”

The ice cube shattered between Khri’s grinding teeth.

“The rich guy is kinda cute, Mia. . . isn’t he part owner of Capsule Corporation or something?”

“How should I know? I don’t waste my time with losers and if he’s on a team like that, he’s definitely a loser.”

Khri felt the temperature of the air around her drop several degrees. Her own jaw clenched and she noticed Bulma’s back straighten. Bura and Marron exchanged glances, their faces turning red. Gohan and Videl exchanged looks of irritation and growing anger. Khri couldn’t sense it but she was willing to bet the concentration of chi on their bench was increasing. She slurped another lemon-flavored chunk of ice from her paper cup and focused on the cold burn against her tongue as she looked down at the ring. The Red Dragons were recovering their composure and preparing to attack.

 “Mamma, I’m going to take those girls apart!“ Marron snapped, her clear eyes throwing sparks.

Eighteen’s smile was cool but her eyes were blazing as she gave her daughter’s shoulder a squeeze. “I know it’s hard, but just ignore those worthless snobs. You should feel sorry for them.” Her voice raised loud enough where Khri was certain the young women could hear. “Look at all the money they wasted on souvenirs for a losing team.”

“Just make sure you remember what they said, girls,” Bulma’s voice rang. “That way you can rub their noses in it when our team turns theirs into golden smears in the ring.”

The green-eyed woman erupted into laughter. “You really think that pathetic team of yours stands a chance of beating the champion Golden Serpents?” There were giggles from the girls surrounding her but they didn’t sound convincing.

Khri’s fingers itched to grab the diacha concealed in her jacket. This isn’t my fight and I’ve got to keep from using blackfire! ChiChi suddenly shot up and whirled around to stare down at the young women. “Better enjoy those posters, girls, because after today your boyfriends’ pretty faces are gonna be memories!”

The brunette gave her hair an imperious toss. “That’s what you think, you old harpy!”

“Harpy?!” ChiChi assumed a fighting stance and Pan squealed in excitement.

“Yay! Grandma’s gonna fight!”

"Did you hear that, girls?” Mia’s voice darkened with menace. “These old hags think those amateurs can beat our team!"

Bulma slowly got to her feet and stepped up and over the bleacher into Khri’s row. Eighteen's eyes widened, Videl backed away and ChiChi growled in outrage as Bulma's face turned bright red. "Who do you think you're calling old hags, you little slut?"

Three girls stood up behind their ringleader. “You, you old bat! And where did you get those clothes, out of a nursing home dumpster?”

“Ladies, please!” Gohan interrupted, hands spread wide. “The real fight is in the ring! Let’s just watch and see who wins!”

“Stay out of this, Gohan!” ChiChi snapped, shoving him backward. “I’ve listened to their garbage all afternoon and I’m not putting up with it anymore!”

Bulma started to take a step forward when Khri reached out and firmly gripped her shoulder. "Don't waste your anger on this vermin," she growled softly. "They're not worth your time." She was grateful the bright sunlight hid the faint glow of her eyes. "Just remember, you yourself said we already know how this will turn out!"

“You!” The nasal-voiced woman shrilled, pointing at Khri as color rose to her cheeks. “Mia, that’s her! She’s the one Skiff told you about! The one Torg hit on!”

Mia’s glare shifted from ChiChi over to Khri. “So, you’re the bitch!” she screeched, her face twisting in mindless fury. She spun away from ChiChi, shoved at her companions, and stomped on toes as she headed for Khri, hands tensed into claws. “You try to seduce my Torg and then go off with a big, ugly, green demon? How dare you!”

Warm, liquid anger flowed through Khri’s veins as she released the emotion and let it collapse her shield. It was stronger than expected and curled seductively around the imagined possibilities of what she could do to the pathetic excuse for a female lunging toward her. Black eye? Broken nose? Fat lip? All of the above? Aw, what the hell. Her arm came up and her fist drove itself into Mia’s pert, upturned nose. Khri felt cartilage break and a spray of of red blood streak her knuckles before the impact sent the girl spinning away. “My face!” Mia screamed through her hands as she fell backward. She tried to slow the blood trickling from her chin as two other girls scrambled to her side.

“I suggest you not lose the rest of it,” Khri replied with a slow grin, revealing her sharp fangs. She’d pulled most of the punch, which was why Mia still had a nose. The heat of anger and satisfaction from petty revenge still flowed like lava through her blood, seeking further release. A loud shriek made her look up.

The rivalry had exploded into an all out brawl. ChiChi was busy ripping a handful of hair from one girl while Bulma blackened the eye of another. Gohan yelled at them to stop, arms wrapped tightly around Pan to keep her from throwing herself into the fight. Eighteen yawned, but she smiled when Marron’s fist knocked the wind out of a short, plump girl that looked like an oversized bee in the yellow jersey. Master Roshi was watching the whole scene from the safety of his seat, but Khri couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten a nosebleed. Most of the nearby spectators had scurried far enough away to avoid stray fists but stayed close enough to watch.

The two girls shrieked. “Look at her eyes!” one pointed at Khri, her face contorted in terror. “She’s a demon too!”

WHACK!

Khri’s left forearm went numb and her fingers tingled painfully. She caught the old woman’s cane in her right hand and jerked it away. “Aiiieeeeee!” the crone wailed at the sight of Khri’s fiery eyes. “Get away from me, you demon! Help!”

Father, you’re not going to like what I’m about to do, but I’ve had enough!. She broke the cane in half on her own knee and tossed away the pieces. “One of us is a demon,” she said softly, pulling herself up to her full height and glowering down at the creature, “but it’s not me.”

“EEEYAAAH!” the old woman screamed, scrabbling backward through the bleachers, hobbled by the loss of her cane. Khri let her go, ignoring her throbbing arm. The blow hadn’t been hard enough to break bone, but she knew a nasty bruise was on the way.

“Guys, you need to knock it off!” Kuririn shouted, tugging on the back of his daughter’s blouse. “I see security guards coming! And don’t forget there are cameras . . . !”

Bulma’s head snapped up and she released the ear she’d been pinching. “Cameras? Damn! I don’t want to be filmed looking like this!” She ignored the sobbing girl at her feet and began brushing long, black hairs from her pink dress. “Just let me take care of this,” she said, straightening her necklace as a handful of uniformed security guards thundered down the concrete steps.

After a lot of false tears, wailing, sniveling, questioning, sobbing, and a bit of name-dropping and bullying on Bulma’s part, the security guards ushered the entire group of hysterical Golden Serpent girls out of the stands. The chief concluded that Khri had thrown the first punch in self defense, and one guard hinted that fights between rabid fans – especially girls – were becoming popular. They were more than happy to accept Bulma’s side of the story as they led the blubbering and bleating girls away. Everyone, however, wanted to thrash the girls again when they realized they’d missed the entire fight.

Team Twenty-Seven had come out the winner, as expected, and in record time. Khri cheered along with everyone else as Trunks and Goten waved at them in triumph. Piccolo and Vegeta, however, knew something had happened while they were busy. Both frowned up at them as Bulma nervously brushed her hands through her hair and ChiChi searched for her shoe. Khri dropped her sore arm to her side and forced a smile when Piccolo’s narrowed eyes locked on hers.

“He wants to know what happened,” Gohan whispered as the Namek turned away and followed his teammates off the field. Mr. Satan took the stage, swiped the microphone from the announcer, and gleefully let everyone know that he’d be signing photographs during the intermission.

Khri gasped, having forgotten about Piccolo’s telepathic link with Gohan. “What did you tell him?”

“Heh, not much. Just that we had an ‘encounter’ with some overenthusiastic fans and you’d tell him about it later.”

“Humph. Thanks a lot.”

Gohan sat down next to Khri on the bleachers. The rest of the ladies headed for the restrooms to clean up, but she didn’t feel like fighting the crush of people. Kuririn and Roshi decided to pay yet another visit to the concessions stand, which left the two of them alone. The cuff of her jacket sleeve was speckled with drying blood, her black turtleneck was covered in dust and the clasp holding her hair back had broken. Her knuckles weren’t worse for the wear, but her knee ached and her arm was painful to the touch.

“That old lady whacked you pretty hard,” Gohan said. “How’s the arm?”

Khri pushed up her sleeve and probed the area gently with her other hand. She could feel broken capillaries and damaged tendons, and the skin was already turning a dark umber. “No broken bones, just a lot of soreness and bruising.” She could work on stimulating the healing later. “I’ll be fine,” she said, pulling her sleeve back down and tucking her messy hair behind her ear. Many spectators were making the most of the break by stocking up on hot dogs, snapping up overpriced souvenirs, hunting for a shorter restroom line, or waiting for their turn at Mr. Satan’s autograph table. “Once Bulma, your mother, and Videl return, maybe I’ll make a trip to the ladies’ room when it won’t be so crowded. I could use some tea or . . .”

Across the stadium, leaning against one of the cement supports, stood a tall man. He was in shadow but she could see he wore a black leather jacket, dark jeans and a high-necked shirt. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that didn’t conceal the fact he was staring at her..

It can’t be.

“Khri? You ok?”

The man turned away, then vanished behind the support pillar and reappeared on the other side in full sun.

I would have known! I have to be mistaken! I’ve got to be seeing things!

He was thinner and his face a bit paler than the last time she’d seen him. His thick, red hair was cropped short except for the long, thin plait that trailed down his shoulder.

But what if I’m not? What if what I’m seeing is real? I’m too scared to hope!

A strong hand gripped her shoulder. “Khri, what is it? What’s wrong? You’re as pale as a ghost and you’re shaking! Do you want me to contact Piccolo?”

“No! No, don’t! It’s . . .”

The man lowered his head, reached up and pulled the sunglasses down his nose, revealing a pair of glowing amber eyes.

It’s Sai!

To Be Continued...

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long! Real Life has a tendency to get in the way. HUGE Thank-You’s go to my beta readers HollyBerry and LisaB for helping me get the knots out!

The old woman whacking on Khri was modeled after my Mother-In-Law. While she’d not that vicious physically, she’s got a tongue that Chicago Cutlery wants to patent.

Debbiechan: I am so glad you liked “Everyone’s A Winner!” If you decide to go back and read the entire story, the chapter should have a little deeper meaning that it does if read as a stand-alone. I was very worried about Bulma’s characterization because she’s near and dear to the heart of so many fans, and it was a relief to know I’d given her more than two dimensions. And don’t worry about the SF details – there are more coming, and soon!

Bura400: You didn’t say whether you’d read the entire story “Everone’s A Winner” came from (“Errant Exile”), but as I told Debbie, it will have a bit more meaning if you do, and some of the characterization will make more sense. I know Piccolo romances are few and far between (mostly because they’re so *@(#& hard to write and keep in character), and if you could point me to a good one I’d like to see it! I know I’m just the latest to come along, but I’ll keep working hard to make sure the fic holds its own, stays in character and gets finished! Evanscent: It’s always good to know my readers want to read more! I promise, all your questions will be answered in time, just be warned there’s some rough road ahead. But aren’t rough roads what make fan fiction so fun? Now, let’s see if I can get this next chapter out a little faster. A cliffhanger – shame on me! ^-^