Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Garrulous and Gritless ❯ I, 14: Raditz ( Chapter 14 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: ShiningMoon 
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Comedy / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 01.15.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 259 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Comedy / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 01.15.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 259 | Status: Completed
NOTE: The inconvenient thing about Bulma and Raditz deciding they wanna hijack the story now instead of later like I was thinking is that I can't skip huge gaps of time. XD Well, I'm going to attempt it soon enough, I guess, but maybe in smaller steps. Wanted to get a little more development in first.
...
Well, I think I at least got to that brat an ounce more than I did to his father. If the whelp ends up just the slightest bit on my side, at least it might keep one of his buddies from pulling the same kind of sneak attack on me that I did on Kakarrot.
Then again, I get the feeling none of 'em wants to mess with Bulma, for whatever reason.
Heh—for whatever reason. Damn question's been bugging me since I first got dragged to this place from the battlefield. She sure don't seem to have any powers—can't even throw a knife straight, for god's sake—but nobody wants to seem to mess with her, and they don't got the same excuse I do. (Or maybe they do—maybe they all need something from her and they know she's a vengeful bitch so they don't wanna piss her off.)
Kakarrot's whelp's mother seemed the same way—seemed, far as I can tell, like a Bulma who traded in some of her smarts or whatever the hell it takes for her to make the kind of stuff I see her building (not the most impressive, but for a planet like this? not bad, and it ain't as if I could do any better), and switched 'em out to be stronger. Given what seems to be the selection on this planet, guess I gotta at least give Kakarrot credit where it's due for seeming to find the most Saiyan-like woman I've seen yet—whether he knows he did it or not.
Then again, Bulma's got that damn cocky smirk that nearly makes up for the other things like her scrawny little arms and (do I have to say it?) the blue hair.
Not that it matters one bit, 'cause unlike Kakarrot, I ain't dumb enough to stick around here. Far better things there are in the universe than Earthlings.
Speak of the devil—here comes that woman now. I figured as much—with her rambling about that Yamcha kid that follows her around, she don't wanna talk to me except when he's sure not to be here—namely, at night. Fine by me. It's not as if I've got anything else to do, and even if I have to read at least she's gonna do something useful for me for once.
"Come with me," is all she says as she walks by. "To the lab."
Heh—perfect. I bet she's taking me to wherever the pod is, which'll make stealing it back all that much easier, given that I'll know just where to find it. Then all I'll have to figure out is where she hid the damned scouter. I wonder if Vegeta and Nappa have been trying to contact me—well, they won't have much luck, given the thing was fairly well fried by the time Bulma got hold of it.
I get up, gobbling down the rest of the box of crispy things I was eating as I do so, and walk behind her. She doesn't even look back—just assumes I'm following. Fine by me; that way she don't know what I'm looking at.
Sure enough, we end up walking through these secret doors with lots of buttons to press at the lab. Well, shit, those codes aren't keeping me out. They don't seem to account for someone who can just stomp the door in. When we finally get to the room with the pod, I see she's got it strewn all over the place. "No wonder you need my help," I say, "seems you're going backwards in the fixing it up process."
She laughs. "You think fixing it is my primary goal? You think I'd just patch it up without learning about it first? This could be a major step toward space travel!" Then she gets a bit red, I gather because she remembers that "space travel" to me sounds about the same as "foot travel" does to her kind. Heh. But she keeps going, "Anyway, I don't understand what all this machinery is for, but I'm sure once I do I can figure out how it works, so I was hoping you could tell me about it or read to me about it," she waves the manual in my face.
"And the tank?" I say. Shit, if I can get that brat or somebody to rough me up on a regular basis and I've got a healing tank, I've got a surefire way to get stronger than Kakarrot, no matter what kind of training he's getting. If he didn't even know about transforming, I'm damn certain he doesn't know how much stronger we get when we recover from near-death.
"You'll have to describe it to me," she says, "and we can work from there." Then she sits down in a chair and points at one nearby, waving the manual at me again. I snatch it from her and look it over. Every now and again I have to repair this pod myself, so I've flipped through the pages of it a fair few times, but she seems to have looked through it a fair few times more. "But first," she says, waving her hand again like I should sit down, "the pod."
...
Three hours later and she's given me a cup of this stuff called coffee. It ain't the worst thing I've ever been subjected to, but that's about all I can say. But there she is gulping down cup after cup of it, so I keep going too, 'cause she keeps refilling mine and handing it back to me. By now we're kneeling down by some of the parts she's scattered around, and I'm pointing out to her this thing or that thing and reading up on it or whatever the hell she tells me to do. She looks over at the seat and presses her hand against it. "What's this made of?" she asks me.
"Hell if I know," I tell her.
"I guess it has to be pretty comfortable if you sit in it for months on end," she decides, and then clambers on into it, curling up. "Damn," she mutters, "maybe I should just start sleeping here."
"If you were stuck in there for very long," I tell her while I stand up to stretch out, "you'd feel a bit more cramped." Her legs are hanging out the half-disassembled side, a towel thrown over it to make sure she don't cut herself on the exposed parts. (Or maybe it just got thrown there, hard to tell with her.)
There is something about seeing her in the pod that makes my stomach curl up in sickening ways, in ways that make my face hot and my head itch. I start scratching at it, figuring maybe if I do that my stomach'll give me a break. "Cute," I say before thinking about it. She grins a little and readjusts herself so that I can see right down her—hmmm.
"Raditz," she says in this quiet voice, and for whatever reason my damn knees try to give out on me when she does, "mightn't it be a good thing that your tail is gone? Isn't that your main weakness?"
I'm too distracted by something or another (by which I mean, everything in the room that's not her tits) to even get mad about her suggesting something like that. It's a thought—except that without it I'm practically one of them. "Only if I want to be a traitorous bastard like Kakarrot," I finally say.
"So is it a weakness of all Saiyans?" she asks. Stupid woman—if it were really a weakness, would we keep them?
"No," I tell her, "it's worth it—transforming makes us much more powerful."
"I mean when you're just," she motions to me, "you know, normal. If you tug on any Saiyan's tail, will it hurt him immensely?"
Oh, so now she's trying to suggest I'm weaker'n the others, huh? Well...shit. "Not all of 'em," I tell her, "but a fair few." It's not just me, no. "Some train to get used to it."
"So why haven't you?" she asks.
"Never found the time," which is more or less true. "Mostly it's the uppity elite Saiyans that got the luxury to do that kind of thing. Takes a while given that if you're not careful about it you end up doin' more harm than good."
She seems to be thinking for a while as she nods, like she's writing something down in her mind. "Okay," she finally says. Then she stretches out her arms and yawns and—dammit, I am really getting desperate here. She sees me looking at her and grins a little. "Well, I guess I can ask you more about this pod later," she says. "Wanna tell me about these healing tanks of yours?"
...
It's another hour later and she's got sketches littered all around us, and we're sitting in the middle like we've been ambushed by 'em. "Like this?" she says, holding up the one that was just sitting in front of her while she scribbled a few things in. I shrug. She's all hyped up about this and I'm starting to lose steam, hardly able to figure out how to tell her what the hell I mean. "You're not being very helpful, you know," she tells me, and for the first time I think she figures out I'm more than a little tired. "You look awful," she says as I close my eyes for just a second. "Maybe we should call it quits for the night? We can always pick up on it tomorrow, since it's not as if we're short on time."
Ugh, don't remind me—I'm gonna be stuck here for much longer than I wanna think about. But about now, I couldn't give a damn either way. "Yeah," I say, cracking one eye open a bit just to find she's staring at me real intently. My other eye opens and I turn to look back at her, this stupidly pleasant thing that, so far as I can tell, has been listening to every damn thing I've said, which, when you're used to keeping company with Vegeta and Nappa, is a little disconcerting and...nice. Nice like the way her chest goes up and down while she breathes all quietly, nice like the way her nostrils flare out like she's trying to catch the scent of something she's hunting.
But there's only one thing around here to hunt, and I put my face up close to hers to get a better look. Her nose widens again and her eyes stare straight into mine, like she's daring me to do what I'm thinking. Before I can think about what I'm thinking I do it, lean forward and throw my hands against her shoulders and press her down, burying my mouth into hers. Her legs squirm underneath me, kicking her sketches and notes around for a second before she settles back down, and I can feel her fingers going all the way through my hair to my scalp. My throat is rumbling and my ghost-tail is thrashing around behind me and I can feel my skin getting coated over with a layer of sweat. My body's starting to think things on its own and before it can get any farther I remind myself: blue hair, she has fucking blue hair, and it's stupid, and it's ridiculous.
But I'm in luck because she yanks her head back before I have to do it myself. "Shit," she says, breathing like she just ran some distance that's impressive for humans, "This is not happening."
My thoughts exactly.
Converting /tmp/phpSy4oYe to /dev/stdout
...
Well, I think I at least got to that brat an ounce more than I did to his father. If the whelp ends up just the slightest bit on my side, at least it might keep one of his buddies from pulling the same kind of sneak attack on me that I did on Kakarrot.
Then again, I get the feeling none of 'em wants to mess with Bulma, for whatever reason.
Heh—for whatever reason. Damn question's been bugging me since I first got dragged to this place from the battlefield. She sure don't seem to have any powers—can't even throw a knife straight, for god's sake—but nobody wants to seem to mess with her, and they don't got the same excuse I do. (Or maybe they do—maybe they all need something from her and they know she's a vengeful bitch so they don't wanna piss her off.)
Kakarrot's whelp's mother seemed the same way—seemed, far as I can tell, like a Bulma who traded in some of her smarts or whatever the hell it takes for her to make the kind of stuff I see her building (not the most impressive, but for a planet like this? not bad, and it ain't as if I could do any better), and switched 'em out to be stronger. Given what seems to be the selection on this planet, guess I gotta at least give Kakarrot credit where it's due for seeming to find the most Saiyan-like woman I've seen yet—whether he knows he did it or not.
Then again, Bulma's got that damn cocky smirk that nearly makes up for the other things like her scrawny little arms and (do I have to say it?) the blue hair.
Not that it matters one bit, 'cause unlike Kakarrot, I ain't dumb enough to stick around here. Far better things there are in the universe than Earthlings.
Speak of the devil—here comes that woman now. I figured as much—with her rambling about that Yamcha kid that follows her around, she don't wanna talk to me except when he's sure not to be here—namely, at night. Fine by me. It's not as if I've got anything else to do, and even if I have to read at least she's gonna do something useful for me for once.
"Come with me," is all she says as she walks by. "To the lab."
Heh—perfect. I bet she's taking me to wherever the pod is, which'll make stealing it back all that much easier, given that I'll know just where to find it. Then all I'll have to figure out is where she hid the damned scouter. I wonder if Vegeta and Nappa have been trying to contact me—well, they won't have much luck, given the thing was fairly well fried by the time Bulma got hold of it.
I get up, gobbling down the rest of the box of crispy things I was eating as I do so, and walk behind her. She doesn't even look back—just assumes I'm following. Fine by me; that way she don't know what I'm looking at.
Sure enough, we end up walking through these secret doors with lots of buttons to press at the lab. Well, shit, those codes aren't keeping me out. They don't seem to account for someone who can just stomp the door in. When we finally get to the room with the pod, I see she's got it strewn all over the place. "No wonder you need my help," I say, "seems you're going backwards in the fixing it up process."
She laughs. "You think fixing it is my primary goal? You think I'd just patch it up without learning about it first? This could be a major step toward space travel!" Then she gets a bit red, I gather because she remembers that "space travel" to me sounds about the same as "foot travel" does to her kind. Heh. But she keeps going, "Anyway, I don't understand what all this machinery is for, but I'm sure once I do I can figure out how it works, so I was hoping you could tell me about it or read to me about it," she waves the manual in my face.
"And the tank?" I say. Shit, if I can get that brat or somebody to rough me up on a regular basis and I've got a healing tank, I've got a surefire way to get stronger than Kakarrot, no matter what kind of training he's getting. If he didn't even know about transforming, I'm damn certain he doesn't know how much stronger we get when we recover from near-death.
"You'll have to describe it to me," she says, "and we can work from there." Then she sits down in a chair and points at one nearby, waving the manual at me again. I snatch it from her and look it over. Every now and again I have to repair this pod myself, so I've flipped through the pages of it a fair few times, but she seems to have looked through it a fair few times more. "But first," she says, waving her hand again like I should sit down, "the pod."
...
Three hours later and she's given me a cup of this stuff called coffee. It ain't the worst thing I've ever been subjected to, but that's about all I can say. But there she is gulping down cup after cup of it, so I keep going too, 'cause she keeps refilling mine and handing it back to me. By now we're kneeling down by some of the parts she's scattered around, and I'm pointing out to her this thing or that thing and reading up on it or whatever the hell she tells me to do. She looks over at the seat and presses her hand against it. "What's this made of?" she asks me.
"Hell if I know," I tell her.
"I guess it has to be pretty comfortable if you sit in it for months on end," she decides, and then clambers on into it, curling up. "Damn," she mutters, "maybe I should just start sleeping here."
"If you were stuck in there for very long," I tell her while I stand up to stretch out, "you'd feel a bit more cramped." Her legs are hanging out the half-disassembled side, a towel thrown over it to make sure she don't cut herself on the exposed parts. (Or maybe it just got thrown there, hard to tell with her.)
There is something about seeing her in the pod that makes my stomach curl up in sickening ways, in ways that make my face hot and my head itch. I start scratching at it, figuring maybe if I do that my stomach'll give me a break. "Cute," I say before thinking about it. She grins a little and readjusts herself so that I can see right down her—hmmm.
"Raditz," she says in this quiet voice, and for whatever reason my damn knees try to give out on me when she does, "mightn't it be a good thing that your tail is gone? Isn't that your main weakness?"
I'm too distracted by something or another (by which I mean, everything in the room that's not her tits) to even get mad about her suggesting something like that. It's a thought—except that without it I'm practically one of them. "Only if I want to be a traitorous bastard like Kakarrot," I finally say.
"So is it a weakness of all Saiyans?" she asks. Stupid woman—if it were really a weakness, would we keep them?
"No," I tell her, "it's worth it—transforming makes us much more powerful."
"I mean when you're just," she motions to me, "you know, normal. If you tug on any Saiyan's tail, will it hurt him immensely?"
Oh, so now she's trying to suggest I'm weaker'n the others, huh? Well...shit. "Not all of 'em," I tell her, "but a fair few." It's not just me, no. "Some train to get used to it."
"So why haven't you?" she asks.
"Never found the time," which is more or less true. "Mostly it's the uppity elite Saiyans that got the luxury to do that kind of thing. Takes a while given that if you're not careful about it you end up doin' more harm than good."
She seems to be thinking for a while as she nods, like she's writing something down in her mind. "Okay," she finally says. Then she stretches out her arms and yawns and—dammit, I am really getting desperate here. She sees me looking at her and grins a little. "Well, I guess I can ask you more about this pod later," she says. "Wanna tell me about these healing tanks of yours?"
...
It's another hour later and she's got sketches littered all around us, and we're sitting in the middle like we've been ambushed by 'em. "Like this?" she says, holding up the one that was just sitting in front of her while she scribbled a few things in. I shrug. She's all hyped up about this and I'm starting to lose steam, hardly able to figure out how to tell her what the hell I mean. "You're not being very helpful, you know," she tells me, and for the first time I think she figures out I'm more than a little tired. "You look awful," she says as I close my eyes for just a second. "Maybe we should call it quits for the night? We can always pick up on it tomorrow, since it's not as if we're short on time."
Ugh, don't remind me—I'm gonna be stuck here for much longer than I wanna think about. But about now, I couldn't give a damn either way. "Yeah," I say, cracking one eye open a bit just to find she's staring at me real intently. My other eye opens and I turn to look back at her, this stupidly pleasant thing that, so far as I can tell, has been listening to every damn thing I've said, which, when you're used to keeping company with Vegeta and Nappa, is a little disconcerting and...nice. Nice like the way her chest goes up and down while she breathes all quietly, nice like the way her nostrils flare out like she's trying to catch the scent of something she's hunting.
But there's only one thing around here to hunt, and I put my face up close to hers to get a better look. Her nose widens again and her eyes stare straight into mine, like she's daring me to do what I'm thinking. Before I can think about what I'm thinking I do it, lean forward and throw my hands against her shoulders and press her down, burying my mouth into hers. Her legs squirm underneath me, kicking her sketches and notes around for a second before she settles back down, and I can feel her fingers going all the way through my hair to my scalp. My throat is rumbling and my ghost-tail is thrashing around behind me and I can feel my skin getting coated over with a layer of sweat. My body's starting to think things on its own and before it can get any farther I remind myself: blue hair, she has fucking blue hair, and it's stupid, and it's ridiculous.
But I'm in luck because she yanks her head back before I have to do it myself. "Shit," she says, breathing like she just ran some distance that's impressive for humans, "This is not happening."
My thoughts exactly.
Converting /tmp/phpSy4oYe to /dev/stdout