Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ He Means Business ❯ 08 ( Chapter 8 )

"Hey, kid," Raditsu squatted down, smirking. Goten shrunk back behind Goku, shivering. "What? What is it? What's wrong with you?"

 

"You're scary," Goten murmured. "I don't like you."

 

"I'm your uncle Raditsu," he lowered his voice and tried to squeeze his toothy grin down into an innocent smile. "I'm your dad's brother."

 

"Man," Goten rolled his eyes, stepping out slightly as he relaxed. "How many more times is this gonna happen?"

 

"Wh-what?" Goku blinked, glancing up to see just as much confusion beneath Raditsu's features. "What do you mean by that, kiddo?"

 

"I mean a guy I've never seen shows up from being dead a long time and it turns out he's related to me! First you, now him!"

 

At Raditsu's continued baffled expression, Goku explained. "Um, I was dead from before he was born 'til he was seven."

 

"Damn," Raditsu whistled. "You're worse than our father. At least he saw you before he died." He pondered this for a moment. "I think."

 

"I have a grandpa?" Goten blinked. "Can I meet him?"

 

"Dead," Raditsu explained. "And doubt you'd want to anyway. Cheats at cards." He seemed to muse briefly at the thought. "I do miss the guy."

 

Goku shrugged. "Guess you'll get to see him again eventually. Hey, Raditsu, why did you want Goten here, 'sides to read the list? Oh!" he pulled it out, "And I figured out the first one. It's 'space tools.'"

 

"Really?" Raditsu took it, and then stuffed it into Goten's hands. "You can read, right, kid?"

 

"Well, sure, I guess," Goten blinked, glancing over the list, "besides really big words. But that doesn't say space tools, it says spatula!"

 

"What's a spatula?" Goku bit his lip.

 

"Hell if I know."

 

"It's that thing Mom uses," Goten made a motion in the air, tracing its shape. "To flip pancakes!"

 

Raditsu grinned and ruffled his hair. "You're useful already, kid! But I have another idea for something you can do for us."

 

"Do I get money?"

 

Raditsu opened his mouth, but Goku spoke first. "Um...Raditsu is paying me in pastries," he shrugged. "Maybe he can pay you that way, too?"

 

The older Saiyajin grinned. "A fine idea, Kakarrot."

 

"I like pastries," Goten nodded. "Okay. What do I have to do?"

 

"I heard you're best friends with Bulma's whelp."

 

"Trunks?"

 

"Yes, him. When you go over to play at his house, can you do me a favor?"

 

Goten shuffled restlessly, trying to evaluate his uncle's sly expression. "Maybe?"

 

Raditsu clapped him on the shoulder, and Goten stumbled forward a bit in surprise. "I want you to look over his mother's shoulder and memorize what she's working on. Then, come back and tell me."

 

"Can Trunks help?"

"Absolutely not!" Raditsu shook his finger, pulling Goten closer as he slung one arm over the boy's shoulders. "This is a secret for just us. It's a game."

 

"Oh."

 

"It's just for our family. You and me and your dad—we're all family, right?" he raised his eyebrows. "So keep it a secret just for us."

 

Goten frowned at his glimmering teeth, but nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

 

Raditsu leaned in closer, whispering. "Say, are you your father's favorite son?"

 

"I...I dunno," he fidgeted with the sash of his gi.

 

"Well," Raditsu winked. "If you're not, you should be. You are one remarkable young fellow."

 

Goten's expression bloomed into a smile. "Thanks, Mister Raditsu!"

 

"Uncle Raditsu. Now how about you go play with your friend?" he stood back up. "And don't forget our deal! It's a secret!" Goten nodded vigorously, getting a skipping start before rocketing into the sky.

 

"I didn't know you got along with kids so well," Goku watched his son as he left. "After how mean you were to Gohan."

 

"That was business."

 

"I thought this is business?"

 

"That was personal," Raditsu amended, as if he had not made the mistake in the first place. "You don't know what you're talking about, Kakarrot."

 

"Okay."

 

"Now, let's get ourselves a spatula."

 

"That's a number five right after," Goku pointed to the item on the list.

 

"Let's get ourselves five spatulas."

 

 

...

 

 

"A-ha! The five of spatulas!"

 

Bardock remained unmoving, his stare deadpan. "I swear to every god up and down the ladder that if you cannot call the cards by their real names I will leave."

 

"You can't tell me that's not a spatula!" King Vegeta flung the card at Bardock, who caught it. "See?"

 

"What—you're serious?" he blinked, taken aback. "What's a spatula?" Bardock stared at the card.

 

"That thing!" the king leaned across the table to point to the symbol.

 

"What, a rectangle connected to a line?"

"By definition, that is a spatula."

 

"Get yourself some fucking normal cards," Bardock huffed, ripping it up. "Your deck doesn't make a lick of sense. And stop making words up, while you're at it."

 

"'Get yourself some fucking normal cards, sir,'" the king corrected.

 

"Sure thing," Bardock fished a pack from somewhere in his armor and slammed them down on the table. "There. Normal cards."

 

"I meant—" King Vegeta started, and then picked up the deck of cards with interest. "These cards have baseball parallelograms."

 

"What the hell is a baseball?" Bardock roared. "Moreover, what the hell is a parallelogram?"

 

"I don't know what a baseball is," King Vegeta huffed, "But that is definitely, by definition, a baseball parallelogram. And, you ignorant peasant, a parallelogram is a shape which—"

 

"Blah, blah, blah," Bardock rolled his eyes. "Bored already."

 

"Didn't you receive an education?"

 

Bardock snorted, unsuccessfully holding back his laughter. "What planet were you a king of?"

 

"V-Vegeta..." he stammered. "Was it really that bad?"

 

"You know what's bad?" Bardock began shuffling the cards. "School."

 

"What?"

 

"Well, you probably had the highest education in the place, and look how fucked up you turned out to be."

 

King Vegeta frowned, but didn't have time to speak, as before he could so much as open his mouth, Bardock's head smacked against the table.

 

 

...

 

 

"Trunks?"

 

"Yeah?" the boy pulled his boots back on.

 

"We're like brothers, right?"

 

From the other side of the gravity room, Vegeta snorted. Trunks dropped his voice. "Sure, I guess. Why?"

"So you're kind of like my family."

 

"I guess."

 

"So Uncle Raditsu was wrong!" Goten grinned triumphantly, earning a raised eyebrow from Vegeta as he pretended to continue working out. "That means it's allowed."

 

"What's allowed?"

 

"It's a secret," Goten whispered. "Let's get out of here and I'll tell you."

 

 

...

 

 

"Trunks," Vegeta stepped in front of his son as he swung the door open. "Do you have anything you'd like to tell me?"

 

The boy shook his head, gulping. "Nope, Dad. Say, uh—wanna—um—that is—you're looking great today!"

 

"Spare me," the prince crossed his arms. "I saw you and Kakarrot's brat strategically roughhousing around Bulma's work area yesterday evening."

 

"Yeah," Trunks mirrored his father's pose, deciding to change his tactic. "Because um—because Goten is a liar and a cheater!"

 

"Please," he rolled his eyes. "Don't try to fool me."

 

"Should I tell Mom that they're cheating? I mean, it sounds like they're doing super well already, 'cause Goten read some list to them yesterday and then—"

 

"Gods, no!" Vegeta's eyes widened in panic, and he placed one hand upon his son's shoulder. "You and I must," he paused, chewing his tongue, "must...make a princely pact never to tell your mother about what Kakarrot, his child, and his brother are doing at this juncture, nor of their alarmingly immediate success."

 

Trunks frowned. "How come?"

 

"Because I was the one who—because it is part of the competition."

 

"So should I spy on them, and tell mom?"

 

Vegeta seemed to consider this. "Don't waste her time. Come tell me and I'll tell her the important parts."

 

"Goten says his dad and his uncle can't read," Trunks divulged with gusto, as if he had been waiting to blurt it ever since learning it.

 

"Already knew that one," Vegeta shrugged.

 

"Why can't they?"

 

"Raditsu isn't from here," he waved his hand. "Anyway, those third-class brains haven't a penchant for leaning such things. If Kakarrot ever learned to write, he likely forgot. I, however, picked it up quickly, being of royal blood." He smirked smugly.

 

"I'm glad you're a prince," Trunks grinned, "and not a moron like Goten's dad." Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, but froze as a familiar sound caused the hair on the back of his neck to prickle.

 

"Vegeta!" Bulma shrieked from down the hallway.

 

His eyes were saucers. "Y-yes?"

 

"Do you have any idea why Goku just called me?"

 

"No," he whimpered.

 

"Because I do!"

 

"R-really," he feigned disinterest as Bulma rounded the corner, fists balled and arms pinned to her sides.

 

"He said he wanted advice from you," she seethed.

 

"Well, clearly I—"

 

"He said he wanted more advice from you." Bulma shoved her sleeves up over her biceps, widening her stance.

 

Vegeta gulped. "Have I ever mentioned how beautiful you are when you're angry?"