Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ I Thee Wed ❯ Dragon's Tea and Death ( Chapter 6 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: I do not own Dbz, or Mrs. Quicks characters. Unless they wish to bequeath them to me!

An: Hello all. Thankie to all those who are reading, and have reviewed thus far. I hope you like this, it's a little longer than the other chapters I think.
On a personal note I have floor hockey for gym! I hate gym and I do not do floor hockey. I have the worst luck with sports. Im gonna end up hurt if I cant get out of that class, I mean ? I sprained my middle and ring finger bowling. Bowling! Floor hockey?! ::Swoons delicately.:: Okay enough about me, on the chapter!
Dont forget to review!
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Chapter Six : Dragon's Tea and Death




Vegeta sat crossed legged on the floor of his bedchamber; he had yet to dress for dinner, and was mussed in appearance. His white shirt wrinkled and open at the throat, shoes and stockings discarded, breeches dusty and wrinkled.



A single lit candle lie before him. He sat perfectly still, his ebony eyes unblinking, staring into the flame, while reaching deep into his mind.



An old Saiya-jin ritual. He had discarded most of them, but when he had to look through his thoughts and study them, he still used the technique.



Meditating with the aid of scented and colored candles. The monks of Saiya-Jin used the technique. And master taught their pupil how to focus and concentrate by using the flame. By tradition a pupil was given their first set of candles by their master. Their candles were made uniquely by their master, the color and scent of every master's candle was different. There is an ancient Saiya-jin saying.



To know the master, look at the pupil's candles.



Vegeta remembered the exact scent and color of his first candles, given to him by Ignatius Lorring. Dark blue, almost midnight colored, with a wild exotic scent. One he would, could, never forget.



' As exotic as Bulma's '


Bloody hell! Where had that thought come from, he wondered as he forced his mind away from Bulma. Irritated with himself, he focused back on the flame.




He had never made his own candles. When he had almost gotten that high in the circle, he had stepped out. Now he only used ordinary candles. It was not the exotic scent or the color of the candle that allowed him to sink where the truth lived. It was concentration, and will power.




The flame grew brighter as he sunk lower with in himself. Allowing his thoughts to be free.




He thought over his choice to implicate Bulma Briefs in the matter of the book, it could be a horrendous mistake. But he believed it would work out. Besides if Miranda was interested in Bulma she was all ready a fly ensnared in the web that was quickly spinning. Becoming greater in size.



He also wondered about her well-being, but she didn't stand the threat of danger if Miranda needed her. And employing her, he could keep more of an eye on her with out thing becoming suspicious to her.


He sunk deeper into himself, the flame growing brighter as he sunk deeper, like a beacon.




Here lied burning truths. The ones people ignored because of the hurt they caused. He could feel tons slivers of his old rage as boy; the loneliness was there from boyhood as well as well as adulthood, that still existed. There was also pride and determination here. That could have led him to become the greatest master of Saiya-jin, if he had chosen so; instead he had chose to create a financial empire.



But these were old truths; he sunk deeper to newer ones. And the flame grew brighter.



A truth surfaced for a moment. It was gone in a second but he knew what it was and it did not bode well with him. He had not just hired Bulma to help him, or to protect her and help her out. His reason was more selfish. He hired her to bring her closer to him.



This was odd, and completely out of character for him. And it could pose a dangerous threat for him later. He wished not to see any more of this truth and turned his eyes away from the flame. It grew darker instantly.



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" I say, you have won, yet again Miss Briefs. This is most unfair." Pouted Cynthia Moore. She waved her fan viciously. "This is the third time in a row!"




A few other rumbles of disapproval sounded from the circle of elegantly dressed ladies, who agreed to play Miranda's "game." Bulma was well aware of their growing annoyance with her. It was one thing to tolerate a nobody in their games, as long as she had enough sense to lose their games, but quite another when she one consistently.



Miranda, dressed stunningly as usual in a dark blue/ black gown that showed ample amounts of her cleavage. Was the only one out of the group of ladies, who was pleased with her winning streak of luck.



Bulma, unlike the group of ladies that surrounded her, who had continued to drink champagne and sherry after dinner, drank tea. And anticipated Lady Ames' offer of tea.



By the time the men joined them from drinking their port, the lot of them would be quite drunk.



Bulma sipped her tea slowly this time; she did not become as dizzy or lightheaded as the last time. But the tea still gave her the most unpleasant sensation.



She felt as is a dragon made of fog was taking up residence in her head. And the dragon was a large one.



"Another hand," Miranda said shuffling the cards. "Let us see who can beat Miss Briefs this time."



"I have had enough of this childish game!" Cynthia said standing up. "I am going out to get a breath of fresh air. Does anyone else care to a company me?"


"I shall."



"So shall I."



"Yes, a bit of air would be most refreshing."



The sound of silk and satin could be heard as all the ladies stood to their feet and began to leave.



"It is most boring when only one person wins over and over again. I hope the dancing will begin soon." Another said pointedly.



Miranda watched them disperse. " Do not mind them Miss Briefs, I fear they are merely sore losers," She said turning back to Bulma "it is not your fault you are benefiting from a spot of good luck is it?"



The gleam of excitement in Miranda's eyes frightened Bulma. Enough was enough, it was time she lost. She would never touch a drop of Miranda's vile tea, if not for her promise to Vegeta. And she had done her part, besides she didn't want Lady Ames to become to assured that her new potion worked.



"One more hand, then I believe I shall retire to my room."



Annoyance lit Miranda face before being quickly suppressed. "As you wish, Miss Briefs." Miranda said laying out four cards, face down, and smiling at Bulma benignly . "See if you can guess what the cards are."



Bulma put a finger on the first card, and the dragon in her head lashed out. She knew instantly upon touching the card what it was, an ace of spades.



"A ten of clubs." She said aridly.



Miranda's smile turned into a frown. She flipped the card over. "Incorrect Miss Briefs. Swan, pour Miss Briefs another cup of tea." Miranda ordered over her shoulder.




"I do not wish for another cup of tea." Bulma said .




"Nonsense, of course you do." A look of irritation came over her face as she faced her valet. "Swan, I said pour Miss Briefs another cup of tea. Do it now!"



Swan's pleading eyes looked into hers. She needed no intuition of any kind to tell the poor man was caught in a sticky web.



" I shall have some more tea." Bulma said.



Swan gave her a look of pure gratitude as he refilled her cup. Bulma picked up the cup loosely, half way to her mouth it fell out of her hand and landed with a bounce on the carpeted floor. The spilled tea spread with a darkening stain.



"Oh dear me, I am so clumsy!"



"Go get the maid Swan." Miranda looked as if she were about to explode, Bulma would have burst with laughter under any other circumstance.



"Aye, milady." Swan said dashing down the hall.



"I believe I have stained my dress with the tea. Do excuse me. I am ready to retreat to my room anyhow." Bulma said standing.



"The night is only young." Miranda said, her eyes looked to be made of ice.



"Yes well I do not venture out into society often, and hence forth I am not adapted to it hours. Besides no one will sight my absence." Bulma said with a sugary smile.



"Wrong again Miss Briefs, I shall sight your absence." Miranda said leaning forwards. " I want to play another game."



A tingle went through Bulma's body making the fine hair on her neck stand on end.



'I m frightened.' She thought as the tingling increased in intensity, as a premonition of danger ran through her. Mortal danger, for no apparent reason.



'I will not let her do this to me! Damn her.'



Miranda watched her closely, making Bulma feel as if she were a mouse and Miranda the cat.



Another tingle ran through her. 'What is wrong with me? She's not holding a gun to my head, why do I feel this way?'



Gathering up her frayed nerves, and the skirts of her gray gown she began to bid adieu to Lady Ames.



" No thank you Lady Ames, I have had enough of cards for tonight, Good Night." Bulma said marching out of the room to the stairs, not glancing back to see how Miranda had taken her dismissal.



On her way to the stairs, she stopped past the open ballroom door to check on her other employer. There was all ready a fair amount of people, invited houseguests and local gentry, gathered in the commodious room.



Bulma was relieved that Yamcha Chaplin had not ventured out of his room to come down stairs, where she had been most of the evening. He had sent word to his host of a fierce headache plaguing him.




Scanning the room Bulma found Letty, who was wearing a gown that showed off the assets that had gotten her so far in the world, it was a light cream color satin with a low neck line the barely contained her breasts.



She was in a small group, chatting and laughing merrily. A glass of Champagne in her gloved hand. She would no doubt be breaking her vow to drink less, as her laughter became louder by the glass. She would indeed be in need of her tonic in the morning, mused Bulma. Letty would not be needing her till the morrow.



Joyful that both her employers no longer needed her for the night, Bulma made her way up to the third floor carefully.



If it were not for her obligation to Vegeta, she would never touch a single drop of Miranda's repulsive tea. She feared that with all the talk of ancient missing books, potions and elixirs, that her newest employer was as mad a March hare, if he was, he was one very rich March hare.
A March hare who was paying her three times her monthly wages, which made Bulma see him as a clear witted and utterly sane person.



Passing the second floor Bulma continued up to the third in dim light, the servants didn't waste many candles up here. Below her music swelled, as the dancing began, and drunken laughter could be heard, before the thick stone covered it.


When she reached the hallway where her room was, the sounds f the ball were muted whispers. Her footfalls echo softly has she made her way to her door, searching in her reticule for her key. Stopping in front of the door and pulling the key out, another tingle raced through her.


'Bloody tea!' Bulma thought. Was Vegeta sure the tea would not affect her?


She had the nagging notion that besides giving birth to a fog dragon in her head, it might actually work. She was normally pretty good at guessing games, but her luck with Miranda's games was a tad unsettling.



Vowing tomorrow she would pretend to sip the vile stuff, she wondered if she should let Vegeta in on her concerns. After moments contemplation she decided against it. It was okay for her to question his sanity, but she did not want him to doubt hers.


She turned her key in the door and entered her room, then locked the door behind her. She changed in to her nightwear, a white nightgown and cap. Looking at the bed she didn't think sleep would come to her.



A tremendous urge to get some fresh air before bedding down overwhelmed her. Maybe the cool night air would wash away the lingering traces of her dragon. A stroll around the castles old walls would do the trick.


She tied a wrapper around her shoulders, slipped her feet into her slippers, and tucked her key into a small pocket. Ready she left the room, locked the door behind her out of old habit, and headed to the large oak doors that closed off the battlements. Where knights of older days stood, shooting arrows and pouring hot liquids down on attacking enemies.


Pushing all her weight against the heavy door, it finally gave way with a creak of protest. Stepping out side the cool breeze tugged at her clothing. She walked along the old stone walkway, one hand trailing over the smooth, cool stone wall. The sounds of the ball drifted up to her. The moon bathed the gardens in an eerie light.



Her mind traveled back a few days to when she had been out there, accompanied by a handsome stranger. A smile graced her lips at the thought of Vegeta Stokes. Handsome, dashing, urbane, suave, mysterious, the list went on and on. She chided her self for being a ninny and pushed thought of Vegeta's handsome face out of her mind.



The cool air had swept away the residue of Miranda's tea, but not the premonitions of danger, and the sensation of fear.


"Well I shall not stay out here till morning because I have a case of the creeps." Bulma said to no one determinedly, and straitening her shoulders she walked back the way she had come.


When she reached the heavy oak door again, she grabbed the large iron knocker and pulled with every ounce of strength she had. Getting the door partly open, Bulma slipped back inside the dark hallway. Her premonition of danger increased. With sheer force of will she was about to propel herself to her room when she heard the echo of foot steps on the stairs, stopping her short.


'Now who could that be?' Bulma thought standing stock still.


There was no reason for a servant to be here at this hour, no reason for any one but her to be here. Taking the advice of her screaming premonition, she dared not to go back to her bedchamber, for the person that was here and shouldn't be, might well be going to her room.



But she couldn't just stand here, quickly thinking of thing to do she ran over to the door on her side, turn the knob, which turned easily under her moist hands. She jumped into the unused room and closed the door behind her carefully. Her chest heaved up and down and her heart raced. Trying to catch and quite her breathing, Bulma placed and ear against the door.


The foot steps stopped, then the jingle of metal as a key was placed into the keyhole of her door, a curse, then the jingle of keys again, the scrape of metal on metal as the key fit the hole, another curse.


A mans voice, he must have gotten the house keepers key ring, she decided as another curse sounded, then another. He was apparently going to go through each key until he found the right one. That's if he didn't become more impatient than he already was.


Another key was tried, and found to be successful. As the familiar click sounded from her door.


'He's in my room!' Bulma thought with a pang of fear and a wave of anger.


If she had not left her room for a walk she could be trapped in there, defenseless.


"What is this?" Yamcha Chaplin's voice rose in anger. "Hiding under the bed my clever little tart?"


Another wave of anger crashed through her. ' That Bastard!' Perhaps she had not hit him hard enough yesterday. It was a pity Vegeta had stopped her from pushing him down the stairs.


"Well not there. Where else can you be? In the wardrobe eh? Do not worry there is no place to hide from me, Miss Briefs." A moment of silence followed. "Who goes there?" Yamcha demanded.


Fear regripped her insides. Was there someone else she hadn't heard? And by the sound of it Yamcha hadn't either.


"By Jove! What are you doing here?" Yamcha asked. There was no response to his query.


"Hey! Put that pistol away now, there' s no need f-----" The sound of a pistol firing covered up Yamaha's last words. Bulma bit back a cry, not for his death. And tried to remain silent.



After what seemed like forever Bulma's door was closed, there was no sound of footsteps. Bulma waited for what seemed like forever again. There where no cries of alarm, no rushing foot steps to investigate.


Bulma was not surprised; the thick stone had covered the gunshot well. And what muffled bang was left was covered by the ballroom music.


Stepping out of the unused room she made her way back to her bedchamber. She paused in front of the door. Steeling herself she unlocked it.



The body of Yamcha Chaplin greeted her. In the eerie moonlight the blood that stained his white shirt and the floor around him looked black. This time the bastard was dead; there would be no need to toss him down the stairs now.