Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Requiem in Blue ❯ Chapter Ten: Ta Tekhinat ( Chapter 10 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

“Kalza, Furiza-lak.”
Bulma bowed prettily and smiled. Two weeks had passed since her initial meeting with the Aisu-jin emperor, and her proficiency in Aisugo had already begun to progress. Iriyon had been as much help as he’d said he would. The shiny, lizard-like creature grinned back at her, blinking his red eyes and flicking the end of his thick tail. She sat across from him.
“Kalza, Lady Bulma,” he said thoughtfully, “I see you’ve been studying quite a bit since our last meeting.”
Bulma raised an eyebrow. She’d been studying more than he knew, about more than he knew.
“Sha’za,” she agreed, “it is better to understand a people if one wants to communicate effectively.” Her skin was forming goose bumps even as they spoke, but Bulma contained her discomfort for the sake of the Aisu-jin leader. They were alone, here in Furiza’s study, surrounded by the cool air, even colder furniture, and myriad technology that was superior even to her efforts on Mizukashi. Bulma was taking in more than she knew Furiza was aware of.
He was nodding.
“And you have utilized that belief quite admirably, I must say,” Furiza hissed delicately.  Bulma smiled, though it felt more like a smirk.  “For two weeks you have been coming here, informing me of the Saiya-jin’s plans and movements--but you have yet to be discovered or even suspected of treason. You must know some convincing phrases in Saiyago, Bulma-sha.”
“Let’s just say that I know when words are necessary and when they are not,” Bulma replied. “But down to particulars, Your Highness; I know what the Saiya-jin plan to do next. Are you willing to give me what I requested?”
The shiny surface of Furiza’s lips was quirking. His tail twitched in the air behind him.
“My hunch is, Bulma-sha, that you have much more in mind now than what you originally requested.”
Bulma raised an eyebrow. The lizard was more observant than she had thought. But she would have to play her hand coolly for now.
“Why Furiza-lak, whatever would make you think such a thing?” She paused for a moment to allow him to absorb her demeanor. “I only want what I asked for: plasma radiation containment tech. Is it so much to ask?” Bulma shifted imperceptibly in her seat and folded both hands across her lap. She also wanted their cloaking formula so she could input the data into the small fleet of Mizuka-jin ships on Ten’rili. But he didn’t have to know that, not now anyway. Furiza looked anxious.
“I can give you the data and I can give you the sample containment device,” he said it this time in Mizukago. Bulma had learned over the past two weeks that when Furiza could not communicate with her effectively in his native language, he would use the language of her friends. Emperor Furiza had no knowledge of Saiyago, nor did he wish to have any. “You may have it so that you can duplicate the tech and reproduce it easily. But that is all, Bulma-sha.” He finished carefully in Aisugo. She nodded, smiling beautifully.
“Of course, Furiza-lak. I only ask for what we had originally decided on.”
“Of course,” he replied carefully, reaching for a glass of purya. He took a sip and eyed her over the rim of his goblet. Bulma shivered in the cool air. It was starting to affect her now. “So,” he said slowly, “the Saiya-jin; you said you had knowledge of their next move. Tell me.”
Bulma nodded and sat forward in her chair. Her elbows rested on the table between them. Yes, she knew. But she would not tell him the exact truth. No, not this time. The Saiya-jin had already been denied negotiation opportunities twice because of her meddling.  If the Aisu-jin knew every move that the Saiya-jin made, there would be no doubt in Vejiita-Zarshon’s mind that something was amiss. He had all but forgotten about the Mizuka-jin resistance now, and she intended to keep it that way until the time was right.
“The Saiya-jin are planning to leave for Yuki-sei in two days, Furiza-lak. Because their first journey was delayed they have decided to venture there during Mizukashi’s new moon. Ten’rili is nearing the end of its cycle and it will be three days before its fourth cycle moon, Jenti, enters orbit. They will send three reconnaissance ships at one standard hour after moonrise on Mizukashi, and their fleet ship will depart an hour later, under cover of the complete darkness left from Ten’rili’s departure.”
Furiza looked pleased at this. Good, she thought, let him think it. He doesn’t have to know that the Saiya-jin are sending them three hours earlier than that. Not only that, but the Saiya-jin were sending two fleet ships, not one. Since arriving in Mizukashi’s orbit under high-tech cloaking devices, the Aisu-jin had lost several resources, and were still waiting on two base ships. They would not be able to stop them even if they knew the real hour.
“Sha’lak, Bulma-sha.”  Furiza thanked her in his native tongue. “I shall be forever in your debt once this war is over.” Bulma wanted to smirk at that, but she did not. “Remind me, Lady Bulma,” he said in Mizukago, “to compensate you when we have crushed the Saiya-jin and become the new owners of the interstellar alliance. I can give you anything you want.”
Bulma did not like the way his voice lilted on those last words, but she smiled in response anyway and nodded.
“Sha’lak,” she said softly. “But you have given me enough already, Furiza-lak. I only ask that our agreement remain solid. You see, I have much to repay the Saiya-jin for, Your Highness. You have given me the tools to do so.”
The lizard-like humanoid tilted his chin backwards and smirked.
“Let us hope, Bulma-sha, that your compensation is appropriate.”
Bulma stood and pressed her fists together just below her waist.
“I assure you, Furiza-lak, I have all the preparations in hand.”



Mizukashi; Interstellar Receiving Dock #16

The dock was chilly, Bulma thought, but not so cold as Furiza’s chamber. Gods, she’d had about enough of this. She wished the maniacs would start killing one another more quickly so that she could be rid of them once and for all. A bit of a sneer left her lips at the very thought of them: the Saiya-jin and the Aisu-jin, each one knowing how very much they wanted to annihilate the other, and each one knowing that the other had committed a grave offense; but neither was willing to begin the fighting outright.  It reminded her of feuding lovers!
At this, though, Bulma recalled how odd things had been of late. For two weeks, she had seen very little of Brolli or of Vejiita. She had expected that Brolli would come looking for her as he did nearly every night, but he had not sought her affections since that night when his transformation had nearly killed him. She had watched him stumble out the door, broken and bleeding--and it had been the last she had seen of him in her chamber since then.
Bulma would not admit to herself that she regretted this lack of attention, nor would she admit that she had been craving his touch. What disturbed her the most was not her physical need for Brolli’s attention, but rather her constant interest in Vejiita. During her meetings with the King, Vejiita watched her with guarded and lustful eyes, as though he were trying to do with a gaze what he had begun in his chamber so many nights ago. She shuddered even now as she thought of it. Bulma could admit to herself that she still lusted for him, this was not difficult.  But something about him made it almost frightening to consider.
Over the past three years she had trained herself to need and to want only the sexual bliss that the men of this species were able to elicit from her. It was the sudden loneliness that surfaced whenever she thought of Vejiita--this regret and longing she felt whenever she thought of that night--that bothered her so. She must not feel it. To do so would prove fatal to her and to the Mizuka-jin--to her cause.
Perhaps the Prince was waiting for her to make the next move, she thought. Maybe he had resolved to let her to become the aggressor. She was not sure why, but Bulma was only slightly afraid of him... When she turned out of the dock, the warmer air inside the palace comforted her. It washed over her skin like a caress.
The hallway toward her chamber seemed darker than usual, but Bulma narrowed this oddity down to her tweaking nerves and despondent mood. The doors looked inviting though. Perhaps she would have time to nap before her meeting with the King. It would do her well to rest, she thought. Her racing mind had all but exhausted her body and spirit. Bulma reached out to place a delicate hand upon the comPanel and shut her eyes as the door slid open before her. The scent of the sea flooded her senses, and Bulma was confused to find her balcony doors wide open; the curtains were floating with the strong breeze.
Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, Bulma entered her chamber and went to the balcony. She gazed at it--at the reddish, purple glow of the sunset on the horizon. For a moment, she thought of Chikyuu, of Okinawa in the summer and making love on the beach at midnight... She thought of Naha City and shopping with her mother and the American soldiers who had given them flowers. How handsome they had been! Bulma squeezed her eyes shut. It would not do to think of such things. Because there was no more Chikyuu.  No more Okinawa, and no more making love on the beach.
“Are you dreaming, Shall’la?”
The voice behind Bulma startled her so, that she gasped and threw her back against the open balcony door. With heaving breaths, Bulma watched Brolli smile at her from the corner near her bath chamber. He uncrossed his legs and leaned against the wall. He was subtle, she thought...  Subtle, and his skin was shimmering. He’d been sparring.
“Dreaming...?” She repeated the word in Saiyago as though she still did not understand its meaning. “Dreaming.”  A pause, and then she looked away from him. “There is nothing to dream of, Brolli.” He was approaching and for a moment, Bulma contemplated escape. But no, it would seem suspicious if she did such a thing now.
Soon, his body was next to hers. She could smell the dissipating ki cloud on him; it was electric, alive like static. Brolli’s finger came to her bare arm and brushed a single trail down the length of it--to the very tip of her middle finger, and back again to her shoulder.
“I have missed you.”
Bulma’s eyes lifted, and she stared ahead into the wall opposite them.
“Do not pretend to coddle me,” she told him curtly. “It does not sound right--coming from your lips.”
“Would you prefer I spoke plainly, Shall’la?” He asked, clearly amused.  Brolli’s fingers were curling around her neck gently, and they settled on her thundering pulse. “I admit it then,” he whispered darkly.  “I want to be inside you, now.”
The guttural tones of his language and the lilting sound of his voice made supernovae of her nerve endings. But she would not let herself be manipulated so easily again. If he so desired her again, for the benefit of her project she may have to accept him. But, gods be damned, she thought, he would have to work harder for it this time!  Especially when she could scarcely stop herself from thinking of Vejiita while he spoke that way.
“The last I saw of you,” she began, “you were begging the gods for mercy. I liked you better on your knees, Kassha’hal!  It suited you!” Her snapping voice must have cut him, she thought, but, surprisingly, she could not see it.
Stepping away from him, Bulma left the balcony dais and headed toward her wardrobe. For several moments, Brolli did not say anything. This silence was uncanny. Hurriedly, Bulma shifted through her gowns and tunics. Perhaps if she ignored him long enough, he would become the aggressive, testosterone-charged warrior she knew well already. This, she could expect--could calculate and deal with accordingly.
Instead, he worried her further by sitting on the edge of her bed, cross-legged. She whirled around at the sound of his voice.
“Will you come and sit, Shall’la? Behind me, though. Put your hands on my back.”
Bulma clenched her fists behind her back. What in all the gods’ names was he pulling this time? Apprehension tickled at the small of her back until she felt she may have to scratch it.
“I--?” Infuriated by her own, dumbfounded shock, Bulma bit down upon her lip. “I have a meeting with the King. I do not have time for your cryptic mind games!”
To her horror, Brolli smiled. He was amused, intrigued.  He was thoroughly fascinated by her words.
“Mind games,” he said slowly. “Sit down, Bulma...  Vejiita-Zarshon is meeting with the Aash’an Raditsu. He will be busy for a while.”
Bulma’s brow furrowed. Brolli’s aura was a bit bluer than usual now, only it did not seem so volatile, as it had the last she’d seen of him. Her fingertips began to tingle. She would not tell herself it was because she desired to touch a man’s flesh or that the sight of Brolli’s glowing skin was alluring in a way she’d not noticed before.  Even if her mind was fixated on someone else, her body wanted him, she realized...and badly.
“Sit down, Bulma.” He said again. “I won’t bite unless you want me to.”
Her lip curled upwards in a defiant sneer.
“You expect too little of me.” She seethed. “Much as you would like to believe it, I have not been pining for your touch for the past two weeks.”
Again, he smiled. But this time it was not so surprised. Bulma’s eyes narrowed as he left the bed and approached her. No, this look was something different. He looked disappointed. Shaking his head, Brolli clicked his tongue.
“For shame, Shall’la.” He whispered. His aura swirled for a few seconds, caressing her skin as he came closer still. “Lying is so unbecoming of a lady.” There was silence as she glared at him, for all the resentment in the world could not equal her heart’s desire now. He reached up to touch a lock of her curled hair. “Do you think I can’t smell it: the way you want me?”
Bulma swiped his hand away from her but was dismayed when he caught her wrist in his fist. He smiled again; the more he did it, the more she despised him, she thought. Yet, terribly, the more she did want him.
“Just a moment,” he said quietly. “If you truly wish it, I will leave. Just give me a moment, will you?” Bulma eyed him suspiciously, but it seemed that she was in no position to argue. Despite protest Brolli would not let her go; she could feel the insistence in his grip. And so, without words, Bulma agreed.  She nodded slowly.
With perplexing tenderness, Brolli eased her fingers apart until they were splayed like a star over the broad surface of his chest. Under the soft golden skin of his left breast, Bulma could feel the thundering pulse of his heartbeat. And suddenly, as they stood, inches from one another and bathing in the essence of aura, Bulma could feel a gentle jolt in her fingers. It felt like a low dose of electric shock. She started just a bit, but Brolli’s grip tightened on her wrist. He placed a finger on his lips.
“Easy... Don’t be afraid. I won’t let it hurt you, I swear it.”
Bulma pressed the pads of her fingers into his skin and waited. Surely there was something underneath all of this pretense, she thought. All of this drama seemed unnecessary without his having an ulterior motive; Brolli did not often refer to her in such loving terms.
With glowing intensity, the warmth under her palm seemed to intensify. The electric current brushed her skin like a vibrating razor. Brolli’s eyes were closed, and his hand was tightening over hers again.
“Do you feel it?” He asked her, and she nodded slowly--afraid that any small movement may singe the tender skin at her fingertips.
“It’s so new and beautiful...kaiyat’ehn...” he paused and breathed so deeply, that Bulma feared she may be engulfed by his life force. “I think it’s you, Bulma...”
Her eyes narrowed darkly. He wouldn’t say it--he couldn’t!  All this time, he had not broken so easily as Raditsu; he could not break now! Not now when the fates of two empires were balancing precariously on her fingertips!
“Let me go, Brolli,” she said fiercely. The lines on her face were deepening. “I’ll not have you sniveling like Raditsu.  Perhaps if you stop now I can forget what you’ve said already.”
“Forget--?” He looked downcast, regretful. Brolli’s fingers left his chest, and he took up both of her hands in his. Their digits threaded together like a lovers’ dance. Bulma swallowed deeply and inhaled all the air her lungs could hold. “Why would I want you to forget? I want you to remember,” he paused and touched her chin with two fingers.  Lifting it until she looked him in the eye, he said, “Remember when I make you a slave again Bulma, that I have done it out of love.”
Blood drained from Bulma’s face so quickly that she thought perhaps she may swoon. All manner of emotion flooded her heart until she could no longer see his face clearly. Her fingers tightened around his until it was painful to grip any longer.
“What...?” Her voice was so completely full of quiet fury that she did not know if he had heard her. Brolli was smirking oh, so gently. “You bastard,” she seethed, “you can’t--you won’t!” Her voice rose of its own will. Brolli touched her mouth so softly that it seemed for a moment as though he had been joking. But a moment passed and Bulma was sure that he was not. “You---you--!” Now the words would not come, but he stroked her upper lip and shushed her.
“I can, Bulma, and I will. As a free woman, Prince Vejiita has claim over you to make you his mate, and he is a threat to me and to what is mine by right.  But as my slave, I can do as I wish with you. Perhaps I’ll try what you suggested before, Lady Bulma. Oh, but I suppose the title will not be yours much longer.”
Bulma willed the tears to stop gathering in her eyes.  A ball of rage grew in her chest, so hot and heavy that it threatened to destroy them both.
“This is outrageous! I don’t believe you would do such a thing, not after all this time, not after all I--!” She stopped, unaware that her comfort with him had gone so deep. Did she love him? No, she thought not. But suddenly, and violently, Bulma did not want to lose the amenities she had gained as his citizen and not his slave.  She did not want to bow to him and call him ‘master’!
“After all you’ve done, Shall’la? Indeed...”
“Stop it, stop calling me that!” She insisted vehemently. The word was fast becoming a patronizing curse rather than the beautiful term of endearment she knew it to be.
“NO! After all I’ve given you--all I’ve sacrificed! I could have left, you know, Brolli. When you freed me I could have left but instead I stayed. I stayed and sacrificed a life of my own to become what you needed and wanted--!”
Brolli grinned and stroked the side of her face. The caress seemed only to well more anger, fear, and despair into the pit of Bulma’s stomach.
“What I need and want, Bulma, is someone loyal to my people and to me. Reach deep down inside, darling--are you loyal? Can you find it within yourself?  Kanteksa...I’ll bet you can’t.”
“I am as loyal as I need to be--as I have to be!” Bulma’s voice began to shake. She willed it to remain steady, but her control was quickly wavering. The idea of slavery, of again becoming only a possession to him or to anyone, made her skin crawl with agony. “You had my body, Brolli.  You had everything you could take from me!  What more do you want--?”
“I told you once before that you belong to me. Do you remember, Bulma?  I meant it, you know? In your language or mine, in all the known galaxies the meaning is the same.”
“No!” Bulma felt her voice protest, but she could not see any change in his countenance or feel any change in his caress. “I do not belong to anyone!  Not to you, not to Vejiita--not to this empire.  No one!”
Brolli’s hand closed around her waist, and she gasped--because there was no tenderness in his hold.  He was hurting her, and he was doing it on purpose.
“You ask what more I want, Bulma. And that is you--all of you.” A pause, and his grip tightened.  Small black dots formed at the corners of her vision. “And to do that,” he continued, “you must be my slave.
“I love you, you know?  More than all the power that flows through my veins.  But you will not laugh in my face as you did Raditsu.  No. Before this war with the Aisu-jin is over Bulma, you will wish you’d kissed my feet when you had the chance.”
Bulma swallowed convulsively, breathing deeply to avoid the faintness that threatened to overtake her. Suddenly, the look in his eyes was no longer something to contend with. He was very serious. And for the first time in eight years, Bulma was powerless against her own fate. Sweat inched down the center of her back, and she laid a hand upon his. His grip loosened slightly until she could breathe clearly again.
“This will never work, Brolli,” she gasped, desperate for reprieve. “Do you think your own king will stand for this when I am his only hope against the Aisu-jin tech? Do you think Vejiita will stand for it?”
Brolli’s hand left her waist, and for a moment Bulma saw in his eyes a surrender. She saw a kind of sorrow--a kind of sickness. His large palm cupped her face and tilted it upward until she had no choice but to look in his eyes. Bulma remembered the icy turquoise of his transformation.  He brushed his lips to her nose, the corner of her mouth.
“You will do as the Zarshon-kalan asks, though you will be a slave. He will not lose your duty. Besides, do you think any of that matters to me? Ki Kassha’hal kari...   I am the Chosen One, Bulma.  All the gods, if I didn’t take so much pride in this empire I could incinerate the king and any number of brats he had waiting to take his throne--let alone Prince Vejiita. Don’t be so naïve, Bulma. You’re much smarter than that.”
Unwittingly, Bulma let the tears come. Kami above, she wanted to die and drown in the Blood Rivers of Hell forever; the shame was too unbearable. His kiss was sweeter than any she’d known:  on the beaches in Naha...and on the bridge in the park near her home. Her tears were a bitter contrast to the sugary texture of his kisses. She hated him for it with all her soul. His groan was so self-satisfied that Bulma wanted to be sick.
“I’ve always wanted to taste your tears, Shall’la.  Taste your hopelessness. Vash’halla... It tastes like my heaven.”
“I hate you, Brolli,” she hissed suddenly, as though it would have done any good. “Great Kami above, I hate you!”
Brolli clicked his tongue and grinned rather evilly.
“Good,” Brolli sneered. “Good...”
More tears dripped down her cheeks in humiliating waves. Oh Kami!  Remind me that tears are not weakness!  There was a pause, and then Brolli leaned up and away from her, the satisfaction on his face never receding or weakening.
“You will stay in your own private cell, Bulma. Away from my other slaves, yes, but there you will never forget that you indeed are one of them. These chambers shall be kept for my use--that is, only when I intend to use you. But do not fret, Shall’la, I suspect that will be quite often.”
Brolli shouted towards the chamber door before she had time to protest. The guards entered with a bursting noise and came toward her as though she were armed. Bulma remembered the containment device, safely concealed within her tunic, and reached out to Brolli’s arm just as a guard gripped her by the waist.
“You will regret this as long as you live, Kassha’hal. I swear it to you on my life!”
The guards paused when Brolli held up a palm. He leaned toward her again and pressed his cheek against hers. His breath was hot as fire.
“Your life is not worth so much any longer, Bulma.”
Standing up to his full height again, taller even than the guards who held her, Brolli looked away from them. As they dragged her away from her chamber, away from the life she had built for herself on the tears and pain of loneliness, Bulma did not protest.

Vejiita was dueling a computer generated opponent when the Shakan Brolli came quietly into the arena. To dispose of the program quickly, Vejiita halted his physical attack. A mechanical voice came from the computer, warning him to approach or be destroyed. Idiotic thing.
Vejiita let the ki surge through him until it left his palm in a volatile sphere of energy. The hologram dissipated and the computer began reprimanding him for the use of ki during a practice session. Vejiita ignored it and faced Brolli. He removed his gloves one by one.
“It’s done,” the Kassha’hal said quietly--apathetically. Vejiita smirked at him and headed towards the center of the ring.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asked of Brolli, taking a deep breath and preparing to ask the computer for another round. He spread his palms and shut his eyes, turning his back to the other Saiya-jin warrior.
“I expect you to hold your side of the bargain, Zarshi-kalan.” Brolli said, and Vejiita thought that he could hear the soft click of the Kassha’hal's knuckles as they clenched into a fist.
The Saiya-jin Prince smirked and opened his eyes again. The arena was pleasantly engulfed by sunlight today. Since his arrival on Mizukashi for the Festival of Summer, Vejiita had never seen the day look so very beautiful. He sighed and turned to face Brolli.
The Kassha’hal's aura was inflamed just a bit, and his eyes, each time his jaw shifted, flickered a brilliant shade of turquoise. Vejiita wanted to reach into his skull and pluck them out.
“As a prince I am obligated to adhere to my word.” Vejiita said, stepping out of the center ring and heading toward his personal effects. As he neared Brolli, the Kassha’hal’s ki flared just enough so that Vejiita could see and feel it. He stopped before passing by, and rest one fist on his hip.
“Don't look so fucking gloomy, Brolli. You're ruining the beautiful day.” When he stepped away, Vejiita could feel Brolli's murderous gaze on his back. “Perhaps you don't trust me now,” he said slowly, gathering his towel, communicator and scouter. “But you will,” he turned to face Brolli again, “in time. The Lady Bulma's will should be showing stress fractures by now. She has lost her rights as a citizen of the Saiya-jin Empire, and I'm sure that she abhors the aspect of becoming your bed-slave again. Though gods help me, I can't see why, can you?”
Brolli's upper lip curled over his teeth. He snarled, and his tail was ruffling.
“It is not a matter of my trust, Vejiita-Zarshi,” he said irritably. “You do not know Bulma as I do, and you cannot see her for what she is just yet. Of course, you can see, she is beautiful: a perfect object for desire, and easy to use for personal gain. But you do not see her on the inside. Bulma is a snake, trapped inside the body of a Chikyuu-jin--!”
“And I am a gods-damned dragon, trapped in this body. For all the gods' sakes, Kassha’hal, do you think so little of yourself? Of your race? Compared to us, she is nothing!  Nothing!  I do see her; you have made yourself blind to her true nature.
“You have allowed her destroy your Saiya-jin soul. I'm not at all surprised that she wants to overthrow you,” Vejiita paused and added before turning to leave, “if you want this to work, you should take whatever feelings you may have for the human female and throw them to the wayside.
“I am more ruthless and twice as unforgiving as she is, Kassha’hal, and I will tear her soul apart until she has not the will to fight me any longer. Do not forget that.”
There was silence as The Chosen One watched his Prince, eyes still flickering and aura still aflame. A Mizukashi sea bird called out from the top of the arena ceiling, and waves of sea air floated in through the open balconies. Vejiita breathed deeply and called for his guard. The soldier stepped inside the arena entrance and waited patiently.
Brolli bowed his head; one eye still perched on Vejiita's shoulder.
“Suukah, Vejiita-Zarshi. Of course, you are right.”
Vejiita sneered and waited for Brolli's eyes to lower completely. When they did not, he growled and turned away. If he stood there much longer, he thought, he would rip out the Kassha’hal's throat and remind every remaining Saiya-jin in the known universe just how insignificant the man was compared to the crown.
As the guard followed him toward his chamber, Vejiita began to think. He wondered how he would go about “holding his part of the bargain”, as Brolli had put it. He'd had a plan, but now it seemed as though more drastic measures would be needed. And he had spoken the truth; he would indeed make the Lady Bulma crawl on her knees before him. And he would not, could not, be so besotted with her that he would lose all sense of who he truly was—as the Aash'an Raditsu and the Kassha’hal Brolli had done. He thought perhaps, that Raditsu had begun to recover. After all, he had willingly given the woman up to Brolli because of her destructive quality. Perhaps Brolli would follow suit in due time. At least, Vejiita hoped to the gods that he would.
His chamber was humid, despite the rather dry weather, and Vejiita blamed the fact that he had not been inside it since late last evening. War efforts were fully underway, and the Prince had not had ample time to sleep more than three hours a night since it had begun. He wondered for a moment at Emperor Furiza. He had to hand that slimy bastard one thing; he had been exquisitely and perfectly Saiya-jin in his efforts to wipe out his enemy. In fact, if Vejiita did not hate the Aisu-jin shit head so very much, he would have considered him for a possible ally.
For a moment, Vejiita thought of his home.  He thought of Vejiita-sei and of the shoreline in summer. He thought of her twin red suns and the purple dusk. But as quickly as they had come, Vejiita pushed the thoughts away from his mind; it would not do to mourn things that could not be changed. Then he wondered about the Lady Bulma, and if she ever thought of Chikyuu...
Strangely, and suddenly irritated, Vejiita ordered his guard away and waited until the door was shut behind him until he began readying himself for the task at hand. Later, he would join his father at the planning of this war, and he would see off the ships that would take several thousands of the remaining Saiya-jin soldiers to Yuki-sei. Once the troops had been unleashed, the Aisu-jin would have little time to run let alone to save their miserable little planet. And then, all that would be left would be Furiza and his pathetic fleet. It was partially amusing to think of, yet the obstacles in the way made things a bit more complicated than simple annihilation.
The day was waning on late afternoon, so Vejiita would have to hurry. By nightfall, he must have been able to bed Bulma, and gain her trust---at least a fraction of it. And he would stop at nothing to have that. Nothing, he thought. This kind of spar, he thought, would have no holds barred.
Quickly, he bathed and changed into a pair of traditional-style pants. Brolli wore them constantly, and Vejiita's father had made a recent decision to require that all nobles and royalty wear traditional clothing when not sparring or engaged in battle. Vejiita liked the look of them, but he abhorred the feel. He was not used to the thick material of the pants, and he did not like traipsing about with no shirt on. He had to admit though, the sight of any Saiya-jin female wearing the same style pants and something that resembled a napkin wrapped around her breasts was quite a thing to look at.
Vejiita clicked the heavy belt shut on his pants and reached onto his bureau for the jeweled diadem that would grace his forehead. On it was a shining ruby, encrusted with the seal of his house. Damnable things... Yet, Vejiita had to admit that on his forehead, amidst the jet-black of his hair, it looked better than it felt. Finally, splashing some cool fragrance on his newly shaven face, Vejiita took his communicator and left the chamber.
By now, the hallways had turned a golden red in the sunlight. The journey to the slave quarters would not be long, he remembered, so he must pace himself. There was no doubt that the Chikyuu-jin female was able to rouse him to near hysteria with the desire to fuck her senseless. And so, he must be calm. He must be resolute and firm in his dealings with the woman, and so he must not lose control. She would see through that kind of weakness quite easily, Vejiita surmised. For that was where she drew much of her strength.
So, by the time Vejiita reached the slave quarters, he had mastered his breath quite skillfully. There were two guards outside the small hallway, and the marbled hallways had suddenly turned to smooth granite. The guards bowed to him.
“I wish to see one of the slaves,” Vejiita said simply. “Brolli's bed-slave, Bulma. Where is she?” The guard to his left glanced briefly at his comrade and inhaled deeply.
“Within, Zarshi-kalan. But the Kassha’hal left us with strict orders that she is not to be touched by any Saiya-jin save for him. Should we rouse her from the cell, we would risk death.” He soldier looked like a worm.
Vejiita snarled and reached out to grab the front base of the guard's neck. The guard to his right fell on one knee. Vejiita squeezed tightly and listened to the other man's labored breathing for a moment.
“You insolent piece of shit! You would risk a fate worse than death if you defy me once more! I am your PRINCE. Now open this fucking gate!”
Vejiita unlocked his fist and let the soldier fall to his feet. The guard's chin smacked Vejiita's boot. Smirking, he watched as the guard struggled to his feet and placed a palm on the security panel. The other guard remained on one knee next to him. Chuckling softly, Vejiita lifted a foot and smacked the prostrate soldier on the jaw so swiftly that he skidded ten feet away. The gate's red glow faded into a cooler green as the security panel recognized the other guard's clearance, and opened.
“Suukah,” the guard said, bowing deeply. “This way, Zarshi-kalan.”
Vejiita watched the other man for a moment before he pushed him back out into the hallway. The guard stumbled backward but managed to remain afoot.
“Go and find something more useful to do.” Vejiita insisted. “If you want to lick Brolli's boots then I suggest you go do so. I'm sure I can manage alone.” He smacked the inner security panel and turned when it shut in front of him.
The hallway inside the quarter was lined with plain, white panels, which led into each cell. The security panels flickered irritably in the dim light. With no way of identifying which cell was Bulma's, he would have to rely on scent to locate her. Sure that her aura was burning with fury, Vejiita had no doubt that he would find her without much trouble.
With one foot steady in front of the other, Vejiita made his way down the narrow corridor. He scanned each area in front of each door for female pheromones, and then again for the scent of a human. When at last, he was sure that he'd found her cell, Vejiita stopped and grinned to himself. This was, no doubt, going to be more fun than he had originally anticipated.
Reaching up to the conPanel, Vejiita pressed his palm to it and then typed in his code in order to override the system on just the one cell. As the door slid open, Vejiita saw the blue-haired Chikyuu-jin seated quietly on her plain bed, staring up at him with wide, ire-filled, icy blue eyes.
She was surprised to see him, yes he could tell that just by looking at her. But something else he could see was that she seemed at odds with herself. Was she pleased? Disgusted? It appeared to be a small bit of both. For a moment she just watched him, eyes narrowed and regarding him with about the same amount of respect one might give a fish.  She had been issued a standard black shirt and pants, with a linen tunic to show her new status.
With just a slight smile quirking at the edges of her mouth, Bulma turned her face away from him and sighed into the wall.
“Have you come to rape and pillage, Vejiita-Zarshi?  It shouldn't be hard now.”
Vejiita’s mouth twitched.  Such a proud, sardonic little things she was.  She knew very well that he had not come here to rape her, and she knew it so well that she had dared to turn her eyes from him.  Shifting on his feet, Vejiita hooked one thumb just inside the waistline of his pants.
“Rape?”  He asked, amusement dancing heavily on his tone.  “Pillage?  Come now, Lady Bulma.  Do you think so little of me, even now?”
The blue-haired Chikyuu-jin turned her face to look at him again.  She was smiling wanly.
“On the contrary, Zarshi-kalan,” a pause, and she hung on the Saiya-jin title like hanging on a tightrope.  “I would be most disappointed in you if you at least did not try.  My gods, what would happen to your reputation then?”  She looked away again.
Vejiita did not respond for a moment, letting her words float on the silent air a little bit longer.  Let her think he was upset by her countenance.  Let her believe she had hurt his ego just a bit...
Clearing his throat, Vejiita moved so that he could walk toward the center of the cell.  Its white, alloy walls were a stark contrast to the Mizuka-jin architecture of the rest of the palace.  Yes this cell block was, without a doubt, Saiya-jin in origin.  In the corner opposite the bed was a small mirror, chair and wash basin.  The toilet was separated by a small compartment behind him.  There was marble beneath his boots, and shyre cat fur carpet next to the bed:  both expensive materials.  The bed looked comfortable enough.  Vejiita had to admit; being a slave on this planet could not be so very bad.  He’d seen worse slave quarters in his day.  But, he supposed, the Chikyuu-jin would not think of it that way.
Without looking at him, Bulma suddenly said, “and you have no use for that name any longer, Zarshi-kalan.  As I have been made a slave I can no longer make use of Saiya-jin title.  ‘Shal’ba’ means very little to me now, doesn’t it?”
Vejiita continued to watch her, and made sure that his expression exuded empathy.  It must, or else his cover would be blown.  When she looked at him again, her round eyes were thin slits of odium.  And somewhere, deep inside those flickering gems, he could see suspicion.  He must try and make her rule it out somehow, even if she kept the hate.  At least for now...
“What did you come here for?”  She asked.  And the tone demanded an answer.
Vejiita shrugged, crossing both arms across his bare chest.
“You seem to be quite sure already--Shall’la.”
Bulma’s body shifted violently on the bed, and she slid forward so that her chest jutted proudly forward and her chin pointed downward as she glared at him.  Her movements so resembled that of a snake that he was not sure if Brolli’s earlier description had not been correct.
“Never call me that,” she snapped furiously.  “Never call me that again!  Your language should not come equipped with such terms.  You have no concept of emotion--none but brutal, mindless fury!”
Vejiita held up a hand to her.  She seemed to back down, at least for a moment.  Perhaps she was not scared of Brolli or of his power, but she seemed only slightly more intimidated by the movement of his hand---of his not just his physical power, but that inherent in him.  For what he lacked in brute force, Vejiita made up for in countenance and stance.  He knew he was intimidating, and this infuriated her.  If Bulma had a snake’s tongue, he thought then, surely she’d have hissed by now.
Taking a step forward, he reached out to touch her hair.  He paused, and raised an eyebrow to see if she would not strike out and bite his hand.  When she did not move, only continued to stare at him with those angry eyes, Vejiita let his brow soften.  Touching some loose strands of her sky-blue hair, and finally the curve of her determined jaw, Vejiita let himself smile.  It was an odd feeling at first, smiling with real emotion, but he did try.
“You think you know so much about my race, don’t you, Bulma?”  He asked her, complying with her wishes for the present.  He knelt before her, and Vejiita traced a finger down the swan-like curve of her neck into the bosom of her dress.  “When really,” he continued, “you know so very little.”
“I don’t need to know anything more about you and your pathetic, monkey race!”  Bulma seethed.  “All I need do is think of my family to remember what you are!  All I have to do is call on the memory of Chikyuu:  an empty graveyard where my people will forever wander, never to rest!”
Vejiita leaned in and pulled ever so gently on the collar of her tunic.  He chose to ignore her insults for the moment.
“Before you make snap judgments, Bulma,” he whispered against her mouth, “won’t you let me tell you the real reason for my coming here?”
Her body was rigid and unrelenting with fury.  This would not be easy, Vejiita thought, and he would have to tread very lightly.  With a scowl on her face that would bring down a god, Bulma squinted and breathed deeply.  When it appeared that she would say no more, Vejiita shifted on his knee and let go of her collar.
“I know you think me a raving, blood-thirsty lunatic,” he said, with some measure of amusement.  “But the truth is,” he paused, waiting until she was really—really—listening.  “The truth is that I think what Brolli has done to you is beyond what even he would call unjust.”  Vejiita leaned up against the side of the bed and continued watching her.  “I believe—I know he has gone mad for you, you know?”
Bulma straightened her spine and looked away.
“That is his weakness.  He knew what I was to him in the beginning; he should have used more discretion.”
“Surely you are not making excuses for his behavior?”  Vejiita smirked and leaned into the palm of his hand.  He sHEHeHe s












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Bulma looked back at him.  Her eyes were softening just a bit.
“I make excuses for no one, Vejiita.  But I know how living things work...  Even Saiya-jin.  This would have happened, whether now or tomorrow or a week from today.  Something provoked him, and that is all.”
Vejiita smiled.  Holy gods, if only she knew what had provoked him.  He pushed away from the bed slowly and stood before her.  She looked up at him with a kind of half-masked contempt.
“Regretfully,” he began, “since Brolli is governor on this sovereign world even I cannot supersede a ruling on his own slave.  I would prefer to see you a Saiya-jin citizen, but I cannot reinstate your title unless the Kassha’hal dies.”  He waited, seeing the amusement on her face when she looked toward the back wall.  Even she knew that such a thing was a distant possibility.
“I am, however, at liberty to purchase or even to take one of Brolli’s slaves without question.”
Vejiita held out his left hand to her.  Bulma looked at him suspiciously, calculating—deciding.  When she had decided that no devilry lurked in his action, at least at this time, Bulma took his hand and stood.  Her hair still smelled of spiced, Mizukashi fruits.  Her lips were still glistening with oils.  Vejiita reached out to brush a lock of curly, sea-blue hair off of her proud shoulder.  She did not move.
“So,” he began again.  “I suppose the only question is:  would you rather be his slave, or mine?”
Aquamarine eyes glared into him with such intensity that he wondered if they were not really on fire.  Bulma opened her full lips and smiled ever so delicately.
“And what, if you’ll pardon my ignorance Zarshi-kalan, would be the fucking difference?”
Vejiita smirked again and traced the outline of her bottom lip.  Chuckling deep in his throat, he snaked a hand around to her back and settled his hand in the dip of her spine.
“I think you know, Bulma, just how different things would be with me...”  He whispered, and pressed with his palm until she was flush against him.  She seemed to like that response, he thought, as she flattened both of her hands against his bare chest and splayed her fingers wide like stars.  Her fingers snaked up his shoulders now, until both of her hands were on either side of his sweating neck.  This cell had suddenly gotten incredibly hot, he thought with some amusement.
Vejiita could see the calculations in Bulma’s eyes even as she hooded them and breathed against his mouth.  But let her plot and conspire, he thought; she could not read him as she could read Brolli.  She did not know how very heartless he could be.  The insistence of her mouth was enticing enough to make him want to forget his plan, but Vejiita was not so easily swayed in his convictions.
Making use of his jal’a, Vejiita warmed the spot on her lower back where he had rest his palm.  Massaging the skin there, he smirked at Bulma’s soft moan.  He lifted his free hand and touched her face.  The skin was cool on her cheek, and she leaned into the caress with a self-satisfied smile playing on her lips.  Vejiita’s hand slid down until he was able to shift the tunic off of her shoulders.  It pulled apart and away from her bosom until it slid away and pooled soundlessly on the floor.  His feverish fingers inched up under the soft, stretchy shirt she wore, where he was delighted to discover the bare underside of her breasts.  
With the gentleness of a real lover, and Vejiita took great care for it to feel so, he lifted the shirt from her body and put both hands on her hips.  But because Bulma was so frightened by this tenderness, indeed she was terrified, she put both shaking hands on his and pushed until the pants had also pooled at her feet.
She stood before him, for all the world, a goddess. Her skin was glistening gently in the dim light of the cell.  She was sweating, and Vejiita dipped his fingers into the hollow of her throat, trailed them up and into her hair.
“Ah, Shall’la.” Vejiita purred against her mouth. “Ki lagah Saiya-jin sogo sha’bahlan...”  I will make you forget everything you know about Saiya-jin...
Blue eyes opened and regarded him with some modicum of respect and hopefulness.
“For your sake, I hope you can.”  She said, so softly.  Vejiita grinned at her wit .  Bulma knew her power, and she could utilize it if she so pleased.  But she would discover soon enough, he thought, that his walls would be more difficult to conquer.  Chuckling, he kissed her deeply and tucked his other hand around her flaring hip until he cupped her bottom.
Vejiita found the heat in his groin nearing a slow burn, even still clothed as he was and separated from her damp skin by the loose pants he’d put on.  Yet he was not surprised by his desire; he’d been lusting after the female since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
She was more agreeable than he’d guessed; Bulma moaned girlishly into his mouth and squeezed the tips of her fingers into the skin of his neck.  This aggression only fueled his arousal.  And so, delicately, he reached a leg around to muddle her footing.  Bulma inhaled sharply and held dearly onto his neck as she lost her balance.
The bed was not so uncomfortable as it seemed, Vejiita thought as he came to rest on it.  Sliding up toward the wall, he rested his back on it and drew Bulma’s legs toward him to frame his hips.  She was very strong, Vejiita realized:  stronger than she looked.  Her legs trapped his with such glittering ferocity that he wondered if keeping her above him was really prudent.  He found that he did not care though as he continued to gaze at her body.  Never having seen her completely naked, Vejiita was awed.
Bulma’s body was the essence of desire; Brolli had spoken truly.  Not perfection, no, but something else:  something truly beautiful.  For perfection was nothing more than an illusion, Vejiita reasoned.  But this female’s body was delicious and real.  If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought her a virgin; her appearance was so untouched.  Instead, the idea of Bulma’s already present sexuality made her all the more alluring.  Reaching out to her seemed the only natural progression now.
She seemed to come toward his hands, the way a flower bends toward the sun’s rays in late summer.  And her flesh yielded beneath his touch as though she were nothing more than the elegant waves of ki dancing on his fingertips.  Vejiita decided to treat her as such; for a gathering of ki energy must be handled with as much grace and tenderness as aggression and accuracy.  Each part of her body, he decided, would be something to attend to.
And so, Vejiita continued.  Starting with her exotic face, he met with her fluttering eye lids, delicate nose and slightly parted lips with equal pressure and alternating time.  Lingering on her sweet mouth with one hand, Vejiita let his free hand continue his task.  He waited until every part of her was tingling, studying each part as he did so:  her proud neck, shoulders, and collar bone—followed with a trail to the rising and falling peaks of her breasts.  Her tightly firm nipples seemed to strain even harder against his fingers, and her breath quickened at the contact.  Memory came to him of the night Vejiita-sei had been destroyed, and how he had almost had her then...
Bulma’s quiet moan suddenly penetrated the silence of the chamber cell.  His mind came back to the present, and Vejiita realized suddenly that the warmth above his groin where she was seated was growing.  He knew she would not wait much longer before becoming frustrated.  A single finger traversed the plain of her stomach until he was tickling his way around her bellybutton.  This seemed only to bother her more, and Bulma grabbed his probing hand, placing it firmly on her bare backside as she thrust her lovely hips forward.  Damp, hot need seeped through the lap of his pants.
The movement was painful in a way Vejiita was not familiar with.  Instinctively, he growled at her advance and squeezed her backside so hard that she fell forward slightly, bracing her palms against the wall behind him.  Bulma’s lips curved into a delicate smirk.  Realizing that her intent was to subdue him, Vejiita’s mind was quickly coherent once more.  He pushed away the folds of his pants to loose himself, and let the long, hard length of him press against her slick thighs.  
She was more eager than expected, the little hot-blooded thing, and with a breathless sigh she reached down between them to grip him soundly in her fist.  Vejiita clenched his jaw against the groan in his chest.  No need to get carried away yet…
The soft tip of Bulma’s thumb was toying with his already glistening tip, and she angled herself to mount him.  Vejiita breathed in deeply, smelling her fruited skin, the musky arousal in the air, the freshness of her hair as it tumbled around his face.  His right hand shot up to grip her hip so tightly that a small yip of surprise escaped her parted lips.
“Not like that, little Chikyuu-jin…”  He whispered to her and gripped her other hip as tightly.  Bulma’s chin cocked to the side a bit, and she watched him with the intensity of a predator.  Vejiita grinned from the side of his mouth and pushed her hips slowly down, down… Until he was sinking into her with agonizing slowness.
Surely, Bulma could tell that this pace was unfamiliar to him; she already knew his instincts as well as he did.  But Vejiita found that the quiet descent of her body onto his was pleasing.  He could feel every inch inside of her, every inch of her tight, wet heat.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and gathered in the curve of his neck at the hairline.  Bulma’s fingers were dawdling on his collar bone when she came to rest finally on his lap.  When he began to move though, thrusting his hips off the bed more quickly, Vejiita found that he did not have the stamina he had originally planned on.  He had thought, perhaps, that with enough play he could let her ride him at her leisure.
But Bulma’s body was gliding with his in a way he had never known any female to.  She rode against him, met him push for push as her voice rose to a panicky kind of sigh.  This time the growl in his chest made its way out of his throat and mingled with her voice until he clenched his teeth against it.  Gods, he could almost taste the very beginnings of release at the base of his cock, begging to be let free as he pounded into her.  His hands left her hips to crush both of her full breasts in his big hands, only to cover one swollen peak with his mouth and taste the sweetness of her skin.  Bulma’s hands had come to her throat, and she cried out hysterically.  It was as though she had willed herself under control, and had lost it in a desperate battle.
Vejiita was surprised when she came more quickly than he had anticipated.  She gasped and whimpered as though she’d never known sex before.  He gripped onto her waist again so that she would not collapse, and rolled her to his side.  When she looked at him, Bulma’s skin was shimmering prettily with sweat and the afterglow of orgasm.  Vejiita lifted his knee to allow himself more room and gripped the sides of her face.  His body shook with a sudden and violent desire.
“I hope you are not finished, Shall’la,” he hissed, “I had thought you more resilient than that.”
As she breathed deeply, Bulma’s lips thinned into a scowl.  She reached behind Vejiita’s head, dug her fingers deeply into his black hair and finally his scalp.  She rolled onto her back, taking him with her.  And there, he felt suddenly as though he had made a bed of her body.  Inside her, he knew only comfort.  He found this terrifying, and he tried desperately to bury the feeling with a violent thrust.  She gasped, because he was so far within her.  But Vejiita liked that sound:  The sound of something on the verge of pain and pleasure.  Bulma’s back arched up toward the ceiling, probably because he had not yet moved.  Her mind was fighting a difficult battle, he thought.  But he must have patience.  If he was to tame her soul, it would take much more than the type of mating he was used to.
As he pushed himself up onto his palms, Vejiita craned his neck down until his mouth was very close to her ear.
“So beautiful...”  He whispered.  Bulma’s body stiffened slightly.  “So very beautiful, Bulma-kalzan.”  She squirmed beneath him, even as he continued to move inside her.
“Stop--!”  She hissed in reply.  “Stop acting like you care!”
Vejiita smirked, but she could not see it.
“Shhhh...”  He pressed his lips against her ear and, pausing, Vejiita took a quiet breath.  “I will take care of you, Shall’la.”
He reached underneath her bottom and lifted it up just a bit above the surface of the bed and toward his body.  She shuddered, and that movement sent a shock through him that signaled his oncoming release.  When Vejiita lifted his head a bit and saw that there were tears glistening in the corners of her closed eyelids, he smiled.
“You have nothing to fear, Bulma.  Nothing…”  He said through a constricting throat.
When he came, he thought perhaps that there was a storm coursing through him.  Shocks of orgasm crested over his loins and through every limb, achingly out toward his fingertips.  Bulma shuddered and cried desperately into his shoulder as he raged his release into her.  His body stiffened and relaxed, and he slid down from his palms to lie against her.
Vejiita kneaded at her skin until he was through the clouds of orgasm.  There would be no easy way out of this, he thought lazily as she settled beneath him.  But he recalled, just before she’d shut her eyes, there had been a sliver of defeat.  If only a sliver, he thought, it had indeed been there.
Bulma would break.  Vejiita needed only time to be on his side.