Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Shifting the Paradigm (Part I of "Serendipity") ❯ Humans Are Amusing ( Chapter 6 )

This update's pretty short after the last one but a lot happens in it. Also, the latter half of the chapter may come across pretty awkward; it was written before the last couple chapters because my brain thumbs its lobes at working in a linear fashion. Hope it works out regardless, and I've gone over it to try and update it to my current writing style. (No promises…it's almost twenty years old.)

There's no real warning in this chapter, unless you haven't seen the Dragon Ball Z movie "Wrath of the Dragon;" if you haven't, then, well, spoilers. Big ones. Some canon characters from that movie. I only own the original characters. You'll finally get to see all three main original characters as of this chapter! One last quick note regarding original character nicknames—most commonly used are in bold: Sierra Daiyu Stone: Dai. Susana-Ria Midori Stone: Rio, or Sue at work. Rowan Akane Stone: Roe. Cordelia Celeste Stone: Cor. Dakota Levina Willow: Koda.

Suggested Listening: Toad the Wet Sprocket "Something to Say," Andrew McMahon In The Wilderness "High Dive," Demi Lovato, "Heart Attack"

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Nothing can survive in a vacuum;
No one can exist all alone.*

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Humans are Amusing

The sky always seemed so much clearer up on the Lookout. Not for the first time, Dende found himself in awe of the planet he now called home—amazed by whatever strangeness made the sky the color he always associated with grass. Staring up into the endless, cloudless blue, he wondered about many things—the state of the world, what foul villain was sure to arrive in time and shatter its peace, a lovely young woman with vibrant red hair—

Dende froze, realizing where his unguarded thoughts led him. Several days had passed since the girl called Rowan first contacted him and pried Sierra's continued existence out of him. He didn't regret telling her that the somber woman was still alive—breaking the Kami's vow of non-interference—but he never expected that short contact to have any long-term impact. He never expected to find himself wondering about her, or if she'd managed to keep his admission a secret.

"Hey, Dende!" Gohan's cheerful greeting startled a squawk from the young guardian, and he whipped about to greet the unexpected company with wide eyes.

"I didn't do anything!" Belatedly, Dende realized such a statement would only make Gohan more suspicious. "Uh…have you seen what's going on in the White House?" he asked hoping to deflect attention. "It's getting good—I'm gonna pop some popcorn later!" Unfortunately, this explanation didn't help much—Gohan still stared at him like he was being weird. 'What,' the young Namek wondered rubbing his neck and turning back to the world below, 'am I the only one who watches the world for entertainment? Oh…right. Yeah.'

"Is this a bad time?" Gohan asked him, smiling as widely as ever as though the young guardian didn't just confess to watching humanity like a sideshow.

"Nah," Dende answered dragging one hand across his scalp awkwardly. "One day's just like the rest up here…" …except for the day he broke the rules to comfort a spunky redhead, that is. "What do you need?" …because the warriors of Earth only ever came to him when they needed something.

"You remember Sierra, right?" Gohan asked ambling up to stand beside him at the edge of the lookout. "We brought her here after Vegeta's gravity room nearly killed her?"

"Yes, I remember." Dende looked up at the taller teen curiously. "I sensed something wrong with her—physically, that is—something wouldn't let her heal all the way."

"Rheumatoid arthritis," Gohan admitted. "Bulma told me the other day—the diagnosis is still pretty new."

"Arthritis? She's pretty young for that—she can't be past her thirties, right?" Dende shook his head, struggling to wrap his head around what he heard. "Age aside, arthritis is a normal part of growing older—it wouldn't interfere with healing."

"Osteoarthritis is normal for older people, yeah," Gohan agreed grimly, "but Sierra's got Rheumatoid Arthritis. It's an autoimmune disorder." He met Dende's eyes, his own betraying pity in amounts that would infuriate the woman. "Her immune system is attacking the cartilage in her joints like it's a foreign entity, like a bacteria or infection. She told me it runs in her family—it crippled her father and his father before him."

"An autoimmune disorder," Dende repeated slowly as though testing the words, rubbing his chin in thought. "The immune system in overdrive attacking healthy tissue…yeah, that might be why my healing didn't take care of everything." He glanced back up at his taller friend. "—but you didn't come by just to talk about that, did you?" Gohan laughed, gave a stereotypical Son grin and neck grab, and shrugged.

"Ya got me," he teased scruffing his fingers through his short black hair. "Bulma noticed after you healed her that Sierra had a week or two of better mobility—she didn't hurt as much and she didn't have any of those muscle spasms in her back. I'm sure it's because of your healing." Called it—he never came by unless needed something. "Would you be willing to—"

"I'd be happy to, Gohan," Dende answered brightly instead of voicing his disappointment. Maybe a routine visit would mean he'd have company more often—company other than his admittedly creepy djinn assistant or a grumpy older Namek. "Bring her by once a week, I'll heal what I can, and we'll see if her condition improves." Gohan gave a loud, awkward laugh, backing away from the edge.

"Boy, am I glad you agreed!" he admitted somewhat shrilly. Dende gave a deadpan expression.

"You brought her just in case, didn't you?" The non-question was answered with a sheepish smile. "All right…let's get this over with."

From the moment Gohan began explaining the plan to her, Sierra watched Dende warily, which made Dende even more nervous. When Gohan told her the plan was to help her hurt less—the explanation delivered in a perfectly non-judgmental non-patronizing manner—that wariness fell aside, replaced with outrage. Even with her voice and eyes as sharp as knives, though, her face was remarkably blank.

"I don't need your help!" she protested. "I'm gettin' along just—"

"Woman," Piccolo snapped from the doorway, "just go with it." Dende turned to greet the other Namekian in disbelief; when did he arrive? "You're not fooling anyone. You're in pain and it's affecting those around you."

Naturally, that remark set her off; right before Dende's eyes, the unaffected expression fell away, replaced by a still pretty weak scowl. As the two adults bickered—one lashing out at the other with her cane and spouting oaths and insults in a foreign tongue, the other blocking and firing back with his own—Dende and Gohan grinned behind their hands. The warrior doth protest too much…and so doth the lady.

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It was a Friday like any other Friday at Capsule Corps. Fall was nearly over and the days were growing cold.

Upstairs in his room, Trunks tipped his chair back and chewed his pencil. He had studying to do—Mom's orders, even though it was the weekend of a cookout—but daydreaming was so much more fun. Sierra-san was a tough teacher; their tutoring sessions were miserable and Trunks often found himself arguing with the older woman over the amount of homework she gave him. Despite it, the proof was in the pudding: his grades were improving.

Trunks' mind clearly wandered away from the problems decking the sheet before him, but his tutor let it slide. Something was on its way…something was about to happen. She didn't know what, or how she knew, but she could feel it in her very bones, like a storm building on the horizon.

Trunks' found himself distracted by memories—memories of his Mohawk-clad surrogate brother. He hadn't heard from Tapion in a few years, but the elder had promised to come back when he could. At first, he dropped by every year or so to check on Trunks, refuel, and admit no, he still hadn't found whichever corner of the universe his little brother was sent to. The last visit was over three years ago—much longer a wait than usual—and Trunks wondered what might have happened.

Tapion was lots of fun to hang out with but he tended to be too serious. He handled that sword with great skill until he gifted it to Trunks, and he never talked down to him. It seemed when one became an adult, they forgot what it was like to be a kid and began treating kids precisely how they once hated to be treated; Tapion never forgot, never treated Trunks like a baby, and always had time for him. Though he was still a child, Trunks could tell that Tapion was lonely—lonely in a way that even finding his brother couldn't fix. Of course, the alien would never admit it and would never consider putting his own happiness ahead of seeking his lost brother. After all, what good was a time machine if he couldn't use it to spare Minotia's life in the past?

Suddenly, a sound Trunks hadn't heard in years manifested out in the front yard—a loud, low, undulating whir. Trunks leapt to his feet and rushed to the window, pressing his nose and hands against the glass to see if his suspicions were right. They were! Bubbling over with joy, he bolted from his room, down the stairs, and out to the front lawn.

Sierra never spoke, either to question or reprimand; she knew this was what she sensed before, and knew better than to intervene.

"He's back, Mom!" Trunks yelled as he ran. "Tapion's back! It's him, he's finally here!" Out on the front lawn, Bulma followed Trunks to greet their wayward friend. Trunks was surprised, though, because Tapion wasn't alone. He'd brought a boy with him—a boy with hair almost the same pink as fresh salmon, and bright turquoise eyes. Minotia. He clung to Tapion's sleeve excitedly, trying to see everything at once in the way little boys do.

"Tapion, you're back!" Bulma greeted, shaking his hand. "I take it you had a safe trip through time?"

"We certainly did, Ms. Briefs," he answered. "That is one remarkable machine you built. It made it home on fumes!" The two chuckled over that a moment, then Tapion led the smaller version of himself forward. "This is my brother." She nodded and leaned over gripping one knee to shake the boy's hand.

"You must be Minotia!" she smiled. "Your big brother has told us all about you….I'm glad you were able to come back with him. Where's…" She looked over her shoulder. "Trunks, don't be rude. Come say hi." Trunks inched forward. "This is my son, Trunks Briefs. I'm sure you two will get along quite well." The two boys sized each other up silently.

"Your hair is pink." Trunks stated flatly, eyeing the boy's Mohawk critically.

"Yeah?" Minotia retorted, crossing his arms. "Well, you're named after underwear." The two adults gaped at the boys' bad manners, with Bulma trying to figure out where she went wrong. The standoff came to a halt with Trunks breaking into a face-splitting grin.

"I like you. We'll get along great." Minotia grinned back, and the two took to chasing each other around the yard. Bewildered at the boys' odd behavior, Bulma and Tapion shrugged, laughing the incident off.

"Oh!" Bulma squeaked. "I almost forgot! We've got a cookout planned tomorrow—the whole gang will be here! You and Minotia absolutely must join us, you'll have a blast!"

"Well, we wouldn't want to intrude…" Tapion rubbed his neck and avoided her eyes. "I don't exactly have the best record with your friends…"

"Nonsense! They'll welcome you with open arms, just as they would any friend of ours." Tapion still seemed hesitant. "There'll be shish kabobs…" she added in a singsong tone. That got his attention. "…And Trunks' friends Goten and Marron will be here, too, so Minotia will have friends to play with…." If the 'shish kabobs' part hadn't made up his mind, that last bit definitely did.

"If you're sure it won't be a problem," he consented.

"Great! I'll drop by the market and pick up another crate of steaks. There'll be several Saiyans there, after all, so if there isn't a surplus of food, us normal people just might starve!" she laughed. "You wanna come along and carry stuff?"

His eyes darted past her; Minotia was now playing catch with Trunks, using an oddly shaped brown ball. As he watched the boys, Bulma's mother Panchy pranced out to the yard with a tray of lemonade for the boys. "Hi, Tapion! Welcome home!" she called out, waving.

Home. The word sounded so innocent coming from Panchy. To Tapion, though, it brought a warmth in his heart he hadn't expected. He'd hadn't had a home in years…now he had one again.

"Minotia!" he hollered over to the boys. His little brother skipped over toward him, and he crouched down to the boy's eye level. "I'm gonna go help Ms. Briefs run some errands. Would you like to stay and play with Trunks while we're gone?" Minotia nodded enthusiastically. "Okay then. Just make sure you mind your manners, respect Trunks' grandparents, and don't roughhouse too much. Love yah, Min." 

"Love you too, Tay," Minotia answered, hugging Tapion back just as tightly. Ruffling Minotia's hair, Tapion stood and watched the game resume with vigor. He turned to Bulma with a smile that told her he was ready to leave.

Bulma called out a love you and goodbye to Trunks and led Tapion to her air car. "How can you get him to say it back?" she asked once they were on the road.

"Say what?" he blinked.

"Trunks is so much like his father…" her expression darkened at the thought. "He won't stand for being hugged, he gets embarrassed when I tell him I love him, and he never says it back…" She trailed off.

"It might just be a phase he's going through," Tapion answered honestly. "Minotia and I have always been close, from the day he was born. I was seventeen when our father died, and Minotia wasn't born for another three months." Funny how it no longer hurt to voice those words; maybe time really did heal all wounds. "Mum worked long hours to keep us fed and sheltered, and I took a weekend job so we could pay the bills and ddn't have to hire a child-keeper. I had to grow up pretty quickly, and sometimes I felt bitter and standoffish because of it…it never lasted long, though." A pause hung in the air—courtesy of the air car's door catching his sash and his grumbled oaths in freeing it.

"As for the rest," he finished once his clothes were free, "we were apart from the day we were locked in the music boxes until the day I found him." He fidgeted with the seatbelt nervously. "We never said goodbye. That's been my one big regret—never taking the chance to tell him how much he meant to me. I guess he feels the same way, because he still says it back."

Silence filled the car for a few moments, and Tapion turned to Bulma to ensure he hadn't upset her. Instead, she was just staring at him with an unsettling smile. "You really are such a good brother," she sighed turning back to the road. "Minotia is lucky to have you."

Nothing further was said until she pulled the aircar into a space along the street. Almost as soon as he opened the car door, his sensitive ears were hit with loud, cacophonic racket from the auto body shop across the street from the market. As Bulma followed the sidewalk to the market door, his eyes remained fixed on the auto shop. Sweet Sue's Body Shop, the sign over the front door declared proudly. We speak 'Car' so you don't have to! How strange…he wasn't aware cars were sentient enough to speak!

Bulma noticed his gaze and patted his shoulder. "They'll probably need a few minutes to pack the crate. Why don't you have a look around?" Not needing to be told twice, Tapion wandered across the street—nearly winding up a hood ornament in the process—and up to a part of the shop left open to the air outside. As he approached, the din halted, and he could hear music playing over the speakers on the walls.

But you make me wanna act like a girl, paint my nails, and wear perfume for you, make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand!

A petite woman in brown coveralls danced over to a long, flat broom propped up in the corner. Retrieving it, she swept the bay floor free of dirt and debris while singing along. "Ya make me glow, but I cover up, won't let it show, so I'm puttin' my defenses up 'cause I don' wanna fall in love. If I ever did that, I think I'd have a heart attack!"

Her voice wasn't that bad, Tapion thought with a wry smile. It was lower in pitch than Bulma's with an unusual accent he'd never heard before. Her honey-brown hair was a little past shoulder length, plaited into a simple braid, with a flashy pink scarf over the crown. She was pretty with a figure that wouldn't quit, a line of steel studs and rings decking both ears, and dark, laughing green eyes.

The music continued with the lovely brunette in accompaniment and she exchanged the broom for a bucket of soapy water, a large sponge, and a squeegee. Without preamble, she started washing the well-maintained Hybrid occupying an area of the bay with a grate and drain built into the floor. Dancing in place, she scrubbed the vehicle down with the soapy water, not caring a whit that she was getting almost as much soap on herself as she was on the car.

The door to the front office swung open theatrically; a younger woman in matching oil-spattered and car wax-smeared coveralls swept into the bay to lend a hand. Aside from her pale freckled skin and the sleek carrot-colored hair pulled into a ponytail, she bore a striking resemblance to the other, older woman; surely, though, surely they weren't mother and daughter and co-workers! Come to think of it, though, Tapion didn't see any other employees or vehicles whatsoever. Was it after hours? The younger woman set to work on the opposite side of the vehicle, singing the next verse in a lilting, sweet voice that held just a hint of the twang that flavored the other's voice so strongly. The brunette joined in with a matching mischievous grin.

"The feelings got lost in my lungs. They're burning, I'd rather be numb, and there's no one else to blame. So scared, I take off and I run—I'm flying too close to the sun and I burst into flames!"

The song faded out as the two women cracked each other up with goofy faces, then they burst into giggles. The redhead flicked soap off the hood at the older brunette, who picked up one of the soapy sponges and prepared to fling it in retaliation. She halted, though, having finally noticed Tapion leaning against the lamp post just outside the bay. A shy smile crossed her face before she forced a professionally friendly one in its place and tossed the nearly airborne sponge into the bucket of water. "Can we help you Sir?" she asked. "We closed 'bout twenty minutes ago, but if you've got an emergency, I'm sure we can work something out…"

Suddenly shy, Tapion couldn't meet her gaze anymore. Eyes glued to the sidewalk, he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being caught watching them. They were just playing but he felt like a pervert. "No, thanks. I'm…I'm just passing through. Good day." Without further ado, he rushed back over to the market to wait for Bulma.

The brown-haired woman was lovely, friendly, and polite; in another life, Tapion could see his mother dropping hints in hopes of matching them up. In this life, what good could ever come of them meeting? What could he hope to offer her even if she wasn't married? He was so much older than her, thanks to his time in the music box, and the Briefs family aside, he had way too much baggage for anyone to want him around. He was a jaded, traumatized, cranky Konatsian—a man in a world and time not his own. Even without knowing her, Tapion was sure she deserved better.

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As Tapion fought his internal battle and waited for Bulma, Rio started hosing off the hybrid and the dirty, soapy floor while Rowan put away the cleaning supplies. The whole time, Rowan watched her mother, curious at the almost dreamy expression on the older woman's face. With the vehicle rinsed and drying, Rio commenced shutting the place down while Rowan changed out of her wet coveralls in the locker room.

Later on, as they drove home, Rowan cleared her throat expectantly. "What?" Rio asked innocently.

"I saw that," Rowan remarked dryly.

"Saw what?" Rio protested with a sarcastic glare. "That light was pink."

"The guy with the Mohawk, Mom. I saw that." Her mother heaved an exasperated sigh. Of course, it couldn't be about running a red light. Here it came... "So, what do you think?"

Rio scowled, shook her head, and refused to budge. "Rowan…" The look her daughter shot her could have frightened a pathological liar into telling the truth. "Fine. He's cute, but he's way too young. Besides, ya know I'm not on the market. The Rat Bastard was more'n enough for one lifetime, thank you very much; I'm ain't makin' that mistake again."

As every time before, it all boiled down to the psychotic asshole who fathered Rowan. Granted, Robert Biers was a nightmare and a half, but he was safely behind bars again—surely her mother could move past that one mistake! Still, Rowan reminded herself silently, at least Rio was finally able to smile even though her twin was still technically missing…Rowan wasn't sure about it, but she had the feeling Kami told me she's safe would go over about as well as Botulism at a birthday party.

“Why do I even bother?” Rowan grumbled. "Too young, too old, too tall, too short, too scary, too boring…why don't I just set you up with a mirror and get it over with?"

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Up next:  Dende takes a break from stalking to help Sierra stalk her family, then stirs the Sierra/Piccolo pot in The Mask Slips

* Rush “Turn the Page.” We’re seeing a lot of Rush in these. I’d apologize but I’m a Rusher, so I’d rather carve my heart out with a rusty spoon.

A friend of mine - and the beta for my "A New Lease on Life" stories - suggested "Heart Attack" for Mercy, and it fits Rio remarkably well! Silliness aside, I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter and are having a great day!