Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Snow Trunks and the Z Dwarves ❯ 2. Continuing ( Chapter 2 )

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"Snow Trunks and the Z Dwarves"

by Shella

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Queen Frieza scowled as he examined his dress in the mirror. A long, jagged rip had been torn in the skirt, from the hip almost to the knee, when Princess Mirai had thrown the drapes on him. Really, it was bad enough having his underwear on display to the world, but the beige of his dress entirely mismatched with the bright, almost fluorescent red of his heavily embroidered, thigh-high stockings. Honestly, if he was going to look shabby, he should at least look shabby in complementing underwear.

"My Lady? Are you all right?"

His personal guard Zarbon had knocked at the door and poked his head into the room. The rather gorgeous minion, adorned with more jewellery than a fortune teller, was scantily clad in dark green leggings which showed several inches of leg between where they stopped halfway up his thighs and the material of the same colour that almost covered his derriere.

Frieza pouted at him and sauntered over as best he could, playing the sympathy card for all it was worth with his most … *ahem* loyal servant. "That horrid little wench completely ruined my favourite dress," he sulked, batting his heavily mascara'd lashes at Zarbon.

"How dare he?" exclaimed the effeminate green bodyguard in instant commiseration, understanding immediately who his Queen was on about. (A/N: Damn, who isn't effeminate in this castle?) He knelt beside his Lady, examining the tear closely with both eyes and hands. Frieza purred. "Such a beautiful dress, all ruined," he lamented sympathetically, then stood up and moved around behind Frieza, slowly unlacing the bodice of the satin beige gown. "We must get a replacement soon," he declared as he slid the dress off Frieza's shoulders. "But not just now…"

Fifty-three seconds later, they lay sprawled together on Frieza's bed, utterly spent, Frieza smoking an enormous cigarette, Zarbon smoking one exactly the same only a twentieth the size.

"So where is our little Princess anyway?" asked Zarbon lazily.

"He ran away," Frieza replied, taking a large puff of his cigarette and exhaling a large cloud of grey smoke. "Claimed he'd had enough and disappeared, I think for good."

"Hm … time to get a new heir then, perhaps?"

The Queen sat bolt upright. "A new heir?! Kami below, I never even thought…" A crimson light appeared in his eyes and he rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I'll be able to get a real girl this time," he said gleefully, "A beautiful girl who won't want to wear pants, or get her hands dirty, or even ride a horse any way except sidesaddle. And she'll have gorgeous eyelashes, and lovely long hair, and she'll love brushing it, and going dress shopping with me, and arranging tea parties, and bedding men…"

"I was under the impression Mirai also enjoyed bedding men," Zarbon said drolly. Frieza's eyes flashed.

"Do not overstep your boundaries, Zarbon," he said warningly, and his favourite bodyguard looked suitably abashed. The Lizard Queen continued more calmly, "As it happens, you are right, but my former heir was also partial to the occasional female." He didn't need to state his disapproval of that fact. "My new Princess will enjoy males, and only males."

Suddenly smiling, he bounced off the bed and, wrapping a fluffy, fur-lined mint green dressing gown around his slender, pale form, skipped to the door. Zarbon followed, hurriedly pulling on his uniform again and arranging his countless rings, bangles, necklaces, earrings, and various other assorted pieces of jewellery as he tagged behind his queen to the royal secretary's office.

"I want a new Royal Heir," said Frieza to the fat pink blob behind the main desk. Dodoria blinked up at him, squinting from behind thick black glasses.

"Wassat?" he asked hoarsely, cupping one hand behind his ear and leaning towards the Lizard Queen to hear him better.

"I said I want a new Royal Heir," Frieza practically yelled at the senile bit of flubber.

Dodoria jumped. "Ah, of course, your Majesty," he said in a panicked voice. He immediately fumbled under his desk and pulled out a thick wad of papers. "Just … just fill out these forms in triplicate … or I could fill them out," he hastily corrected himself after seeing Zarbon's hand move ever so slightly towards his sword. (A/N: No, not that sword you hentais! Dodoria?! That's just disgusting … *shudders*) "Now, has the death of the previous Heir been officially confirmed?" he asked, picking up a quill in a trembling hand.

"No," Frieza replied without thinking, surprised at the question. Seeing the conflict on Dodoria's face, he asked, "…Is it meant to be?"

"I'm afraid so, m'Lady," the giant pimple replied. "It - it's in the law."

Frieza gave an impatient sigh and turned to Zarbon, who raised one eyebrow questioningly. "It's no trouble," he assured him, forestalling his favourite minion's offer to bend the law. "I'll look him up in my seeing-pool, it will be easy enough. And then I think I'll exterminate him myself. That was a very pretty dress…" Scowling and muttering angrily to himself, the Lizard Queen flounced up the stairs to his bedchamber.

He had plans to make.

~~ooO@Ooo~~

"Whoa - cruuuuuuuuuuuud-"

SPLASH!

Lying facedown on the floor, soaked from head to foot in lukewarm coffee, Mirai Trunks swore. He didn't restrict himself to one word, or even one language. He cursed long and imaginatively in every dialect he'd picked up even the slightest grasp of while in Queen Frieza's castle, the volume and variety of his censurable monologue causing an overhearer to be understandable in mistaking him for a sailor.

It wouldn't have been quite so bad if his apron, which had snagged on a nail protruding from a knee-high table effectively tripping him up and dumping him on the floor, wasn't composed almost entirely of cherry-coloured frills.

But unfortunately the dwarves claimed to have no other full-size clothes in their house, and Trunks was almost meticulous in the care he took to keep his single masculine outfit in wearable condition lest he be forced into something - anything - else. So an apron was a necessity when serving food and drinks, no matter how detestably girlish the ridiculously fluffy affair made the already effeminate bishonen look. But Kami be damned, he didn't have to like it.

So when blonde Lunch walked in, took one look at the wet, bedraggled Mirai sprawled rather invitingly on the floor, sneezed, regressed in a split second to brunette, and clapped a hankie to his nose to stem an abrupt outpouring of crimson, the lilac-haired teenager wasn't feeling particularly charitable.

He'd been fending off advances from the dwarves for days. As convenient as it would have been to have a boyfriend at waist height, the beards and eunuch-like voices were a bit of a turn-off. Nevertheless, he reluctantly accepted Lunch's help in clearing up the scattered dishes and cleaning the kitchen floor, assisting the diminutive brunette in wiping most of the coffee off the wooden planks and gladly taking off the ludicrously ruffled apron. Whatever his adopted benefactor had tried to convince him, cherry, rose or any shade of pink/red was simply not Mirai Trunks' colour.

However, his suspicions began to stir when Lunch ushered him upstairs to what passed for the dwarves' bathroom and urged him to remove his clothes.

"Oh, please, I'll be fine, I just need to dry out," Mirai protested.

"Not at all, you don't want coffee in those lovely boots, the leather will spoil for sure," Lunch said. "Achoo!" His hair abruptly lightening fifty or so shades, the singular beardless dwarf growled, "Listen, kid, you'd just better do as I say or else - Ah-CHOO! Excuse me." Wiping his nose, the personality-switching brunette continued, "And if you think I'm going to let such a pretty green shirt get ruined over a little modesty you're a very silly goose indeed."

(A/N: Shout out to everyone who reckons Big Gay Al rocks monkeys. ^__^)

"It's quite all right, I can manage-"

"Just let me help, dear, it'll only take a minute-"

"No really, I'll be all right-"

"I'll grab you a blanket - ah-ah-ah … CHOO!-"

"HEY!"

"You wanna make something of it, bitch? Ah-choo! Sorry-"

"HANDS OFF!"

"Watch out!-"

SPLASH!

Lying on his back in the bath, soaked from head to foot in lukewarm water, Mirai Trunks had the most powerful feeling of déjà vu. Except that this time there was a dwarf also sprawled across him, a dwarf who conveniently enough had been neatly dacked by the combination of his sneeze and their ungraceful tumble into the mostly-full tub. There was frozen silence for almost a whole minute, broken only by the steady, overloud drip-drip of water departing the lavender sanctuary of Mirai's hair for the momentarily paused uncertainty of the bath below. Then Lunch sneezed.

"WHAT THE HELL D'YA THINK YOU'RE TRYIN', KID?"

The yell given by the miraculously blonde dwarf almost burst Mirai Trunks' eardrums as the shorter male shoved himself backwards and scrambled to his feet. Er - that is-

"…Hey, you're a - I mean, you're not a - I mean-"

Lunch scowled as she pulled up her pants. "Don't look at what you can't afford," she snarled threateningly, and amazingly, the much taller, stronger and tougher Mirai was intimidated into not voicing a word of objection.

He was still having trouble believing his eyes. The deception had been almost perfect - it had certainly fooled him, and who should know more about cross-dressing than he? But evidently it was all to do with the will of the person. Lunch had certainly been more enthusiastic in assuming her opposite-gender role than the former Princess.

"AH-CHOO!"

Mirai was startled out of his stunned reverie by Lunch's prompt return to the brunette side of her personality.

"Do the other guys know?" he asked, out of curiosity.

Lunch shook her head. (Well, the lack of a beard was now explained.) "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone, I mean, they're all a bunch of horny toads and they're very homophobic. If they found out that I'm a girl who likes another girl - that is, you - they'd probably kick me out of the house."

Mirai blinked, and for a fleeting moment he had a sudden, desperate wish for the seemingly most unattainable thing in his life. Normality.

"Don't worry, they won't find out through me."

The fates, it seemed, enjoyed taunting him. Either that or he really was screwed and he was the only one it wasn't obvious to. Probably the second option.

~~ooO@Ooo~~