Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Christmas Capers ❯ Chapter 1 ( Prologue )

Disclaimer: Come on, you know Akira doesn't write. He's manga, I'm writing, do the math! ^_~

Chapter 1

Trunks snickered, watching over the couch's headrest as his prey walked unknowingly closer and closer to the trap he had set. He ducked back down, cursing mentally from the list of words his father used as the black-haired demi-Saiyan stopped and turned toward the small sound, frowning.

Gohan scratched his head briefly, shrugged, and turned back around. He'd come over to the Briefs' to get an adjustment on the watch Bulma had given him that allowed him to turn into the Great Saiyaman. Gohan looked down at said watch and noted the nifty cat and mouse that chased each other around as the seconds ticked by. Now, Bulma had style! He really didn't understand Vegeta's parting comment of 'dorks of a feather flock together'.

Gohan shrugged minutely and continued on to the door. He'd have to show off his watch to Goten. He'd think it was cool at least. He guessed Saiyan Princes didn't have to have good taste.

As his hand closed around the doorknob, he wondered idly where Trunks was, but shrugged. Vegeta had said he was 'done with this foolery and going back to more useful things that even demi-Saiyans should be doing instead of playing hero, like training', so that was probably where his son had gone too. Gohan rolled his eyes at the unsubtle reprimand and turned the knob, swinging the door open toward him.

The bucket of red and blue colored snow that had been balanced precariously on the top of the doorsill made a scraping sound as it slowly tipped toward the demi-Saiyan's head. Gohan's wide-eyed gaze turned to the sound in slow motion, watching in mute shock as the bucket upended on his head, soaking him with the slush the snow had become from being in the warm house and coating him in a nice shade of purple; not unlike the color of the perpetrator's hair.

Trunks shrieked with laughter, falling over the side of the couch at the sight of a stunned Saiyan with purple, slushy snow dripping from his black hair and running over his face and clothes as the bucket slid off his head to hit the ground with a dull, metallic clunk.

A harried Bulma rushed into a room at the noise, took one look at Gohan, and couldn't stop her own laughter.

"Bulma!" Gohan tried to hold his arms out to the side of his body, wishing he hadn't worn his white shirt to school that morning. His mom was going to kill him! But not before he killed Trunks!

Bulma slowly calmed herself, managing to look at Gohan without falling into a fit of laughter again. "I'm sorry, Gohan. What happened?" She glanced again at the purple-coated Gohan and spied exactly where his glare was falling.

Trunks was just pulling himself together enough to notice that Gohan was staring at him with a look only his father usually carried and Bulma was giving him a smirk that-well, meant she wasn't going to save him.

He stood, waving sheepishly at Gohan, who didn't look amused. "Geez, how'd that happen, Gohan? That was really mean of someone to put that there. Well, dad's expecting me in the Gravity Room. See ya!" With a puff of dust, Trunks was gone, running as if demons were on his heels. Well, one demon actually, by the name of Gohan.

~M E R R Y C H R I S T M A S~

Vegeta paused with one fist flung into Kakarott's stomach. Not that Kakarott was actually there, but it really wasn't the time to pause and reflect on how fighting an imaginary opponent with a name could be slightly disturbing.

If he identified the footsteps right, that was his son coming toward the Gravity Room, where Vegeta was waiting impatiently on him. And he sounded as if he was running.

"Gravity off." With a mechanical beep, the computer complied, resetting the gravity so that Vegeta could adjust to the change before the door slid open. A breathy and brightly grinning Trunks darted in before the door had even opened halfway, not even sparing his father a glance as he darted around his leg.

He was so preoccupied in looking nervously; yet still pleased; at the door, he didn't notice the glare he was receiving from the shield he was using.

Vegeta's head snapped up as an unexpected arrival announced itself with heaving breath. He raised a brow at Gohan, noting red face and purple stained shirt as well as the wet 'drip…drip' as slush landed on the tile of the Gravity Room. Slowly, the side of Vegeta's mouth quirked up. Ah! Well, that explained it, didn't it?

Gohan managed to gulp in enough air to speak; purposely ignoring the amused look he was receiving from the black, flame-haired man. "Vegeta, do you mind if I borrow Trunks?" Although the request was quite polite, the sentence was barely uttered through gritted teeth.

Vegeta glanced down at his son, who somehow managed to erase the impish grin on his face and look at his father with wide, innocent eyes that said, 'you're the only one that can save me from this madman'. Vegeta snorted. "What did you do this time?"

Trunks made an incredulous sound. "What do you mean? I was in the living room, and Gohan was walking out the door, and someone placed a bucket of red and blue snow above the doorsill. I was going to warn Gohan, but it was too late. Now he's blaming me for it!"

Vegeta inspected his son's completely guileless expression before raising a face devoid of any emotion back to Gohan. His eyes briefly scanned his form before he turned back to his son, smirking. "Blue and red? Looks like purple to me. Though blue and red do make purple, now don't they?"

Trunks gulped audibly, suddenly wanting to step away from the shield-turned-attacker. However, stepping away from his father meant facing Gohan…. Father…Gohan…father…Gohan….

"Vegeta, I really need to see your son. It'll only take a few minutes."

Vegeta grinned at his son, a truly nasty smile that made Trunks feel as if he'd just had the snow dumped on him. "No."

Before he could breath a sigh of relief, or Gohan could protest, Vegeta spoke up again, looking at Gohan. "Don't you know anything of strategy? You don't hit your opponent when he expects it," that grin was once again aimed at Trunks, who took a step back against his own will, "You hit them when he least expects it, in the most painful way possible."

Vegeta head again turned to Gohan, winking at the eldest son of Kakarott out of Trunks' sight. "Understand?"

Gohan suddenly smirked, and Trunks was immensely more afraid of it than of his father's. His father's smirk said, 'I've got evil little things running around and cackling in my head'. Gohan's smirk said, 'I've never tried to be evil before, it might be fun'. There was something about that slightly insane glee in Gohan's black eyes that made Trunks shiver. "Oh, I think I do now. Be seeing you, Trunks, Vegeta. Have a good day!"

With that Gohan headed out the door, waving behind him and apparently still smiling. Trunks stared after him; then, as soon as the door had slid back shut, looked up at his father. "You're good."

The appreciative and awed tone made Vegeta's smirk widen before it vanished. "You got caught."

Trunks folded his arms across his chest in a perfect imitation of the one who stared at him with slight disapproval. "Well you didn't tell me what to do after I set the snow on the doorsill," he huffed.

Vegeta smirked. "Well I assumed you were smart enough to know not to stay at the scene of the crime." He raised a brow as he moved away from his son and toward the control panel. "And thanks for nicely taking the blame off of me with that red and blue comment. If I knew you were going to be such a great sidekick, I'd have done this earlier."

Trunks eagerly rubbed his hands together. Who knew his father could be even more devious than he himself? "What next?"

Vegeta hid a smirk as he set the commands for the light-well, it would be for him-sparring session with his son. "Next we train. You avoid Gohan. I'll tell you when we're going to hit our next victim."

"Aw, come on, dad! Give me a hint?"

Vegeta turned to his son, glaring briefly but with no real heat to the look. "You'll know when you know."

As the gravity turned on and both shifted slightly with the added weight, Vegeta shrugged minutely. "I guess you do deserve something for getting the job done. We hit baldy next."

Trunks sank into a fighting stance, mimicking his father's own and starting on warm-ups. "Krillin?" Even though the term 'baldy' was long-since outdated; what with Krillin's head-full of hair; Vegeta still insisted on calling him that.

Vegeta smirked the nasty grin he had earlier given to Trunks. "Most definitely."

~M E R R Y C H R I S T M A S~

Eighteen rolled her eyes as her husband as he practically ran around the house in a panic. "What now?" Her voice bordered on 'I'm going to fall asleep any minute now'.

Krillin paused in his headlong rush around the living room. "I need to find my keys! There's only six days till Christmas and we haven't gotten anybody anything!"

Eighteen sighed. "So?"

Krillin shared an incredulous look with Marron, who had just walked into the room and had no idea what was going on. "So? So we need to shop for Christmas presents! If we don't get them, we won't have any presents to give on Christmas!"

Eighteen's mouth slid upwards at her husband's flustered voice and manner. She tilted her head to one side, as if trying to see things from his skewed perspective. "So?"

Krillin made an aggravated sound and continued his frantic search, deciding he really didn't have time to explain Christmas and presents to his wife. He needed to find his keys, get to the mall, and buy lots of gifts, max-ing out his credit cards and basically becoming broke in one day.

Marron eyed her father curiously she moved to the couch her mother was laid out on, picking up a candy cane on the way there. Her mother openly invited her onto her lap, smiling slightly at the sight of the serious-faced, blonde-haired child with a candy cane sticking out of one side of her mouth.

They both silently watched Krillin dash from kitchen, to bedroom, to living room, and back to kitchen, muttering to himself and tumbling everything everywhere in his frantic search. Marron finally turned her head slightly to look up at her mother while still keeping one eye on her curious father. "Mommy, what's daddy doing?"

Eighteen spared her only child a glance; smile widening just enough to be mocking, though Marron couldn't tell that. "I think he's having a mid-life crisis, honey. But that's okay. I've got enough pep to make up for that." To illustrate said 'pep', Eighteen practically stretched where she was on the couch, smirking as her husband, who had just entered the living room again, stopped to stare unconsciously.

Krillin frowned at the one who was distracting, and not at all helping, him. "You know, you could help me search for the keys."

Eighteen opened her blue eyes as if the mere thought of moving was as surprising as Krillin announcing he was growing his hair back. She responded the same as she had then. "Why?"

Krillin almost made another aggravated sound, but decided against it. He raised an eyebrow and smirked lightly. "I find keys, you go shopping. You'd like some new clothes, wouldn't you?"

Although Eighteen instantly perked up, she still managed to make her voice as apathetic as possible. "Actually, I need shoes." Despite the contradictory words, she sat up, taking Marron with her, and soon had her daughter helping her and her husband on a frenzied search for the keys.

A few minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of the keys that would allow them to leave the island without having to swim. As Eighteen once again checked under all the cushions of the couch, a familiar; and for Eighteen, detested; voice spoke up. "Have you guys seen my keys?"

Krillin blinked at Master Roshi as he poked his head out from behind the television. "Um, no. We're looking for ours too."

Eighteen straightened, watching with crossed arms and an annoyed expression as the two men continued to search. Finally, she cleared her throat, causing both men to jump and look at her with startled nervousness. "Do any of you happen to think it strange that both our sets of keys are missing at the same time?"

Both men blinked at her and she sighed with the frustration of any woman who knew a thick-skulled man. As she opened her mouth to chastise them, Marron came running in from the direction of the kitchen, blue eyes bright with worry.

Eighteen immediately turned all her attention to her daughter, crouching down to be even with her and waiting till she had caught her breath. "Mommy! There's a big stinky out back!"

Eighteen raised a brow, trying not to grin. "A big stinky? Master Roshi's in here."

Despite the protested huff, Marron did not look at the elder mentioned but solemnly shook her head. "No, there's a big stinky in the backyard! Come see!" With that, she grabbed Eighteen's hand, tugging her upward and along with a strength she was ignorant of.

As she passed Krillin, Eighteen motioned with her head for him to follow. Curious, Krillin did so, Master Roshi tagging along on basic principle.

As they exited the house, all three adults stopped and stared in mute shock at what awaited them outside.

The 'big stinky' was a huge, probably eight-foot tall, pyramidal pile of dinosaur dung sitting not six feet from the back door as innocently as poop was certainly not. Everyone's eyes traveled up the pile to the tip top, where, like a flag of ownership, a little sign was placed. In black, bold letters the sign read 'KEYS', a little arrow pointing down explaining that the keys were indeed in the pile.

Eighteen sighed, rolling up her sleeves. "You guys aren't wimping out of this chore. If you don't help, I swear I'll cook tonight."

Both men shared a look at each other that showed the whites of their eyes. Fearing Eighteen's cooking more than a 'big stinky', they heaved sighs, rolled up their own sleeves, and leapt to the task; so to say.

~M E R R Y C H R I S T M A S~

Trunks sniggered as his father launched a punch to his head, just barely blocking it as he told in minute detail what he'd done to the Kame House party. Vegeta smirked appreciatively, landing a roundhouse that crashed the boy into the far wall. Trunks shook it off, using the wall to push himself back at his father and continue an assault that wasn't touching his father. Not that he noticed; he was too proud of his success in another front.

Vegeta finally called a halt to the training session, grinning to himself as he marched over the rack of towels and tossed his son one behind his back as he threw one over his shoulder. He spoke with his back to his son. "So, we have successfully devised and enacted plans against Gohan and Kame House. I must say; that last was a stroke of genius."

He turned to his son, noting the glimmer in blue eyes that clearly asked who was next in their 'hit list'. "Who do you think we should get next?"

Trunks blinked, expecting his father to take over the planning as always. Vegeta smirked and his son mimicked him. "Yamcha."

Vegeta nodded briefly. "A good choice. What with?"

Trunks' pitched his voice into a falsetto that immediately made Vegeta chuckle. "Oh, I think I have an idea."

~M E R R Y C H R I S T M A S~

Yamcha yanked the shower curtain out of the way, peeking his head and straining his ears. Yep, there was the phone.

Trying not to curse about phone calls that always came while he was in the shower, and his lack of foresight in not turning on the answering machine, Yamcha hopped out of the shower.

Dripping and shivering despite the towel around his waist, he raced out the bathroom and to his bedroom. He wouldn't even normally be rushing to answer the phone, but Bulma had said she was calling to inform him of the time he was to be at the annual Briefs' Christmas Eve party in four days and what he was supposed to bring in the way of food.

Picking up the phone, he managed to sound like he hadn't just run a marathon to answer the phone before the fourth ring. "Hello?"

A high-pitched, definite feminine voice answered. "Um, yes. Is this Yamcha?"

Yamcha stifled a sigh and cursed the fact that Puar had decided to go shopping for food today of all days. Here he was, dripping wet, cold, wanting to get back under the hot shower, and some telemarketer decided to call him. "Listen, whatever you're selling, I don't-"

"Selling? Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not selling anything. Bulma Briefs just-um, told me to call here. I must have the wrong Yamcha…."

Both of Yamcha's brows rose as the elegantly pitched voice wavered a bit on the end. Was Bulma-? "No, wait! I know Bulma; you have the right number. Are you her new secretary?"

"Um, no, just a friend. She said something about a Christmas Eve party and invited me. But-I don't exactly have anybody to go with?" It was obviously a question and Yamcha jumped on it, imagining quite a woman with that voice.

"Oh. I understand. I have the same problem. Hey! We could go together, couldn't we?" It wasn't smooth, but hers hadn't been either.

She giggled. "Sure. So, maybe we could meet tonight? That way it won't look like we just met."

Yamcha laughed with the woman, deciding he really liked her. "So…." If she wanted to be in control…. Well, ten years with Bulma had gotten him used to that.

"So, we could meet at that new Chinese restaurant on Fifth Street at, say, seven-ish?" Again that light laugh that put a little flutter in his heart sounded, not that he'd ever admit to that.

"Sounds great! See you then."

"See you!"

As a click signaled that the girl had hung up, Yamcha put the phone in its cradle, seemingly forgetting that he was dripping wet and cold as he stared with an expectance at where he just received, it seemed, help from Kami himself. He hadn't been out since Bulma. This would be the perfect night!

One hour till time to go to the restaurant and Yamcha was ready to go. He made a mental checklist all the stuff he had and all he had to get.

Keys. Check. Nice clothes. Check. Clean person. Sniff. Check. Lock door. Check. Car in driveway. Check. Slashed tires. Check. Pick up flowers….

Wait a minute!

Yamcha groaned as he leaned over and inspected the vertical cuts searing not one, not two, but all four of his tires. He shook his head, brow furrowed with anger. "Puar!"

The blue and wheat-furred cat nervously popped his head out the door and sweatdropped at the obviously flat tires and his master's angry, red face. It was best to feign ignorance. "Yes, master?"

"Puar," the way the word was drawled out of Yamcha's tight lips made the cat sweatdrop all the more, "why do I have four flat tires?"

Puar slowly drifted out the rest of the way. "Um, I don't know. Why?"

"Oh I'll tell you why." A deep breath for air was taken before the yellow suit clad Yamcha practically shrieked. "BECAUSE KAMI WANTS ME TO SUFFER!"

Puar immediately raised both his paws. "Calm down, master! I'm sure you can call a tow truck and get that fixed."

"Puar, I have a date in thirty minutes! I haven't had a date in almost ten years and I'm going to be late!" By this time, Yamcha's face looked about to burst and he had stomped around the car four times. Neighbors were peering out the door, some with the intent of telling the man to shut up.

Smiling nervously, Puar quickly backed up to the door and opened it without turning from the slightly insane man in front of him. "Well, I'll just call the tow truck. By the way, what's that girl's number? That way I can call her and tell her you'll be late."

Yamcha smacked himself on his forehead with one hand and Puar winced as the sound reached him from halfway inside the doorway. "And why, Puar, would I think enough to get a number, or even a stupid name? Do I look that intelligent?"

Puar decided that some questions weren't meant to be answered; even if the answer was known. He retreated to call the tow truck, leaving a frustrated and raging Yamcha behind.

True to Yamcha's negative thinking; the tow truck pulled in fifteen minutes after the time for him to meet his not-to-be-girlfriend. When Yamcha arrived at their meeting place, the beautiful lady with no name and no face was not to be found.

A/N: Interesting, neh? Well, who do you think is next on Vegeta and Trunks' 'hit list'? I think this is going to be an interesting week, don't you? ^_~