Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ The Bombshell ( Chapter 2 )

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

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Some cussing

A/N: Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers! You guys inspire me to write (and post) faster!

Chapter Two: The Bombshell

Vegeta found himself, not even an hour after leaving the shop in town, seated before an extremely odd older couple. The woman, Mrs. Briefs, was showing way too much cleavage for her age, and Dr. Briefs was dressed as if he was to go to bed in a smoking jacket and slippers, though it was barely late afternoon. The pair seemed to share a brain between them, as the woman had not stopped talking, while the man had done nothing more than stroke the cat on his shoulder, smiling at Vegeta absentmindedly.

Vegeta had to fight to keep his superior smirk on the inside after he had observed the pair--this was the famous Dr. Briefs? The supposed genius? The man who was industrializing America and England? The only thing extraordinary about this man was the fact that he had purple hair--oh, and that his pipe had not run out of tobacco, considering the amount he had been puffing on it. Was it even full? Vegeta once again fought the urge to smirk, as he imagined the seemingly hare-brained man puffing on an empty pipe--as he industrialized the world. Vegeta could not reconcile the intelligence he had on this man with the person sitting in front of him.

Mrs. Briefs, on the other hand, could win gold medals for inane chatter. She had not stopped twittering, and oohing, and aahing, at Vegeta since he had first walked in. He used her nonstop chatter, at first, to silently observe everything around him. Not that he needed to be on his highest alert, but Vegeta did not feel comfortable unless he was completely aware of everything in the room around him. It was hard to ignore training that had been instilled in one from a very young age, Vegeta mused, even in the backward sticks of America.

As Mrs. Briefs continued to chatter, though, Dr. Briefs still saying nothing, Vegeta felt his patience growing thin. He wanted to find Kakarrot, dammit, not sit here, listening to this woman's small talk! But when he had tried to talk to Dr. Briefs alone, he had found that Dr. Briefs had no desire to have a one on one meeting with the intimidating Duke. In fact, Dr. Briefs had been quite insistent that whatever Vegeta had to say to him, he could say to the whole family. So Vegeta sat, a cup of tea in front of him, his senses his high alert, his anger rising as the woman in front of him continued to talk away.

"Do you know my brother? The Baron of Manchester? Did he send you here?"

Vegeta's attention snapped to the woman, her question demanding an answer. He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what her angle was (everyone had an angle, he had learned), but then contemplated if this woman was smart enough to have an angle. When he could find nothing but curiosity on that vapid woman's face, he curled his upper lip in distaste as he finally told her, "Madam, I have never met your brother before. It is not often barons find themselves in the same circles as dukes." He was being stinging hoping if he insulted this woman she would stop chattering idly. Vegeta was not one for small talk.

But her face fell for only an instant, "oh," before the smile was back in place, "are you married?"

Vegeta had no time to blanch at the forthrightness of the woman's question, as there was suddenly the loud pounding of feet coming down stairs, and not a second later the door to the sitting room burst open, a young woman rushing into the room, her eyes wide, "is he here yet?"

Vegeta, who had been rising from his chair, his impeccably ingrained manners forcing him to stand in the presence of any woman, froze halfway up as he took in the blue whirlwind as she slammed her way into the room. He could not take his eyes off of her as she glided into the room with a graceful swish of her hips, desire hitting him hard and low in the stomach. She was, in a word, stunning. Her blue hair was vibrant, the color of the sky on a cloudless day, her flawless white skin a palate for her clear blue eyes and full, ruby red lips, that begged any man with a pulse to kiss her senseless. As his eyes continued to take her in, he was glad of his iron control over his body's natural reaction to such a gorgeous woman.

She was not an English Rose, that was for sure, and if she were in London, her coloring, her curves and swells, would be completely out of style. She would be much better placed in a bawdy restaurant, or as a courtesan, attracting noble men away from their wives with a graceful flick of those hips. She was made for the nighttime, a creature of seduction and enticement, a succubus or siren of old lore, tempting men to their doom.

In the daylight, though, she was still beautiful. She wore a simple blue day gown, but it could not hide the fullness of her breasts, and though there was no definition to the gown, he could see the beginning of the feminine swell of her hips. He was suddenly struck with the urge to smooth his hand from her breasts to her hips to see just how tiny her waist was, to know how long her legs were, but Vegeta restrained this desire to touch her--barely.

He found himself frowning as he continued to stare, wondering why such a young woman could have such an effect on him. He had never been struck by a woman's beauty so hard before, and he had been around the most beautiful women in London. Perhaps he had gone too long without a woman--he had had been busy before he had left for America, and since the journey across was long, it was now months since he had indulged in any sins of the flesh. But Vegeta had never been one to give into his baser instincts like this, since he had first learned control at a young age. There was no reason desire for this chit should be causing his hands to fist at his sides as he fought to restrain himself from touching her.

When he finally had some control over his thoughts, Vegeta dragged his eyes away from the woman's curves, back to her face--only to find her blue eyes staring straight at him. Vegeta felt another flare of desire run through his body at seeing her meeting his direct gaze without flinching, something that did not happen often these days--and he had to wonder at her spirit.

When Vegeta's eyes finally settled on her face, the woman spoke, her voice low and sultry, "oh... hello."

She slowly made her way across the room, her every move capturing his attention and imagination, though she was simply walking. As she got closer, he kept his eyes on her own, his black ones clashing with the ocean blue hers, and he felt a flash of recognition at the blueness of her eyes. Instantly he was drawn back to the delicate features of the man who he had questioned in the Capsule Corporation store in town.

Vegeta frowned as he noticed the similarities between that impertinent man, and the heiress walking towards him. Thought the man in the store had done a good job of avoiding Vegeta's gaze, the blue of his eyes had stuck with Vegeta, and he was now confused to see an identical pair on this beauty. Perhaps the boy was a by-blow of Dr. Briefs? The product of an affair with a chambermaid? That would explain the similarities of the boy from the village and the heiress. Though...

Bulma had felt the intent way that the Duke was staring at her the second she had entered the room, and when she had met his eyes, she had been surprised by the way he had stared as if she was the only other person in the room. Bulma was almost afraid that he recognized her from the store, but as his eyes had traveled the length of her body (an reaction from men she was used to), she had been surprised to see a dark flame flicker in those obsidian depths. Earlier his eyes had been soul-sucking pits, cold, hard as granite...but now they flamed with heat.

Bulma almost started when she recognized the flame in his eyes as desire, and felt herself growing confused as her own body reacted in kind. A quickening of her heartbeat, a flush of heat throughout her body...her voice coming out much huskier than it usually did. Bulma resisted the urge to hide her face from those eyes, but she kept her eyes glued to his own, as she inwardly frowned at her weakness for men who just happened to be handsome--even if they were complete jerks. So she fought to keep her own desire hidden, trying to make her eyes like haughty, as if she was laughing at his reaction to her.

It must have worked, since the Duke's lips turned down in a frown, before he shuttered his face, the stoic mask from earlier back in place, not a second after she had. She was glad--she did not want to feel anything for this man except for anger, and it would be so much easier if he was not looking at her like he wanted to do nothing more than taste every inch of her. Especially as Bulma had already settled on disliking this man, and wanted to do nothing more than make his visit to America even more unendurable than he already thought it was.

Bulma had decided the easiest way of doing this would be to take this man's obvious dislike of everything but the most proper of manners and stick it in his ear. So Bulma ignored years of manners drilled into her by finishing school teachers, governesses, her own mother, and stuck her hand out, broadly grinning. He wanted to think that Americans were all uncouth, uncultured and lower then their British peers? Fine, she would do nothing to assuage that assumption. In fact, she was going to prove him right, just so she could see that flicker of annoyance behind his lids. "Bulma Briefs, and you are?"

His lips immediately turned down into a deeper frown, two lines appearing between his brows as he looked at her offered hand, and she resisted the urge to cackle in his face. Sure enough, as he surveyed her grinning like an idiot look (copied from her brother, of course), she saw his eyes narrow, that wanted flicker of annoyance running through his eyes.

But he still took the proffered hand, and his voice, strong and assured, answered her, "Duke of Vegetasei."

Bulma pumped his hand up and down vigorously, set on pestering this man. As the Duke smoothly took control of the handshake, though, stopping her inane pumping, she recognized the hidden strength and grace behind the movement as he covered her hand with both of his. She hid her surprise at that strength, as she instantly realized that beneath the polished veneer of the Duke was a sturdy man. What was a fancy, uptight British lord doing being so strong? She remembered the way he had held back that bald giant's fist earlier, and she fought not to frown in blatant curiosity at just what secrets this Duke was hiding behind that stoic mask.

But now was not the time to question this mans strength, so she put on her most infuriating smirk as she spoke next, "do you have a name, or shall I just call you Duke of Vegetasei?"

His frown deepened, and she feels herself smiling sweetly in triumph, batting her eyelashes in response as he muttered, "Vegeta."

She could not help but continue to needle him, glad to see the stoic man slightly ruffled. Her voice got more annoying as she asked in her most sugary tone, "is that your first or last name?"

Her parents were sitting, watching, their mouths wide open as their usually extremely well mannered daughter acted no better then an untutored doxy. Mrs. Briefs felt extreme displeasure at how Bulma was behaving towards a handsome young (extremely marriageable!) man, while Dr. Briefs was more amazed that his strong willed daughter dared talk to this imposing man that way. The Duke, who before Bulma had entered, had been more lifeless and unmoving then Plymouth Rock, had not stopped frowning since Bulma had entered the room, though he still answered her questions. To them, it was like watching the clash of two extremely proud titans, and they could only gape, wondering who would come out the victor.

Bulma ignored both of her parents, though, keeping her eyes concentrated on the dark man in front of her as he clenched his jaw, speaking between his teeth, "it is both."

Bulma crossed her arms, leaning against the couch, her ankles crossed as her smirk grew, "you're name is Vegeta Vegeta, Duke of Vegetasei?" At his nod, she gave a very unladylike snort, "your family isn't one for creativity, are they?"

She knew she had pushed it too far as she heard her mothers gasp, "Bulma!"

But Vegeta kept his focus on her, and she saw a flash behind those eyelids again as he smoothly answered her, the disdain he held for her obvious in his voice. Whatever desire he had felt for her was gone (good!), and she could feel his extreme dislike for her coming off of him in waves. Well buddy, the feeling was extremely mutual, she thought. "The British find pleasure in handing names down from family member to family member, showing pride by bestowing their names upon their offspring." There was a pause, before Vegeta's lips turned up in a small smirk as he continued, "family lineage is something I wouldn't expect Americans to understand."

Bulma's eyes narrowed, and her smirk disappeared, as his jab about Americans hit home. Her shoulders stiffened as she remembered the way he had insulted both her (supposed) Irish heritage and her American birth when she posed as the shop keep, and Bulma's low opinion of him sunk even further. She saw his flash of triumph at her offended look, and she resisted the urge to growl at him in response, the proud woman inside of her roaring for an answering dig from Bulma.

She hated when a British peer would come to the Manhattan season, and sniffed the whole time about how America was so young and unmannerly, no one knowing how to act properly. And for some reason the way he put it bugged her more than anyone else's censure. Maybe because he was so haughty about it, and she wanted to do nothing more than to knock him from that pedestal he had placed himself on.

She was just about to open her mouth to send another jab his way, when her mother's voice broke into their little bubble, her voice curious as she asked, "you haven't come to marry Bulma, have you?"

Bulma and Vegeta both turned to look at the blonde woman in shock, their mouths wide open. Then, when Bulma yelled out, "mother," Vegeta's manners slipped for the first time, as he bellowed, "absolutely not," at precisely the same moment.

Mrs. Briefs just tilted her head, observing them, "oh, I just thought you had come from England because you had heard of Bulma's beauty and wanted to make an offer for her. She is getting a bit long in the tooth, and needs a strong husband like you to keep her in check."

Vegeta watched from the corner of his eye with interest as Bulma's cheeks gained a red hue, and her eyes turned into darts of anger, from her mother's mention of her age. Interesting--Bulma did not seem that old, but maybe she had been to season a few too many times for both her and her mothers liking. Vegeta only smirked as he saw her face drop, his earlier desire of her replaced with repugnance. True, she was very beautiful, and she could probably seduce any man she set her mind too, but she was not going to find a husband in him, that was for sure. Even if he was looking for a wife, he could not consider the infuriating temptress. She was nothing but a vulgar American woman.

As Bulma hissed something at her mother, turning her back to him, Vegeta considered her for another heartbeat, as her backside was presented to him. She might be extremely infuriating...but she was extremely intriguing too. Vegeta needed to be on high alert around this woman, as she seemed to possess the brain cells both of her parents were missing. A brain, with a body like that...she could be trouble for Vegeta. Though he was not sure if he was more worried about her beauty or her brains at that moment.

Vegeta's eyes were drawn from Bulma's backside when the sound of feet pounding down the stairs in the hall once again caught his attention, and he wondered if there was an affliction in the family that made it impossible for anyone to simply walk down stairs. He frowned at the noise as he contemplated this-- maybe all American households were this loud? He would not be surprised; in fact it would only reinforce his already low opinion of the nation.

The door burst open, once again, and all eyes were drawn to the tall, muscular man who had just burst in, his dark hair and eyes setting him apart from the rest of the fair-hared family. As he took him in, though, Vegeta felt his mouth go dry as he recognized the man's build, the planes of his face--hell, even the style of his hair. For the first time since he had arrived in America, Vegeta was literally stunned speechless.

Bulma was drawn from arguing with her mother about her age and chances of still marrying, when she heard her brother enter the room. Her anger at Vegeta (and her mother) was instantly gone as she turned to smile at Goku, glad to see her long time ally enter the room. The way that Duke was staring at everything like a bug that needed to be crushed, oh it infuriated her beyond belief--maybe she could somehow convince her younger brother to beat up the arrogant man? Especially as Goku saw the good in everything--a man such as Vegeta, who seemed to take pleasure in demeaning everyone around him, was sure to anger Goku.

Goku had his usual goofy grin in place as he further entered the room, his eyes wide as he looked right at Bulma, "did I miss him? Who was he? What did he want?"

Bulma was pulled from her fantasies of Goku beating Vegeta to a blood pulp (who she could then laugh at as Vegeta's pride was crushed), at Goku's questions. She discretely coughed, "Goku," and jerked her head to where Vegeta still stood, silently in the corner.

As everyone's attention was drawn to the Duke, Bulma was interested to see that Vegeta's bronze skin had gone white underneath, his mouth slightly open as he took in Goku, as if he had seen a ghost. But as if he could feel everyone's eyes on him, Vegeta snapped out of it, his face back to betraying nothing.

Goku, who seemed to be missing the hostile undertones of the room, turned towards the Duke smiling, "hello, I'm Goku Son, the Briefs' son. Who are you?"

Bulma saw the furrow of displeasure return to the Duke's eyebrows, but she lost all interest in deciphering the minute details of Vegeta's face, or causing him annoyance, as his answer rang loud across the quiet room. "I am Vegeta, the Duke of Vegetasei, and you are not Goku Son--you are my cousin, Kakarrot."

A silence stretched over the room as the words sunk in to the group as a whole, before someone screeched out, "WHAT?!"

Bulma was too shocked by the pronouncement to realize it had been her who had screamed until everyone in the room turned to look at her.

~~&~~
A/N: Next chapter we get more of the families reaction to the news, and Vegeta's reasons for believing Goku is Kakarrot.