Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ A Damn Perfect Butler ( Chapter 33 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: okieday17 
5 notes. 5 hours. What's a butler to believe?
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.22.2013 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.9K | Visits: 467 | Status: Work In Progress
5 notes. 5 hours. What's a butler to believe?
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.22.2013 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.9K | Visits: 467 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ...How about we see what Android 17/18's lives were like before they became androids?
Warnings: Cussing and adult language
A/N: So first of all, hey you all, did you miss me? I sure as hell missed you! First off, big thanks to the We're Just Saiyan community/girls (MayMayB and Mallie-3!) who had me on their YouTube show for episode 10! I highly recommend that you guys check out the community and the podcast/YouTube show if you haven't already! Not just for me--but for getting all of Bulma and Vegeta fan's together in one place!
Second of all, thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. No, I'm not dead, and yes, I am still writing! I love you all, and seriously, big thank you to all of you who keep reaching out to say hi. I love talking to you guys--and yes, even your gentle prodding to keep writing. Trust me when I say it keeps me going!
Lilpumpkingirl, you amaze me as always. Thank you my dear. I would not be here without you.
Chapter Thirty-Three: A Damn Perfect Butler
Jeffries had been a butler in the Vegeta household in Mayfair for so long, he could barely remember where he had lived before he had come to Saiyan Hall. He had started as a stable boy when he was taken from an orphanage at a young age, working his way up to a footman inside the house when he proved to have an able and sharp mind that meant he could remember what order the silverware went, and where every guest was to be seated in tense dinner parties. From there, after years and years of serving at least three generations of Vegetasei's, Jeffries had found that his hard work ethic, his ability to remember every little detail, the patience he had been blessed with since birth, and his ability to hold his tongue had earned him the most esteemed position in any Mayfair residence, that of the butler. Well all of those, and the death of the original Saiyan Hall butler, but he did not let that silly detail get in the way of why he had been promoted to butler--he knew it was because of his skills alone.
Jeffries did not take his esteemed position lightly, and had reveled in almost twenty years of being not only the top servant, but in his ability to make sure that Saiyan Hall ran smooth, whether or not there was an actual Vegeta family member in household. Which was why, when anything went less than smoothly, Jeffries took it particularly hard.
Such as the day he had received a total of five notes within as many hours from the newly married Duke and Duchess. Five notes was nothing new to Jeffries, who had just as recently dealt with what must have been upwards of a hundred bunches of flowers for the new Duchess of Vegetasei--but it was the nature of the notes that had thrown him off.
The first note had actually come the night before, so Jeffries amended his own thoughts, realizing he had never been so flustered by six notes in his entire life. The first note, so innocuous, had been in the familiar hand of the Duke's estate manager at Vegetasei, who told Jeffries to make sure the Duke's quarters were in order as the Duke would be arriving that next morning.
The next morning, Jeffries had been surprised to see another Vegetasei servant, wringing his hands as he handed Jeffries a new note. This one was in an unfamiliar, dainty hand, informing Jeffries that the new Duchess would be accompanying the Duke, so to prepare the household for her as well--and that they would be arriving past noon. Jeffries had taken the note in stride, figuring that the new couple, who had been gone since they had married almost a month ago, did not want to travel without each other, and so Miss Briefs--ahem--the Duchess had decided to accompany the Duke on whatever business had called him into town. He had seen to seeking out the head of the maids, and informing the woman to prepare the Duchesses' quarters as well before going on with his usual duties.
It was to his surprise when a second note of the morning--the third in the series--had shown up a few hours after the first note informing Jeffries, once again in the estate manager's hand, that only the Duke would be coming to town, and he would be arriving shortly. Jeffries was a good butler, mainly due to the fact that he could keep a straight face and did not let gossip bother him, but even he had to admit the nature of these notes was a bit odd. But rather than speculate too much, he had only nodded at the note, figuring that the rumors of the new Duchesses' condition were true, and that it had been decided it would be best for her not to travel. He had sought out the head maid, again, informing her that the Duchesses' quarters were not to be readied. The woman, who had been in service almost as long as Jeffries had been a butler, had stopped for a second, linens already in hand, before she too had nodded, going back to whatever duties she had been busy with before Jeffries had found her. Jeffries had folded the note up, giving his own nod, indicating that he now knew that the matter was completely settled, and that he could get back to his own duties. Ê
Which was why, when the third note of the morning had come only an hour after the one before it, this time informing Jeffries to disregard the last message completely (written in the same dainty hand writing as the second (third?) note)--Jeffries had had to stop his current duties to ponder the nature of the notes. Was everything okay on the Vegetasei front? Perhaps the last note had been mistakenly sent out? But he had only stopped for a moment before he had kept going, having served the Vegeta's long enough to know they could be a bit...odd...sometimes, and so he had taken it in stride. The same could not be said for the head maid, who had practically glared at Jeffries when he had informed her that the Duchesses' quarters were to be readied, despite what he had told her earlier. Still, she went about her duties, and Jeffries had nodded, again at nothing, to indicate that the matter was for sure settled this time.
When the fourth note of the morning had shown up only twenty minutes after the last one, in the spiky rushed hand writing one Jeffries recognized as that of the Duke's himself, informing Jeffries in no way or under any circumstances would the Duchess be accompanying himself, Jeffries had found himself completely flummoxed, and more than a little confused on what to do. It seemed to Jeffries the best course of action would be to go with what his own Duke had written him--but.... Jeffries was a little ashamed to admit that facing the head maid one more time, informing her not to get the room ready filled him with a sense of dread, and so Jeffries had decided he would wait another hour to make sure no more notes, conflicting in nature or not, came in that time. Ê
Not ten minutes after the note from the Duke had arrived, yet another footman from the Vegetasei household arrived on the Saiyan Hall doorstep, handing Jeffries another note--causing the poor Butler to consider (for the first time in his long tenure as the main butler) to go lay down in an empty room, and take a nap. Jeffries wondered if it was even worth it to open the note itself, or to just wait for the note that was sure to come after this one, hardly daring to move from the spot he was currently standing in by the front door. Ê
After at least fifteen minutes of no other notes, Jeffries had sighed, resigning himself to opening the newest note. This one was in the same female handwriting as the second and fourth (first and third?) ones, informing Jeffries that the Duke AND DUCHESS were mere hours away from town, and to please prepare the rooms for both of them, and to disregard any notes written in a handwriting that was not her own.
Jeffries had found himself standing in the hall, the last note from the Duke in one hand, the Duchess in the other, feeling at odds with himself, and as if the whole world was conspiring against him. At least he could take some small sense of pleasure in knowing that he had not gone to the head maid again. It was on that thought that Jeffries decided the best course of action to take in light of all these notes was to prepare the Duchesses' quarters, but not to inform the Duke he had done so. Plus, he was man enough to admit that facing the head maid one last time would shred his honor to pieces, and Jeffries was too good of a butler to do that to himself.
The only comfort Jeffries was able to take from the whole debacle was that the dowager was unaware of the sheer number of notes he had received, or even that her grandson was on his way home, as he was already dealing with the Duke and the Duchess and the last thing he needed was another Duchess (former or no) chiming in with their opinion on the matter. He counted himself lucky that she had been gone for almost as long as the new Duke and Duchess had been, having disappeared soon after news of their marriage had reached Saiyan Hall--which meant that whatever opinion she would have on this matter was too far away for Jeffries to care about right now. Though Jeffries was sure that whatever the dowager would add to the conversation would be sure to only guide him in doing the complete opposite.
He might be the perfect butler, but he was still human--and he dared anyone on this planet to deal with that woman for as long as he had and find even a shred of affection for her. Not that anyone knew this, because, as he had said earlier--he was the perfect butler--proper stiff upper lip and all that.
Jeffries spent the rest of the day in fear of another knock on the door, heralding another note from the newly married couple, but he was instead surprised when the next time the doors had opened it had been Vegeta striding into the household, rushing into his office, not even making eye contact with Jeffries as he snarled, "My wife is due to arrive in the next hour. Make sure she does not find me."
Then the Duke was gone as quickly as he had appeared, holed up in his office, and Jeffries had only dumbly nodded at the empty space where Vegeta had just marched through. Well, at least that settled that--the Duchess was indeed coming, though...well, Jeffries was not one to gossip, but the Duke did not seem particularly happy about this fact. Ê
It was not yet the promised hour when the Vegeta carriage had drawn up, holding the new Duchess, who had only smiled as gracefully as Miss Briefs had always done to him, her eyes shining with earnest affection. "Jeffries, I do apologize for the mix up in notes earlier. My dear husband was not informed in the fact that I was accompanying him. I do hope it did not create any confusion."
Jeffries, who had been feeling nothing but confusion ever since the first note of the morning (the second note in total) had come through the door, only smiled, bowing. "Of course your Grace. Might I be the first to offer my congratulations on behalf of the entire household?"
The Duchess had beamed at him, pulling her gloves off. "Thank you, Jeffries. I cannot wait to speak to you more about the household, but first I need to find my husband."
Jeffries, while feeling rather fond of the new Duchess, as she had been the first kind thing to him all day, felt conflicted--especially when he saw she was heading straight towards the office the Duke had locked himself into. Jeffries heeded the Duke's orders, and had stepped in her way, saying the first thing that had come into his mind to distract her, "You arrive not a day too soon, your Grace, as I fear we are in need of a new head chef."
The Duchess frowned past his shoulder as she kept walking, though Jeffries refused to move out of her way, walking backwards to make sure she did not rush past him. "I trust that you are much more capable of picking a new head ch--" The Duchess stopped walking, causing Jeffries to stop walking as well, the pair of them looking more and more of something out of a farce as Jeffries and her halted, eyes locked in a showdown. "Wait, what happened to Chi-Chi?"
Jeffries was amazed that the Duchess knew the name of the old head chef, but he kept his face stoic as he always did when he replied, "She decided to accompany your family as they left for the family suites they decided to occupy once the news of your happy marriage reached them."
The Duchesses' face fell for a moment, clearly the news of her families moving new to her. "So my family is not currently in residence?"
Jeffries gave a small nod, wondering how many times he had nodded today, and whether or not it was a new personal record. "No, your Grace. They have taken rooms in the new Regency, deciding to spend the rest of the season there--they thought it would be best if you and your husband got the house to yourselves as newlyweds."
The Duchess deflated a little as Jeffries told her the news (most curious), though she perked up as she quickly said, "Wait--are you telling me that Chi-Chi left with my brother?" She paused for a second, before tacking on, "...and my mother and father too, of course." Jeffries had stared at her, wondering how much she knew of Chi-Chi's exit, but he had only nodded (again!), caught off guard by how wide the Duchesses grin had gotten. "That is most excellent news."
Jeffries had sighed, especially as Bulma had turned away from the doors of Vegeta's office she had been heading too, hoping she had been taken off the track of interrupting her new husband. He figured after all of this, once the Duchess was settled, he had earned a well deserved sit in his private rooms for the next forty minutes--at the very least!
But then the Duchess had turned, walking right past him as his guard was down, only saying over her shoulder, "Thank you Jeffries. Please let me know when you have a few candidates for the new head chef. I must speak to my husband now..." Before she disappeared into the office her husband had just told Jeffries not to let her into.
Jeffries had stared at the closed door, wondering how she had gotten past him so effectively, before he had turned, going to his private suites, deciding that not only was a good sit in his near future, but a strong cup of brandy as well--he might be the best at his job, but even the perfect butler had his limits.
~~&~~
Vegeta was not particularly surprised when the door to his secret office swung open, his wife standing where the back of the false bookshelf had been, her arms crossed as she glared at him, looking much as she did when he had fled her this morning. Cheeks red, eyes icy chips--though of course she looked as sexy as ever, and Vegeta found himself wishing he could simply sweep her off her feet and remind her whose wife she was. Vegeta's need for self-preservation fought with his own lascivious desires, leaving him to wonder what had happened to his self-control, around his wife it seemed it was non-existent.
"Miss me, husband dear?"
Vegeta felt his lip pull up in a snarl, his voice acidic as he stood from his seat, mimicking her as he had crossed his arms as he glared right back at her. He knew he did not have a leg to stand on with her right now, but he also knew that his only course of action was to keep Bulma good and angry with him. So he acted as if he had not a clue as to why she was acting as she was, instead affecting the role of the smothered husband. "How could I when you don't let me out of your sights for more than an hour at a time?"
Bulma came into the office fully, the secret door swinging shut behind her with a bang as she stamped into the room. Vegeta surprised to not see rings of smoke coming from her nose. "I would let you out of my sights if we weren't in the middle of a Kami-damned fight! You can't just run out on me without giving me answers! We are married now, Vegeta! When are you going to get that through your thick skull?!"
Vegeta snorted, "I told you where I was going--it is not as if I was sneaking out in the middle of the night like some sort of villain!"
Bulma's mouth hung open, her arms straight at her side as her hands fisted, "YOU TOLD ME--YOU FUCKING TOLD ME?!" Bulma pulled out her reticule, taking from it the note he had received from Basil last night that had set off this whole chain of events. "You didn't tell me anything! If I hadn't been awake when the note was delivered--you would have fled in the middle of the night, not telling me a damn thing!" She walked closer to him, her voice raised, as it had been ever since they fighting for the last day. "Vegeta--you can't just run out on me like that! You owe me answers!"
Vegeta did not even bother to look at the note in her hand, shrugging, "It's a simple note, nothing to get angry about."
Bulma glared at him, slamming the note on the desk separating them, her eyes meeting his as she yelled, "So you're going to pretend that this is what we're fighting about? What we've been fighting about? That this mother-fucking note is why I'm currently yelling at you?! Not any of the other myriad of things we've been talking about--but this simple piece of paper??"
Vegeta shrugged, affecting practiced nonchalance as he studied his nails. The truth of the matter was that this topic, much more than the one they had been fighting about before this whole absurdity this morning, the whole fight of whether or not Bulma was going to accompany him to London, was much safer ground for him. So Vegeta only sighed, looking at her over the tips of his fingers, his brow furrowed, "Well it is currently the reason you are yelling at me like a harpy, is it not?"
Vegeta thought he had already seen how flushed his wife's skin could get in the heat of the moment between the two of them--but he was totally unprepared for how tomato red her face could go as she angrily yelled at him, "A FUCKING HARPY?!"
Vegeta, glad to see her angry, hoping to get her so angry that she would leave him alone, only shrugged his shoulders again, even as he continued to study his nails. He hoped this would be enough to have her steam out of his office, but instead she only turned away, the note crumpling in her hands as she made fists, walking to the far wall. Vegeta watched her as she started muttering something under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like questioning the legitimacy of his birth. It was only a few tense moments before she turned back to him, her body still tense, though her skin was no longer that alarming shade of red it had been earlier. She walked back over to him, this time looking him in the eye as she flattened the note on the desk, "You know what Vegeta? You want to fight about the note, fine, we will fight about the fucking note."
Vegeta was unprepared for this response, as, truth be told, he did not truly want to get into the note either, but his voice was a practiced bored tone as he said, "Fine. What exactly is your problem with this note?"
Bulma made a show of flattening the note on his desk, her voice still high and shaky as she read out, "'Gardening emergency. Chamomile blooming sooner than expected, your presence required immediately. It is time.'"
Vegeta stared at her, wondering how long he could get her off of this topic as quickly as he had the other ones, or if that right now would be the most appropriate time to try and silence her by putting his cock in that pretty mouth of hers. Knowing the state she was in, she was likely to bite it off, so Vegeta went back to his old standby, his face completely blank as he said, "So? It is just a note."
Bulma's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing as her voice rose again, "Vegeta! You're impossible! I cracked your code long ago--this is a spy emergency, isn't it? Chamomile--that's the codeword for Russia--what is going on exactly? You used to tell me everything--why won't you just tell me what is going on? I'm worried about you!"
Vegeta felt a pinging in the area he would say was his heart, a clenching there, a feeling of guilt he wished he could ignore--but damn it was hard to do so when Bulma was standing here in front of him, asking him to spill all of his secrets to her. How he wished he could. Just for a moment, to let his guard down like he had seen her do with him over these past three weeks, to tell her exactly what was going on--instead of returning to his old standbys of lies and subterfuge. Somehow the spy game lost its fun when it meant constantly lying to Bulma and avoiding all of her questions.
But she could never know what he was hiding, so instead, Vegeta drew himself up so he stood over her, his voice low and threatening as he quietly told her, "I will not rehash this argument with you Bulma. As I told you last night, I came to town to deal with personal business, and you did not need to come. The fact that you found this note and are projecting all sorts of paranoia over it is not my concern."
Bulma's voice was a hiss as she leant closer to him, her palms on the desk, "I am your personal business! Your future child is your personal business!" Bulma moved, stalking around the desk so that there was only an arms length keeping them apart as she poked him in the chest, "Did you even stop to think what would happen if you showed up to town--by yourself--not three weeks after you had married me? What kind of gossip and rumors would start, especially since I am to give birth to our first child well before our nine month anniversary?"
Vegeta stopped, a new faucet to the argument hitting him. He decided to leap on it, hoping to distract her from what were becoming increasingly more and more dangerous topics for him to talk about with her. He knew that he was purposefully misunderstanding Bulma's argument now, but he decided if he could distract her with the more inconsequential parts of their argument, that it would be better for both of them. He acted like he was obtuse about their whole argument, his eyes widening purposefully as if he finally understood something. "Wait--this is what this is about? Public opinion? You followed me to London and have been fighting with me because of your reputation?"
Bulma's mouth grew slack, and Vegeta was pleased. He knew that Bulma could care less about public opinion, but that she was angry enough that any tiny thing he accused her with would become her newest focus in their fight. He knew he was taking advantage of an overly emotional pregnant woman, but he needed her distracted. The last thing he needed was for her to really understand what was going on with him--especially when she was so close to putting all the pieces together. She was too smart for her own damn good, and he was trying to save her from what was sure to be needless emotional pain.
"YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT MY REPUTATION?! THAT ALL I CARE ABOUT IS WHAT OTHER'S WILL THINK ABOUT ME?!" Her voice went quieter, but it wavered, and Vegeta felt as if he had been punched in the gut as she whispered, "Do you even know anything about me?"
Bulma turned away from him again, which was fortunate timing for Vegeta as he did not think even he could keep his face perfectly still and emotionless as he watched her hand come up to her face, clearly dashing away tears as she took some deep breaths, before she turned back to him. It was all time Vegeta needed to make sure he still looked bored and uninterested in this whole thing, though it took all of his skills to not argue back as Bulma resignedly told him, "You know what Vegeta, yeah, that's the only reason I followed you into town. Because I'm worried--oh no, not about you, or what kind of mess you have gotten yourself into--but about public opinion." She drew away from him, going to the closed door, her hand already on the handle before she stopped, looking at him one last time as she said, "If you don't want to tell me what's going on with you, fine. If you don't want to acknowledge what I said to you the other night, that's fucking fine too, because that's your choice and there's only so much I can do and say before...."
Bulma stopped again, and Vegeta watched, curious as she took a deep breath before looking at him again, her eyes still bright with unshed tears. "Since I followed you here, and people are going to know we are back in town we might as well attend one event together as a married couple. You can pick it, but you better spend the whole Kami-damned night with me, or else...."
Vegeta waited for her to finish up, to threaten him almost comically as he had grown used to when they fought, but instead she had surprised him when she had twirled from the room, leaving him standing there by himself, leaving him alone to grapple with his inner demons.
~~&~~
Bulma stood on the other side of the secret doorway for longer than she intended, not wanting to run into Vegeta again when she was feeling so emotional, but not quite ready to face the rest of the household in her current emotionally volatile state. She simply stood in his fake/real office, her back to the door, staring sightlessly out of a window that showed her nothing more than the Saiyan Hall grounds, trying to put a reign in on her thoughts and emotions.
There were so many holes, so many shadows in what Vegeta had told her--not only about why he had needed to come to London but his life as well--and Bulma could not fight the growing feeling of unease that threatened to choke her as she thought about just what he could be hiding from her. Bulma was sick of not knowing the truth about her husband's past--and since she knew the last person who would ever open up about said past would be her husband, she had decided to reach out to someone who could shed some light on it for her.
Bulma heaved a sigh as she exited the office, wishing that Goku or even her parents were still in residence, as she desperately needed someone to talk to about what she was going through--but after such an emotional day of fighting and traveling, Bulma only found her way back to the butler she had slipped past not an hour earlier, making sure she was smiling as Jeffries warily watched her as she approached. "Your Grace."
Bulma smiled prettily, trying to put the man at ease, "Jeffries, could you tell me where the dowager is?"
Jeffries had proven himself to be the most stoic of stoic butlers since Bulma had come to London, but even he could not fight the widening of his eyes as he dazedly repeated, "The dowager?"
Bulma only nodded, repeating, "Yes, the dowager."
Jeffries stared at her for a long moment, before he let out a very uncharacteristic hiccup, covering his mouth with his hand as he looked at Bulma, shamefaced. "Madam, do forgive me."
Bulma tilted her head, the scent of alcohol wafting to, and she smiled in understanding. Bulma could only imagine the confusion and flurry Jeffries had felt at each new note that had arrived earlier, so she forgave him for drinking as she only shook her head, "No apologies needed. Please just inform me where the dowager is."
Jeffries looked relieved, though there was a red blush on his cheeks even Bulma could not miss as he informed her, "The dowager has not been in residence for some weeks. Though she did leave her things in her rooms, so I would assume she will be back soon."
Bulma frowned, knowing her only lead to Vegeta's past was currently not in residence. She looked at Jeffries, speculative for a second, wondering if he would be willing to divulge in his masters secrets, before she dismissed the idea. That man had clearly already had a tough enough day, so Bulma only nodded before she decided since she was unable to partake in alcohol in her current state, a good nap would have to do in its stead.
~~&~~
Piccolo found himself standing under the awning of some sort of store, on some busy street in London, his statue like stillness at complete odds with the utter insanity of the city itself. He had been here for almost five long months now, and he still feared he would never grow used to the bustle of the world's busiest city. True, he had seen New York City plenty of times in his career and tournament life, but nothing could prepare the Indian from the backwoods of Canada for the true...packed-ness of London.
Piccolo had never seen so many people, animals, and buildings packed into such a small space--though right now his attention was not on the usual zoo-like craziness of the city, but on the doorway of the Regency, the hotel he was standing across from. It had been five months since he had come to London, seven months since he had last seen his home, and he was growing more and more anxious to finish up the business that had brought him to London in the first place.
He had almost lost the trail of the reason he was here due to resting on his own complacency, and he would not make that mistake again. About a month ago when the Duke had been pulled from their fight by his bald...valet? Goon? Piccolo had never truly learned the big bald brute's role in the Duke's life, but that was because he was of no concern to Piccolo. The point was that Piccolo had grown lax, letting the Duke slip away without asking or finding out the information he needed from the man before he left. Sure, it had not been the first time that the Duke had mysteriously stopped coming to their regular Tuesday and Thursday sparring--but it was the first time Piccolo had missed out on crucial pieces of information since he had expected nothing to happen when the Duke was out of town again.
Which was why he now found himself standing outside of the Regency for the third morning straight, waiting for some sign of the reason he had come to London in the first place. Piccolo had stood in the same spot, his eagle eyes trained on the doorway of the busy hotel, scanning the face of every person who passed in and out of the doors of the hotel, wondering if he had gotten the information wrong. It had been three days and he had not seen hide nor hair of his target...perhaps he would have to go back to his father, and admit--again--that he had lost the trail.
It was that, more than anything, that kept Piccolo rooted to his spot, his eyes the only part of him moving as he took everyone who came in and left the hotel. His father had not been pleased when Piccolo had come to him a week ago, admitting that the Duke had stopped coming to their fights a month before, and that the target was no longer in residence at the Vegetasei Mayfield residence. His father had only grabbed Piccolo, his anger making them almost on par strength-wise as he had slammed his son into the wall of one of their cheap rented rooms by the harbor--which they could only afford due to Piccolo working at the docks, his strength funding their time in London...as well as his father's increasingly alarming drinking habit.
Piccolo could tell his father had already drowned his sorrows in at least one bottle of gin that day, his hot liquor breath fanning over his son's face as he yelled at him, "Have you forgotten why we are here?! Why your mother and brother's are dead?! Why it is only us left in our tribe? Have you forgotten the pain caused--not only by him, but by the journey and what it has cost us?!"
Piccolo had been perfectly shamed, particularly as his loathing of his father had grown with his father's increased consumption of gin, the cheap liquor found freely in England--knowing that he should mortified of how he now thought of his father, the man who had given life to him. His father had let him go as suddenly as he grabbed him, before slumping in his bed in the corner, his anger giving way to sadness as he quietly said, "You are all I have left Piccolo. You and the need to give justice to the man who ruined us and our family!"
Piccolo felt guilty, knowing that his father would never had been an alcoholic if it had not been for him, if it had not been--for, well, everything he had caused to go wrong in their family. Their tribe. Piccolo and his father had been forced to leave after his father had become the broken husk of a man he was now, his drinking problem becoming problematic long before they had come to England. ÊIt was the reason they had decided to take this revenge quest, Piccolo knowing that this was what his father needed to restore himself to his former glory.
"Yes, father. I made a vow to avenge you and what has happened to us long ago, and I will honor that vow. I will find him again, I promise."
His father had only nodded, his tears washing up as quickly as they had appeared, a grim look on his face, "Good. Do me proud, Green."
All it took was some probing, some questions asked about where the gentry lived when they were not in possession of residence--then some questions at the usual places rooms were rented to see if any rooms had been rented of late. He had staked a few other places out, but Piccolo knew it, in his bones, that this was the place. It was the most lavish, the most expensive, and if there was one thing his enemy was not lacking in, it was wealth. A thought that caused Piccolo to see red whenever he thought about the privilege the man had now. Ê
As Piccolo stood, barely breathing, not blinking, he focused his attention on the hotel in front of him--and he felt a rush of triumph flush through him when that one face he had been waiting months to look at came through the front door. Piccolo could watch the man move, easily, as he was taller than most those around him, especially with his ridiculously spiky hair that made him even taller. Piccolo took note that he was not alone, a slight, dark haired younger woman with him, her hair in a bun on the top of her head. The pair of them only had eyes for each other, the woman chatting eagerly as the man listened, that goofy grin present on his face.
Piccolo felt his ire spike at that grin--he had learned to hate that stupid grin the man had always seemed to have had on his face as soon as Piccolo had first seen it, and it took everything he had in him not to cross the street separating them, and punching that smile off his face.
But Piccolo had waited too long, had been after this man for so long--he could wait a few more days. Tonight, he would go home and tell his father that he had found him, and the two would move their plan into its last stages. Revenge would be theirs.
Piccolo was never one to smile, but for the first time in a long time--he felt like grinning. Though that grin was almost wiped from his face as he crossed the street, a team of horses pulling a carriage almost hitting him.
As Piccolo jumped out of the way of the fast moving carriage, he took one look at the insignia, that of the Ducal house of Vegetasei, and felt the grin leave his face entirely. Had he been spotted? Was he seen?
But Piccolo's fears were unfounded--as the carriage drew past him, the only occupants were that of an elderly woman who looked as if she had never smiled before in her life, her severe face set into that of a permanent scowl. Piccolo took her in as she passed, noting that she reminded him of some sort of bird of prey (a vulture, perhaps?) before she was gone, and Piccolo continued onto the docks, eager to share his good news with his father.
~~&~~
A/N: The plot thickens! So what do you guys think? As I mentioned in the We're Just Saiyan podcast, we are definitely in the third and final act here guys...I actually didn't realize how close to the end we were until I wrote this chapter. So I have a request for those of you kind of enough to review--big or small, funny or serious--what issues do you need to see resolved before this story concludes? As usual, I love hearing from you guys, even just a quick note, so don't be afraid to reaching out to me.
Also, in celebration of it being the TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY of this story next week--I have a present for you guys. New chapter. Next Saturday morning. I'll see you then! Love to all, Okieday17 xxxxx
Warnings: Cussing and adult language
A/N: So first of all, hey you all, did you miss me? I sure as hell missed you! First off, big thanks to the We're Just Saiyan community/girls (MayMayB and Mallie-3!) who had me on their YouTube show for episode 10! I highly recommend that you guys check out the community and the podcast/YouTube show if you haven't already! Not just for me--but for getting all of Bulma and Vegeta fan's together in one place!
Second of all, thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. No, I'm not dead, and yes, I am still writing! I love you all, and seriously, big thank you to all of you who keep reaching out to say hi. I love talking to you guys--and yes, even your gentle prodding to keep writing. Trust me when I say it keeps me going!
Lilpumpkingirl, you amaze me as always. Thank you my dear. I would not be here without you.
Chapter Thirty-Three: A Damn Perfect Butler
Jeffries had been a butler in the Vegeta household in Mayfair for so long, he could barely remember where he had lived before he had come to Saiyan Hall. He had started as a stable boy when he was taken from an orphanage at a young age, working his way up to a footman inside the house when he proved to have an able and sharp mind that meant he could remember what order the silverware went, and where every guest was to be seated in tense dinner parties. From there, after years and years of serving at least three generations of Vegetasei's, Jeffries had found that his hard work ethic, his ability to remember every little detail, the patience he had been blessed with since birth, and his ability to hold his tongue had earned him the most esteemed position in any Mayfair residence, that of the butler. Well all of those, and the death of the original Saiyan Hall butler, but he did not let that silly detail get in the way of why he had been promoted to butler--he knew it was because of his skills alone.
Jeffries did not take his esteemed position lightly, and had reveled in almost twenty years of being not only the top servant, but in his ability to make sure that Saiyan Hall ran smooth, whether or not there was an actual Vegeta family member in household. Which was why, when anything went less than smoothly, Jeffries took it particularly hard.
Such as the day he had received a total of five notes within as many hours from the newly married Duke and Duchess. Five notes was nothing new to Jeffries, who had just as recently dealt with what must have been upwards of a hundred bunches of flowers for the new Duchess of Vegetasei--but it was the nature of the notes that had thrown him off.
The first note had actually come the night before, so Jeffries amended his own thoughts, realizing he had never been so flustered by six notes in his entire life. The first note, so innocuous, had been in the familiar hand of the Duke's estate manager at Vegetasei, who told Jeffries to make sure the Duke's quarters were in order as the Duke would be arriving that next morning.
The next morning, Jeffries had been surprised to see another Vegetasei servant, wringing his hands as he handed Jeffries a new note. This one was in an unfamiliar, dainty hand, informing Jeffries that the new Duchess would be accompanying the Duke, so to prepare the household for her as well--and that they would be arriving past noon. Jeffries had taken the note in stride, figuring that the new couple, who had been gone since they had married almost a month ago, did not want to travel without each other, and so Miss Briefs--ahem--the Duchess had decided to accompany the Duke on whatever business had called him into town. He had seen to seeking out the head of the maids, and informing the woman to prepare the Duchesses' quarters as well before going on with his usual duties.
It was to his surprise when a second note of the morning--the third in the series--had shown up a few hours after the first note informing Jeffries, once again in the estate manager's hand, that only the Duke would be coming to town, and he would be arriving shortly. Jeffries was a good butler, mainly due to the fact that he could keep a straight face and did not let gossip bother him, but even he had to admit the nature of these notes was a bit odd. But rather than speculate too much, he had only nodded at the note, figuring that the rumors of the new Duchesses' condition were true, and that it had been decided it would be best for her not to travel. He had sought out the head maid, again, informing her that the Duchesses' quarters were not to be readied. The woman, who had been in service almost as long as Jeffries had been a butler, had stopped for a second, linens already in hand, before she too had nodded, going back to whatever duties she had been busy with before Jeffries had found her. Jeffries had folded the note up, giving his own nod, indicating that he now knew that the matter was completely settled, and that he could get back to his own duties. Ê
Which was why, when the third note of the morning had come only an hour after the one before it, this time informing Jeffries to disregard the last message completely (written in the same dainty hand writing as the second (third?) note)--Jeffries had had to stop his current duties to ponder the nature of the notes. Was everything okay on the Vegetasei front? Perhaps the last note had been mistakenly sent out? But he had only stopped for a moment before he had kept going, having served the Vegeta's long enough to know they could be a bit...odd...sometimes, and so he had taken it in stride. The same could not be said for the head maid, who had practically glared at Jeffries when he had informed her that the Duchesses' quarters were to be readied, despite what he had told her earlier. Still, she went about her duties, and Jeffries had nodded, again at nothing, to indicate that the matter was for sure settled this time.
When the fourth note of the morning had shown up only twenty minutes after the last one, in the spiky rushed hand writing one Jeffries recognized as that of the Duke's himself, informing Jeffries in no way or under any circumstances would the Duchess be accompanying himself, Jeffries had found himself completely flummoxed, and more than a little confused on what to do. It seemed to Jeffries the best course of action would be to go with what his own Duke had written him--but.... Jeffries was a little ashamed to admit that facing the head maid one more time, informing her not to get the room ready filled him with a sense of dread, and so Jeffries had decided he would wait another hour to make sure no more notes, conflicting in nature or not, came in that time. Ê
Not ten minutes after the note from the Duke had arrived, yet another footman from the Vegetasei household arrived on the Saiyan Hall doorstep, handing Jeffries another note--causing the poor Butler to consider (for the first time in his long tenure as the main butler) to go lay down in an empty room, and take a nap. Jeffries wondered if it was even worth it to open the note itself, or to just wait for the note that was sure to come after this one, hardly daring to move from the spot he was currently standing in by the front door. Ê
After at least fifteen minutes of no other notes, Jeffries had sighed, resigning himself to opening the newest note. This one was in the same female handwriting as the second and fourth (first and third?) ones, informing Jeffries that the Duke AND DUCHESS were mere hours away from town, and to please prepare the rooms for both of them, and to disregard any notes written in a handwriting that was not her own.
Jeffries had found himself standing in the hall, the last note from the Duke in one hand, the Duchess in the other, feeling at odds with himself, and as if the whole world was conspiring against him. At least he could take some small sense of pleasure in knowing that he had not gone to the head maid again. It was on that thought that Jeffries decided the best course of action to take in light of all these notes was to prepare the Duchesses' quarters, but not to inform the Duke he had done so. Plus, he was man enough to admit that facing the head maid one last time would shred his honor to pieces, and Jeffries was too good of a butler to do that to himself.
The only comfort Jeffries was able to take from the whole debacle was that the dowager was unaware of the sheer number of notes he had received, or even that her grandson was on his way home, as he was already dealing with the Duke and the Duchess and the last thing he needed was another Duchess (former or no) chiming in with their opinion on the matter. He counted himself lucky that she had been gone for almost as long as the new Duke and Duchess had been, having disappeared soon after news of their marriage had reached Saiyan Hall--which meant that whatever opinion she would have on this matter was too far away for Jeffries to care about right now. Though Jeffries was sure that whatever the dowager would add to the conversation would be sure to only guide him in doing the complete opposite.
He might be the perfect butler, but he was still human--and he dared anyone on this planet to deal with that woman for as long as he had and find even a shred of affection for her. Not that anyone knew this, because, as he had said earlier--he was the perfect butler--proper stiff upper lip and all that.
Jeffries spent the rest of the day in fear of another knock on the door, heralding another note from the newly married couple, but he was instead surprised when the next time the doors had opened it had been Vegeta striding into the household, rushing into his office, not even making eye contact with Jeffries as he snarled, "My wife is due to arrive in the next hour. Make sure she does not find me."
Then the Duke was gone as quickly as he had appeared, holed up in his office, and Jeffries had only dumbly nodded at the empty space where Vegeta had just marched through. Well, at least that settled that--the Duchess was indeed coming, though...well, Jeffries was not one to gossip, but the Duke did not seem particularly happy about this fact. Ê
It was not yet the promised hour when the Vegeta carriage had drawn up, holding the new Duchess, who had only smiled as gracefully as Miss Briefs had always done to him, her eyes shining with earnest affection. "Jeffries, I do apologize for the mix up in notes earlier. My dear husband was not informed in the fact that I was accompanying him. I do hope it did not create any confusion."
Jeffries, who had been feeling nothing but confusion ever since the first note of the morning (the second note in total) had come through the door, only smiled, bowing. "Of course your Grace. Might I be the first to offer my congratulations on behalf of the entire household?"
The Duchess had beamed at him, pulling her gloves off. "Thank you, Jeffries. I cannot wait to speak to you more about the household, but first I need to find my husband."
Jeffries, while feeling rather fond of the new Duchess, as she had been the first kind thing to him all day, felt conflicted--especially when he saw she was heading straight towards the office the Duke had locked himself into. Jeffries heeded the Duke's orders, and had stepped in her way, saying the first thing that had come into his mind to distract her, "You arrive not a day too soon, your Grace, as I fear we are in need of a new head chef."
The Duchess frowned past his shoulder as she kept walking, though Jeffries refused to move out of her way, walking backwards to make sure she did not rush past him. "I trust that you are much more capable of picking a new head ch--" The Duchess stopped walking, causing Jeffries to stop walking as well, the pair of them looking more and more of something out of a farce as Jeffries and her halted, eyes locked in a showdown. "Wait, what happened to Chi-Chi?"
Jeffries was amazed that the Duchess knew the name of the old head chef, but he kept his face stoic as he always did when he replied, "She decided to accompany your family as they left for the family suites they decided to occupy once the news of your happy marriage reached them."
The Duchesses' face fell for a moment, clearly the news of her families moving new to her. "So my family is not currently in residence?"
Jeffries gave a small nod, wondering how many times he had nodded today, and whether or not it was a new personal record. "No, your Grace. They have taken rooms in the new Regency, deciding to spend the rest of the season there--they thought it would be best if you and your husband got the house to yourselves as newlyweds."
The Duchess deflated a little as Jeffries told her the news (most curious), though she perked up as she quickly said, "Wait--are you telling me that Chi-Chi left with my brother?" She paused for a second, before tacking on, "...and my mother and father too, of course." Jeffries had stared at her, wondering how much she knew of Chi-Chi's exit, but he had only nodded (again!), caught off guard by how wide the Duchesses grin had gotten. "That is most excellent news."
Jeffries had sighed, especially as Bulma had turned away from the doors of Vegeta's office she had been heading too, hoping she had been taken off the track of interrupting her new husband. He figured after all of this, once the Duchess was settled, he had earned a well deserved sit in his private rooms for the next forty minutes--at the very least!
But then the Duchess had turned, walking right past him as his guard was down, only saying over her shoulder, "Thank you Jeffries. Please let me know when you have a few candidates for the new head chef. I must speak to my husband now..." Before she disappeared into the office her husband had just told Jeffries not to let her into.
Jeffries had stared at the closed door, wondering how she had gotten past him so effectively, before he had turned, going to his private suites, deciding that not only was a good sit in his near future, but a strong cup of brandy as well--he might be the best at his job, but even the perfect butler had his limits.
~~&~~
Vegeta was not particularly surprised when the door to his secret office swung open, his wife standing where the back of the false bookshelf had been, her arms crossed as she glared at him, looking much as she did when he had fled her this morning. Cheeks red, eyes icy chips--though of course she looked as sexy as ever, and Vegeta found himself wishing he could simply sweep her off her feet and remind her whose wife she was. Vegeta's need for self-preservation fought with his own lascivious desires, leaving him to wonder what had happened to his self-control, around his wife it seemed it was non-existent.
"Miss me, husband dear?"
Vegeta felt his lip pull up in a snarl, his voice acidic as he stood from his seat, mimicking her as he had crossed his arms as he glared right back at her. He knew he did not have a leg to stand on with her right now, but he also knew that his only course of action was to keep Bulma good and angry with him. So he acted as if he had not a clue as to why she was acting as she was, instead affecting the role of the smothered husband. "How could I when you don't let me out of your sights for more than an hour at a time?"
Bulma came into the office fully, the secret door swinging shut behind her with a bang as she stamped into the room. Vegeta surprised to not see rings of smoke coming from her nose. "I would let you out of my sights if we weren't in the middle of a Kami-damned fight! You can't just run out on me without giving me answers! We are married now, Vegeta! When are you going to get that through your thick skull?!"
Vegeta snorted, "I told you where I was going--it is not as if I was sneaking out in the middle of the night like some sort of villain!"
Bulma's mouth hung open, her arms straight at her side as her hands fisted, "YOU TOLD ME--YOU FUCKING TOLD ME?!" Bulma pulled out her reticule, taking from it the note he had received from Basil last night that had set off this whole chain of events. "You didn't tell me anything! If I hadn't been awake when the note was delivered--you would have fled in the middle of the night, not telling me a damn thing!" She walked closer to him, her voice raised, as it had been ever since they fighting for the last day. "Vegeta--you can't just run out on me like that! You owe me answers!"
Vegeta did not even bother to look at the note in her hand, shrugging, "It's a simple note, nothing to get angry about."
Bulma glared at him, slamming the note on the desk separating them, her eyes meeting his as she yelled, "So you're going to pretend that this is what we're fighting about? What we've been fighting about? That this mother-fucking note is why I'm currently yelling at you?! Not any of the other myriad of things we've been talking about--but this simple piece of paper??"
Vegeta shrugged, affecting practiced nonchalance as he studied his nails. The truth of the matter was that this topic, much more than the one they had been fighting about before this whole absurdity this morning, the whole fight of whether or not Bulma was going to accompany him to London, was much safer ground for him. So Vegeta only sighed, looking at her over the tips of his fingers, his brow furrowed, "Well it is currently the reason you are yelling at me like a harpy, is it not?"
Vegeta thought he had already seen how flushed his wife's skin could get in the heat of the moment between the two of them--but he was totally unprepared for how tomato red her face could go as she angrily yelled at him, "A FUCKING HARPY?!"
Vegeta, glad to see her angry, hoping to get her so angry that she would leave him alone, only shrugged his shoulders again, even as he continued to study his nails. He hoped this would be enough to have her steam out of his office, but instead she only turned away, the note crumpling in her hands as she made fists, walking to the far wall. Vegeta watched her as she started muttering something under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like questioning the legitimacy of his birth. It was only a few tense moments before she turned back to him, her body still tense, though her skin was no longer that alarming shade of red it had been earlier. She walked back over to him, this time looking him in the eye as she flattened the note on the desk, "You know what Vegeta? You want to fight about the note, fine, we will fight about the fucking note."
Vegeta was unprepared for this response, as, truth be told, he did not truly want to get into the note either, but his voice was a practiced bored tone as he said, "Fine. What exactly is your problem with this note?"
Bulma made a show of flattening the note on his desk, her voice still high and shaky as she read out, "'Gardening emergency. Chamomile blooming sooner than expected, your presence required immediately. It is time.'"
Vegeta stared at her, wondering how long he could get her off of this topic as quickly as he had the other ones, or if that right now would be the most appropriate time to try and silence her by putting his cock in that pretty mouth of hers. Knowing the state she was in, she was likely to bite it off, so Vegeta went back to his old standby, his face completely blank as he said, "So? It is just a note."
Bulma's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing as her voice rose again, "Vegeta! You're impossible! I cracked your code long ago--this is a spy emergency, isn't it? Chamomile--that's the codeword for Russia--what is going on exactly? You used to tell me everything--why won't you just tell me what is going on? I'm worried about you!"
Vegeta felt a pinging in the area he would say was his heart, a clenching there, a feeling of guilt he wished he could ignore--but damn it was hard to do so when Bulma was standing here in front of him, asking him to spill all of his secrets to her. How he wished he could. Just for a moment, to let his guard down like he had seen her do with him over these past three weeks, to tell her exactly what was going on--instead of returning to his old standbys of lies and subterfuge. Somehow the spy game lost its fun when it meant constantly lying to Bulma and avoiding all of her questions.
But she could never know what he was hiding, so instead, Vegeta drew himself up so he stood over her, his voice low and threatening as he quietly told her, "I will not rehash this argument with you Bulma. As I told you last night, I came to town to deal with personal business, and you did not need to come. The fact that you found this note and are projecting all sorts of paranoia over it is not my concern."
Bulma's voice was a hiss as she leant closer to him, her palms on the desk, "I am your personal business! Your future child is your personal business!" Bulma moved, stalking around the desk so that there was only an arms length keeping them apart as she poked him in the chest, "Did you even stop to think what would happen if you showed up to town--by yourself--not three weeks after you had married me? What kind of gossip and rumors would start, especially since I am to give birth to our first child well before our nine month anniversary?"
Vegeta stopped, a new faucet to the argument hitting him. He decided to leap on it, hoping to distract her from what were becoming increasingly more and more dangerous topics for him to talk about with her. He knew that he was purposefully misunderstanding Bulma's argument now, but he decided if he could distract her with the more inconsequential parts of their argument, that it would be better for both of them. He acted like he was obtuse about their whole argument, his eyes widening purposefully as if he finally understood something. "Wait--this is what this is about? Public opinion? You followed me to London and have been fighting with me because of your reputation?"
Bulma's mouth grew slack, and Vegeta was pleased. He knew that Bulma could care less about public opinion, but that she was angry enough that any tiny thing he accused her with would become her newest focus in their fight. He knew he was taking advantage of an overly emotional pregnant woman, but he needed her distracted. The last thing he needed was for her to really understand what was going on with him--especially when she was so close to putting all the pieces together. She was too smart for her own damn good, and he was trying to save her from what was sure to be needless emotional pain.
"YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT MY REPUTATION?! THAT ALL I CARE ABOUT IS WHAT OTHER'S WILL THINK ABOUT ME?!" Her voice went quieter, but it wavered, and Vegeta felt as if he had been punched in the gut as she whispered, "Do you even know anything about me?"
Bulma turned away from him again, which was fortunate timing for Vegeta as he did not think even he could keep his face perfectly still and emotionless as he watched her hand come up to her face, clearly dashing away tears as she took some deep breaths, before she turned back to him. It was all time Vegeta needed to make sure he still looked bored and uninterested in this whole thing, though it took all of his skills to not argue back as Bulma resignedly told him, "You know what Vegeta, yeah, that's the only reason I followed you into town. Because I'm worried--oh no, not about you, or what kind of mess you have gotten yourself into--but about public opinion." She drew away from him, going to the closed door, her hand already on the handle before she stopped, looking at him one last time as she said, "If you don't want to tell me what's going on with you, fine. If you don't want to acknowledge what I said to you the other night, that's fucking fine too, because that's your choice and there's only so much I can do and say before...."
Bulma stopped again, and Vegeta watched, curious as she took a deep breath before looking at him again, her eyes still bright with unshed tears. "Since I followed you here, and people are going to know we are back in town we might as well attend one event together as a married couple. You can pick it, but you better spend the whole Kami-damned night with me, or else...."
Vegeta waited for her to finish up, to threaten him almost comically as he had grown used to when they fought, but instead she had surprised him when she had twirled from the room, leaving him standing there by himself, leaving him alone to grapple with his inner demons.
~~&~~
Bulma stood on the other side of the secret doorway for longer than she intended, not wanting to run into Vegeta again when she was feeling so emotional, but not quite ready to face the rest of the household in her current emotionally volatile state. She simply stood in his fake/real office, her back to the door, staring sightlessly out of a window that showed her nothing more than the Saiyan Hall grounds, trying to put a reign in on her thoughts and emotions.
There were so many holes, so many shadows in what Vegeta had told her--not only about why he had needed to come to London but his life as well--and Bulma could not fight the growing feeling of unease that threatened to choke her as she thought about just what he could be hiding from her. Bulma was sick of not knowing the truth about her husband's past--and since she knew the last person who would ever open up about said past would be her husband, she had decided to reach out to someone who could shed some light on it for her.
Bulma heaved a sigh as she exited the office, wishing that Goku or even her parents were still in residence, as she desperately needed someone to talk to about what she was going through--but after such an emotional day of fighting and traveling, Bulma only found her way back to the butler she had slipped past not an hour earlier, making sure she was smiling as Jeffries warily watched her as she approached. "Your Grace."
Bulma smiled prettily, trying to put the man at ease, "Jeffries, could you tell me where the dowager is?"
Jeffries had proven himself to be the most stoic of stoic butlers since Bulma had come to London, but even he could not fight the widening of his eyes as he dazedly repeated, "The dowager?"
Bulma only nodded, repeating, "Yes, the dowager."
Jeffries stared at her for a long moment, before he let out a very uncharacteristic hiccup, covering his mouth with his hand as he looked at Bulma, shamefaced. "Madam, do forgive me."
Bulma tilted her head, the scent of alcohol wafting to, and she smiled in understanding. Bulma could only imagine the confusion and flurry Jeffries had felt at each new note that had arrived earlier, so she forgave him for drinking as she only shook her head, "No apologies needed. Please just inform me where the dowager is."
Jeffries looked relieved, though there was a red blush on his cheeks even Bulma could not miss as he informed her, "The dowager has not been in residence for some weeks. Though she did leave her things in her rooms, so I would assume she will be back soon."
Bulma frowned, knowing her only lead to Vegeta's past was currently not in residence. She looked at Jeffries, speculative for a second, wondering if he would be willing to divulge in his masters secrets, before she dismissed the idea. That man had clearly already had a tough enough day, so Bulma only nodded before she decided since she was unable to partake in alcohol in her current state, a good nap would have to do in its stead.
~~&~~
Piccolo found himself standing under the awning of some sort of store, on some busy street in London, his statue like stillness at complete odds with the utter insanity of the city itself. He had been here for almost five long months now, and he still feared he would never grow used to the bustle of the world's busiest city. True, he had seen New York City plenty of times in his career and tournament life, but nothing could prepare the Indian from the backwoods of Canada for the true...packed-ness of London.
Piccolo had never seen so many people, animals, and buildings packed into such a small space--though right now his attention was not on the usual zoo-like craziness of the city, but on the doorway of the Regency, the hotel he was standing across from. It had been five months since he had come to London, seven months since he had last seen his home, and he was growing more and more anxious to finish up the business that had brought him to London in the first place.
He had almost lost the trail of the reason he was here due to resting on his own complacency, and he would not make that mistake again. About a month ago when the Duke had been pulled from their fight by his bald...valet? Goon? Piccolo had never truly learned the big bald brute's role in the Duke's life, but that was because he was of no concern to Piccolo. The point was that Piccolo had grown lax, letting the Duke slip away without asking or finding out the information he needed from the man before he left. Sure, it had not been the first time that the Duke had mysteriously stopped coming to their regular Tuesday and Thursday sparring--but it was the first time Piccolo had missed out on crucial pieces of information since he had expected nothing to happen when the Duke was out of town again.
Which was why he now found himself standing outside of the Regency for the third morning straight, waiting for some sign of the reason he had come to London in the first place. Piccolo had stood in the same spot, his eagle eyes trained on the doorway of the busy hotel, scanning the face of every person who passed in and out of the doors of the hotel, wondering if he had gotten the information wrong. It had been three days and he had not seen hide nor hair of his target...perhaps he would have to go back to his father, and admit--again--that he had lost the trail.
It was that, more than anything, that kept Piccolo rooted to his spot, his eyes the only part of him moving as he took everyone who came in and left the hotel. His father had not been pleased when Piccolo had come to him a week ago, admitting that the Duke had stopped coming to their fights a month before, and that the target was no longer in residence at the Vegetasei Mayfield residence. His father had only grabbed Piccolo, his anger making them almost on par strength-wise as he had slammed his son into the wall of one of their cheap rented rooms by the harbor--which they could only afford due to Piccolo working at the docks, his strength funding their time in London...as well as his father's increasingly alarming drinking habit.
Piccolo could tell his father had already drowned his sorrows in at least one bottle of gin that day, his hot liquor breath fanning over his son's face as he yelled at him, "Have you forgotten why we are here?! Why your mother and brother's are dead?! Why it is only us left in our tribe? Have you forgotten the pain caused--not only by him, but by the journey and what it has cost us?!"
Piccolo had been perfectly shamed, particularly as his loathing of his father had grown with his father's increased consumption of gin, the cheap liquor found freely in England--knowing that he should mortified of how he now thought of his father, the man who had given life to him. His father had let him go as suddenly as he grabbed him, before slumping in his bed in the corner, his anger giving way to sadness as he quietly said, "You are all I have left Piccolo. You and the need to give justice to the man who ruined us and our family!"
Piccolo felt guilty, knowing that his father would never had been an alcoholic if it had not been for him, if it had not been--for, well, everything he had caused to go wrong in their family. Their tribe. Piccolo and his father had been forced to leave after his father had become the broken husk of a man he was now, his drinking problem becoming problematic long before they had come to England. ÊIt was the reason they had decided to take this revenge quest, Piccolo knowing that this was what his father needed to restore himself to his former glory.
"Yes, father. I made a vow to avenge you and what has happened to us long ago, and I will honor that vow. I will find him again, I promise."
His father had only nodded, his tears washing up as quickly as they had appeared, a grim look on his face, "Good. Do me proud, Green."
All it took was some probing, some questions asked about where the gentry lived when they were not in possession of residence--then some questions at the usual places rooms were rented to see if any rooms had been rented of late. He had staked a few other places out, but Piccolo knew it, in his bones, that this was the place. It was the most lavish, the most expensive, and if there was one thing his enemy was not lacking in, it was wealth. A thought that caused Piccolo to see red whenever he thought about the privilege the man had now. Ê
As Piccolo stood, barely breathing, not blinking, he focused his attention on the hotel in front of him--and he felt a rush of triumph flush through him when that one face he had been waiting months to look at came through the front door. Piccolo could watch the man move, easily, as he was taller than most those around him, especially with his ridiculously spiky hair that made him even taller. Piccolo took note that he was not alone, a slight, dark haired younger woman with him, her hair in a bun on the top of her head. The pair of them only had eyes for each other, the woman chatting eagerly as the man listened, that goofy grin present on his face.
Piccolo felt his ire spike at that grin--he had learned to hate that stupid grin the man had always seemed to have had on his face as soon as Piccolo had first seen it, and it took everything he had in him not to cross the street separating them, and punching that smile off his face.
But Piccolo had waited too long, had been after this man for so long--he could wait a few more days. Tonight, he would go home and tell his father that he had found him, and the two would move their plan into its last stages. Revenge would be theirs.
Piccolo was never one to smile, but for the first time in a long time--he felt like grinning. Though that grin was almost wiped from his face as he crossed the street, a team of horses pulling a carriage almost hitting him.
As Piccolo jumped out of the way of the fast moving carriage, he took one look at the insignia, that of the Ducal house of Vegetasei, and felt the grin leave his face entirely. Had he been spotted? Was he seen?
But Piccolo's fears were unfounded--as the carriage drew past him, the only occupants were that of an elderly woman who looked as if she had never smiled before in her life, her severe face set into that of a permanent scowl. Piccolo took her in as she passed, noting that she reminded him of some sort of bird of prey (a vulture, perhaps?) before she was gone, and Piccolo continued onto the docks, eager to share his good news with his father.
~~&~~
A/N: The plot thickens! So what do you guys think? As I mentioned in the We're Just Saiyan podcast, we are definitely in the third and final act here guys...I actually didn't realize how close to the end we were until I wrote this chapter. So I have a request for those of you kind of enough to review--big or small, funny or serious--what issues do you need to see resolved before this story concludes? As usual, I love hearing from you guys, even just a quick note, so don't be afraid to reaching out to me.
Also, in celebration of it being the TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY of this story next week--I have a present for you guys. New chapter. Next Saturday morning. I'll see you then! Love to all, Okieday17 xxxxx