Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Phoenix ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of the song lyrics I use



Chapter 3



Bulma mechanically folded her freshly laundered clothing and methodically packed every item into her suitcase. Spring break was finally over, meaning that she could escape the cold, tomblike mansion for at least a few more months.

The domestic ritual kept her pale hands occupied but could not completely do the same for her mind. Images snuck behind her eyes and started her at random moments. For the most part, they were images of the morning before, when Bulma had been summoned by a robot servant to tend to her mother.

The creature that was sprawled before her caused emotions of love, hate, disgust, pity, and betrayal to writhe within Bulma’s bowels. With hair stringy and tangled, makeup smudged into a gruesome clown imitation, and reeking of alcohol and expensive perfume, Theodora was cocooned in the warmth of alcohol and sleep. The old photo album entangled within her robe and arms was splotchy from dust and tears. With the help of several robots, Bulma had returned her mother to her room and cleaned up the mess the intoxicated woman had made.

After firmly shutting her suitcase, Bulma handed it over to one of the robot attendants to take down to the car.

Quietly, she ventured into her mother’s room for one last check before she left. She had already programmed the robots to be able to periodically scan her mother’s condition and, if the bots detected high levels of alcohol, they knew to put the woman in bed immediately. It would not solve the main problem–Theodora’s habits–but it would insure her mother’s physical safety whenever she became incapacitated.

Pausing at the foot of Theodora’s bed, Bulma watched the soft rise and fall of the creamy, yellow blankets piled on her mother’s body. Inhaling deeply, she noticed the unpleasantly mixed odor of stale air and alcohol in the room. Drawing from the depths of her memory, Bulma recalled that long ago, the only scent that permeated Theodora’s private boudoir was lemon verbena. How things had changed.

She stroked the sheets, silently bidding her mother farewell–silently longing for something more.

Minutes later, she was running–almost flying–down the front steps of the mansion, her dazzling white sundress tangling around her legs. The sunshine seemed too bright to be real and the beautiful flowers posed under the omnipresent spotlight.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Bulma whispered to herself.

And perhaps she believed it.





Benjamin Briefs’ silver-rimmed glasses twinkled frostily under the garishly bright fluorescent lights of his office. His secretary, nervously shifting her weight from right leg to left leg and then back to right, watched him apprehensively as she awaited his decision. She was a new addition to the Capsule Corp. company roster and was not yet accustomed to her employer’s disposition. His icy glare alone seemed to lower the temperature of any room in which he was occupying, his tone curt with no room for wavering or lack of conviction, and his attitude towards everything required perfection from everyone. He was extremely critical, frank, and immovable by tears, rage, and basically any other emotion. In short, he was one freaky bastard and she was scared to death of him.

“Ms. Turner, do you recall the details of your job interview when you clearly stated that your schedule was flexible? And that you had no problem taking on unusual hours?”

“Yes, sir…but, pardon me, sir, this is far more unusual than I had anticipated,” she pleaded. “I didn’t expect–”

“Ah, well then, this hasn’t been an utter waste of time as I thought,” he interrupted, with a hint of cynical amusement in his voice, “because clearly, you have learned something from this experience.”

“Sir? I’m not sure I’m following you…” she began, baffled by his sudden change in direction.

“That has been painfully obvious, Ms. Turner, so I will explain. Perhaps, at your next employment opportunity, you will be able to apply what you have learned here; in that you should not promise what you cannot deliver and you should not expect to give anything less than your one-hundred percent,”

She stood there, mouth slightly open, reminding him of a dead fish. He sighed. Apparently there was no room for subtlety in the world anymore.

“Do pay more attention to your next employer, as well, Ms. Turner. You have been fired; meaning you may leave now,” he flatly told her.

“You’re firing me!? Because I refuse to work forty-eight hours straight? Sir, it’s not even legal to make people work that long without rest!”
Benny Briefs was beginning to feel irritated. Women these days were far too willful and independent. Intelligence he did not mind but over-assertiveness and domineering independence he could not tolerate. In his opinion, society was clearly going down the drain.

“Ms. Turner, this is my company and I will do as I see fit for it to operate at its maximum potential. Do not spout this legal nonsense at me unless you wish to continue to debate it with my legal advisory team. I guarantee that you will not enjoy the consequences.”

The woman’s nerves were frayed; she was exhausted, and now she was overpowered with rage. Even Benny, a clear nemesis of public emotion, expected the following outburst.

“You’re fucking threatening me? You pompous asshole! You are nothing but a–”

“Get out, Ms. Turner.” The tone of the older man was lowered to a deadly pitch. Even in her slightly hysterical state, Ms. Turner recognized the wisdom of a necessary retreat. Trying to keep her composure, she stalked out of the sterilely clean office and slammed the door behind her for dramatic effect.

Benny Briefs sat very still, a look of disgust etched on his face. A woman daring to use profanity in public. It was positively revolting. These “modern” females were completely out of control.

A knock on the door shook him out of his affronted state.

“Come in,” he called out curtly.

“Sir?” It was one of the male interns. “Your daughter has requested to see you. Shall I show her in?”

Benny’s nostrils flared slightly. The thought of dealing with another overly emotional female lacking all proper feminine quality made him slightly nauseous. Though, to her credit, Bulma had improved quite a bit since her youth. He could not stand the brat when she was younger and just looking at her aroused his loathing.

Of course, there was more than one reason behind his reaction.

“Sir?”

“Yes, let her in,”

Moments later, Bulma Briefs was ushered in by a slightly puzzled young intern. He could hardly believe that charming, gorgeous girl next to him was the offspring of such a cold, hard man. Then again, nature works in odd ways, he thought to himself as he left the two alone.

“Hello, Father,” Bulma greeted calmly, trying to keep her temper in check, which was rather difficult considering all the images of her mother, as well as the distraught secretary she had passed earlier, that kept flashing through her mind. It was amazing just how much anger she had at hand when she was in the presence of her father.

“Daughter,” he returned the greeting. “Heading back to the university, I suppose?” His question sounded casual, almost bored. There was no regret or longing in his voice when he mentioned the prospect of his child’s absence for the next months.

“I do have a name, Father. I don’t believe it would cause you much trouble to use it.” Bulma then bit her lip. She had wanted this one time to be a civil encounter with her father. Just once, she wanted them to act like friendly–if excessively cold and formal–companions.

“Nor would I believe that it would cause you too much trouble to comprehend your position.” His attitude radiated displeasure. “I am your father; you will not use such a tone with me. Apparently it was inaccurate of me to believe that your behavior was improving,”

Bulma looked away. “I’m sorry, sir,”

“I should hope so. Back to the topic at hand; I have reviewed your latest scores and I am not pleased with what I have seen. You will return to the university and you will raise your ranking to the top of your class,” he stated without even considering any other status for her. “Do whatever it takes. The Briefs do not take second place to anyone. Is that clear?”

Bulma nodded.

“You may leave now.” To illustrate the fact that their conversation was over, he began looking over contracts.

Bulma turned to go–but hesitated. She knew that she shouldn’t raise the topic, but she couldn’t resist.

“Father, you haven’t been home in days. I think that–”

“I said that you may leave,” he said without even bothering to look up from his papers. Bulma stared at him for a moment–crimson hate coursing through her veins and bitter yearning gnawing at her heart. Tilting her chin upwards in defiance and wounded pride, she walked away from the man who was supposed to be her father.




Bulma watched the Capsule Corp building fade into the distance from her seat in the limousine, her body frozen. Perhaps if she stayed still long enough, she could hold herself together. Perhaps if she didn’t move, she wouldn’t break.

~i tried to kill the pain
but only brought more~

She could almost find it amusing; except whenever she attempted to laugh, only sobs clawed their way out of her throat. She was brilliant. Everyone else knew it, everyone else told her so, and everyone else admired her for being this way.

But her father was not everyone else. He was the only person in the world that Bulma fought desperately to impress–to earn his respect–and each time she failed miserably. In Benny Briefs’ eyes, his daughter was the emblem of imperfection. It seemed that there was nothing Bulma could do that seemed right in his eyes.

~i lay dying
and i'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal~

And it all came back to Bra. Perhaps Bulma was smarter than her deceased sister had been but, unlike Bulma, Bra had been the epitome of perfection. Docile. Gentle. Lady-like. Obedient. Calm. Patient. Every quality about which Theodora continually ranted; everything that Benny found lacking in Bulma.

Qualities that Bulma hated, but would strive diligently, vainly, ceaselessly, and hopelessly to acquire.

~i'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming~

It was ironic. The child that any other parents would have cherished and loved was ignored and unaccepted by her own family. Parents that had given birth to the perfect child had lost her and mistakenly conceived another that they could never understand.

The family that had everything could find no peace, no happiness, and no love.

So very ironic.

~am i too lost to be saved
am i too lost?~
Converting /tmp/phpZGl3yP to /dev/stdout