Log in

No account? Create an account

February 2008

Powered by LiveJournal.com

elite_saiyan in dbrp

[ RP Thread ] [ Open to Everyone ] CC BBQ

For the life of him, Vegeta could not understand the concept of social gathering. For one thing, it was an entire waste of time. For another, he had no real desire to see any of Bulma's friends unless they were on a receiving end of his fist, where he liked Kakkarot, especially, the best. The constant chatter was insufferable, the music was idiotic, and the last time he attempted to entertain himself at one of these, Bulma screamed her fat head off for an hour about how he couldn't just go using people as target practice in refining the Big Bang, ESPECIALLY YAMCHA.

(That, in Vegeta's opinion, was the best barbecue EVER.)

In addition, while Bulma ran around like an extremely ugly chicken with her head cut off preparing for such a thing, she forgot all about his very existence. The father of her child. Were the uniformed men waiting on him hand and foot? NO. Were the multitudes of trays being brought in by caterers for him? NO. And the woman had to gall to tell him that if he were to touch the food before the guests arrived, he would be In Big Trouble.

He'd only scoffed, sneered, and walked away, but really, the situation was beginning to annoy him. Why should he be forced to cater to these guests when he was truly the most important person in attendance? Why should he have to stay out of the way? Why couldn't he hang the waiter by his ankles; he deserved it, after all. Did Bulma really need to build an entire stage for karaoke? He had not encountered a more foolish human endeavor.

Amidst the chaos of set-up, Vegeta wandered toward the kitchen. If Bulma prevented him from taking food from his own house, there indeed would be Big Trouble. His lips turned upward at the thought. At least there would be some entertainment.


“Perverted old man.” Eighteen had said to herself having narrowly escaped Roshi.

Another barbeque, she thought. Sure they were few and far between but it could still be taxing on Eighteen’s nerves. Her husband was always up for a party so she had to be as well. She didn’t like how she had handed the baby off to Krillin grumbling about getting her socialized with his friends but escaping was a good thing because she could see Roshi coming up for another ‘look’ at her. She often wondered what possessed the old man to attempt to be as disgusting as he was.

Some days she wished she could have just blown him up. Wait no that would be wrong she said to herself, she could have easily done it, her husband would have just been a little upset with her. Having entered the kitchen to hide away for a little bit and pretend to get something from the room, she saw Vegeta enter.

Smirking as she watched the Prince she couldn’t help but think of the time the two fought, back when she was still evil. She’d kicked him so hard his arm turned in an angle that no one thought was possible. Truthfully if it hadn’t been Eighteen who kicked him herself she would have thought it disgusting. But she did it and considered it a plus in her book.
Vegeta regarded Eighteen in the usual manor, that is, with as little regard as possible. He gave her only a slight nod to acknowledge her presence as he made his way to the (unfortunately sealed) platters of deli meat on the counter. He spent no time in deliberation as he popped the seal on the closest one and began procuring cold cuts. He would enjoy suffering the wrath of Bulma later.

Although he would never tell her, he carried a certain amount of respect for Eighteen. So alike were their history and circumstance that a more whimsical person may consider them kindred. In the end, it was only their shared weakness, their desire for the human connection (or something like it), that allowed parallels to be drawn.

Though what drew her to the bald midget he would never understand. At least Bulma was halfway decent looking, not terrible in bed and made somewhat entertaining conversation, especially when yelling. Krillin?

Kami only knows.
She chuckled to herself as he took to handling the cold cuts, did he want the thinly slice meat that much that he was willing to get yelled at for an hour just for a few slices? She didn't know much about 'human' emotions her mind still forced her to think like an android more often then a human, but she knew Vegeta was doing something that would his "woman" somewhat angry at him.

Her arms crossed as she watched him, "Is that hunger or spite?" She asked, it didn't take a genius or a mind reader to know that Vegeta hated these things - the BBQ that is. Unless he was using someone as target practice. Thankfully she'd been spared from that. It wouldn't have matter to her regardless, she knew how to move out the way.

She respected the Prince, she'd gained a little more respect for him after the entire Buu issue however. She knew how alike they were, she'd always wondered why her husband was a little worried around Vegeta even to this day. She had Vegeta's history on earth programmed into her so she was aware but she couldn't help but feel a little ashamed when Krillin cowards in fear of Vegeta.

The truth behind Krillin was simple, but if she ever vocalized it. It would reunion the story he told Yamcha and Goku over and over again.
Gohan tended to feel uncomfortable at most of the get-togethers at CC only because, each and every time, his mother freaked out over what to wear and both Gohan and Goten ended up going to a casual BBQ in stuffy suits or something else equally overdone. As always, in the end, Chichi changed countless times only to finally settle on a simple outfit for herself.

"I feel so overdressed," he said to himself as they arrived. Why did everyone else get to wear what they always wore? He'd rather be wearing his Saiyaman uniform, which was obviously the pinnacle of style, not that any of his friends and family were particularly stylish enough to understand that.

At least there was food. Enough for Majin Buu and a handful of saiyans. Bulma certainly knew how the throw a party.
"You let your mother dress you again, didn't you?" Videl asked amusedly, meandering her way over to Gohan. His outfit just screamed Chichi's influence. "Here. I made you a plate of food."

One day Gohan would have to grow up. Chichi would have seventeen heart attacks but it would happen. Of course, she seemed set on Videl becoming her daughter-in-law and having them move next door...

But that second part was never going to happen. Never!
Gohan blushed. It was bad enough that his mother had picked out his clothes for the BBQ, but Videl could tell, which made it a hundred times worse. "She didn't actually dress me," he almost whined. How embarrassing! Sometimes he didn't think he'd ever escape his mother's influence.
"Yo, Vegeta!" He called, sing-song and doe-eyed, as he peeked his head inappropriately through the Brief home's open window.

Nothing? Nobody? Weird! Gokou propped his hand on the windowsill and vaulted into their home, apparently unfamiliar with the human invention the "door." Intrusive and dimwitted as ever, he curiously perused the kitchen, Goldilocks to the three bears, searching half-heartedly for the other Saiyan, though increasingly distracted by the growing scent picked up by his keen alien nose. Saliva passed his lips, cascading down his chin as his stomach, the one rival he could never best, demanded it be nourished.

Commotion outside. He could hear it. It was probably where he meant to be in the first place, but instead he found the banquet. His gasp was audible, but annihilated by the scream of his inextinguishable hunger. They wouldn't mind if he took a little bit, right? His friends would never want him to go hungry! The pain was tearing him apart! Surely, they would never wish this anguish upon him! He slapped his hands together in prayer, silently thanking his friends for being so kind to him. In his mind he brightly imagined them all smiling, beckoning him to eat to his heart's desire.

"Go for it, Gokou!" His loving, kind wife exclaimed, waving excitedly as he passed by, nearing closer to the table.

"You can do it, dad!" His faithful son, the twinkle in his eye, cheering on his father as he fought to quench this terrible yearning.

"Son..." The austere acknowledgement of his friend, the Namek, Piccolo, as they both nodded gravely to each other, both understanding what had to be done.

"Kakkarot..." Gokou stopped. Vegeta, now in his path, standing in his way, arms folded stoically over his chest, bore his eyes deep and narrowed, and then... "Only you can do this, Kakkarot!" Vegeta cheered, fist thrown triumphantly towards the sky, and then allowed him passage towards his destiny.

A single tear rolled down his face, thanking them for the strength to carry on toward victory, and he reached slowly, with unshakable resolve, for a drumstick...