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Buying Radditz, by Talon and Manawolf	By : theonlytalonsage Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2029 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ. However Sage belongs to me. Hands off. He bites.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Author's Note

Those familiar with Sages and Radditz's may know most or all of these terms.

Words and Terms to know:

onkru’kah: Saiyajin child-bearing male. Can only conceive under specific natural circumstances or artificially. Resulting cub must be removed surgically.

Sebba: name for child bearing male with cub. Some cubs refer to their sebba’s as ‘Sebba” but just as many use a variant of “Mother.” Mom, Mama, Mummy are all common.

Chukra: fire child or fire spirit. Generally a term of endearment for high spirited, often alpha-born cubs, and one of Radditz’s most common love names for his son.

Bond or kin bond: telepathic link between blood kin and blooded mates.

Ascension: Former legend that a Saiyajin was born so powerful that his body could not contain the power, ascension, as achieved by the present King Vegeta is hallmarked by a bright gold aura and hair and turquoise eyes. Icejin and Zen’renthjin among other known high power races have since avoided direct conflict with the Ascended King.

Awakening: Saiyajin puberty. The body’s first influx of adult hormones, can happen from ages thirteen through the early twenties. Because the influx is so sudden and powerful, sexual contact and release is imperative for physical and psychological health. Normally the Awakening Saiyajin in question is guided by a family member or close friend with considerable experience. An Awakened Saiyajin is technically considered an adult in Saiyajin society; but if recently Awakened allowances can and have been made in legal matters. A Saiyajin can distinguish whether another is sexually mature or not by their scent. Saiyajin also have an extended prime; once adulthood is reached, very little changes in their physiology for most of their considerably long lives.

Bond Bastard: A Saiyajin cub born to parents not bond mated. A common occurrence with male and female partners; onkru'kah bond bastards are viewed as the lowest of the low because onkru'kah pregnancy is not supposed to occur without a blood bonded mate present. Cubs born to un-mated females in all castes except Royalty do not share this stigma; indeed a female may produce a cub with one male, and then "mate up" having proven herself to have birthed a strong, healthy cub. Others may have cubs with the same male and never mate them, out of choice. Cubs produced from out of bond Royalty face severe penalty, up to and including death of not only the cub, but the family and the sebba or female who birthed the cub.

Ki : The body’s natural power. Saiyajin, like many other races can control their body’s energy into weapons or defense. Restraints are used on high power races when enslaved.

Power Level: Generally refers to the resting level of a Saiyajin’s ki. The higher your numbers when you raise it, the higher your battle rating. Thus a third class Saiyajin can have second or even first class battle ratings. Conversely elite born Saiyajin may have second class or lower power levels.

Class Levels: The caste system upon which Saiyajin society is founded. Below third class are those with battle ratings so low they are often found working retail or food services. Third class is the lowest caste one must be born into to be allowed into the military. From most powerful to least the caste system can be basically broken down by the following: Royal Super Elite, Royal Elite, Super Elite, Elite, First Class, Second Class, Third Class. The caste below third class is not named.

Conversational italics indicate bond speech, as opposed to those that indicate thought or emphasis.

~~

"Trunks…" Sage whispered nervously, and so quietly not even another Saiyajin standing next to them could hear, tugging his elder brother's sleeve.  His Mama was up there.  It HAD to be him.  He had Sage's mane… or the other way around.  Of course, his own long, voluminous mane was disguised, as was Trunks' vividly colored hair; both also wore colored contacts with their tails carefully tucked into high-class clothing.  The only Saiyajin here, as far as the assembled aliens were concerned, was approaching the auction block.  Sage's sebba.

"We'll get him," Trunks whispered firmly.  And they would.  As a bearing male, Sage's sebba would likely fetch a high price – some bidders would anticipate being compensated for the initial cost with the income from selling half-Saiyajin cubs.  How many had been taken away from him, Trunks wondered.

Well, it ended today.  However high the price went, he could match it.  It had taken too long to locate Sage's sebba; he wouldn't let him slip through their fingers.

Radditz stumbled as one of the handlers shoved him forwards, forcing him to swing his damaged tail for balance.  He'd not have had that much trouble if his hands weren't chained behind his back, but they always restrained him up until it was time for the auction block itself.  He was capable of causing too much trouble, and had a penchant for defending any cubs in the slave pit by sending bullies a couple inches into the nearest wall.  He often wound up, restrained, in his own little private cage.

On the block itself, however, restraints were an impediment to showing him off.  And after all, if a slave wasn't even cooperative enough to stand still for bidding, it drove his price down and could tarnish the auction house's reputation.

With a look that dared him to make trouble, the handler - a mean-tempered Gurujin - released his wrists.  Stiffly wrapping his bent tail, Radditz ignored the invitation and allowed them to pull him on-stage.

He hated this part.  He hated the period when he was between owners, his fate up for grabs to the highest bidder.  But then, he hated everything – being bought, sold, shown off as a trophy, used for sex, knocked up and bred so his cubs could be sold like so much meat.  Auctions, though, were up there with the worst of it.  The slave handlers always fucked with him – and fucked him – and inevitably thought that a couple lashes of the whip could change his attitude.

At least with a master, they learned what he would and wouldn't do.  He would, for the most part, do what he was told.  More or less.  He wouldn't act like a slave, or adapt the habits of one.  Pain was temporary – his pride was irreplaceable.  That's what he remembered when he'd been inventively punished, or whipped within an inch of his life; it was the one thing he had over them.  Give that up, and he had nothing.

Still, he had to adapt.  These people broke slaves for a living; they were experts.  They wore him down, eventually, a little bit.  He didn't fight anymore, and he didn't so much as bare a tooth at the auctioneer handling him like a horse for sale.  Anyway, the more spirit he showed at auction, the likelier it was he'd get someone who fancied they could break him.  He'd just as rather not wind up with one of those.

As for what he hated least... maybe, just maybe, it was a little better to get bought by a breeder.  They treated him comparatively well, unwilling to jeopardize their investment.  They fed well - as well as any did, as none of them seemed to understand exactly how much fuel a Saiyajin body required - and had at least a passing interest in keeping him well-groomed.  It didn't stop him from getting fucked, of course, but when he was carrying he needed that about as much as he needed food.

Jaw aching from a blow he'd been given earlier – there would be a bruise there soon, and the taste of blood hung in his nose – he ignored the crowd until the bidding narrowed down.  Then he allowed his eyes to scan the audience for the bidders.  Who was he up against this time…

One was typical; likely wanted a Saiyajin for his harem, or to show off to his friends.  Of course, you couldn't tell by looking.  Another he would have trouble with; he had a harsh look.  Probably a sadist.  That would be no fun; when they found they couldn't break him, most decided they'd rather sell him on than kill him and be fined for it, but there was always the possibility that someone would decide it would be worth the pleasure... Radditz suspected that one of these days, his road would end with one of them.

The other...  There were two, the taller one doing the bidding.  His hair was bright red – likely dyed – and his eyes were green; maybe natural, maybe not.  Exotic, and flashy.  His companion had darker coloring, and looked wide-eyed and nervous.  First auction, probably.  He was also looking straight at him… intensely.  Radditz couldn't place the look - infatuated, maybe? - and didn't waste time trying to figure it out as he was distracted by a stabbing pain in his temples.  Clenching his jaw, he turned away, trying to get a handle on the sudden headache.  Without thinking, he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

A bad move.  The Gurujin struck a crop harshly across his shoulders, pain dulled slightly where it overlapped his mane but sharp and burning across bare skin.  Fine, fine – that's not a stance slaves take.  Too proud. His hands had to be at his sides or behind his back, and he refused to do the latter unless they were bound…  Unhurried, he flexed and rubbed his sore wrists before dropping his arms again.  It was arrogant, showing he was unbroken; he didn't fear them.

A glance from Trunks warned him to keep it together.  He'd dented the armrest from gripping it; even without his ki.  He wanted to rush down there and beat the living crap out of that slave handler.  How DARE he... he'd not even been doing anything wrong, not really.  He would have been whipped for the same if he'd been the one on the block and he well knew it; but this was his Mama.

The auctioneer droned on.  "Like I said, gentlebeings, not for beginners.  You'll need a firm hand with this one, he's stubborn as a Saiyajin after all..."  Chuckles from the audience.  "He's worth your trouble if you can handle him though, throws high-quality offspring; a very exotic addition to your collection or breeding stock…."

Bidding heated up; the less serious bidder dropped out.  That left the pair and the sadist.  Radditz eyed the exotic bidder with as much optimism as he could muster these days, but braced for the alternative.  Another few years of having his skin bloodied and tail broken… the last few had been good to him, allowing his tail to heal as much as it was going to.  Of course, the owner had grown tired of a self-possessed, mule-stubborn slave who wouldn't be intimidated and couldn't be cowed into submission.  They always did eventually, and he ended up here again.

C'mon… let him win.  I've just gotten used to having my tail in one piece… Radditz watched the bidding without seeming to, a long-practiced habit of paying keen attention to his surroundings while maintaining a bored, jaded expression.  It was a good way of keeping himself from getting caught off-guard while not giving anyone the impression that he actually cared.  Went a long way towards convincing them he couldn't be frightened or bullied.

Red-hair bid calmly, methodically, while the other's came more hastily, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.  He was obviously nearing or above his limit, while Radditz' favored bidder showed no indication of even having a limit.  He would be good at the card table, that's for sure.

Finally, swearing profusely, the opposing bidder let Red-hair's offer stand.  Radditz allowed himself to be cautiously relieved as he was yanked off the stand by his leash; he didn't, after all, know that they weren't the sort to break his tail.  They could very well be just as bad; appearances being deceiving and all that.  He didn't really think so, though; not with the way the little one had been staring at him…

He looked familiar somehow.  Radditz couldn't place it.  Was he a previous owner's friend?  No, he'd remember… unless it was one of the times he'd been blindfolded.  But, no, he couldn't figure it out.  It wasn't pulling up any memory or any association with a place or persons… he just… like Radditz should know him.  Not that he'd met him, precisely, but he should know him.  Trying to figure it out was giving him a headache, so he decided to just watch them.  It would fall into place…

Radditz couldn't quite place the species, either.  Of course there were entirely too many to keep track of, and some humanoids were so similar they seemed to be little more than variants in coloring.  He tried to catch their scent, but the taste of blood hanging in his mouth muddled everything up.  Could have sworn he scented Saiyajin… either his nose was so fucked up he was catching his own scent, or someone else had passed through here earlier.  Hell, might even have been one of his own cubs for all he knew.

He watched the winning pair out of his peripheral vision as they settled at the cashier.  Any extra clothes (declined), extra charge for the ki restraints, blah blah blah… He'd not had anyone yet who wanted to take THOSE off.  They did, however, decline any extra restraints… hm.  He'd walk away with his arms unbound, for once.  It happened occasionally, and spoke fairly well for his chances with these two…

"Kneel before your new Master, Saiyajin!"  The handler spit the name as if it was an insult, yanking on his leash and kicking in the back of his knees at the same time.  Radditz landed with a grunt, and turned to snarl – but his anger never made it to the surface.  With a reflex he'd honed entirely too many times, he reined it in, shoving it back under the surface where it joined up with over a decade's worth of simmering hate.  It let him think, for now, without fury clouding his mind; it was also the nigh-endless fuel he fed on to resist giving up, being broken.  He had to save it up for when he needed it.

Anger still simmering in his eyes, he turned his attention to the buyers.  Red-hair was taking the proffered leash from the handler with a chill worthy of an iceberg, and the other was clenching his fist so hard Radditz thought he saw blood… although he hid it quickly.  Interesting.

Trunks winced internally at the scars criss-crossing the kneeling Saiyajin's hide.  Most of his back was hidden by his mane, but… he doubted they would find an inch of unmarked skin.  He could easily count his ribs from here, and there were obviously fresh marks from the handlers here – including the start of a heavy bruise across his jaw. The onkru'kah's tail wrapped around his waist with an uncomfortable stiffness, and as for the bone structure… Once again Trunks felt sickened at the entire business, and wished they could wipe it out – but for now, the most they could do was extricate the Saiyajin caught up in it.

"Come on," he murmured, giving the leash a gentle tug.  "Let's go home."

A light touch on the leash.  Huh.  Red-hair's demeanor would have given a less-jaded slave hope for the future; at this point Radditz was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  You didn't blow THAT much money on a slave if you didn't have something serious in mind.  Maybe he was a breeder; just setting up his stock, perhaps, not yet experienced enough to take a firm hand.  Well Radditz would take a mile for every inch.

As for the other one... Radditz couldn't figure it out.  Where the hell had he seen him before?  The eyes were so damn intense -

Another stab of pain, like the one that had caught him out onstage, made him stagger.  FUCK.  What the HELL was that??  The traders hadn't knocked his jaw badly enough to give him a concussion, and Saiyajin didn't get sick.  Had they done something to him?  He couldn't remember anything unusual.

One way or the other, he was certain to get punished for tripping.  Even the most easy-going owner wouldn't tolerate a pet slowing them up.

Sage forced himself  to not stare at his sebba up close as Trunks urged him to his feet.  He wasn't so very good at it.  The smells in his nose overwhelmed him, and his father's temper simmered just barely beneath the surface of his skin.  Trunks was MUCH better at hiding what he was feeling or thinking than he was.  And he could almost just feel the bond.  It was blocked somehow.  Oh. The ki restraint.  He should have remembered.  It seemed like forever since he'd been sold but being here...with Mama...his concentration was derailed as his sebba stumbled and he quickly gripped his arm with his own small, strong ones to steady him.  He didn't trust himself to speak.  Not here, not now.  Trunks was patient and he looked pleadingly at his older brother who shook his head in a barely noticeable motion.

"Easy now."  Trunks' voice was like water, cool and calm.  "Take a moment, get your bearings.  Let him stand."  The last was to Sage, who let go of his Mama's arm reluctantly.  Was the blood on his hands his?  He didn't quite dare taste it or make notice of it to tell.  It was far too Saiyajin a gesture.  He knows Trunks wants to get to the ship in a calm, unhurried manner.  He wants to pick his much larger Mama up and RUN.

He obeys his brother's orders though, the ones unspoken, and the ones they had gone over before the auction.  It takes every ounce of self-restraint, but he obeys.  Trunks knows best.

Radditz is surprised by the support - who helps a slave?  But that's nothing compared to the scent that hits his nose.  Saiyajin.  But with the taste of blood still screwing up his olfactory senses, the only thing he can tell is that it isn't his own.  It's frustrating; he knows there's something about it he ought to place it, but maybe it's just been that long since he's scented another.  He glances aside at his owner's companion as he straightens up, rubbing his wrists out of habit.  The scar-crossed sebba can't figure it out; he should KNOW this kid, but he's never seen him before, he's sure of it!

But now, whatever else may or may not be going on, he has to pay attention.  Wouldn't do to get caught off-guard by this owner.  The other shoe will drop eventually and he's got to be ready for it.  This is why he hates auctions and new owners - he has to learn a whole new set of rules and quirks and what to expect.

On guard, he gets his weight under him, resisting the urge to flick his tail in consternation.  It didn't move right anymore, so he only used it when he had to, for balance.  But he's watching Red-hair very closely, more paranoid than he would be if he'd been immediately struck for daring to lose his footing.  Because it's coming, he just doesn't know when.

He looks at the floor, fixing his dark, violet contact colored eyes on the toes of his black, non-descript boots as Trunks watches Mama.  Standing so close, even not touching, he can sense how tense Mama is, and he knows Trunks can too.  All Saiyajin they found on the slave market were like this.  He had been too.  And all too eager to bite the hand that fed him to hear Trunks remember it.

Trunks' voice is calm and firm.  "Steady now?  It's not a short walk to the docking bay."  He glances at Sage.  "Go grab something from a food vendor."  He knows Sage will know to get food for everyone but Radditz won't know that and his brilliant green eyes watch Sage scamper off.  He turns back to appraise Radditz, who is tenser than ever.  Well, he's handled slaves more broken than this, that's the good news.  The bad news is the sebba doesn't seem to recognize Sage.  That's...odd.  "You got a name, Saiyajin?"  His voice is smooth, cool, neutral, with the undercurrent of firmness that is necessary.

Radditz can't help following the kid with his eyes as he scampers off, confusion flickering across his dark features.  He doesn't get it.  The possibility that they might be Saiyajin doesn't even occur to him - it's too outlandish a possibility.  You didn't survive over a decade of slavery by hoping for rescue.  Besides, who the hell would rescue an out-of-bond onkru'kah?

Now all he can smell is his own blood, and he tongues a cut on the inside of his cheek before answering.  "Radditz," he grumbles with no small amount of resentment and suspicion.  The better owners sometimes asked, but not so soon.  There was an unmistakable undercurrent of authority; this guy was used to having orders followed.  Radditz' rules would stay the same - he would do what he was told, but only to a point, and always with attitude.  He would die before they broke him of that.

Case in point, his omission of an honorific when replying to his new owner.  Other slaves would follow the answer with Master or at least Sir, if they didn't know their owner's name.  Radditz wouldn't, and it was generally the source of his first confrontation with a new owner.

Food vendors were everywhere, and it's easy to find what he wants...mostly meat on sticks, some locally grown grain things that have a nice nutty flavor and form a crispy outside when formed into shapes were on the menu too.  Drinks were a little harder.  He had to go to three different stalls before he was satisfied with the bottled water.  He wouldn't get anything else.  They had better supplies in general on the ship, this was just a small snack to get them there.  And new rescues were ALWAYS dehydrated and Mama...Mama was so skinny.  He trots back towards where Trunks would be at an easy jog.  If Trunks moved, it would be toward the docking bay, and he'd take it slow.  He's not worried.  He DOES hate having to run around with his tail wrapped up around him, but there's no getting around that.  Hard enough to hide his mane!!

Well that confirmed it.  Sage's reaction had been good enough for him, but he hadn't known the third-classer personally.  He notes well the stance and tone Radditz takes.  And he notes the absence of Master or at least Sir.  That was good to hear.  And he still has his tail, despite the condition it's in.

"All right then, Radditz," he says calmly.  "Now that you've steadied yourself, the docking bay is this way."  He doesn't touch his sibling bond with Sage.  They'd found it could have adverse affects on ki restraints, depending on the make and how strong they were or how sensitive the Saiyajin they were rescuing was to bond currents...so to speak.  He suspected Radditz's stumble had to do with being restrained around one of his own cubs, probably his only full blooded cub.

Sage remembered Radditz, why didn't Radditz remember Sage?  That was a puzzlement.  Or if he did, he didn't recognize his get.  Gently again, he tugs the leash and begins the steady pace, letting the leash slack but subtly altering his own pace so that Radditz always seems to be at perfect heel.

"Hmph."  The bound Saiyajin resented having his weakness pointed out, but it was true enough.  He was in bad shape.  Weak.  The thought is infuriating, but Radditz shoves the anger down to wait with the rest of his reserves.  He'll need that later.

He would have recognized Sage if he could smell him properly, or if he wasn't disguised.  But the disguises were good - and he'd long accepted the fact he would never see Sage again.  The disguised features of his kin, grown over ten years since the last time he'd seen him, just weren't clear enough for him to figure it out.  He knew something was up - he just didn't know what, especially considering he'd reacted to the order for food instantly.  Like one trained...

Radditz' attention is split between trying to figure out his owner's companion (servant?) and the necessity of gauging Red-hair's temperament.  None of this fit any of his expectations, and that was unnerving.  His tail-tip flicks, stiffly, as he runs through all the possibilities he can think of.  A few fit the facts, but nothing definitive.  In the end he just has to watch and wait, and take each thing as it comes.

Trunks keeps his pace steady, clearing a path easily; most didn't want to mess with him even disguised let alone as the crown prince of Vegeta-sei.  And Radditz's wrists were unbound.  That's also a strong deterrent to anyone curious enough to try and get a closer look.  He lets Radditz simmer.  Nothing he can say now will ease the former slave's mind, especially since he didn't yet know his slavery was former.  He listens for Sage however and is rewarded with the familiar pattern of Sage's trotting-compensating-for-his-bound-tail-foot steps.

Sage grins as he comes to a stop next to Trunks and holds out the bag with the big bottles of water in it first.  Trunks smiles and takes the bag, pulling out a bottle.  "Perfect," he says and is rewarded with a bigger grin. He only just stops himself from ruffling Sage's mane.  And he can smell the food.  First things first though.  He breaks the seal on the bottle and takes a sniff and a long drink before nodding, then turning to Radditz.  "Take it.  It's clean, not drugged."  The Saiyajin doesn't drop the water bottle, so Trunks turns his attention back to the other bags as Sage silently displays the fruits of his labor.

"Plenty of meat, and those crunchy things you like so much," he approves.  "Good.  No trouble?"   As Sage shakes his head, Trunks turns to Radditz.  "What are you waiting for, drink.  You must be parched."  The firm undertone is strong.  He wants Sage's sebba to eat and drink a bit now.  Not when they get to the ship, now.  And Sage is on edge too and burning through calories his ownself.  Not Awakened just yet, but he's not far from it.  Trunks stops his train of thought that would remind him that Sage's sexual maturity or lack thereof had meant nothing to his former masters.  Instead he hands Sage a bottle of water and instructs him to drink as well before taking his own advice, his other hand still firmly on the leash.

Radditz is surprised to no small degree by the fact he was handed water at all, never mind that it was before his new owner.  What the hell, slaves were always fed last.  Always.  But damn if he would turn it down, so when the order is repeated, he shrugs and tips it back.  He didn't truly suspect it was drugged - it was a little early for that, and who wanted to lug a doped-up Saiyajin through the port?  No, if they were going to drug him it would be later.  And there wouldn't be much he could do about it.  He had to drink, and he had to eat - the initial hunger strike when he was separated from Sage (and bouts of obstinance after they took another one of his cubs) notwithstanding.

This?  This was not one of those times.  The entire bottle vanishes quickly, and he feels better for it.  Red-hair's caution to keep hold on the end of his leash doesn't go unnoticed.  Of course, Radditz doesn't have anywhere to go; without a plan, such a move was more foolhardy than he had energy to spare.  He might not have been the brightest biped on the end of a leash, but he wasn't stupid.

He can also smell the food, but there was no way in hell he was getting any of that.  So, no big deal, he was used to it.  There hadn't been a day in the past 5+ years that he hadn't been hungry, and he didn't expect that to change any time soon.

Sage was gratified to see Mama finish off the water fast.  When he'd been taken from Mama, he'd refused to eat or drink except to bite those who had bought him.  It lasted as long as it took for them to get tired of it and to drug him and force feed him.  Then he started up again with renewed vigor.  But they had gradually broken him down and learned to adapt.  Sort of.  He stops with half his bottle still full, and Trunks, anticipating him already is handing him one of the meat sticks.  Sage takes it, but doesn't eat and looks at his brother.  Who chuckles and hands what could be its twin to Radditz.  Who stares at it like it might bite him.

Sage on the other hand, once Mama has food, he's free to eat so far as he's concerned.  He's hungrier oftener lately.  Trunks says he's gettin' ready to grow.  Bardock says it too.  Since he's born out of bond, his father can't legally recognize him, but he doesn't care.  He does other things that are way better.  Like letting Trunks take him with him to look for enslaved Saiyajin.  He frowns though, as he finishes his meat and Trunks takes the bare stick.  Mama hasn't touched his.

Calmly, Trunks hands Sage one of the grain-things and reminds him to drink some more water.  "It won't bite back Radditz.  It's dead.  Eat it."  His voice is patient, but there's the undercurrent of an order rather than firmness.  Would he eat, in public, with his "masters" standing around him?  It was but one test Trunks had devised to gauge a Saiyajin slave's state of mind.  Also, if Radditz didn't eat, it would upset Sage, and he didn't want that either.

Radditz glares suspiciously.  He simply cannot figure out what the hell this is about.  Was he trying to put him off-guard?  Did he think food would make Radditz more cooperative?  It was true food was quite high on his priority list, but that didn't mean he could be bribed or softened up with it.  Despite the clawing need deep in his stomach, he's reluctant to eat until he knows what the trade-off is.

But at Red-hair's comment, he snarls.  That wasn't why he hesitated to eat, but it would goad him into doing it.

"If it wasn't, I would fix that myself," he snapped without a shred of timidity or deference before demolishing the snack in two and a half bites.  It was good, juicy with crisp char, but he barely noticed.  Food was fuel, and he couldn't allow himself to get used to the good stuff.  He would be back to scraps soon enough.

Sage's tail tries to stage a revolt, but he manages to keep it under wraps, so to speak, but he bounces on his feet happily.  He retains enough self control to keep quiet; he CANNOT risk letting himself talk, not until they're on the ship.  He's afraid, really afraid he'll blow their cover, even though he's never come close to doing so before.  It's different this time.  Trunks knows it too, because Mama's bare stick is switched for a full one.

"Good to know," is Trunks' comment.  "Eat.  We don't have all day."  He eats a few himself and reminds Sage to drink as well as eat.  He doesn't turn a hair at the snarl.  Not even one.

Eating gives Sage a chance to really look at Mama and see just how much he remembers.  So many scars.  He didn't have so many before.  But he was tall, and strong even if he was skinny and his mane was a mess and his tail...Sage's own tail tightens around his waist, wrapped two and a half times, long as it is, in sympathy.  He's on the slight side himself, but his memories of Mama were of a big, strong wall and mane that hid and warmed and protected him.  He almost forgets to eat while he watches his sebba eat.  Almost...but not quite.

Radditz can't help but notice the bouncing.  The kid sure was happy about something.  He opens his mouth to ask what his story is, but before he can get anything out more food is thrust into his hands.  The big Saiyajin glowers as he eats, annoyed by the fact he can't seem to figure out what is going on around here.  He wouldn't be happy until he knew what his new owner wanted - if for no other reason than he could throw it back in his face.

Sharp teeth tear the last shreds of meat from the blackened stick.  "Why'd you buy me."  It was speaking out of turn, but nothing he'd done yet had provoked a negative reaction.  Radditz would take every inch of leeway and push for boundaries until he found them.  This owner spoke with authority, but it would take more than a commanding tone to keep this Saiyajin at heel.  His edges were blunted but he was not broken, and there wasn't an owner on the planet who could break him.

Trunks finishes his water and retrieves the last stick from Radditz and hands the empty containers to Sage, who moves without being told to, to a nearby recycler to dispose of them.  He'd rather NOT do this, but in order to get them to the ship with the least amount of fuss, he pulls up on the leash, and speaks quietly while Sage is busy.

"I was in the market, Saiyajin."  His voice is more than firm, more than an order, Freeza himself could not put more chilling authority into so few words as he stares Radditz down.  "Any other questions?"  He makes it clear that it is not a question but a command.  Radditz hasn't backed down yet; good in one way, but in another...Sage would be back and he was likely to not take kindly to this, his previous experience notwithstanding.  He pulls the leash a little tighter, then hears a familiar sound behind Radditz and frowns.

Sage takes his time at the recycler, not wanting to see how Trunks manages Mama.  He's seen it before, knows what's necessary, but he doesn't want to see it.  Not this time.  But he can only fuss for so long before turning to walk slowly back.  Then he's bumped into, hard, by a large, orangish alien he can't place the species of, but he DOES know what just happened.  He doesn't make a sound but the alien does because in less than three seconds Sage has him on the floor, one hand gripped up high on his throat, the orangish alien taking on a hue of a rather interesting red as his circulation is compromised.

Trunks sighs.  Then he jerks the leash with authority, but not anger as he murmurs, "Heel," to Radditz.  To Sage, he says as he walks over to his brother and the pickpocket his brother is slowly killing, "Chibi, let him go please."  Sage doesn't look up, but he doesn't squeeze harder.  Trunks takes a breath.  "Chibi, I know what happened, but this gentlebeing has no idea you don't like to be touched by strangers.  Now you have your wallet back, ne?"  His voice is gentle, calm.  Sage nods, still not looking up.  "Then let him go.  Let's not kill him.  Today."

It takes a few more moments before he can pry his fingers from the neck, but he does, and he stands up, head down, facing Trunks.

Trunks ignores the would-be-pick-pocket who does his best to distance himself from the aliens with a Saiyajin on a leash.  "Do you need some time?"

Sage nods, keeping his head down.

"Do you want to go ahead to the ship right now and wait there for us?"

He pauses, then nods jerkily again.

"Go on then.  We'll meet you there."

Sage looks up gratefully, and with a last look at his sebba, he takes off at a run towards the docking bay.  Trunks watches him go, then begins walking in the same direction, with a distinctly slower pace.  "Come along."  As though nothing had happened.

Radditz' instinct when he's faced with that tone and a shortened leash is to tuck his damaged tail between his legs and back down.  It's a pure beta reaction he hasn't had for a very long time.  But he resists it, a growl beginning to echo in his lean ribcage, pupils dilating in anticipation of a Fight.  He's about to say something supremely stupid - and test this aristocrat's mettle once and for all - when the scuffle distracts both of them.

The pickpocket.  Radditz doesn't know why, but when he sees the little one - Chibi - with his hands around the alien's throat... His teeth bare, mane bristling as his tail finally snaps free in a lash of anger.  The pain of the movement ripples up his spine, igniting the deep store of anger like a spark in a gunpowder shack.  He doesn't know why; all he knows is that anyone who threatened Chibi had to die.  Not just die - they had to be ripped apart at the seams by teeth and bone splinters.

Jet-black eyes remain trained on the orange-skinned alien as his owner dismisses the unlucky pickpocket.  Hurried footsteps tell him Chibi has gone, and he hears Red-hair's calm voice calling him to heel.  Radditz turns to follow, but his senses remain trained on the pickpocket, tracking the little alien even as they move for the spaceport.

The alien has a short memory.  Once again working through the crowd, he passes just a little too close to the Saiyajin on a leash...

to be continued...
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Buying Radditz, by Talon and Manawolf