Tanabata

Tanabata – Star
Festival

A B/V holiday special

Disclaimer – Yep… I
still don’t own it *sigh*

The scarlet of a
fearsome sunset burned like a halo over the city. It clung to the hills in the
distance, moulding around the mist and danced its fading brilliance over the
horizon. The dominance it reinforced, skewered through the vast star-dotted
sky, sprinkling the clouds with the light emitted. There they stayed as
reliable as always, twinkling against the impressive backdrop, ignorant to how
well their celestial elegance complimented the dramatic tones of a Chikyu-jin
summer sky.

The oppressive
heat of the day had been tamed to a gentle simmer now, being replaced by a warm
but refreshing breeze. It drifted over the domed buildings as the night claimed
its position over Western Capital City. That night the world seemed at peace
with itself. Even the sound of a police siren flew elegantly into hearing,
keeping its peace with Mother Nature’s grand plan. All creatures intruding on
the scene seemed to be at one with the earth.

Except that is –
for one.

Bulma Briefs
stumbled clumsily out onto the balcony, trying to hike up the crotch of her
black work trousers and failing miserably. Unbeknownst to her they had become
caught under the heel of a black stiletto, which caused her to lope inelegantly
through the glass door. Her shoulder met angrily with the sharp metal of the
lock, tearing through the fabric of her jacket and very top layer of skin.

“Shit!” she swore,
thankful that the graze wasn’t deep enough to bleed. To be perfectly honest the
pain was a welcome relief from other feelings. Her fingers flew through her
purse, discarding scrunched up tissues, intermingled with till receipts and
when the effort seemed too much she sighed, spreading the entire contents over
the patio table. Hastily pocketed change spun away from the smoothed surface
clattering loudly through the railings and onto the canvas awning beneath.

Sifting through
the contents her fingers finally found the packet of cigarettes and lighter she
sought. The flints sparked several times before the flame took control and she
drew the smoke into her lungs. Leaning back and resting against the smooth wall
she looked up, finally appreciating the magnificent scene she so rudely
intruded on. After inhaling and recording it to memory she proceeded to block
all vision to think uninterrupted.

At what point did
her life change so much? Why couldn’t she escape from this feeling of… of…
monotony? The word was daunting but the only one that would fit the
significance that was missing from her life. Half the time she was zipped into
autopilot. This excursion was going to break it. Yamcha be damned, she was
going to have a long relaxing smoke on the balcony, just the way she always did
and fuck the consequences!

It wasn’t that she
wanted him back as a lover, but she missed the friend he had somehow
inexplicably morphed into instead. She mourned the loss of comfortable evenings
tucked up on the softh ath a bottle of wine and book, her feet stretched out
snugly over Yamcha’s lap, knowing that even though the Chinichi Dragons were
playing; he wouldn’t mind the intrusion of her feet. There was an undeniable
rapport that had existed between them, which defied all normal boundaries but
one. Unfortunately it was that line they had crossed within weeks of knowing
each other and neither had ever quite known how to backtrack from it.

From sixteen to
twenty-six she had mistaken that emotion. There was a time she had believed it
was love and had she been completely devoted to the sensation she couldn’t have
been anymore blind! She didn’t regret their relationship, only wished she could
have found the fulfilment that it had promised so early on.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">

So here she was
with her eyes firmly opened and completely at a loss as to how to get what she
really wanted. Was it the loneliness the last few months without him inspired,
which now played on her heartstrings and pushed her so much into uniformity?
Everything felt so completely dissatisfying and empty. Still things weren’t
completely desperate. Tomorrow was Tanabata.

She sighed,
dropping the burned out cigarette and crushing it under the ball of her foot.
What an idiot she was? As if it was going to make the smallest amount of
difference to how her life was planned out. Deep down she was a big believer in
fate. Things that happened were meant to, but there was also a strong
superstitious routine to her thinking, that was undoubtedly carved into her
genetics from her mother’s side.

Not many in the
city celebrated Tanabata anymore, and a few weeks ago she had tried to dissuade
her mother from constructing the annual bamboo framework, just as she tried to
every year. What was the point? It was nothing more than a festival for kids
now.

As may be expected
though, where her mother thought herself to be in the right she was as stubborn
as her daughter. Her gentle words reminded her of the true story behind the
star festival, parrying away the pleas as she always did. Bulma was now glad
that she had. As much as she protested the tradition, she needed the hope that
it promised.

Again her
attention was drawn to the sky. The roots of the festival were crafted up there
and she traced the bountiful stars trying to find the right ones. “Where are
you Veda and Altair?” she whispered. Finally her gaze met them and she smiled
as she saw their converged position, but the effort was lack lustre. “I’m not
sure even you guys can help me get what I really want this year.”

Under the thought
her eyes shifted position to the spherical gravity chamber, standing elegantly
against the fading background. The light from the kitchen below her radiated
around its smooth surface and set it aglow against the rest of the intermingled
buildings. The picture it painted almost affirmed its importance to her.

When was it that he
had become such a pivotal point of her attention? Was it really pity for his
loneliness or was it because his desperation was now so frighteningly similar
to her own? Whatever it was, it now seemed as though her obsession was
coming to a figurative head. If truth were known then it was frightening the
shit out of her.

Over the passed
six months there had been something that had linked them. It was like a silent
understanding of needs that had wound its ethereal spell through her. It had
started as something very miniscule. She could never say that her and Vegeta
had become friends. It was a concept that was completely impossible for him to
grasp, but their general acquaintance had somehow metamorphosed from a stagnant
business agreement to quiet acceptance.

She felt
privileged to inspire this in him, as it appeared that she was the only being
he deemed worthy enough to grace with it. Even through her mothers placid
temperament he still had a nervousness, which chased at the edges of his
composure, and the equal fear and scorn that he shared with her father always
concerned and amused her in turn.

This tension - the
edginess and suspicion that naturally converged on his mind never seemed to
surface when she was near him. She couldn’t even put an exact moment on when
this had changed; she just knew that it had. She no longer feared his presence
as she had done during his first visit. The sound of his boot-cushioned
footsteps, as they padded softly on kitchen tiles was almost comforting in
conjuncture with her normal morning routine. Alas it was only in the mornings
that she spent any time with him. For the rest of the day he would be locked
inside the gravity room, not answering to anyone or anything.

Occasionally he
had been known to steal in early, only to stand pensively at the living room
door, seeming to want the comfort the small family offered, but not sure about
how to go about getting it. Bulma sighed, how horrible it must be for him to be
so distrustful of everything? Just once she wished he would speak what was on
his mind and not hide away training, so no one could help him.

The last of the
light dipped behind the skyscrapers and the temperature dropped a couple of
degrees. With a wave of determination Bulma picked up the contents of her
handbag and hastily stuffed them back from where they had been so hastily
removed. Her mind was made up. Unlike previous years she would offer her soul
up to the stars. What did she have to lose? Who knew… maybe… just maybe...? Her
eyes glinted as she retreated through the patio door and back to her room.
Could Tanabata succeed where everything else had failed? Could she win his
trust, would he open up to her? Perhaps only fate could tell, but she was sure
as hell going to give him one gigantic shove in the right direction.

***************************

Vegeta was the
first person Bulma saw the next morning, although it wasn’t exactly how she
would have wanted it. One minute she was wrapped up in the sheets of a sleepy
make-believe the next she felt her limbs falling and the rough texture of the
reed matted floor as her bottom grazed along it. This motion was inexorably
accompanied by the dull ache on her forehead.

“Boo!” Vegeta’s
voice was as deep and rough as always, only made even darker with the tiniest
amount of sarcasm that nipped its edges.

Bulma’s eyes
fluttered open to see that he was standing over her, his face millimetres away
from her own. “Get up rich bitch!”

Her vision was
still blurry and she used the right hand to gouge the sleep out of her eyes.
“Fuck off! I’m still asleep!” she mumbled, crawling into a ball on the floor
and trying to retain the vestiges of her dream.

“Not anymore!” he
iterated, grabbing an arm and bending the wrist at a forceful, but not painful
angle, “Listen!”

Bulma sighed
rubbing her forehead and realized from her position that she must have fallen
asleep at her desk, “I don’t hear anything,” she yawned, looking up to the
clock.

“Precisely!” he
growled, “Where the fuck is everyone?”

Bulma’s eyes
widened as she saw the digital display flick up a number, “Holy shit! I’m late
for work!” she screamed standing up and completely ignoring Vegeta.

She wasn’t
destined to make it far. Her companion rose with her, his grip moving to the
elbow and with not even the slightest pause she was hoisted over his head,
hanging from one arm, and spitting insults at him like a cobra would venom.

His eyes narrowed,
the anger at her invective, only just kept in check, “I asked you a question!”
He punctuated every word, causing sobering malice to drip off each syllable.

She went limp in
his grasp, “You’re the one able to sense ki,” she sighed, feeling completely humiliated,
“You tell me.”

“Onna this is not
a game!”

“What’s the
matter? Can’t the royal prince of all assholes figure out how to make his own
breakfast?”

Vegeta’s patience
wore out and he threw her angrily onto the futon, “I’ve already eaten,” he
spat, “I didn’t need anyone to cook for me before I came here, why should I
now? When a warrior needs sustenance he provides for himself.”

Bulma cricked her
neck and rubbed her shoulder, “Then why are you bothering me?”

“Because,
simpleton, there’s no power to the gravity room. I’ve checked the generator.”

“… And? If you’re
so self sufficient you can fix it yourself.”

“I would if it was
there.”

She hiked up an
eyebrow, “What do you mean ‘if’ it was there?”

His teeth were now
gritted and Bulma could almost see the energy being withheld as it burnt under
his skin. “Don’t play the innocent! I know how you Chikyu-jins work!”

“Well don’t look at
me Vegeta!” she scrunched up her nose as though saying his name was bitter, “My
dad probably borrowed it to power the lights and music for the festival
tonight.”

He snarled, the
energy surrounding him clearly visible, “Idiot! I should have known the old
goat was behind it. He’s just signed his death warrant. No one fucks with my
training!”

Bulma rolled her
eyes, “Oh chill out! One day wont hurt!”

“Yes it will!”

“Oh for Kami’s
sake! You trained for twenty-seven years without it! Grow up. The festival’s an
important date in the Capsule Corporation calendar and you don’t mess with
tradition.” Bulma let out a mental chuckle at her justification, when she
thought of how she begged her mom to forego it this year. She wouldn’t,
however, let Vegeta know this. She enjoyed trying to manipulate him.

“Feh!” he
admonished, “Your pathetic race celebrates the stupidest things! What is it
this time?”

“Tanabata.”

Vegeta didn’t
reply but the look he sent her portended immediate death if she didn’t explain.

“Sit down,” she
patted the covers next to her as inducement. He complied but chose to sit at the
end with his back facing her.

“Speak.” He
demanded, crossing his arms.

“Well where should
I begin?” She looked out of the window, “Well it’s almost fairytale like in its
legend. On the eve of July seventh, Shokujo (the Weaver Princess Star) is supposed
to meet Kengyu, (the Herd boy Star) on the bank of the River of Heaven, (The
Milky Way) for their annual tryst.

Veda is the
Princess Star and Altair is the Herd boy Star. The legend behind this meeting
is that the celestial princess, daughter of the celestial king, (a most skilful
weaver and the embodiment of industry,) while engaged in weaving cloth for the
king\'s garments, fell in love with a handsome lad, a cow herder, and as a
reward for her diligent industry the king allowed them to marry.

They were so much
in love that the princess gradually neglected her weaving and the herder
allowed his cows to stray. This exasperated the king and he finally separated
the couple, forcing them to remain on opposite sides of the Milky Way.

They were only
permitted to approach each other once a year. There was no bridge over the
Milky Way and the princess, on her first visit, wept so bitterly at the
impossibility of meeting her husband that she roused the sympathy of a Kasasagi
(a magpie) who assured her that a bridge would be contrived for her.

This was done, and
the magpies (with wings spread wide) formed a bridge on which the princess
crossed.”

Bulma looked up.
Vegeta didn’t look like he was listening. It didn’t surprise her. What did he
know or care about love?

She was somewhat
surprised then, when he asked, “So what has this got to do with a festival?”

“Well… um…” She
struggled for coherency to her thoughts. How was she supposed to explain it to
him without sounding silly? “I guess the festival has grown apart from the
legend a little. It’s not as widely celebrated as it once was. Years ago it was
custom all over Japan. At a certain age the girls of a family were introduced
into society on Tanabata. They would leave writing hanging from bamboo branches
in the hope that the joining stars would share some of the love and pass it on
in the acquisition of a husband.

Although society
has evolved since then the need for love is as strong and all single girls are
allowed to participate in the festival. It isn’t restricted to betrothed love
either. It’s celebrated as a time of great spiritual awareness and for all to
gain knowledge and understanding in their hearts.” She looked to the ground, “I
suppose it is a little silly, but tradition is an important aspect to our
culture. I’m sure you of all people would know how important it is to remember
what it is that defines your species. Love is intrinsic to all Chikyu-jins so
the ritual is still relevant.”

Vegeta stood and
faced her, his brow knotted in thought. There he stayed looking at her for
longer than was necessary, before delivering a curt nod, “I will find
alternative training methods for today,” he replied hastily, and with nothing
else to say, he turned on his heels and was gone.

After he left
Bulma exhaled the breath she had held under his scrutiny. She wasn’t quite sure
what was in those eyes when he looked at her. She fell back against the plush
covers, determined to decipher the meaning he put behind it. Reading Vegeta was
hard. He didn’t freely offer up emotions as others did, his looks had to be
studied and untangled thoroughly, to be properly understood.

It wasn’t scorn;
of that much she could be certain. If he had wanted to insult the tradition
then he would have done it openly and with no thought to the emotion it would
create - he was never one to miss an opportunity to belittle her actions. Was
it a simple, silent understanding, or was it something more tangible?

She sighed,
pushing herself from the bed and to the desk. Paper was strewn across the top
from her attempts to write her offering the previous night. It hadn’t gone as
well as she could have wished. Her creativity laid in a different direction,
words were a lot harder to fathom than the internal workings of a combustion
engine.

To categorize the
fact, none of the paper was smooth. All the tiny scraps had been angrily balled
up and discarded. One, however, had miraculously been saved. The creases had
been carefully unfolded and smoothed. Bulma didn’t remember doing it. That left
only one other option. She put a hand to her mouth, “No! He didn’t!” her cheeks
crimsoned in embarrassment as she read the words written in her own hand.

These feelings
crowd through my mind, making the air around me grow hot and thin when he is
near. I am afraid. Afraid of what temptation portends… afraid of its power. My
life is no longer my own. I could so easily put it under his spell, but would
it be watched and dictated by his unwavering determination, or lay trampled and
broken at his feet? I feel the appeal of safeguarding my own destiny the
coward’s way. I fear his touch and need it all the same time.

His gentle
call pulls at every sense, daring me, showing me others that will not
acknowledge it. I close my eyes, turning my back on the scorn, the imagery that
true attachment isn’t real. All these people pass me in the street, and I’m
bored with their presumptions, their thin disguise. I know them for what they
really are and I cling closer to his sadness. I imagine his hands circling me
with warmth, desire, and passion. They want to flood along, over, and through
every nerve and synapse of my being. I can see them integrated so perfectly
that I’m no longer by myself. Is it just a feeling or the flutter of a
heartbeat? Could he be my soul mate? Veda, Altair… I’m begging you to lend me
your strength.

Bulma

Her hands trembled
as she read. Had Vegeta seen this? Could he possibly have realized that the
words spoke of him? It was just too awful to consider.

It wasn’t something
she could dwell over though. She was already fifteen minutes late for work. Her
thoughts would have to wait. Carefully she placed the note in her purse and
walked to the shower, not ready, but ultimately having to face reality.

************************************

The rest of the
day passed quietly enough. Work dragged with the promise the evening
entertained, but Bulma was no longer a dizzy teenager. When she needed it her
relative maturity could shine, and she suffered the morning paperwork and
afternoon meetings with little if any impatience for her moment of release.

She had dressed
with extra care as soon as she returned to the house, choosing a simple but
elegant red dress that was fashioned in the traditional style, only the
obligatory designer label setting it apart. Her hair was smoothed and pulled up
high in a bun at the top. Just a few loose strands were allowed to hang down,
grazing the edges of her face, framing it perfectly. She kept her makeup to a
minimum, echoing the colour of the dress in a quick application of lips gloss
and blush.

Now she stood in
the centre of the Capsule Corporation grounds, ushering in and receiving her
guests as the festivities wound up to a climax. The lawn looked amazing! White
fairy lights were hung beautifully in the large palms that bordered the
factories to the left, creating the illusion of weeping willows. The large
fountain bubbled and reflected the light complimenting the atmosphere of calm.
Gentle traditional melodies played enchantingly over the speakers and people
were already pairing off to dance ae soe sound filled the air.

Bulma had to
stifle the sadness in her heart as she watched them. She thought back to the
previous years. Her and Yamcha were usually the first on the dance floor,
setting the example for the participants in the festival. Her eyes wandered and
she smiled apathetically in thanks when she realized that her parents had
respectively taken her place. Tongues might wag but she’d passed the threshold
of caring about mindless gossip.

Silently she
wondered if Vegeta would make an appearance. She doubted he would. He tended to
stay away from crowds, and would she really want him there any way? She could
just think of the countless ways he would manage to fuck it up – accidentally
or not. It was better for everyone concerned if he stayed away. At least that
was what she told herself, feeling guilty for not having issued him with an
invitation.

The elegant tune
slowed and her father extricated himself from the bustle of the dance floor to
greet her. “You look absolutely beautiful princess!” he exclaimed with pride,
kissing her affectionately on the cheek, “What happened to my little girl?”

“I’m still your
little girl daddy. No matter how old and worn I get.” She smiled.

“Worn…? Nonsense
my child! You look ten times more the beautiful woman than you were last year.
Now enough with inflating your ego! You have to start the ceremony.”

Blushing at her
father’s words Buloddeodded. She followed his awkward steps through the crowd
and onto the makeshift stage at the centre. Dr Brief affectionately squeezed
his daughter’s hand and left her.

Her mouth had all
but curved around the first word of her speech when she saw Vegeta. He stood
well to the side, almost hidden from view as he leant casually back on the
walls of the house. The shadows engulfed him, his torso only visible because of
the white shirt he wore and the impression his hair threw over the contrastingly
bright lawn. He looked thoroughly bored, his scowl emphasised by his hidden
position. It appeared that he wasn’t watching her and so attributing his
presence to nothing but curiosity and a lack of anything else to do, she
continued unperturbed.

“Welcome!” she
smiled, the last trails of conversation being lost on the breeze. “Today is the
eve of Tanabata and we are here to celebrate it as our first ancestors once
did. The tradition is long standing and the Capsule Corporation gladly invites
all those who wish to participate to join together on this spiritual day. We
surrender our hearts and souls for the evening and offer them up to higher
beings. Under their power we will be emboldened. We will all join together and
share the Veda and Altair’s love.”

Her eyes moved
back to where Vegeta was resting, only to find that his gaze was now fixed
firmly on her face. Their penetration was just as intense and determined as
always, making her stomach do somersaults.

“I…” her voice
hitched a little, “I would like for all the ladies to form a queue behind me.
We will each offer up our hearts to the stars, hanging our deepest wishes from
the bamboo to ask for guidance.”

There was a
milling of bodies as her instructions were carried out and when enough time had
passed to make a train around the lawn, Bulma walked forward. The same crumpled
note that Vegeta had recovered that morning was now extracted and tied with red
ribbon to the very end of the bamboo. Making sure it was securely tethered she
bowed once respectfully and moved away.

The other women
followed her example, and wanting to get away from the limelight to sulk in
piece Bulma walked over to the bar to get a drink. The simple wine glass sat
comfortably in her palm and she moved to where she had last seen Vegeta,
curious to know why he had made an appearance. When she got there her heart
sank. He was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Lonely amongst the
crowd that had now gathered and having offered her worries to the stars, she no
longer wanted anything to do with the party. Abandoning it altogether she
walked dejectedly into the house. She threw her purse down on the kitchen table
and walked into the living room. Normally she would have turned the television
on for background noise, but the whisper of music and laughter lined the
atmosphere well. Slumped onto the sofa with both legs rested over the cushions
she reached for the book on the sideboard.

Villette was an
old favourite and perfect for the mood she was in. It always managed to make her
feel better. However things stood; Lucy Snow’s tragic existence could always
give her heart temperance. At least she still had a family who loved her, no
matter how disastrous her love life was.

She flicked
through the book and to where the bookmark rested.

**********************

Half an hour was
lost as her whole thought process shifted from the Capsule Corporation to that
of Madame Beck’s school for girls. She was so totally engrossed in the book,
that she missed the moment the cushions at the end of her feet dipped.

“Why aren’t you
still at the party?”

Bulma jumped at
the voice and looked cautiously over the open pages. Vegeta sat on the arm of
the couch, wearing the same dress shirt and trousers as before. His feet were
bare now and one leg was pulled to his chest, the other laying on the cushions
as he unbuttoned the shirt.

“I… I didn’t feel
much like celebrating.” She stuttered, her eyes never leaving his chest as he
threw the shirt nonchalantly onto the coffee table. It never failed to amaze
her just how perfect it was, the murmurs of forgotten scars only adding to its
fascinating form.

“Do you think your
letter to the stars will work?” he inquired, tilting his head to display a
lopsided smirk.

Bulma blushed and
looked down at the print as though her life depended on it. She didn’t think he
would ask so direct a question. Was this the moment she was hoping for?

“I guess that
answers that question,” he continued, obviously enjoying turning the screw of
embarrassment, “What a waste of effort! Do you honestly believe that one little
ritual can change things so dramatically? You do know you will never get what
you want?” The words were sardonic, “You’re searching in the wrong place.”

Somewhere in the
confines of Bulma’s chest her heart stopped beating.

“There’s no need
to look so distraught,” he sneered, “ the way you throw yourself so blindly
into your beliefs is intriguing I’ll give you that much, a pity really...
considering the object.”

Bulma looked at him
with an eyebrow quirked in puzzlement, as she saw the look of abstraction in
his eyes. It was obvious he was putting a lot of thought behind his words,
choosing them carefully.

“Why waste so much
time on someone so pathetic?”

She stared - incredulous.
Something wasn’t right. Since when did Vegeta call himself pathetic?

“Vegeta are…”

“Do you know what
infuriates me the most?” he interrupted.

She shook her
head.

“The fact that at
times I don’t understand what’s going on in that head of yours. Most of the
time I can read you as simply as I can your mother and father and at others…
you’re a complete mystery. Tell me why you are so desperate to get him back?”

Could it be
possible he meant… “Yamcha…?”

“Yes Yamcha, or
are you so laughably tragic with everyone you meet?”

“What do you
care?”

A muscle twitched
on his forehead, “I don’t!” he thundered, “I’m just bored.” His hand reached to
the side of the sofa and distractedly played with a loose thread from the seam,
“How long do you think this party will last?”

“Probably until
all the alcohol is gone,” she winked taking a sip from her glass, “and if you
must know, the letter wasn’t about Yamcha.”

His eyebrows
levelled in confusion, but he didn’t say a word.

Bulma couldn’t
resist temptation, “Aren’t you going to ask who it was about?”

He looked down;
his lips set grimly together, “No.” he spat, “Keep your rituals Chikyu-jin.
They suit you just fine. I can see their appeal, but I do not understand or
take comfort from them,” his face darkened even more as he pushed off the couch
and to the door, “Nor do I want to.”

He walked angrily
through the door and Bulma closed her eyes, the feeling pounding through her
chest - painful. She thought over his words, studied them and doubted their
meaning. Was there promise in them somewhere, woven in with the pain?

Tears threatened
as she heard the chill of his words, “You do know you will never get what
you want…you are searching in the wrong place.”yes\"> But hadn’t they been said in reference to Yamcha?

Her head ached as
she agonized over it. So much for him opening up! It only caused more pain and
confusion. There was only one solution she could see that would drive all
thoughts of him from her mind and that was to dissolve back into the world of
make-believe. With determination driving her on Bulma’s hand reached to pick up
the book that had momentarily lain forgotten.

Her eyes skimmed
gently over the last chapter trying to find the point she had stopped reading.
She smiled finding it:

Adherent to his
own religion (in him was not the stuff of which is made the facile apostate),
he freely left me my pure faith. He did not tease nor tempt. He said:-

“Remain a
Protestant. My little English Puritan, I love Protestantism in you. I own its
severe charm. There is something in its ritual I cannot receive myself, but it
he ohe ole creed for Lucy.”

Bulma
blinked in astonishment, turning the quote over and over in her mind! Why did
it sound so familiar? She even read it aloud to try and decipher why the
passage struck such a powerful chord. Closing her eyes her mind repeated it,
until Vegeta’s words overlapped. “Keep your rituals Chikyu-jin. They suit
you just fine. I can see their appeal, but I do not understand or take comfort from
them… nor do I want to.” The resemblance of them was so striking! It was as
if someone had planted the text there just to get her to understand his
meaning. There it was again, that quiet acceptance, spoken through his words
and confirmed in those of Monsieur Paul Emanuel. Only this time he had
confirmed his recognition as being the result of respect to her.

All at once she
lay the book down with her pulse racing and reaching for the controls, turned
the lights off. The distant glow of celebrations flickered through the
curtainless windows and defused elegantly around the now blackened room. The
ceiling to floor glass gave her an uninterrupted view of the grounds and her
attention was immediately drawn to a lone figure standing and looking up to the
stars.

Her whole body
stiffened as his head dropped and lapsed from the spell to look wistfully at
the window she watched through. The flickering lights played beautifully over
his bare chest as his gaze faltered once again, this time to the floor.

“Vegeta.” She
breathed, not knowing what to think, but mesmerized by his image.

It was obvious
that he couldn’t see she was watching him as the indecision and anger pounded
with his blood. She wasn’t surprised therefore when flashes of electricity flew
intermittently from his skin, invoking his eyes to glint with the power as it
surged.

Under normal
circumstances the look contained within those orbs would have kept her firmly
planted to the spot, not daring to move; but not now. Her body screamed for motivation.
She couldn’t just sit around like a trapped animal when every fibre of her
being wanted to join him on the lonely patio.

She stood bolt
upright and only stopping in the kitchen to retrieve her purse, practically ran
outside.

**************************

Vegeta’s attitude
had changed as she walked softly behind him. The energy no longer spun off his
torso, but instead had been controlled to form a tiny ball of ki, which he
flicked distractedly through his fingers. He was concentrating on the activity
as though it was an act of necessity; lost to the trails of light it left.

It was obvious as
she neared that he was so caught up in his own thoughts he hadn’t sensed her
presence. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but when she
tried to put a sentence together to interrupt his reverie, the words stuck in
her throat.

Deciding they
weren’t necessary she unzipped her purse and took out her cigarettes. Putting
one to her lips and lighting the end.

Vegeta’s head
twitched in reaction to the sound, but he didn’t look up, only dissipated the
ki from his hands. “I didn’t know you smoked those things.”

Bulma giggled, “I
don’t.” she replied, exhaling with the words. “Well at least not anymore. I
gave up about five years ago.”

“So I see.”

“In fact you’re
now the only person who knows.”

“Aren’t I the
lucky duck!” he snorted.

“Do you want one?”
She held the packet out pensively for him.

He looked unsure
for a moment. “Aren’t they supposed to be bad for your heath?” He chided
sarcastically, wagging an accusing finger in front of her face.

“Yes,” she
extracted one herself and lighting it on her own, passed it to him, “but I
seriously doubt you’re gonna drop dead from smoking one. You never know though.
I don’t think tobacco has been tested on a Saiyan before. It could be deadly.”

He snatched the
nicotine stick from her hand, as though he found a challenge in her words. He
drew on it but kept the smoke in his cheeks before exhaling.

Bulma laughed,
“You’re supposed to inhale the smoke Vegeta, not store it in your cheeks like a
hamster!”

He growled at her.
“Then show me how it is supposed to be done!”

“Watch,” she
smiled putting the cigarette to her lips. She inhaled deeply, making sure to
emphasize the second inhale that would take it to her lungs. “Like that!”

Vegeta had been
watching closely and he copied her to the letter. Bulma observed with a
sinister grin, expecting to see him double up in a train of wracking coughs. To
her surprise he exhaled a plume of smoke unashamedly into her face, his
features deadpan, “I don’t see the fascination with it.” He sneered, but took
another drag all the same.

“People smoke for
all kinds of reasons, but I do it mostly to relax.”

“So do you feel
relaxed now?” he inquired.

“Yes.” She
breathed the warm air and closed her eyes.

“Even though you
are talking to me? Aren’t you afraid that I might try to slit your throat while
your eyes are closed and your neck is so nicely exposed?” He was so close now
his breath tickled her face.

“I’m afraid of
what you’re capable of.”

“But not me?”

“No.”

“Liar! I can sense
your fear! I can feel it flowing through you right now.”

Bulma was rendered
silent. How come he could pick up so easily on some things and not others?
“It’s not what you think Vegeta. Unlike other people its not physical pain I
fear from you.”

Vegeta’s eyes
widened a fraction, “Then what?” he demanded. Backing her up against the French
windows.

She felt the tears
threatening her cheeks; did she really have to spell it out for him? “Something
that you wouldn’t understand!”

“Try me.” He
growled.

Oh Kami the look in
his eyes was so intense. It was up to her to end the monotony her life had
slumped into. If she took that step back nothing would hurt her, but would she
be satisfied with normalcy? Back was Yamcha, reliable, safe - boring. She
wasn’t good with that; it wasn’t what she wanted!

“This!” she breathed
discarding her cigarette and closing the gap between them to put her lips
tentatively on his.

Vegeta didn’t react
to the kiss, but he didn’t pull away from it either. His eyes fixed with hers
as though searching for some sort of double motive to her actions. She pulled
away.

“Do you understand
now?” she asked.

He nodded, “I can
see why you would fear it.” He replied, “It’s a very dangerous game to
play.”

“If I was just
playing then I might not be so afraid.” She smiled, hiding her embarrassment,
“But I’m not, and so right now I’m scared shitless!”

He chuckled,
letting smoke drift enigmatically from his lips, “So you are.” He replied, his
voice husky as he moved forward, his lips barely brushing hers, “but you see I
don’t care for your emotions.” One of his hands trailed gently down her neck.
“For me it would be a game.”

“And how would you
play it?” The breath caught in her throat as his hand lowered to flick over a
nipple through the silk of her dress.

“I can’t tell you
that,” he breathed against her lips as she responded so beautifully to his
touch, “a well trained warrior never gives his strategy away to the enemy.”

His head lowered
and he trailed hot kisses down her neck, unbuttoning the front of her dress as
he descended. Bulma shivered at the cold affection portrayed in them. Her spine
tingled as the energy she saw stored like a hurricane under his skin, spilled
onto her, demolishing all restraint. <
<

Her fingers needed
touch. They left her sides to trace the contours of his shoulder muscles.
Vegeta devoured the skin no longer encumbered by her dress. Laughter drifted
over them from the party, but Bulma was ignorant to it all as the Saiyan no
Ouji released a firm breast from the confines of her bra.

His hot breath
panted hungrily as he flicked his tongue over the hardened peek, earning a
whimper of delight to fall from her lips. He chuckled carrying on with his
attention to it, releasing its counterpart and pinching the nipple between his
thumb and forefinger. “You like that?”

“Yes.” she
whispered, her voice unsteady.

“Say it louder!”
he admonished, nipping with his teeth as inducement.

“Yes!” she
complied, as the restrained force sent electricity through her flesh. She felt
her face flushing.

“Lets see how much!”

With no more
warning his free hand found its way under the elastic of her satin panties. Holy
shit! Her mind screamed as she felt a finger enter her, and pull out just
as quickly.

Vegeta clicked his
tongue, “Good, but not nearly enough! I have ways of changing that though.”
Both his hands travelled around her waist pushing her hips up to his chest. A
rush of air flew over them both and Bulma found her body pinned above the first
floor window, only Vegeta’s arms around her midriff stopping her from falling.

“Vegeta!” she
gasped, “What the fuck are you doing? Anyone could see us up here.”

“Precisely,” his
mouth was over her belly button and his lips brushed the skin as he spoke,
“Life is all about taking risks. That’s what makes it so interesting. If you
didn’t enjoy danger, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

Bulma sighed as
his tongue dipped into her navel. She couldn’t say anything else in
protestation. He was a hundred percent right and she knew it. All she
concentrated on now was the sensations he was creating as he licked and nipped
at her sides, making all her stomach muscles contract in pleasure.

The sensations he
elicited made her miss the moment her panties were ripped off, and even when
she discovered they were gone she cared little for their demise. Vegeta’s mouth
had descended on her before she could even string a sentence together,
rendering her speechless anyway.

His tongue worked
wonders as his hands still held her firmly to the wall. She was totally at his
mercy, unable to move from fear of falling, which strangely added to the
excitement. She felt the hemix mix of fear and pleasure grow in the pit of her
stomach with every passing second, as her control on reality slipped. The
sensations were made even more poignant as he surrendered her safety to one
hand. The other moved down and he used it to rub and pinch at the clitoris as
his tongue delved even deeper inside her.

She cried out. The
sensations the hand created were so close to pain that it made the force of her
orgasm twice as powerful. It ripped through her lower body, setting her skin on
fire as its embrace flew over her. Her gasps faded gently on the breeze,
curling to mingle unnoticed with the music from the festival.

Vegeta surrendered
his position to lay a more secure hold on Bulma, claiming her mouth in a
ferocious kiss. She eagerly returned it tasting herself on his lips.
Automatically she reached down, finding the buttons of his fly and letting
gravity undress him. To her astonishment he wasn’t wearing anything underneath
and his burning desire was evidently displayed.

She cocked an
eyebrow, “Looks like someone else enjoyed that as much as I did?”

Was it her
imagination or did his cheeks display the slightest hint of crimson? Whatever
the initial reaction was it was easily put aside. “Hai,” he agreed, “But not
nearly as much as I need.” He pushed up against her, sandwiching her to the
wall and pressing his arousal against her sensitised clitoris.

Bulma tried to
push her pelvis against him, wanting to cling onto the sensations her orgasm
refused to let go. Her skin still tingled, but Vegeta growled and held onto her
in such a way as to make it impossible.

“It seems,” The
words were woven with lust into her ear, “that you think you have some sort of control
over this situation?” he admonished, “Poor disillusioned creature!”

His legs changed
position, pushing her knees apart and spreading them wide. Bulma smiled as he
elicited the tiniest growl of appreciation as he gazed on her, but her thoughts
quickly changed to desire and urgency as the head of his penis pushed gently at
her opening, “No going back, no second chances!” he growled, thrusting his
whole length into her.

Both hissed in
pleasure at the feeling, and they fell a few inches as Vegeta’s concentration
lapsed. He made no attempt to move inside her, just clung to her body for a
moment to regain his equilibrium. Only when he felt his ki soothe their
position did he set the pace.

Bulma’s arms
wrapped themselves firmly around Vegeta’s waist. There was nothing stopping it
from happening again, and she clung to him for both the security and
satisfaction he offered. The feel of him moving inside her was unbelievable,
almost as though she could feel a part of his power. They were positioned in
such a way that the thick muscles of his abs moved like silk acroer ber body,
twitching and contracting as his rhythm turned up a notch.

Her nails clawed
at his ribs as he thrust into her with so much power and purpose. He filled her
mind and body completely, throwing her over the edge yet again, and she panted
his name as the force knocked the breath from her lungs. His face beaded with
sweat and he slowed his pace. Bulma could feel herself contracting violently
along him and guessed the reason.

He retracted from
her entirely and moving away from the wall for a second spun her around. He
moved forward again and Bulma found the flats of her forearms, and calves
replace the section her back had once rested against. Vegeta held her securely
his legs splayed below to reinforce his balance, and dragging a finger over her
womanhood for direction, pushed into her once again.

One of his strong
arms curled reassuringly around her waist as the other delved lower to rub her
as he moved deliciously in and out. The position change altered the angle of
penetration. It was a lot deeper and both revelled in the feeling it built. The
pleasure increased with each of Vegeta’s thrusts. Bulma was completely lost. The
sensations of both her climax’s still held their spell over her body and now it
was all one overflowing ride of pleasure, each new push brought its own heady
release.

She could feel
herself spasm uncontrollably, but even through all her own enjoyment she could
hear Vegeta’s breathing become erratic, his erection pulsing and growing to
irretrievable proportions. He growled and forgetting about the wall he grabbed
her hips, pulling at her skin in mid air. “Oh fuck!” he growled “Oh… fuck,
fuck, fuck!” he repeated over and over as all his restraint was lost and he
released himself into her, his whole body jerkiioleiolently with the orgasm.

*****************

There had been
silence for the longest time after Vegeta’s release, in which nothing but the
regaining of breath could be heard. The gentle whisper of music from the
festival, now floated over hearing but not obtrusively so. Vegeta still hovered
by the side of the building, imbedded comfortably within Bulma. His position
though had changed. He had flipped over; his legs now parallel to the ground as
he sat in midair, cradling her in his lap.

He manoeuvred them
in such a way so they could see the festivities over the building, but without
fear of themselves being seen, as they were lost completely in shadow.

An arm draped over
Bulma’s shoulder, the hand of which distractedly brushed her breasts, “What are
they doing now?” was quesquestion that fell from his lips.

Bulma looked up to
see that the impetus of the celebrations had switched from the dance floor. The
guests were now walking over to the land next to the factories and the stream
that ran haphazardly out from the woods behind.

Bulma smiled at
his feigned interest, “At the end of the Tanabata festival, the decorated
bamboo branches are thrown into a river to be carried away. It’s supposed to
dispel misfortune.”

He grunted in
response.

“Is that all
you’ve got to say?”

“Don’t push your
luck Onna.”

“Well if that’s how
you feel I’ll be leaving your name out of my prayers tonight!” she chided.

“Good! Who needs
the help of some peasant and his whore?”

Bulma frowned, but
the sarcasm played so well on his face that it was hard to stay angry. “I
wouldn’t snide the festival so quickly Vegeta. After all I got what I wanted
this Tanabata.”

She could hear the
sharp intake of breath even though he tried to cover it well.

“I told you it
wasn’t written for Yamcha!” she blushed.

Vegeta
hissed deeply with obvious distaste. “You’re a fool!”

Bulma’s face fell.

“Do you honestly
believe your emotions are under any better direction now?”

“H…How do you
mean?” Her voice shook. The playfulness had deserted his features, making them
just as dark and foreboding as usual. It truly scared her.

He lowered them
both to the ground and extricated himself. “What makes you think that this
would be a good idea for permanency?”

Bulma’s heart
pounded, “Who said I did?”

“Don’t lie to me
female. I read your offering! You spoke of soulmates, that is not an expression
to be taken lightly.”

The emotion
swelled and tried to manifest itself into tears. “Oh for fucks sake! Don’t try
and grill me on the terminology I used in a scribbled note, written at 3’oclock
in the morning! I have no idea what I want. I like what we just did, but there’s
no need to get your spandex in a twist I don’t expect anything from you!”

He didn’t rise to
the anger, only bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Good!” he whispered, “No
expectations; no pain.”

He moved silently
away, only stopping to scoop up his trousers before vanishing behind the walls.

Bulma could feel
the tears rising she had repressed before. The more she tried to force her
composure, the more droplets welled in her eyes and before long they were
silently flowing down her cheeks.

She hung her head
low looking to the floor, “Too late.” She whispered as one of the droplets fell
from her cheek, glistening in the dark and splashing dramatically to the floor.

It wouldn’t be
until several days later that she found the ki scorched remains of the palm
tree Vegeta destroyed that night. Even more would have to pass and seasons
would ultimately change before she found out why it perished.

High above the
clamour of celebration, and on the other side of the Milky Way, two stars met.
Two lonely souls, driven to the edge of their patience were reunited, the love
they shared spilling out from the heavens. The celestial drops of emotion flew
out into space, radiating so that everyone could take their share.

Perhaps one of
these pearls fell to Capsule Corporation that nighhatthattering on impact, each
shard piecing the souls of two of its inhabitants, because time and patience
would reveal an understa