The Ball

Disclaimer:  **jingling a can of change**  Money for the poor?  Seeing as how I don’t own anything, especially Dragon Ball Z, I’m poor!

Author’s Comments:  Wooo!  Talk about EXTRA LONG CHAPTER!  ^_^  I so THRILLED!  This has GOT to be the biggest chapter I’ve ever done!  ^_^  Ok, and I know that you all are probably upset that I got this baby out late, but I had a good reason!  First off, the computer crashed and stayed down for a couple of days until my Mom could fix it.  (She’s the computer wiz in the family.)  And then I had a soccer game that night, so I couldn’t get to the computer and type up what I’d been writing on paper.  And then my one of my brothers invited his stupid friend over and they were practically fused with the computer!  I’m serious!  It’s like they were scared to go anywhere else!  o_O  So now I finally got it out.  ^_^  I happy!

Just a little note: this story has gotten more than 400 reviews!  ^_^  Woo dog!  That’s super!  You know what would be REALLLY cool though?  If I got 500 or more before the story ended… not that I’m ASKING or anything….  ^_~

Q/A:  Phoenix Feather:  Nice question.  But… are you SURE that I’ll get rid of Phoenix?  Hmmm?  I might just make him stay and torment Bulma a bit more… I’ll have to think about it….  ^_~

I just feel like skipping the individual shout outs this time.  Instead, I’ll do one great big shout out:

I LOVE YOU ALL, AND THANKS FOR REVIEWING!

^_^

Steal after my heart, would you?

Bulma, wearing a red silk, spaghetti strapped, floor-length dress that hugged her just right, and Iiovana, wearing a silver, strapless dress, headed to the main hallway to meet the other girls.  And to meet Phoenix, but Bulma just tried to leave that unpleasant thought out of her mind.

“Hey girl,” Madonna greeted, smiling at Iiovana.  Bulma made a face at her, but, of course, Madonna completely ignored it.  “I like your dress.”

“Thanks,” Iiovana said, halfway torn between gratitude at Madonna’s compliment and laughter from Bulma’s contorted faces.  “I… I like yours too.”  Madonna was wearing a simple dress with black and white, diagonal stripes.  Though the dress colors and design were plain, she looked stunningly like a model in it.

“Thank you.  So…” Madonna giggled, almost bouncing from one foot to the other.  “Are you excited?  Nervous?  Anxious?”

“Nervous,” Iiovana replied.  “Nervous, most of all.  I’ve got butterflies in my stomach.”

Bulma, lacking anyone to talk to at the moment, crossed her arms and listened to the two conversations going on: one between Iiovana and Madonna, and the other very hushed one between Zoë and Cleopatra.

“Greetings, ladies, greetings!” Phoenix sounded from a nearby hallway.  They all silenced and looked up, seeing that he was dressed up as well.  He was wearing something that Bulma could compare with a human tuxedo.  He stopped and smiled in front of them all.  “First off, I’d like to say that all of you look stunningly lovely.”  Cleopatra batted her eyelashes at him unskillfully, looking like someone was flashing a bright light in her face.  “And next, before I take you all to the ballroom, does anyone have any questions?”  Madonna raised her hand; Phoenix looked at her.  “Yes?”

“What, exactly, are our boundaries?”

Phoenix smiled.  “Ahhh, good question.  Unless directed otherwise by the Prince, you all are to stay in the ballroom.  Dinner will be served there too, just in case you were wondering.  And as for bathroom needs, there is a ladies bathroom directly connected to the ballroom.  All you have to do is excuse yourself from the Prince’s presence, letting him know where you’re going.”

“I feel like laboratory animal,” Bulma muttered in Iiovana’s ear.  The brown-eyed Sayian nodded in agreement.  Phoenix smiled at them all.

“Any more questions?”  There was an answering silence, so Phoenix smiled.  “Good!  Follow me, everyone, follow me.”

He led them down the hallway he had just come from, turned right, then left, then right again, and up a spiral staircase.  Bulma’s feet were beginning to hurt in her high-heeled shoes.  They seemed to be walking forever, though not one of the other girls, nor Phoenix, showed any signs of hesitation or lacking in their step.

Stupid Sayians… stupid Sayian and their stupid powers…

No sooner had that thought entered her mind than Phoenix stopped, causing all the girls to stop as well.  Bulma almost sighed gratefully.

“Now ladies, remember, you will be spending the next 10 hours in here.  Now smile, keep your chin up, and I wish you luck with Prince Vegeta.”  He opened the door for them, motioning inside.  The girls followed Zoë inside, one by one, with nervous and determined looks.  Phoenix growled as Bulma passed him, but before she could say anything, he shut the door behind her.

There were muffled gasps and murmurs of awe from the five girls as they examined their surroundings.  They were in a very large room, in which the walls and floor seemed to be made of a rich, pink marble.  The ceiling was dome-shaped, portraying important Sayian history and people on it; it reminded Bulma incredibly of the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.  But in the very center of the rich ceiling was a circular window that would have easily possessed a 10-foot diameter, letting light into every corner of the room.

“Wow…” Iiovana whispered by Bulma’s side.  The human female nodded meekly; this whole room… this ballroom… was awesome.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” a deep voice suggested in front of them.  The girls all looked down to see Prince Vegeta before them, dressed in a very royal-looking outfit.  Bulma couldn’t help but gape at him, as did the rest of the girls.  He looked like THE definition of aristocracy.  Sexy aristocracy.

“Be thankful that all five of you are gaping like that,” Prince Vegeta said smugly, actually giving Zoë a sly wink.  “For the Queen of Vegetasei does not gape in public, no matter what she has seen.  It looks absolutely ridiculous, not to mention takes away from her normal aura of worldwide wisdom.”  The five girls shut their mouths automatically, most of them blushing.  Zoë, however, merely returned Prince Vegeta’s wink.

“Just to let you ladies know,” Prince Vegeta continued, “my father will be joining us around noon, and stay with us for the rest of this test.”  Iiovana suddenly giggled, and Bulma looked at her.

“What?” Bulma asked.

“My father once told me that King Vegeta absolutely loves parties,” Iiovana whispered back, giggling again.  Bulma smiled, giggling slightly too.

“Am I really that humoring to you two?” the Prince’s voice suddenly broke in.  Bulma and Iiovana looked up, as the rest of the girls directed their gazes to the startled pair.  Zoë began to snicker, unnoticed by Prince Vegeta.  Bulma swallowed and shook her head.

“No, your highness.”

“So you two just randomly giggle?” he prodded, his face full of boyish teasing.  Bulma and Iiovana blush.  “You know, I can’t have a queen that will giggle like that.  What if we were to attend the funeral of an important world leader, and my queen suddenly burst into a fit of laughter?  I don’t think that would be looked upon too highly…”

“Yes, your majesty,” they replied humbly.  Prince Vegeta smirked.

“Right.  For now, you all are dismissed to do whatever you want, restrained to this room and the bathroom, of course.”  The girls exchanged glances.  “I will call you up to the dinner table when lunch is served.”  Prince Vegeta motioned to type of second floor behind him, on which a dining table sat, surrounded by exactly seven seats.

The girls nodded, and looked at each other, smiling.  Cleopatra was about to engage Zoë in conversation, but, before she could, the Prince already did, speaking quietly to her.  Bulma and Iiovana snickered as Cleopatra turned sulkily to Madonna instead.

“So,” Bulma said, getting over her small bout of laughter, “what should we do?”

“Uh…” Iiovana shrugged, still maintaining her proper posture.  “I dunno.  What do you want to do?”

Bulma shrugged back.  “Shall we just walk around a bit?”

“And talk?” Iiovana smiled.  Bulma nodded eagerly.

“Of course.  And talk.”

They giggled and started strolling lazily around the ballroom, talking about everything that seemed to come to mind: Prince Vegeta, past experiences, the ballroom ceiling, Prince Vegeta, Bulma’s life back on Earth, old boyfriends, favorite foods, and, of course, Prince Vegeta.  Iiovana was in the middle of explaining what a particular scene on the ballroom ceiling meant, when a hand was laid on Bulma’s shoulder.  Bulma jumped slightly, and turned her head to see a smirking Prince Vegeta looking at her.  Iiovana stopped in mid-sentence, watching the exchange between prince and human female.

“Might I talk to you in private?” Prince Vegeta asked her.  Bulma inhaled deeply, figuring how to best answer his question.

“Yes, sire, you might,” Bulma responded, doing the smallest of bows for him.  He led her away from a very puzzled-looking Iiovana.

“So Miss Briefs, how do you find the palace?”

“Pleasant,” Bulma replied, stunned slightly at the formal tone he was taking with her.

“And the prospect of becoming queen?”

Bulma paused, and looked down at her feet thoughtfully, watching them slowly take one step after another, as if in an uncompetitive race with each other.

“I find the thought of becoming queen… challenging,” she said finally, her beautiful blue eyebrows furrowed.  Vegeta glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and swallowed.  He noted with slight hesitation that she looked very pretty at the moment, her face all thoughtful like that.  He then scowled, and looked away.

“Challenging?” he repeated, skillfully keeping his voice the same tone.  “Do you like challenges?”

“I look on them with a positive attitude,” she said simply, smiling.  “I find the thought of being challenged amusing.  It allows me to test myself, and see how I measure up.”

Prince Vegeta nodded, stopped walking, and looked up at the ceiling.  He had always loved to look up at that ceiling when he was younger, trying to point out all the meanings he could find, for there were two: those that he could see with his physical eye, and those hidden meanings that required a bit of thought.  Vegeta particularly enjoyed seeing if he could decipher the latter of the two, for the hidden meanings had much more depth and variance to them.  He studied a particularly interesting scene of one of the Kings of Vegetasei hiding away in the corner of a room, glaring at something in the distance with a look of foreboding.

“He doesn’t look too happy about something,” Bulma muttered thoughtfully.  Vegeta looked down at her and noticed that she had stopped as well and was studying the same scene he was looking at.

“He looks rather ominous,” Bulma continued, turning her gaze down to meet the Prince’s.  He blinked at her, then looked back up at the ceiling, nodding.

“Yes, he does.”

“Do you know what he’s ominous about?”

Vegeta followed the King in the picture’s gaze, and noticed that he was staring at two Sayian lovers, not to mention that they were both naked.

“Maybe he’s afraid of having sex,” Vegeta muttered with amusement, smirking.  Bulma cocked her head thoughtfully.

“Or maybe he’s predicting bad things with the arrival of children,” Bulma mused.  Prince Vegeta glanced at her, intrigued that she was just as curious as he, if not more so, as to what the painting meant.

“Explain yourself,” the Sayian Prince said in his deep voice.  She cocked her head the other way, still looking at the picture.

“He could be afraid that children will bring death to his wife… or that his children will not be as healthy and fit as he would like them to be, and the sicknesses and retardations they would possess would cause him humiliation and trouble.”

Vegeta blinked.  How the hell did she come up with that?  Though logical, and very much possible, he himself would have never come up with that answer.

“Interesting,” he complimented, looking back up at the picture.  Bulma smiled at him.

“Thank you, sire.”

“I still think he’s just afraid of having sex,” Prince Vegeta continued, shooting the human female a playful look.  “Like he won’t please her enough, or something.”

Bulma smiled and shook her head.

“If you say so, sire.”  Vegeta turned his gaze to the other four girls, watching as they all chatted shiftily with each other, as if expecting that one of them would, literally, explode any moment now.  His eyes particularly fell on Zoë, and he studied how her hair fell gracefully in soft curls on her shoulders.

“Miss Briefs,” he said suddenly, turning back to Bulma; Bulma turned her gaze from the ceiling and blinked politely at him.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“When I came to fetch my father two days ago,” he said, speaking in an oddly light manner, as if he was trying to sound like the subject wasn’t of importance to him.  “And I found you and my father together… do you remember that?”  Bulma nodded slowly, and Prince Vegeta continued.  “What were you two doing?”

“Walking,” Bulma said confidently, without hesitation; she had prepared herself for that question yesterday, just in case she was asked.  “Walking and talking.”

“Talking?” Prince Vegeta pressed.  Bulma nodded.  “About what, I daresay?”

Bulma blinked.  “How I found the palace,” she said softly, smiling at him.  “If I was comfortable, how I liked the designs… you know, things like that.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, sire.”

Vegeta cocked his head in a manner almost too polite for him.  Then, to Bulma’s great surprise, he leaned up next to her ear and, in a whisper, said, “Well I for one know that you and father were speaking about me.”  He lowered his voice to such a whisper that Bulma almost couldn’t hear it, even from that distance.  “I don’t appreciate people who lie,” he said slowly.  “Especially people who lie to me.”

Bulma swallowed, letting the shock on her face show just momentarily.  But before Prince Vegeta could notice, a puzzled and confused expression emerged on her features.  “Where have you heard that?” Bulma asked him as he pulled back, studying her hard.  “Because I am certain that your father nor I ever brought up the subject of you.”

Prince Vegeta snorted and scowled at her for a moment, before finally smirking.  Bulma kept her eyes on him, never wavering in her perfect expression of confusion yet determination.

“You’re interesting, Miss Briefs,” he said, nodding slightly.  Bulma’s face finally faltered, and she gazed at him in shock.  There was a knock on the ballroom door.  “Yes… very interesting.  Just in case you wanted to know, you’ve caught my eye, little one.”

And then, before she could respond, he walked away to answer the persistent yet polite knocking.  Bulma gazed after him in shock.  She… she’d ‘caught his eye’?

What the Hell does that mean?

Well, of course, she could come up with the most obvious answer: she’d captured his attention.  That was a no-brainer.  But… did that also mean he liked her?  Or did that mean that he despised her so much that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her?

And he knew that King Vegeta and she had been talking about him?  But how?  Unless… (Bulma mentally smacked herself.  It was so obvious.) The King had told his son.  That was possible.  Very possible.

Iiovana approached Bulma slowly.  “Sooooo…” she drawled slyly, winking at her softly.  “What’d the Prince say?”

Bulma hesitated.  “He—”

“King Vegeta!” Zoë said loudly, curtsying low.  Bulma looked up, and noticed that King Vegeta had, in fact, entered the room.

“King Vegeta,” the other four girls murmured in echo, curtsying as well.  King Vegeta smiled at them all as they stood back up.

“You’re early, father,” Prince Vegeta said, yet not in an accusing way, and crossing his arms.  King Vegeta shrugged, smirking at his son.

“Only ten minutes early, Vegeta,” the King chuckled.  “You say that as I’m an hour early.”

“If I may speak, Your Highness,” Zoë said softly.  The King looked up at her, his expression one that Bulma couldn’t quite place; it wasn’t of amusement, though it wasn’t angry, and he definitely wasn’t pleased to see her.  His expression was just… dry.  Yea, that’s what it was.  Dry.

“With as often as you seem to want to speak, Miss Halimanger,” he began, his voice neutral and plain.  “I doubt anyone else will ever be able to say a word.”  Zoë blushed, and the prince shot his father a dark look.  King Vegeta ignored them both.  “But, if you wish, please continue.”

“I… I was just saying… or attempting to say, Your Highness,” Zoë said slowly, “that it is an honor to be in your presence, sire.”

“The pleasure is all mine Zoë,” he replied, smiling back at her.  There was silence for a while, in which the king and Zoë exchanged looks, before Prince Vegeta cleared his throat.

“Well father, what brings you here so early?” the prince asked loudly.  “I thought you were still in a meeting with Leader Zlatan.”

“As you know, son, Zlatan’s father died about a month ago.  In case you didn’t know, Zlatan and I are on good terms and believe in similar aspects.  Isn’t it convenient, though, because it only took us about an hour to sign a new treaty that we both liked!  I was able to get out early and come spend time with you and these five, lovely ladies.”

Zoë harshly barked out a laugh once, quickly turning her laugh into a hacking cough.  King Vegeta didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s nice,” Vegeta said, nodding slowly.  King Vegeta looked at his son, and then slapped him on the back.

“WELL VEGETA!” he said loudly, causing Bulma to snicker and Iiovana to giggle.  “WHAT SAY WE EAT, HUH?!  I’M STARVING!”

Prince Vegeta growled slightly, and the king smirked, knowing that he must have been causing his son embarrassment.  “The… food hasn’t arrived yet, father.  But it will come at noon.”

“Then let’s all sit down at the table and talk until the food arrives, shall we?” King Vegeta said with a hearty laugh, and Bulma couldn’t help but smile.  He, once again, reminded her of her own father.

Bulma felt a pang of sudden loneliness in her chest, as if a knife had just been cruelly and violently injected in her.  She swallowed and pushed the feeling away.  She was in the face of the public, and the public had to see only what they wanted to see.  And no one wanted to see a homesick girl.

King Vegeta sat at the very end of the table, and Prince Vegeta to his right.  Zoë moved towards the seat across from the prince, smiling foxily at him, but the King saw this and cleared his throat.  He looked around.

“Miss Briefs!” he said quickly.  Bulma looked up from the other end of the table, where she had pulled out a seat, ready to sit down.

“Yes, sire?”

“Sit next to me, would you dear?”  Zoë stopped suddenly and blinked, first at the king, then at the prince.  Then she turned an angry scowl upon a completely oblivious Bulma.

“Me… sire?” Bulma repeated.  “Are you sure?”

“Miss Briefs,” Prince Vegeta suddenly spoke, leaning back in his chair, and a smirk on his face.  “You know that it’s not very polite at all to question royalty’s orders.  If the King says to sit next to him,” Vegeta motioned to the chair directly opposite himself, and smirked even wider, “then sit next to him.”

Bulma blinked, then nodded quickly, shooting Iiovana a questioning glance.  Iiovana merely shrugged.  Everyone stared as Bulma gracefully walked over and sat down, Zoë’s stare one of loathing and jealousy.

 “There, now,” the King said merrily, smiling at her.  Zoë stuck her nose in the air and walked around the King’s chair, deciding to take the seat next to the Prince instead.

Bulma watched numbly as Zoë sat down, eyes on the prince, and his eyes on her.  She lifted her hand graciously, and he took it, lowing his lips and kissing it ever so lightly.  Bulma shifted uncomfortably in her seat, partially from a sick, twisting feeling in the pit of her stomach, which she recognized immediately as slight jealousy, and the other part from confusion.  Was she supposed to do that?  Oh well, no one else offered their hand to the prince.  But… but no one else was this close to him.

Bulma kept her hands to herself, feeling that, deep down, it was the best thing to do.

“So, Miss Briefs,” the King said with his deep, soothing voice.  She looked up at him and smiled.  “Do you like the ballroom?”

“It’s absolutely fascinating!  The ceiling is just… incredible!”

King Vegeta smiled, nodded, and looked up at the ceiling himself.  “It is,” he mused, sitting right under a picture of what looked like two male, Sayian servants.  “This ceiling was actually done by another species, but the painter was a slave under us.  I think it was back… about 5000 years ago.  He got his freedom for painting such a wonder.”

Bulma nodded absentmindedly, her mind wondering.  She could just see herself as this painter, making every paintbrush stroke count as if it were her last, and hoping she could get her “freedom” that way.

“Really?” Zoë piped up loudly, leaning foreword slightly in her seat.  “I always thought that Sayians had done this.”

King Vegeta nodded at her politely.  “No, Miss Halimanger.  No Sayian could do this type of work.  We lack the skills.”

“Oh,” Zoë said, smiling at him.

“I’m not to skilled with a paintbrush either,” Bulma admitted shyly.  The King looked back at her, his eyes twinkling with playfulness.  “I’m more of a mechanic, logic type.”

“Interesting, Miss Briefs,” the older Vegeta said.  “What did you do back on Earth, may I ask?”

“You may,” Bulma replied.  “And I was a bit of a technician and mechanic.  I helped my father in his business, Capsule Corporations.”  Bulma swallowed painfully, still keeping a smile on her face.

“It’s a rare thing for Sayians to inherit the ability to cope with any type of science and math,” King Vegeta said, the prince and Zoë listening halfheartedly, though Zoë wouldn’t dare show it.  “And whenever the Sayians do have that gift, they are usually rather weak.  It’s very, very rare for one of our own to be a good fighter as well as be gifted in science fields.”

“Neat,” Bulma said, smiling.

“Father, will you please stop fraternizing with the girl?” Prince Vegeta interrupted, annoyed.  “You’re acting as if this is your own mate-searching ceremony, or something.”

“I am doing nothing of the sort, Vegeta,” the King said stiffly.  “I just happen to find Miss Briefs a very interesting girl.  And, seeing that you’re not exactly talking to her or the other girls, like you should be,” he growled low, “then I just figure that I might as well talk to her myself.”

Prince Vegeta snorted.  “Well father, I just—”  There was a knock on the door.  Everyone looked up.  “Come in!” Prince Vegeta shouted.

In stepped what seemed to be at least two-dozen slaves, possibly more, and all carrying a variety of dishes.  Everyone, spare Bulma, licked his or her lips.  The slaves set the plates, glasses, utensils, and food all over the table in a matter of minutes, then quickly bowed, and scurried out the door.

King Vegeta blessed the food, and everyone helped themselves to everything they could reach, even Bulma.

“Madonna, I just love that dress you’re wearing, dear,” Zoë began sweetly, smiling at the Sayian sitting on the other side of Bulma.  “It’s just too… sleek.”

Madonna smiled.  “I got the idea from a dress that you wore once, actually.”

Zoë blinked, stuffing her mouth properly with a forkful of something Bulma could only guess was meat.  Zoë chewed the food politely, and swallowed.  “Really?” she said.  Madonna nodded.

“Yea, you know, that cute little dress you wore to school once?  I think it was last month?”

Zoë thought for a moment, then nodded energetically.  “Yea!  I remember it now!”

Bulma rolled her eyes, totally bored and disgusted with their conversation, and turned to King Vegeta.  Little did she know that Prince Vegeta, simultaneously, had done the exact same thing.

“So father, what is this treaty like?”

King Vegeta cleared his throat, silent for a moment with thoughtfulness.  “You know Vegeta, basically the same thing as the old one.  Except with a few more minor details.  Such as, any Vegetasei cargo ships carrying supplies can go onto their planet unquestioned, and vice versa.  Makes for quicker and easier trading.”

Prince Vegeta nodded, spinning his fork in a bowlful of green noodles.  Bulma did her best to not make a face.  Green noodles?

“Father, are you sure this is a good idea?” Vegeta began again, and Bulma listened closely, much to King Vegeta’s amusement.  The prince still hadn’t noticed her rapt attention.

“Why do you ask, Vegeta?” the king questioned, turning his face to his plate so the younger Vegeta wouldn’t notice his small smile.

“Well Father, it’s quite obvious,” Prince Vegeta continued.  “Say they bring an armada of soldiers, or something, and we aren’t ready to defend ourselves because we completely ignore them.”

“Vegeta, we only allow trading ships to come in, the rest are—”

“Trading ships?!” Prince Vegeta interrupted rather rudely, but Bulma could pretty much read his mind, and she fully agreed with his unspoken argument.  “Damn the trading ship idea!  They could load plenty of soldiers in one of those large-assed ships!”

“What do you think, Miss Briefs?” King Vegeta suddenly asked, and Bulma’s eyes widened with surprised shock.  The prince blinked and turned his gaze to her.  She looked from the king, to the prince, and then wiped the edges of her mouth on a napkin.

“Well,” Bulma began, trying not to sound like she was that interested in their conversation, though the king had his head cocked slightly in a polite way.  “I suppose, I have to agree with the prince… no offence meant, Your Majesty,” she added quickly.  “But trading ships are rather large, are they not?  To carry goods, and so forth?  One could load up quite a number of soldiers on something like that.”  Prince Vegeta smirked at her, a smirk that could be passed as a sly smile.

King Vegeta nodded.  “I see.  So you and my son think alike… interesting.”  Bulma blushed ever so slightly, though Prince Vegeta only gave his father a wary look.  “However,” King Vegeta continued, “you both are forgetting something that’s a much needed necessity for a good relationship between planets and peoples.”

“And that is…” the prince prodded.

“Trust,” King Vegeta replied, smiling.  “You must have trust in someone to earn their respect, and their trust in you.  I trust Zlatan and his people, and I fully believe that he trusts me.  Something you need to keep in mind, Vegeta, for when you become king.”

“Right,” Vegeta mumbled nonchalantly, shrugging.  “Ok.  Whatever.  I still think that that treaty is a bad idea.”

Bulma looked down at her food thoughtfully.  Trust?  Seemed to make sense to her… too bad the prince was too cocky to even allow himself to be wrong.

Bulma smirked a very Vegeta-like smirk.  Well, she was the smartest chick on Earth as far as she knew, so they’d see if she couldn’t prove him wrong herself.

~*~*~

Phoenix laid down his instruction manual.  Flying ships sure seemed complicated.  All those numbers and buttons and speeds to remember… it gave him a headache.  The handsome Sayian rubbed his temples soothingly, as if hoping to extract the stress out of his mind and into his fingers.

But flying would be a necessary thing to learn if he were to get away from this planet, and get away quick.  And he only had a couple more hours to learn… if everything went as he planned, that is.

Though he still needed to get a ship’s entrance password.  Otherwise, heh, he wouldn’t be able to even get in the blasted thing!

Phoenix stood up from his seat and stretched, his tail uncurling itself from his waist and straining out behind him as if trying to reach something invisible.

Phoenix looked down lovingly at his tail, which fluttered about in the air lazily.  He snorted, and wrapped the extra appendage around his waist again.

He would head to the docks for a while and get a ship’s entrance password.  Then maybe he’d return to this oh-so-boring instruction manual.  And then… then…

“And then, Miss Briefs,” he growled, grinning like the Cheshire cat.  “You’ll be mine.  ALL mine.”

~*~*~

“That was excellent,” Madonna mused to Bulma’s left, pushing her plate softly away from her.  Bulma had finished long ago, and was now sitting in complete boredom, waiting for all to finish so she could get up.  She really needed to use the toilet….

“Are you done, father?” the prince asked, his arms and legs crossed in a very masculine fashion.  Bulma, though she tried to divert her mind to other things, couldn’t help but notice that he looked… really wow.  Bulma laughed mentally at her blank mind.  He just looked… so darn sexy.

Bulma blinked and blushed, unable to decide if she liked the ‘wow’ or ‘sexy’ modifier better.

“Yes, Vegeta, yes,” King Vegeta grunted, pushing his chair back and standing up.  Everyone stood up after him, relieve to allow blood to flow down to his or her legs again.

Bulma began wondering how she would break the embarrassingly private news to the prince, when Iiovana approached her, a slightly pained expression on her features.

“Bulma!” she hissed in her ear.  “Bulma, what do we do if we have to go to the bathroom?!”

“I don’t know,” Bulma mumbled back out of the side of her mouth.  “Uh… tell him?”

“Tell him?” Iiovana repeated, shocked.  “But… that’s just kinda…” she whimpered softly.  “Do we have to?!”

“I’m afraid so,” said Bulma, watching the prince with wary eyes, who was talking lazily to a rather pleased Zoë.  “I mean, I have to go too…”

“Good,” replied Iiovana.  “At least I’m not the only one….  You can ask him for us.”

“No you.”

“You!”

Bulma glared at her.  “You!”

“Prince Vegeta,” Madonna suddenly spoke up, and the two irritated females looked up at her.  “Will you excuse me to the bathroom?”

“I will,” the prince said loftily.  Bulma watched Madonna walk by her in stunned admiration.

“Uh… yea,” Bulma said.  “And… Prince Vegeta?”

The prince snorted, annoyed.  “Yes, woman?”

“Will you excuse Iiovana and me as well?”

“Of course!” the younger Vegeta snorted, and Bulma and Iiovana scurried away, both more than anxious to get to the toilet.

“You know,” Iiovana said slowly, after both Bulma and Iiovana had ‘relieved’ themselves, and were now washing their hands.  “I think the prince likes you more than me.”

Bulma cocked an eyebrow and glanced around the bathroom as if looking for someone.  It was fruitless, though.  Madonna had already finished and left.  “You think Prince Vegeta likes me better?”  Bulma laughed softly.  “Of course not, Iiovana!  He likes you just as much as me!”

Iiovana frowned, turned her faucet off, and grabbed a paper towel.  “I doubt it.  He seems to like you a lot.  And if not him, then King Vegeta certainly does.”

Bulma didn’t say anything, turning her own faucet off and grabbing a paper towel as well.  What could she say?  Well yes, Iiovana, the prince does like me more, so now you have squat chance to become Queen of Vegetasei!

Bulma winced slightly as the words flew by her mind.

“Well,” Iiovana spoke suddenly, breaking the silence.  “The competition isn’t over yet, right?”  She gave Bulma a soft smile, and threw her paper towel away.  “So we shouldn’t give up yet, huh?”

“Nope,” said the human female.  “Not yet.  I’d say that, at about this time, it’s anybody’s game!”

Iiovana’s smile grew wide, and Bulma couldn’t help but grin back as she threw her own paper towel away.  Not saying a word, the two friends exited the bathroom, happy expressions still plastered on their faces, and both oblivious to the watchful eye the prince was giving them.

“What should we do, you think?” Bulma whispered.  Iiovana shrugged.

“I dunno.   Let’s walk around a bit, and act like we’re actually entertained, or something.”

“K!”

So they did just that.  All this ‘free time’ the girls were getting came by as odd to Bulma.  She was expecting them to have to do so much in these 10 long hours that they’d barely have time to breathe.  But she was breathing.  Deep, long, uninterrupted breaths.

“Hey girl!” Madonna suddenly said, heading over to Iiovana gracefully.  Bulma rolled her eyes while Iiovana answered happily back.

“What are you doing?” asked Madonna.

“Shouldn’t your question be, ‘what are you two doing?’” Bulma said, crossing her arms.  And, as predicted, Madonna ignored.

“Uh…” Iiovana mumbled slowly, glancing from friend to friend.  “I’m… just hanging around.  What about you?”

“Same,” said the prejudiced female.  “Thinking about how much these darn shoes hurt my feet!”

Iiovana giggled, but Bulma just sighed, quickly becoming angry and annoyed, and walked off.  She turned her attention back to the ever-so-fascinating ceiling.

There was a royal-looking Sayian holding a candle, while others were worshiping him in near-darkness.  Uh… so that resembled… hope, maybe?  Possibly relief?

“That’s one of my favorites,” a calm voice suddenly spoke beside her, and Bulma almost jumped.  She turned her face to the present King of Vegetasei; he was looking up at the painting himself.  “I’ve never been able to figure out what it meant.  I’d love to ask that slave who did this, but he’s long-since died.”

Bulma nodded softly as he turned his father-like eyes to her.  Bulma bit her tongue inside her mouth to keep herself from saying the question that burned to be asked; the question might come across as insulting.  The older Vegeta must have noticed her anxiousness, though, because he suddenly asked her, “Anything on your mind, Miss Briefs?”

“No,” Bulma spoke all too soon, convincing the King that there was indeed something ‘on her mind’.

“Miss Briefs…” the King said slowly.  “Tell me.  Is something bothering you?”

Bulma swallowed, and her fingers fidgeted uncomfortably.  “Uh… I suppose.”

“And that would be?”

“Should we have this much free time?” Bulma asked quickly.  He cocked an eyebrow.

“This time is not free,” he said, smiling wryly.  “You are being judged all the time, whether you know what for or not.”

“Oh…”

The king nodded softly.  “Yes.  Actually, it’s quite a tiring job for my son, for he has to keep his eyes on you five as much as possible in order to be able to judge accurately.”

Bulma blinked.  “But… but does he have to keep his eyes on us?  I mean, is he forced to?”

“Of course not!” the king replied quickly, laughing once.  “No one can force him to do anything!  But for his own sanity, he judges as accurately as possible for someone he can get alone with and for someone who will be a proper, wise queen.”

“Oh,” said Bulma, giving herself a mental duh on that one.  They were silent for a while.  “But…” the human female finally spoke.  “What shall I do?  This is certainly a long time to just… walk around.”

“You may talk, you may think, you may study the ceiling, or you may dance.  It is all up to—”

“Dance?” Bulma interrupted rudely, before catching herself.  She blushed.  “Oh, I’m sorry, King Vegeta.  Please continue.”

The king’s eyes twinkled.  “I was just saying, Miss Briefs, that it’s all up to you.  It’s your choice as to what you wish to do.”

“What type of music might I dance to?” Bulma asked politely, still blushing.

“Slow, or something a little more upbeat.  It doesn’t really matter.  Whatever you choose.”

“Well…” Bulma replied, fiddling with her fingers.  “May I listen to some upbeat music?”

Almost automatically, and in a haunting way, music sprang from every corner of the room, and from an unknown source.  It was almost as if, in the corners of the rooms, there were invisible speakers that could also respond to requests.

“What the hell?” the prince shouted, looking up from his dry conversation with Cleopatra.  “Father, who—” He suddenly broke off, his attention captured by Bulma’s happy squeal and energetic movements.  King Vegeta chuckled, turning his attention from Bulma, to his son.

“She wanted to dance, Vegeta,” he said.  “So, I just let her.”

Prince Vegeta didn’t even seem to hear his father’s reply, and for a few seconds, before he caught himself, he stared at her.  He quickly turned his face away from the blissfully oblivious, human female.  Her body movements and silky hair were just too… capturing.  He’d lose his superior, royal image all to easily if he continued to stare.

“Woo!” Iiovana giggled, breaking her conversation with Madonna and coming to dance with her good friend.  Bulma looked at her and laughed, as Iiovana seemed to love to dance as much as she herself did.

“This is too cool!” exclaimed Bulma, bouncing in perfect rhythm to the music.  King Vegeta shook his head and walked away as the other three girls bounded over to join the already dancing pair.

“Miss Briefs certainly has the grace of a dancer, does she not?” the king commented lightly, smirking at his son, who now had his attention back on the girls, pretending to watch someone other than that blue-haired woman.

Yes she does…

“That’s a matter of opinion, father,” the prince spat stiffly, turned, and stormed over to a nearby couch, finding nothing else to do than to sit on the comfy item.  King Vegeta shrugged.

“Whatever you say, son, whatever you say…”

~*~*~

“So,” Chi-Chi said as soon as the last bell had ended.  “How do you think you did on the math test?”

Kakarroto swallowed shyly, grabbing his books from his locker.  “Uh… I think we’ll have to study arithmetic later tonight….”

Chi-Chi moaned.  “No!” she wailed.  “Your score wasn’t that bad, was it?!”

“Uh… yea,” the goofy Sayian said, scratching the back of his head.  “But hey!  At least I do good in grammar.”

Chi-Chi glared at him.  “I’m not going to even comment on what you just said,” she replied airily.  Kakarroto blinked.

“What?”

She sighed, irritated.  “I do well in grammar!  Not good, you big… silly… kinda cute…” Chi-Chi faltered, blushing, and Kakarroto grinned at her, wrapping an arm around her petite shoulders.

“Well you’re a smart, sophisticated, beautiful girl,” he complimented, squeezing her shoulders lightly.  She smiled.

“Thanks.  Walk me home?”

He grinned, opening the school door for them both.  “Walk you home.”

~*~*~

Ship #00438, password 55657.  Ship #00438, password 55657.  Ship #0043…6?  No, #00438.  Got to remember that.

Phoenix pulled a pen out from behind his ear, pulled the cap off, and scribbled the ship number and password on his palm.  Getting the ship had been much easier than he had figured it would be.  He now had several hours to find out how to skillfully fly the stupid thing…

“Hey Phoenix,” a particularly pretty maid giggled, winking at him.  He growled back.

“Hey Lime,” he muttered in her ear, pinching her butt slyly.  She jumped, and then giggled even more, blushing.

“Might I… escort you to your room?” she asked suggestively.

Phoenix considered it.  He really needed to get back to that flying manual… ah Hell, for a chick like Lime, it could wait.

“Well, I do have some things that need a little cleaning up….”

~*~*~

“Gosh, Vegetasei has great dance music,” Bulma commented, plopping down on a couch next to Iiovana, her face slightly red and damp.  “I thought that Sayians wouldn’t be the creative type to create music.”

“We’re not,” Iiovana said, smiling.  “All this music is from different planets.”

Bulma blinked.  “Oh…”  Iiovana giggled.

“Yea.  Did humans create music?”

“Oh yes!” Bulma replied automatically, several of her most favorite bands and songs popping into her head.  “Yes, of course!  We had almost any type of music you could think of, and we absolutely loved to dance!”  (AN  If you don’t like to dance, please don’t be offended.  I personally love to.  It’s really rare for me to hear music and not move at least a little.  ^_^)

“Oh…” said the large-eyed female.  “Cool!”

“Yup!”

The song suddenly ended, and something with a much slower beat began.  Bulma and Iiovana blinked, looking up at where the ‘speakers’ would be.

“Did you ask for slower music?” Bulma suddenly mumbled.  Iiovana slowly shook her head no, her eyes focused on something in front of her.  Bulma looked in that direction, and swallowed.  The Prince was dancing with Zoë.

It was like an invisible painter had just splashed a load of red paint into Bulma’s line of sight.  She glared at the overly pleased female, watching the couple almost glide over the marble floor.  Bulma was hit with wave after wave of intense jealousy, and suddenly wanted to choke something.  Anything.

Her eyes slowly turned to Iiovana.

“Don’t even think about it,” Iiovana spoke slowly, in a much lower tone than was her normal voice.  “Because right now, my life sucks, and I’m just about to kill anything that crosses me.”

Bulma blinked, then shrugged, doing her best to hold in the fits of laughter that threatened to escape her throat.  Instead, she turned her gaze back to the dancing couple.  Zoë had her head on his broad shoulder.

Bulma’s fingernails dug into the comfortable, black couch’s armrest.

“Let’s stare at them and snicker,” Iiovana suddenly suggested.  Bulma looked at her.  There was an evil smirk on the female’s features.  Iiovana turned to look at Bulma, casting that eerie smirk on her.  “Make them feel uncomfortable, or something.”

Bulma couldn’t help but laugh, almost making the Sayian female giggle as well.  “But Iiovana,” she began, calming down, and mocking a particular Sayian Prince’s voice, “I don’t think that’d be very Queen-of-Vegetasei-like.”

“Who gives a damn?!” Iiovana suddenly cackled, her words almost connected they were coming out of her mouth so fast.  Bulma let out a harsh laugh.

“Right!  So what should we do?  Snicker and point?”

“Cast evil glances their way?”

“Stare at the Prince’s zipper, like his fly’s open?”

Bulma laughed hard, and Iiovana joined in, the girls giggling about in evil giddiness.  From across the room, the king stared at them in amusement.  Neither the other two girls, nor the dancing couple, seemed to notice.

“Oooo,” Bulma sighed happily, sinking back into her seat.  “That was fun.”

“So should we do it?” Iiovana pressed.

Bulma frowned.  “I don’t think so.  What if the prince happened to look over here?  We’d look rather stupid, staring at him and Zoë, don’t you think?”

Iiovana nodded, looking a little put out.  There was some stiff silence between them, in which the large-eyed Sayian female glared at the floor, while Bulma picked at a loose string on the couch.  Only the noise of the soft music filled the air.  Then:

“I must admit, though, I really did like the idea of staring at the prince’s zipper.”

Iiovana looked up, stunned, and both girls burst simultaneously into fits of uproarious laughter.  They were so into their little joke that they didn’t even notice the music had stopped.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a deep voice interrupted them.  Bulma looked up, while Iiovana turned around in her seat, eyes wide.  King Vegeta smiled down at them.  “Miss Veen, do you mind if I have this dance?”

Another slow song was playing.

“Um…” Iiovana glanced at Bulma.  “Sure.”  The King graciously offered her his hand, and she took it, getting gracefully up to her feet.  Bulma watched them walk off, an amused smile on her face.  They looked so cute… a really old guy and a young girl.  Bulma laughed mentally.  It reminded her of Chi-Chi and Bardock… or, well, Chi-Chi’s fantasy of herself and Bardock.

“Did you see that Bulma?” a cruel voice suddenly slurred from her side.  Bulma rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Zoë, I did.”

“Wasn’t it too cool?  The Prince picked me, out of us all, to dance with him.”  She paused, and put on a mock expression of thoughtfulness.  “Hmmm… I wonder why he didn’t pick you!”

“Crawl back under the rock from which you came from, Zoë,” Bulma said stiffly, still not looking at her.  Her eyes were fused on her best friend and the king, refusing to look away.

“You’re just jealous,” spat Zoë, crossing her arms.  “Because Prince Vegeta danced with me, and not you.”

“Are you kidding?” replied Bulma.  “Quite the contrary, Zoë.  I don’t envy dancing with the prince.  He’s a total jerk!  So why should I be jealous?  If the prince asked me to dance right now, you know what I’d say?  No!”

“That’s a shame,” a silky, amused voice suddenly spoke.  Bulma jumped in her seat, and seconds later mentally cursed herself.  Why hadn’t she kept quiet?  “Because I was just about to ask you to dance with me, Miss Briefs.”

Bulma swallowed, and somehow found the courage to look him in the eye.  “Well I… I didn’t mean it… sire.  What I meant was—”

“Stop babbling, woman, and come dance with me.”

Bulma frowned at his suddenly commanding tone, but stood up anyway.  She straitened out the wrinkles in her dress, and then followed Prince Vegeta onto the dance floor.  If Bulma had looked, she would have seen a very sulky-looking Zoë behind her.

Prince Vegeta stopped, turned, and offered the human female his hand, which she gratefully took.  She wrapped an arm loosely around his neck, as he took her curvaceous waist in his hand.

“You speak too much, wench, you know that, right?”

Bulma gaped at him, unable to control herself.  Her cool blue eyes were lit like fire, giving them an interesting look.

“I am not a wench!” she hissed.  The prince shrugged, an amused smirk on his face.

“You are what I say you are… wench.”

“Bastard!” she hissed back.

“Hideous woman.”

“Ungrateful pain in the ass!”

“Bitch.”

“Prick!”

“Whore.”

“Insensitive male!”

“Oh, that hurt,” he said, rolling his eyes.  Though he couldn’t help but smirk in amusement at her.  She was quick with a quip; he’d give her that.  He hadn’t had this much competition in a verbal argument in a long time; most everyone he fought with was either really stupid, or would get their heads blown off their shoulders in two seconds.

“Why aren’t you nicer to me?” she asked.

“Why don’t you give me more respect?”

“Because you aren’t nice to me.  Now answer my question.”

“Because you don’t show me the damn respect I deserve.”

Bulma laughed dryly.  “Then I guess we’re stuck.”

“Hn.”

They danced in silence for a couple of minutes.  Bulma couldn’t help but notice that the prince was a very graceful dancer and was sturdy on his feet, like royalty should be.  He also led her around in the most perfect spots, both avoiding stepping on each other’s feet.

Then something odd struck Bulma’s mind.

“Why’d you even ask me to dance,” she began, “if I’m, as you say, a ‘whore?’”

“Because I have to.”

“Huh?”

The Prince sighed.  “I figured that I might as well get dancing with you over with, seeing as how I have to dance with all of you.  It’s tradition.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Whoever came up with that tradition was a complete moron.”

“Or a genius torturer,” Bulma mumbled.  Prince Vegeta smirked at her.

“Could be.”

The song ended, and Bulma unwrapped her arm from around his neck.  Prince Vegeta took his hand from her waist, but, Bulma noticed, he gave her fingers a light squeeze before letting go.  She sighed angrily as she watched him head off to Cleopatra.  Why’d he always leave her hanging like that?!

“King Vegeta cannot dance!” Iiovana spoke suddenly at Bulma’s side.  The human female looked at her; she was rubbing her feet tenderly.  “He steps on your feet every five seconds!”

Bulma giggled.  “Really?”

“Yes, really!” Iiovana replied.  “It’s not like I stepped on my own feet!”

“Oh… I just… never pictured the king to be an ungraceful dancer.”  She giggled.  “That’s actually kind of cute….”

Iiovana rolled her eyes.  “Whatever.  Let’s just sit down, ok?”

They did, turning to watch the dance floor.  Bulma and Iiovana snickered; Cleopatra wasn’t exactly the most graceful of the five girls there.  She kept trying to lead the prince in the dance, and would step on his feet every now and then.  Bulma could have sworn he looked like he was about to attempt murder.

King Vegeta was sitting in a corner of the room.  It looked like he realized he’d better not ask another girl to dance… for safety’s sake.

Bulma giggled.  “Awww, poor guy.”  Iiovana followed the human’s gaze, and snorted.

“Poor guy?  Oh no no no.  Poor me!”

Prince Vegeta danced with Madonna and Iiovana after Cleopatra’s lack of consideration for the prince’s feet.  And then, surprisingly, he danced with Zoë and Bulma once more, leaving Bulma feeling giddy, Cleopatra looking clueless, Madonna boiling with jealousy, Iiovana looking a bit put out, and Zoë appearing murderous.  Even Cleopatra had enough sense not to talk to Zoë when the prince approached Bulma and asked her to dance again.

The next few hours passed peacefully, in which the rest of the girls danced, taking short breaks in between, and the prince meditated (much to King Vegeta’s displeasure).  Iiovana was being oddly downcast, and Bulma could tell that every smile she gave the human female was pretty strained.  Bulma shrugged it off; she’d feel the same way if she were in Iiovana’s shoes.

“Vegeta,” the king said, trying to engage his son in conversation again.

“What the Hell is it father?” Prince Vegeta hissed back.  “This has to be the, what, 11th time you’ve tried to talk to me?  What is so damn important?!”

“Don’t you think you should spend more time with those young ladies?  Hell Vegeta, I don’t care who, but you’re being so damn complicated!”

“I’m organizing my thoughts, father,” the prince said slowly.  “And yes, if you must know, they are about those five women.”

The king raised his royal head in consideration as the prince steadily glared at him.  There was silence between the two of them for a while, and then the prince spoke.

“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to—”

“No Vegeta.  It’s just about time for dinner anyway.  Now get up, and let’s go eat.”

Prince Vegeta rolled his eyes, but stood up all the same, requesting for the music to turn itself off.  Almost at once, it quit.  The girls stopped dancing, and blinked in confusion.

“What happened?” Cleopatra, who was sitting on one of the couches, shouted over to Zoë.  “Should the song end that suddenly?  Who would write a song like that?”

“The song didn’t stop there, you ding-dong!” Bulma replied, causing Iiovana, Madonna, and even Zoë to snicker.  “Somebody asked for it to stop, duh!  The question is, who did it?”

“I did, Miss Briefs,” the prince’s deep voice answered, and rather close to the girls’ ears.  They all jumped, and looked behind them to see a sexily dangerous prince smirking at them all.  “Ladies, don’t mean to interrupt your fun, but it’s dinnertime.”

“Oh,” they all answered, and followed him up to the dinner table.  Cleopatra stood up hurriedly and joined the group as they began to sit down.

“Sit next to me, Bulma,” Iiovana whispered.  Bulma nodded.

“Yea, I think—”

There was a cheerfully bouncing knock at the door.

“Come in!” the king shouted, sitting down at the head of the table, and his son sitting down on the right of him.

The door opened, and in stepped Phoenix.  Bulma felt her stomach slip a couple notches.  Why did it seem like she just couldn’t… rid herself of the perverted pest.

“Sire!” Phoenix announced, bowing down low.

“Ahhh, Phoenix, good!” King Vegeta greeted, smiling.  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.  You may arise.”

Phoenix did so, as Bulma sat down at the far end of the table, across from Iiovana.  If King Vegeta needed to speak to him, then Phoenix would obviously sit very close to him.  “What about, sire?” the ever-so-handsome Phoenix asked.

“Never mind that,” the king replied slowly.  “Just go out in the hall and find a slave to get us an extra chair.  I’d like you to join us for dinner!”

Bulma moaned mentally.

“Of course, you’re highness!”  And with that, he left.

After finding a slave and telling him to get an extra (and highly comfortable) chair, Phoenix looked around.  He heard the sound of clinking silverware coming down the hall.  Dinner was arriving.

Phoenix took a deep breath and walked up to the servant who was carrying several already filled glasses of wine, as it was tradition at the dinner of the night of the ball; the five ladies were not supposed to be able to see the value of the wine by the bottle, but to be able to taste it.

The servant walking with it was moving very slowly, very carefully, so that she didn’t spill a drop.  Five beautiful glasses with crystal bottoms and rims stood in a circle on the platter she was holding.  Phoenix walked up to her, stepping in front of her.  She stopped, and looked up at him hesitantly.

“Y-yes sir?” she asked, looking to be a girl of no more than 13.

“Are those the glasses for the five contestants?” Phoenix asked pleasantly.  The girl nodded, keeping her plate unnaturally still.

“Yes sir.”

“Well, see,” he beckoned her closer to him with his fingers, and she leaned her head towards him as far as she dared, wary of the wine and delicate glasses she was holding.  “A girl in there, Miss Bulma Briefs… do you know her?”

“No sir.”

“Well she has a very bright, vibrant hair color.  It’s an incredible shade of light blue.  You’ll recognize her when you see her.”

“All right… sir,” she said, not really sure of where this conversation was going.

“She has a certain medicine she needs to take,” Phoenix said, lowering his voice even more so that she could barely hear him.  “Very private, you know.  She has to drink it at dinnertime, but… with all the people she’s eating with… it’d be pretty embarrassing to put the medicine in her drink at the time.  Wouldn’t that be embarrassing to you?”  The girl nodded, staring into his handsome face.  “Well she personally asked me to put this in her drink right now.  So if you don’t mind—”

He took a vial out of his coat pocket, filled with a clear, watery-looking liquid.  The girl stared curiously at it as Phoenix took off the top, noticing that it had no smell what so ever.  Phoenix poured the liquid out of the tiny vial and into a wine glass.

“Ok, remember, the glass closest to you goes to Miss Briefs.  And how can you recognize her?”

“She—she has b—blue hair,” she stuttered.  He smiled at her.

“Thanks,” he said slowly, his smile containing more than just the happiness of the girl’s willingness to cooperate.  “Thanks a lot.”

~*~*~

“Gosh, I seriously don’t like Phoenix,” Bulma muttered as Phoenix sat down on the left side of the king in the extra chair.  Iiovana cocked an eyebrow.

“You don’t?” she asked halfheartedly, staring at the action going on around her.  “Why?”

The servants were already placing food on the table, mound after mound of sweet-smelling aromas filling the table.  Bulma could feel her mouth watering, yet she kept her mouth politely closed.  Bulma searched the deepest depths of her mind to find the best word to describe it; and though multitudes of complex and **sesquipedalian words passed through her mind, Bulma could only think of two words to describe the food in front of her:

Super yum.

“Oh wow,” Bulma whispered.  Iiovana nodded absentmindedly.

“Thank you,” Bulma whispered as a young teenaged servant set a beautiful glass of wine in front of her.  The girl blushed, gave Iiovana her drink, and continued on.

“Well that was weird,” Bulma muttered to the large-eyed Sayian, staring after the teen.  “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“See her blush when I said thank you.”

“Nope.”  Iiovana was still staring at the food in an almost impatient manner.

“Well I did.  Why do you think she blushed?”

Iiovana looked up at the human and shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But it’s probably because she’s not used to getting ‘thank you’s.  Most people in the palace don’t notice the slaves or servants.  They’re supposed to be invisible, you know, in a way ‘not there.’”

“Oh…” Bulma trailed off.  She frowned.  “That’s pretty sad when you’re barely noticed at all.  They must live a pretty lonely life.”

Iiovana blinked.  “I guess so… but they have each other, you know.  It’s not that big of a deal.”

Bulma sighed, shrugging.  She grabbed her glass daintily, and took deep gulps of the delicious stuff.  Bulma took the glass down, and licked her lips, grasping any last drops.

“Man, that wine is good!” she said.

“Really?” said Iiovana.  Bulma nodded, so the beautiful, brown-eyed Sayian female took a sip of the wine herself.  She smacked her lips daintily twice, thinking.  She finally nodded.

“Yes… yes it is good.  Better than usual.”  Bulma smiled.

“They gave us the good wine!” she bubbled.  Iiovana giggled back.

After the servants had placed the food on the table and left, King Vegeta blessed the food, and everyone dug in, helping themselves to anything and everything.  There were a multiple number of ‘can you pass that?’ and ‘pass that to me, please’ statements muttered.

Bulma and Iiovana chatted comfortably with each other, as did the other three girls.  Phoenix and the two Vegetas carried on an intense conversation softly with each other, but Bulma could only guess what it was.  Because of the distance she had put herself in, she couldn’t hear them.

But it didn’t really matter.  Bulma was having a nice enough time, feeling more and more carefree with each passing minute, and each passing sip of wine.

~*~*~

Chi-Chi watched Kakarroto struggle to work out a math problem.  She smiled as he got the answer correctly.

“Yes!  Good job!”

“Is that correct?” he asked.  She nodded.

“Yup!  You got it!”

He turned back to his paper and grinned.  “Cool!  Go me!”  Chi-Chi laughed.

“Yes, go you.  You’re the greatest.”

“With your help,” he added.  Chi-Chi blushed slightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  They studied each other closely, and under the living room’s gentle light, each one thought the other must be an angel.  Slowly they leaned towards each other, their lips brushing.  Chi-Chi shivered pleasantly.  She licked her lips, her tongue brushing ever so slightly across his own lips.  Full with emotion, their lips locked, pressing against one another softly.

Bardock opened the door and froze, staring at the oblivious couple, who now had each other in their arms.  Slowly, very, very slowly, he turned around and closed the door behind him.

And underneath his startled gaze was a smile.  A very, very pleasantly amused smile.

~*~*~

“More wine please!” Bulma shouted at a servant behind her, causing Iiovana to wince.  The servant nodded furiously, grabbed her glass, and scurried out the door.  Bulma laughed loudly.

“Look at him run!” she squealed, leaning back in her chair.  “His little legs are like, woooooo!”  She made a motion of a running person on the table with two of her fingers.  She laughed hysterically and clutched her side, tears coming out of her cheeks.

“Bulma, calm down,” Iiovana whispered, watching the others looked down at Bulma with shocked faces.  “You’re acting stupid.  Calm down.”

“Come on Iiovana,” Bulma muttered.  “I know you thought that was funny!  Come on!  Laugh!”  She burst out laughing and poked Iiovana in the chest; she suddenly brought both hands too her mouth and looked horrified.

“Oh dear God,” she tried to whisper.  “I didn’t just poke you in the boob did I?!”

Cleopatra, who was sitting next to Bulma, made a face and moved away from the human female, who was now in a state of hysteric laughter again.

“HOLY CRAP!” she shouted.  “THAT WAS FUNNY!  You know, Iiovana,” Bulma added, smiling insanely.  “You’ve got a bit of a flat chest, girl.  I mean, there’s no cleavage there at all!”

King Vegeta blinked, horrified, as he watched Bulma laugh again and Iiovana blush furiously.  Prince Vegeta seemed darkly amused, while Phoenix looked pleased.  No one noticed his look, though.  Everyone was staring at Bulma.  Iiovana turned her beat-red face to the prince.

“Prince Vegeta,” she whispered.  “Will you excuse Bulma and I to the bathroom?”

“Yes,” he replied, chortling in his throat.

“Why?!” Bulma shouted loudly.  “It’s not like I have to piss or something!”

Prince Vegeta laughed even louder as Iiovana grabbed the human female’s shoulder and dragged her off into the bathroom.  Everyone watched them, all twelve eyes focused.

“What is with you Bulma?” Iiovana shouted as soon as the bathroom door had closed.  “Have you gone insane?!”

“Hey look Iiovana,” Bulma said, playing with her face in the mirror.  “If I push my cheeks together like this, I look like a fish!”  She collapsed laughing once more on the bathroom counter, tears coming out of her eyes.

“Are you listening to me?!” Iiovana shouted.  Bulma stopped laughing and looked up at Iiovana, nodding.

“Of course I’m listening!  You just said something about…”  She looked back in the mirror, and pushed her nose up.  “You know, if I do like this, I look like a pig.”

“Ok Bulma,” Iiovana said slowly, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself.  “How much wine did you drink?”

“I DIDN’T DRINK ANY WINE!” Bulma screamed at the top of her lungs.  She then calmed down, and bit her tongue in a flirting way.  “It was ‘drape juice.”

Iiovana shook her head.  “Whatever.  Listen, whenever you feel better or something, come back out, but don’t make fun of me anymore.”  She headed over to the bathroom door, but stopped just before she pulled the door open.  She turned around.

“Oh, and Bulma?  I am not flat-chested.”

Bulma blinked as Iiovana left, then walked over to the door.  After pushing on it for some time, she finally tried pulling on it, and found with great amusement that the door opened.  She walked out into the dark ballroom, the endless stars outside only adding to the romantic scene.

“Hey Bulma,” a voice said beside her, and Bulma spun around with over-exaggerated drama.

“Hey Phoenix!” she shouted back at him.  “What brings you to my side of the world?!”

“Your beautiful blue eyes,” he mumbled, crossing his arms and smirking at her.  She laughed giddily.

“Oh Phoenix, you are such a player!” she exclaimed.  “But… but hot.”

“And sexy?”

She pursed her lips out.  “Kiss me Phoenix!” she whined.

He blinked, and looked up at the prince.  He was busy dancing with Madonna, while King Vegeta and Cleopatra were dancing with one another, stepping on each other’s feet.  Iiovana and Zoë seemed to be holding a very stiff conversation.

“Not now,” Phoenix said.  “But come with me.”

“Wher—”

Bulma wasn’t able to finish, for at the moment, Phoenix delivered a swift chop to the back of her neck, knocking her out.  He caught her in his arms before she fell to the ground.

Swiftly, silently, and in the shadows, Phoenix made his way to the door.  He opened the ballroom door without noise and left, his heart beating quickly in his chest.  The door shut behind him.

Little did he know the prince had seen the whole thing.

“Excuse me,” he said to Madonna politely, and headed for the door, her upset gaze on him the whole way.

~*~*~

Phoenix rushed quickly down a hallway, making a mad dash for the shipping docks.  He needed to leave.  Now.

Every minute that passed seemed like an eternity.  An eternity in panic.

One eternity: he turned a corner, went down a hall, turned two corners and down a flight of steps.  Next eternity: down a hall, turned a corner, down another flight of stairs, and turned a corner in his anxiousness, running to a dead end.

His heart was racing faster than his feet.  The scent of guilt, anxiousness, and adrenaline hung thick in the air, filling Phoenix with each breath he took.  And not only that, but he had the worst, the most dreaded feeling, that someone was watching him.

Phoenix turned around to retrace his steps and froze.

“P—Prince Vegeta…”

“Traitorous shit,” Vegeta greeted back, a nasty smile on his face.  Phoenix swallowed, and took a deep breath.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Then you must be a damned fool as well as a damned traitor.”

“Uh….” Phoenix blinked.  “Sire… I was just taking Miss Briefs up to her room.  She fainted, you see.  A little too much wine, I think—”

“I don’t remember giving orders to move her room, Phoenix,” he growled.  “So her room should still be in the same place, and I’m pretty damn sure you know that this isn’t the way to her room.  You, of all people, would know where the girls’ rooms are.”

Phoenix remained silent as Prince Vegeta approached him, a look of pure hatred and despise on his face.  The prince got so close to Phoenix that the taller Sayian had to tilt his face down to look his prince in the eye.

“Get out of my sight, Phoenix,” the prince spat up in his face.  “Give me the girl, and leave.  You are banned from the palace, as well as from Vegetasei.  Oh, and one more thing—”  The prince took Bulma from Phoenix, placed her softy on the ground, and turned back to Phoenix.  In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the larger Sayian’s tail, unwrapped it from Phoenix’s waist, and sliced it off with one swift, determined chop of his hand.

Phoenix screamed, closed his eyes, and sank to his knees, holding the bleeding stub where his tail used to be.

Prince Vegeta sneered at the still-twitching tail in his hand, and dropped it to the ground near Phoenix.  Phoenix bit his lip to stop his screaming, sanity-robbing pain all over him.  He clutched the bleeding spot on his lower back protectively.

“The worst disgrace a Sayian could have,” Prince Vegeta said slowly, his eyes slanting unmercifully.  “You’re no better than 3rd class now.  No better than shit.  Now get out of my sight!”

Phoenix continued to twitch on the ground, tears having forced themselves out of his eyes.  Seeing as how it was in a Sayian’s instinct to fight back, it was all Phoenix could do not to grab the prince by the leg and tackle him to the ground.

“Move!  NOW!”

Prince Vegeta kicked him in the stomach unmercifully, and grabbed him by the back of his collar, pulling him up to face him.  He shook his face with disgust and disdain, and tossed Phoenix over to the side.  Phoenix stumbled with shame and misery down the hallway and out of sight, the Sayian Prince’s gaze on his back the whole way.

When Prince Vegeta could no longer see the traitorous Phoenix, he turned back to the still unconscious Bulma.  Her face was contorted into a fitful frown, like one would wear during an awful dream.  Her fingers twitched every now and then.

Prince Vegeta watched her for a moment.  She whimpered a sound… a… a cry for help?  She must have been in trouble in that nightmare of hers.

He opened his mouth to call for a servant to get her, but hesitated, hearing her whimper once more.  He slowly shut his mouth, thinking, deciding.  Taking a deep breath, he stooped down and scooped her up in his arms.  He shook his head unbelievingly as he walked down the hall and to the science lab to get her tested.

“Why do I even bother with you?” he whispered to her.  The corners of her mouth twitched.

That was her only response.

Phoenix gone!  Yayness (I stole that word from someone; don’t sue me)!  But… (Dramatic music) WILL HE RETURN?!?!??!?!  Duh-nuh!  (James Bond music)  ^_^  So anyways, how’d you peeps like my chapter?  Long, no?  Well, review and let me know what you think!

Ta-ta for now!

Stupid me, I forgot this totally the first time I uploaded the story.  Ok, the word **sesquipedalian means, and I quote from the dictionary, “Containing many syllables: polysyllabic”.  Our teacher just taught us that “fifty-cent” word because she’s a little weird, and I just thought I might use it!  ^_^  Go me.  Anyway… yea.  Thanks for your time; if I bored you, I’m sorry.