Overcooked with bad meats,
Served in a spoiled sauce,
And the only reward at the end of the game.
Cover Art
facades are easily broken
Track Listing
the truth hurts more
{OVERTURE}
The First Five Times - Stars
But you stopped yourself and kissed me,
And I grabbed your wrist and told you,
I know, I know, I know,
I feel the same as you.
"Does it matter?" he bites out, hugging his arms tighter against himself.
"Yes, Vegeta, it does," she answers back, looking at him over the flames of the fire. "You stood up for me."
"He was upsetting you," he says resentfully, the negative emotion focused not on her but on the man he had just scared off. "He is unfaithful to you. He causes you pain. He makes you treat yourself poorly. I don't know why you put up with it. He is..."
"What? Yamcha is what?"
A sigh. "He is below you."
A flare of anger. "Why should you care? As far as I know, you couldn't care less about me. I thought you hated all humans."
He closes his eyes against her gaze. For a moment, she thinks he has fallen asleep.
"I don't hate you."
Now it is her turn to be silent. He continues, voice emotionless but not entirely cold.
"I never hated you. I wish I could sometimes, especially when you let that disgusting maggot back into your life. But I can't. Not you. I do hate a lot of people, don't get me wrong. But... I can't hate you. I never could.
"Do you..." She swallows, barely hoping.
"No," he answers sharply, shaking his head, floundering. "I don't know. You humans have strange concepts. Love. No, I can't say I love you. Perhaps I do. I don't know. It is not a concept that I understand in human terms."
"Then what can you call it, the way you feel for me."
He pauses, opens his eyes. His eyes are black pools that stare straight into her as if drinking the very light of her soul in, never to return it. He has her mesmerized and captivated, a candle in his world of darkness.
"There is a word for it in my native language, in the High Speech," he says at length. "We call it nagharh. It means something akin to what you humans call a second soul. In my view, it means a battlefield always and willingly fought. It is a battle I never want to end, this feeling I have for you."
"Vegeta," she says, so soft, so sweetly to his ears, "that is what love means to me."
{ONE]
Dark Secret - Matthew Sweet
And deep inside, the way you hate them
On the outside, doesn't show
And oh, they think that they defy you
They are slaved to what you know
A laugh: sharp, humorless, more of a bark than anything else.
"You can't really believe that can you?"
The face turn. Young faces, old faces, green faces: the party is mixed on the surface but the same underneath. All brought under one roof by one man. They've lost their individuality, easily consumed like tiny pebbles in volcanic flow.
An answering laugh: not understanding, childish, more innocent than the cries of most babes.
"What, Vegeta?"
Vegeta is used to being laughed at. He is the prince of a dead race. He is second in strength, last in luck, first in line for beatings. Ever the politician of the group, ever the Devil's advocate. What if, he would say, what if?
"World peace." The alcohol on Earth is lacking, leaves him yearning for (oddly) the tangy sips of cold medicine he remembers as a child. "It's impossible."
Silence. Yes, this is the irony. He may command a crowd with words better than with his fists. You learn as a slave under your father's murderer to craft beauty with the lips because even the brutality of a slave must be beautiful to survive. He has learned beauty, tasted beauty, become beauty. Beauty is the currency of his world, and that is his ultimate gift, curse, and secret.
"Not if everyone works together, Vegeta."
"Yeah, don't be such a rock in a hard place."
"Humans are good."
A laugh: sharp, humorless, more of a bark than anything else. He thinks about the palace gardens (long gone, long destroyed, long beautiful in his mind). He remembers how the flowers were silver and green in the winter, coated in a sparkling dew in the early morning. He remembers his mother and how she loved to make wine from the nectar. And then he thinks about the garden they stand in and the rotting leaves underneath the artificially beautiful bushes.
"Whatever," he chuckles. "Whatever makes you sleep better at night."
{TWO}
Marching Theme - Neutral Milk Hotel
Instrumental
"One day," he says to Kakarotto at another one of the damn garden parties, "we will all be dead."
Kakarotto blinks. Blinks. Blinks like a stupid monkey who just got a banana smashed in his face. It's an expression that never fails to make Vegeta grind his teeth, to taste a reminder of how stereotypes arise and take hold and define.
"And when," he continues, "we are all dead there will be no more gods."
Vegeta knows this. After all, all of Vegeta's gods are dead. His father was a god. Freeza was a god. Even Nappa, to some extent, had been a god when Vegeta had been very young. Gods are men because men create gods. Gods are respected and flesh and blood and, above all, disposable. All gods die with the one that respects them.
"Your problem, Kakarotto," Vegeta chuckles, sweeping some dust from his shirt sleeve, "is that you are your own god. A man who is his own god. You'll live forever. You'll be alone, but you will live forever."
Blinking. More goddamn blinking. "Huh?"
"You know," he answers, "I'm glad I'm not going to live forever. Because then I'd be stuck with you."
{THREE}
Four Dead Cheerleaders - Dropkick Murphys
Now she's feeling overwhelmed succumbing to the pressure,
So she wrote a little note and addressed it to her mom.
It says "I hope this brings you peace;
"Pray for me until I'm gone."
The force is large in the beginning but reduced easily to only ten or fifteen at the most by the time they surrender. It reminds him of things and times he would rather forget. Vegeta remembers when Freeza's smallest squadron was the Saiyan platoon that Vegeta himself had commanded. The prince, his bodyguard, a renegade soldier: Vegeta, Nappa, and Radditz. So, so worthless. He wonders why his memory has not suffered damage over the years. Surely, he'd been hit on the head enough.
When he enters the holding room that the Z Warriors maintain for the surviving aliens, he looks into the faces of races he grew up with, fought with, killed with. And they look at him and recognize him. That recognition that is for one of their own, someone they can relate to, someone who understands that the only thing that separates them from him is some preconcieved notion of oppositional forces. Like magnets.
"You."
The leader of the aliens breathes the word aloud, his eyes wide, flicking to the sliver of scar set dead center between Vegeta's collarbones. Vegeta remembers his life by the location of his scars, senzu bean healing always slightly altered to his liking. A scar recalls an event, a time, a place, a name. And with that flickering of eyes, he recognizes the leader.
"Captain Caruva," Vegeta says, his head tilting slowly to one side.
"You two know each other?" The voice of Yamcha breaks in, the note of shock felt by the Z Warriors easily expressed there.
"Yes." Vegeta looks at the luminous, orb-like eyes, remembers blubbery hands on his mouth and between childish legs, toes calloused by a life spend stuffed inside boots stroking the sensitive fur of his tail. "It's been... a very long time."
Caruva is clearly terrified. He turns his eyes from one person in the room to the next, breathing more and more eratically. His motley of survivors tremble worse as they watch the clear panic of their leader.
"Kakarotto," Vegeta feels like his voice is coming from somewhere very far away. "These are remnants of Freeza's men. I know how to deal with them."
Before Kakarot can say anything, Caruva shrieks. "No!" He struggles, manages to pull himself together somewhat after he finishes soiling himself. "Vegeta-sama, I was foolish. I didn't realize... I was ordered! I mean, you know what it was liked under - under Freeza. I would have died, I would have -"
Vegeta realizes he's standing over the blubbering mass. He doesn't remember moving, doesn't remember the last time he felt this kind of hatred. Not since Freeza died. Not since Bulma and Trunks. Not since he was Prince-of-a-Dead-Race-Powerless-to-Save-A
"Suffered the same fate," he finishes Caruva's works, effectively cutting the older man off. "You should have, you rotten excuse for a lifeform. Rather than... Kakarotto, get your hand off me."
"Vegeta, we can't kill him! He -"
"Surrendered?" Vegeta laughs, and it is a laugh he knows reflects more clearly than ever how much of him remaims broken. "Oh, but, Kakarotto, this is a horrible man. Do you want to know what he has done?"
Once he starts, he finds he can't stop himself, reaching down to pick up Caruva by the scruff of the neck, to display the horror to Kakarotto. He has to make the other see, see the atrocity before them all.
"This man's name is Caruva. He was my father's friend, a court advisor on Vegeta-sai, until he sold our technology patents to Freeza. He lead Freeza through our planet's defenses so that the destruction could be that much easier. But that's not all. Caruva, what was your specialty in entertaining Freeza? Answer or you'll die that much faster."
Caruva's voice is so quiet and scared, but the room is so still that it still echoes. "Flesh. I specialize in selling flesh as entertainment."
Vegeta shook him. "Yes, you did. And you sold anything. Your own children, your own wife... Even your own prince to whom you swore fealty when he was a babe, swore to protect with your very life until you died. You sold them all to the highest bidder, counting cash you earned from robbing them of their innocence."
"Hah! Don't tell me -"
"How old was I?" Vegeta smiles without humor having long ago now forgotten the rest of the occupants in the room. "Six? Seven at the most? Yes, Caruva, I was an innocent. A virgin as they call it here. How much did you get for me? Another pretty little face for your personal harem? Another day to live?"
A sob or maybe just a gurgle. He doesn't know if Caruva can make a sobbing sound or not. Vegeta's fingers are deep inside the man's neck, after all, just keeping the man conscious.
"You sold Radditz, too, remember? The boy with the wonderfully wild hair as you called him. You sold him to me. Radditz was lucky. His master was also his prince and he lost his innocence how he wanted to, when he wanted to. But I wasn't so lucky. Oh, no. Freeza was never a kind master, but you know that. But not like I do..."
Caruva was dead, Vegeta realized. Part of him (the sane part, the part that was salvaged at some point by Bulma from underneath a heavy piece of rubble) is alarmed. He hasn't blacked out on a killing in years. He thought he'd stopped doing that before Namek.
He doesn't know what the Z Warriors did with the rest of the crew. He doesn't really care. No one talks to him until they get back to Capsule Corporation.
"Hey, Vegeta?"
He sighs, feeling strangely exhausted and drained. "What, Kakarotto?"
"You, um, might want to wash your hands."
"What?" He looks at his gloves, sees the dried red and caked remnants of flesh, and is silently surprised. "Well. Yes. I suppose so."
{FOUR}
No Place Like London - Sweeney Todd [2007 Movie Soundtrack]
There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,
And the vermin of the world inhabit it,
And its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit,
And it goes by the name of London.
At the top of the hole sit the privileged few,
Making mock of the vermin in the lonely zoo,
Turning beauty to filth and greed...
Spit. Blood. Not his own. Ugh.
It's been a long time since he's had to do this. Crouching down over his son, lips to a poisoned wound, saving the boy's life.
Suck. Spit. Blood. Ugh.
"Dad?" Trunks groans, his eyes hazy from the pain and what venom has escaped into his system. "I'm sorry. I wasn't -"
Suck harder this time. Deeper to get the poison out before it goes too far. Gag. Damn it. Sputter. Spit. Ugh.
"Shut up, boy, and let me save your life."
Nappa taught him how to do this. He remembers Radditz screaming (high-pitched boy soprano, insane in the burning pain), how Nappa held the older boy still and instructed his prince on how to save a man's life. Vegeta had never saved anyone's life before then. It was much more difficult than killing.
Suck. Spit. Blood has become darker. Ugh. He was going to have to save the boy's life. Like Radditz back on that awful planet. Like Nappa later on after an assassination attempt. Again and again, it happened. And he hated that he was good at it when he killed so many more, so much more often. Crap.
"Trunks," he says, not really paying attention to himself, "do you trust me?"
The boy stares at him, eyes large and clear. Good, he's not too far gone yet. It will be easier that way.
"Of course I trust you, Dad."
"Good."
He takes a deep breath, taking in the scent of his son. He concentrates on that as he wraps his mouth in ki, a forcefield against killing himself and the boy. Leaning down, he bites the sides of the wound, concentrating on forming his ki to fill the deep gouge, to flow into the boy's veins to burn out what doesn't smell of his son, the foreign poison subject now to the honed senses of Vegeta's ki. When only the smell of his son remains, no traces of another to mar it, he releases his teeth from his son's flesh, coughing, half-suffocated and his entire mouth burning terribly from the concentrated heat of his focused ki.
Trunks is already recovering, his hands on his father's heaving shoulders to steady the older man before arms gasp Vegeta in tight hug.
"Thank you," Trunks is saying in a rushed, emotional tone, "thank you, Dad. I don't know what you did, but it worked and thank you, I love you, thank you..."
Vegeta groans. Sucks in air. Spits to the side. Sees blood. Tastes blood. His own blood. Good.
"Shut up," he manages, his head pounding and ears ringing from the intense concentration needed to guide ki through a living organism's systems like that, "and go get me something to drink."
{FIVE}
Give 'Em Hell, Kid - My Chemical Romance
If you were here, I'd never have a fear,
So go on live your life,
But I miss you more than I did yesterday.
You're so far away,
So c'mon show me how.
'Cause I mean this more than words could ever say.
It was a truly ungodly hour.
"You know," Vegeta says in a mock-angry tone, running a hand over his face, "I relished leaving Freeza's bases because alarm clocks weren't necessary when he wasn't around."
Bulma snorts and casts him a fond look. Overhead, the bright yellow banner proudly proclaims the impending opening of the first annual Capsule Corporation Technology Expo. Vegeta, being cheaper and more willing labor than an actual set-up team, had nailed it up above the archway just as the sun rose up a few minutes ago.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with all the humans crawling around the place?" he grumbles, pausing to yawn widely.
"Just answer questions about your project."
He blinks, still coming out of the yawn. She loves to watch him yawn: the way he ends the motion by stretching like a great cat, muscles rippling underneath his skin-tight cotton shirt. The mystified expression he sends her way makes his sleepy countenance even more appealing.
"What?"
"Your project," she supplies, grinning impishly as the light goes on in those pools of black that pass for his eyes. "You know, the one you thought I didn't know about and you were tinkering around with in the lab when you thought I was asleep?"
"...I didn't use any of your parts," he grumbles. "I wanted to surprise you."
They're standing next to said project right now. At first glance, the silvery ball is completely unimpressive, looking--for all purposes--like a simple silver ball, although a rather large one.
"It's not quite finished," he mutters, prodding the front of the ball facing them with two fingers. "The gravity calibrations have trouble adjusting while exiting and entering different atmospheres. It has to do with the change in magnetic fields, I believe."
With a hissing sound, the silver ball opens up a hatch to reveal a gray interior with a large control panel on the left side. With a wave of a hand in front of the screen, the entire display springs to life, lights going on and the cushioned cabin illuminated with only a hint of electric hum.
"Destination?" the pod asks in a calm, cool, and oddly gender neutral voice.
"None for now, Hal," Vegeta answers. "This is just a routine check."
"Hal?" Bulma snorts, amused. "I knew you paid more attention to 'petty human nonsense' than you let on."
"...I was going to enter this anonymously," he says in a surly tone. "You're terrible when it comes to surprises."
She laughs, feeling so light and happy. He feels her joy as well and he smiles back in his slight, underhand way.
{CURTAIN}
Eva - Nightwish
Mocked by man to depths of shame
Little girl with life ahead
For a memory of one kind word
She would stay among the beasts
Time for one more daring dream
Before her escape, edenbeam
We kill with her own loving heart
"Kakarotto?" He cannot suppress the anger in his voice. "What -?"
The younger saiyan looks balefully up at him, his entire countenance covered in blood. Vegeta groans as he breathes in the scents (too many, too much, not ready), the strong tang of iron underlying it all. He hates the smell of human blood mixed together like this, confusing and putrid.
"Vegeta..." Kakarotto stares up at him, so lost and scared. "You have to help me."
He turns from the open window and gropes, half-blinded by the assault of scents on Bulma's vanity, grabbing one of those scented cloths she likes so much and clutching it to his burning nose. It helps, if only a little, and he begins to steady himself again. Kakarotto makes to climb through the window, but Vegeta throws up a hand to halt the movement.
"Do not approach me, you imbecile! You stink like a cesspool and disgust me with your presence." He knows he's regressing into the style of speech from his childhood, the high speech he normally does without on a daily basis, but he doesn't really care. "What foolishness have you commited?"
Kakarotto describes an attack upon his family, a blinding onslaught of gas and bullets. No direction, no scent, just instinct to guide. Vegeta watches the way that the younger, normally less violent Saiyan describes his reaction, the need to protect his family at all costs. When Kakarotto finishes, he is in tears, taken by the guilt of killing others without thinking.
"You have to help me," Kakarotto repeats. "I don't know how... why..."
Vegeta sighs, turning away from the other and looking over at Bulma's vanity. Bottles and compacts lie in neat little rows in front of the circular mirror. The mirror's shape reminds him of the window holes on the space ships he spent the majority of his youth on, watching his reflection against the backdrop of empty, black space.
"There's nothing to help," he answers with a shrug, turning back to Kakarotto and tilting his head ever so slightly to the left. "You killed to protect what was precious to you, did you not?"
"Yes, but it was in cold blood. I wanted them all to die, to suffer. Isn't that wrong?"
"No."
Vegeta's answer has no hesistation because, in his life, the things he considers precious are the things he would do anything to protect. He has lost too much to hold back, to think too much about any one action. If he did, then what little he considers his and his own would disappear. Vegeta learned that the hard way: by traveling the vast void of space by looking through a metal prison's porthole.
"I would have done the exact same thing."
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emotion: 
creative
creativemusic: "No Place Like London" - Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd
20 tongues | speaking
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