Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Paint it Black ❯ Mother of Mine ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1: Mother of Mine

He had yet to reach his teenage years, yet there was an air about him that told an entirely different story. His eyes were fierce and wise beyond his years, his body muscular. Even still, the balding man nearby kept an ever watchful eye on the boy, his gaze almost hawk-like. To say the boy appreciated the warrior's concern would be a lie.

His fist collided with an invisible opponent as he beat the air. People stopped to peer through the glass of the training facility as the young prince continued with his practice. He didn't mind. He thrived under praise, silent or no, though he would never admit to such a thing. He took pride in the strength he had inherited from being a Saiya-jin, one born into the House of Vegeta, as well as the power he had acquired from his own daily rigorous work-outs.

Perspiration slid down his forehead and dripped into his eyes, and he paused for only a moment as he wiped his hastily away. Such an annoying thing, sweat was. It dripped down one's face without notice and drew fighters' concentration from the battle to the water sliding into their eyes. A skilled warrior would take advantage of this slight distraction and attack. For some, this could mean their demise.

The flame-haired boy fired a beam of light towards the walls, dodging as it ricocheted back towards him. He turned, firing another blast and watched as they collided and demolished one another. He exhaled heavily then, and decided to take a break. His stomach was rumbling and Nappa's constant stare was beginning to annoy him. He turned, exiting the facility, ignoring the towel Nappa held out to him.

"A wonderful session today, Prince Vegeta," Nappa told him. "You're becoming quite the fighter."

Vegeta grunted at this. In his opinion, he already was 'quite the fighter.' Though not yet an elite, he doubted that any of the others had been at his level at the young age of eleven. He far exceeded them, especially when it came to logic. Vegeta knew that a fight couldn't be won entirely by strength, though that was a huge part. His reasoning for this was that one person could have all the strength in the world, but if they weren't smart enough to fight in return, they would surely lose.

He could hear Nappa talking, but his words were jumbled together and slurred to Vegeta's ears. He wasn't listening, and made no effort to decode the larger warrior's words. The older man never said anything of great importance. A tap on his shoulder, however, caused him to look, frowning, into the stocky man's face.

"You weren't listening, were you?" Nappa asked dully.

"No. You never have any interesting to say," Vegeta replied, rudely but completely honest.

Nappa sighed. "You're just like your mother," he commented, then cringed inwardly. Vegeta had never known his mother; she had been killed only a year after he had been born. The prince tried to appear as though he wasn't effected by this in the least, but those who knew him well could sometimes tell otherwise.

"How can that be?" Vegeta demanded. "I never knew her; how could I be like her?"

Nappa shrugged. "You may look like your father, Prince Vegeta, but your way of perceiving things is the way of the queen. She would tune me out, claiming I had nothing to say that interested her, for example."

Despite his tough, outer shell, eagerness shone in his eyes. He had believed he had nothing in resemblance to his mother, and for some inexplicable reason, this made him both angry and dispirited. No one had ever bothered to tell him about his mother; his father had mentioned her a few times, but never gone to any depths. She was now the main topic of conversation, and Vegeta made a mental note to listen to Nappa a little more often. It seemed as though he knew more than he let on. "Is that all?"

"No," Nappa told him with a shake of his head. "Like you, she knew a battle couldn't be won by strength alone. A true warrior also possessed the skill to think logically under pressure, in the heat of the moment." Vegeta chuckled to himself; how ironic that he had just been thinking that.

The two of them rounded the corner to Vegeta's room. "What else?"

"She was feisty, easily angered, with one hell of a temper." At his choice of words, he took a sideways glance at his prince, but he had seemed not to notice. Nappa shrugged, figuring that he heard such language floating about the halls all the time. "But there was the other side to her, the side no one seemed to know about, that was caring and considerate. Respectful and ever watchful of those around her." Vegeta said nothing. He could relate to all of this perfectly.

"Mendoa was quite short," Nappa went on, "but she used this to her advantage, much like you do. Many people seem to think that the shorter, the weaker, and she led them on to believe this. Then, when they got cocky and over-confident that they would win the fight, she would show them her true power and catch them off guard, winning nine times out of ten." Vegeta smirked. It was a tactic he himself used regularly.

"She would strut around the palace with her nose held high, even before she was mated to your father. She appeared arrogant, as though she believed she was 'all that.' When she was younger, I think she may have believed it so, but she outgrew it as she matured."

"You were alive when she was a child?"

"I was younger than her. I was born when she was about six or seven," Nappa explained.

Vegeta nodded. He knew there was more that Nappa could tell him, but it was enough for now. He didn't want to give anyone the impression he was eager for storytelling. "It would have been nice to have met her," Vegeta said as he let himself into his room.

"You would have really loved her," the balding man said. "Though you look like your father, you're your mother at heart."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. There were times when Nappa said things as though trying to seem wise. To the eleven year old, it seemed more stupid than sagacious.

There was no need for a description of his mother; her portrait had hung in the large dining room in the House of Vegeta on Vegeta-sei. How many hours he had gazed at that picture, he didn't know, but it was etched into his memory forever. Her dark eyes, showing power, resourcefulness and care. Her smirk, a sign of confidence, strength and determination. Her black hair fell in spikes around her shoulders, and his father had once commented that it had been a fight for him to get her to wear it that way for the painting. The king had told him that she always had it tied back and out of the way in case she ever needed to jump unexpectedly into battle. Only two spiked strands of hair were left out, due to the fact that they were too short, but they seemed to frame her face beautifully. There was no picture of her like that that Vegeta knew of.

"You got your hair colour from Mendoa, too," Nappa added as he stepped into the room behind the boy.

"I know." Vegeta knew that much, at least. His father's hair was brown, and odd colour for a Saiya-jin, he had thought. His was black, the normal colour, and he had inherited it from his mother. He sighed loudly. "I wish he were still around, too."

He instantly regretted saying it. It made him appear weak, as though he was saddened by the fact that he was alone. Most of the fighters on Cold-sei lived alone, caring for no one, and they preferred it that way. It seemed that most of the children born were from one-night stands. Rather than ridiculing him about it, Nappa instead said, "As long as you don't forget them, and the love they felt for you, you'll never be alone."

Vegeta only nodded. It was another one of the times when Nappa tried to act as though he were a Seer. It was in the way he had worded his sentence, though what he had said did hold some truth, and Vegeta wondered if that was why his father had shouted at him to remember when Frieza had taken him away. Vegeta stopped himself before the snowball effect occurred, and he had himself pondering over whether or not his father had known they would never see each other again.

He turned to Nappa. "I'm going to have a shower," he told him bluntly. Nappa nodded, taking the hint, and exited the room with a bow. Vegeta stripped and stepped into the spray of water.

***

He sat in his room, bored, waiting for the dining room to empty out a bit more so he could get a seat around the table to eat. Vegeta's thoughts drifted back to what Nappa had said. Not about the conversation about his mother, Mendoa, but the part about never being alone so long as he didn't forget. He wondered if thinking about his father would help him to raise his spirits whenever he felt as though he were in the dark.

A loud banging on his door caused him to jump. He stood, put his scowl in place, and turned the handle, swinging the door open. He recognized the person standing there, though not by name. He nodded his head at him, as though in a bow, saying, "Lord Frieza wishes to see you in his throne room as soon as possible."

Vegeta grunted a response and closed the door, before turning and striding the small closet near his bed. He was currently dressed in a loose training outfit, and decided this wasn't at all suitable for a visit to Lord Frieza's chambers. He snorted as he pulled on a dark blue spandex outfit. Frieza's a dictator, he thought, not a lord. And he's evil and murderous; how can it be that I seem to be the only one to hate him?

He pulled on white, gold-tipped boots and white gloves, then pulled his armour down over his head. He looked down at it, frowning. Frieza stole the armour design from us, he thought sourly, unknowing that the design had not been the Saiya-jins in the beginning. They, too, had stolen it from elsewhere. However, the fact that he was wearing armour with the House of Vegeta crest on his chest and a red cape attached near the shoulder pads made him feel special. His armour was unique; Frieza had not made any with capes, nor with emblems on them.

He exited his room and made his way to Frieza's throne. A few people glanced at him as he passed, most didn't seem to notice him. He was just another one of Frieza's many soldiers. His head was unconsciously held high in an arrogant, determined way, and his walk was almost strut-like. He approached the soldiers guarding the door to Frieza's room and looked in their eyes.

"Frieza has requested I be here," he said, his voice unwavering. The guards glanced at one another, surprised yet impressed at his insolence. They moved out of his way and watched as he opened the door and walked in.

Frieza sat in a chair, one that hovered almost two feet above the ground, facing the doorway. A smirk turned his lips upward as Vegeta entered, reluctantly dropping to a knee and placing a hand over his breast. "You called for me, Lord Frieza?" He almost sneered at himself, for doing what Frieza expected of him, but there was no time to dwell on it.

"Yes," Frieza said, taking a sip of a strong-smelling liquid. "You're to go on a mission to Shatshie. I told the Shatshie-jins that they had one week to inform me of whether or not they were going to join my ranks. I have not heard from them, so I am assuming they have made the fateful decision not to. You, Vegeta, are going to go there and kill them."

Vegeta nodded. It was not the first time he had been given a mission of that sort. "Yes, Lord Frieza," he said obediently.

"You are to leave tomorrow, then. This is a solitary mission. Be gone with you." Frieza took another sip of the liquid and the chair turned towards the large window at the back of the room.

Vegeta said nothing more as he exited the room, turning towards the dining hall. He assumed that it would be more or less vacant now.

***

A/N: That's the first chapter, folks. I know that not much happened, and it was a pretty boring chapter, but the action and adventure will start soon, I can assure you. Chapter 2: Murder, Dare and Ambush will be out soon.