Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ I Saw Daddy Beating Santa Claus ❯ "Please Don't Hurt Santa" ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Sawnya
“Alright, Santa, there you are! You’re coming back out, right now!” Vegeta was standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed and black eyes narrowed.

“Name’s Rodney! I ain’t Santa no more today, troll-doll!”

Vegeta growled, barely restraining the impulse to deliver Rodney the early Christmas present of a Gallic Gun down his throat. After all, he needed the man mostly intact to make his daughter happy. “Do not insult me any further. Now go back outside and tend to my daughter. She is not finished with her requests, old man.”

“How much did she pay to see me?”

“Nothing, you fool! My wife told me that seeing you was free!”

“Then the brat got more than her money’s worth! Now go ‘way!”

“Hell, if I will! You will go out there and finish your job and make my daughter happy—or else!”

“Or else what?” Rodney challenged.

“Or else you’ll be the one receiving coal!”

Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Fantasy | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 12.12.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.1K | Visits: 561 | Status: Work In Progress

Chapter Two: “Please Don't Hurt Santa!”
West Capital City Mall…
“Jingle Bells, Frieza smells…”
“Bra, that's enough!” Vegeta ordered his daughter, as he marched her towards the long, looping line leading to Santa's throne. Even he was tiring of the song he had impulsively created, after his daughter had sung it for the two-millionth time today. Bra had only promised not to sing it at school, and her father was wondering if maybe he should make her stop singing it altogether.
“Pick a different song,” he told her gruffly, when Bra's large blue eyes clouded with disappointment.
“Okay!” Bra chirped, immediately happy again. “You better watch out, you better not cry! You better not pout; I'm telling you why…”
Vegeta sighed, wishing his daughter had picked a song that did not include Santa. He was already sick of the old fool, and he and his daughter had not even approached him yet. Santa was everywhere, in the bell-ringers with their cacophonous ringing, the cheesy plastic faces dangling outside of mall windows, and unfortunately, even in Bra's red velvet dress and matching Santa hat with a bell. Why did his wife have to pick that outfit for their child to wear?
Bra, oblivious to her father's disgruntlement, was joyously swinging his hand in hers. “Do you know what I'm asking Santa for Christmas?”
“I can't imagine. You already have everything you could want and need. What else could that old man bring you that you don't already have?”
“Candy!” Bra sang. “And Patty Poopsey; she's a doll that really poops and even farts—“
“Why would you want a doll that poops?” Vegeta openly gagged. It was bad enough that she already had two dolls that “peed”. What was it with children wanting the grossest things imaginable?
“Because she's neat!” Bra crowed knowingly, as if her father should have already known. “And I also want Dollie Mollie and Candy Apple dolls and the Candy Apple Dream Mansion, and…”
Vegeta half-listened for five minutes before he abruptly told her to save her verbal list for Santa's ears. Bra subsided, but she still glowed with excitement of seeing Santa again this year. She just hoped that Santa wouldn't be mad at her for singing her daddy's song in school.
Nevertheless, she hugged herself, crowing, “I love Santa!”
Vegeta grunted. Perhaps, she did, but more likely, it was the toys that Santa supposedly brought her every year that made her happy. “Hmmph,” he snorted, crossing his arms, as he usually did. “So what, if Santa brings toys; he's nothing compared to the Dark Saiyan!”
Bra was intrigued. “Who's the Dark Saiyan, Daddy? I heard Mommy telling Aunt Chichi that you believed in him, but who is he?”
“He's a bit like your Santa Claus, only he brought useful gifts every year, like great strength, intelligence, and courage to defeat your enemies. If you tried your best to be a good warrior back on my home planet and succeeded in most of your battles, the Dark Saiyan would come to your home and make you even stronger and mightier than before. And if you were a really good warrior and fighter, he would leave you and your family a grand feast!”
“What did he look like?”
“His hair was pure fire, his eyes were burning black, and he was gigantic—in his Saiyan form, that was. Most of the time, though, he went around as a big, black Oozaru, and he would blow fire from his mouth towards weaklings and enemies, burning them to a—“
“Daddy, he sounds scary!” Bra protested.
“He was one of the deadliest of Saiyan warriors. What do you expect? Why, I almost saw the Dark Saiyan myself the last year I was on planet Vegeta, and—“
“Oh, wait, Daddy, I remember now what Mommy said about the Dark Saiyan!”
“And what was that?” Vegeta asked cautiously.
“Mommy told Aunt Chichi that you thought the Dark Saiyan was real, but he wasn't. She said that it was a Saiyan myth that you still believed in.”
Vegeta growled, as he made a mental note to have a “talk” with his wife about maligning one of the few men he had looked up to besides his own father. “Well, your mother is wrong! The Dark Saiyan was real!”
“Where is he now?”
Vegeta sighed, suddenly a bit sad. “He went on to his reward. It is said that when he died, he would watch over all Saiyans and guard and strengthen them in battle from beyond his grave. Either he died with the rest of my people, or he escaped. It has been a long time, but he was a great Saiyan warrior, and—“
“HO, HO, HO!”
“Santa!” Bra shrieked with delight, taking her father's hand and dragging them to the end of the line. “C'mon, Daddy!” Very reluctantly, Vegeta trailed behind his excited daughter to the line of eager children.
He growled low and soft, noticing again the fifteen children already ahead of him and Bra. Some of them were waving long lists of the toys and gifts they wanted for Christmas. Glowing mothers, who had tiny children about to see Santa for the first time, whispered to them of the wonderful things that Santa would do for them. As Vegeta listened, he rolled his eyes at the mothers' well-meaning fairy-tales; what would their children say when they were old enough to learn that “Santa” was nothing more than some guy trying to earn an extra pittance before Christmas and couldn't give any of them anything beyond a candy cane?
Already, he was sorely tempted to hoist his daughter over his shoulder and shove their way to the front of the line, so he could get this Santa business done with, but he knew what would happen, if Bra ever told her mother that he had cut in line. His daughter should be the first to see that old fool anyway; after all, she was a Saiyan princess. But he knew that his wife and the rest of the world wouldn't see it that way.
 
Kami, how long does it take to tell that old man what you want for Christmas?
Vegeta sulked, as he leaned against a garland-wrapped pillar, while Bra was dancing about, eagerly waiting her turn to tell Santa her dreams. Finally, there was, thankfully, just one child left before Bra.
Santa was sitting on his red, velvet throne, holding a small boy, younger than Bra, dressed in red and blue. The child looked up at him eagerly through blue eyes, as he clutched his crude list scribbled in crayon. “Santa…” he whispered reverently.
“He's so lucky!” Bra chimed. “I wish I was up there right now.”
“I want a truck, and a puppy and a pony, and a robot who will clean my room for me, so I don't have to do it…”
Vegeta growled under his breath. This was going to be a long day; it didn't help that his stomach was already growling; those three bowls of cereal and ten strips of bacon just hadn't filled him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little boy start to squirm and wiggle; the child still continued to read from his list, despite his obvious discomfort.
As he tried to calm his impatient stomach, Bra tugged at his hand. “Daddy, what's wrong with Santa?”
“What do you mean what's wrong with Santa—“ Vegeta began, and then he saw where Bra was now pointing. Santa's face was red and scrunched in…anger?
Yes, anger. For the little boy sitting on Santa's lap had accidentally wet himself on his benefactor. He had been bravely trying to control his bladder until he could finish with Santa and make it to the restroom, but his efforts were in vain. He trembled in fear at the signs of Santa's coming fury: the crossed arms, still-red face, heavy scowl, and stiff posture.
“Didn't your momma potty-train you?” he growled.
The boy burst into tears. “Momma!” he cried, dashing off of Santa's lap and towards his mother's open embrace.
“Daddy,” Bra said worriedly. “Why's Santa being so mean?”
Before Vegeta could reply with a derogatory comment about Santa, an older man dressed as an elf, whispered something, possibly a lecture, into Santa's ear. Santa huffed, but he arose and swaggered over to the frightened little boy and his angry mother. The mother, standing in front of Vegeta and Bra, rocked him back and forth, as she glared at Santa.
“Santa's sorry. I'm just tired and need a nap. I didn't mean to yell,” he slurred long and low. The mother wrinkled her nose in disgust at his breath, and Vegeta understood why: the man had alcohol on his breath.
“Hmmph,” the mother snorted and turned away from the inebriated Santa. She said to her son, “C'mon, Jimmy, we'll come to see Santa again—when he's sober—and at another mall.” After that, she stormed away, carrying her son. The “elf” that had chastised Santa for his behavior shook his head and crossed his arms.
Vegeta was about to follow the mother's lead and take Bra away, but before he could, Santa took Bra's hand and pulled her towards him. Bra's eyes were wide with worry, as she now reluctantly followed Santa to his chair. Slowly, she climbed onto his lap, looking back at her father, who was inching closer, about to take her away from Santa as soon as possible.
If that old fart treats my daughter the way that he did that boy earlier, he'll be the one getting coal—where the sun doesn't shine!
“Don't be scared of Santa, little girl!” Santa chuckled. “I didn't mean to make that boy cry or scare you. Even Santa gets cranky sometimes when he's tired; I'm sure your daddy does too. In fact, he looks like he could use a nap right about now, don't you agree?” If he had been sober, Santa would have noticed the deadly glare and clenched fists of the little girl's father and would have commented no further. But he continued, giving Bra a large candy cane with a ribbon tied on it, “Doesn't your daddy get mad and yell sometimes?” He flashed a cheesy grin at her.
“He did the other day—at my teacher, but Mommy wasn't happy about it. I sang his favorite song at school and got in trouble,” Bra piped up, allowing the candy cane to ease some of her anxiety about Santa. Then she looked at Santa worriedly. “But, Santa, I won't do it again at school, I promise! And I won't pee on your lap, either.”
Santa laughed. “I know you won't! And I know the boy just had an accident, so don't worry `bout that, okay? I'll make sure he gets some extra toys and candy to make up for it. Anyway, did anyone tell you how pretty you are? I bet you're as pretty as your mommy.”
“They tell me that all the time! And I look just like her!” Bra boasted, sitting up straight and proud. “And Daddy calls me his little princess!” Vegeta's face was now redder than Santa's suit.
“That's good, `cause you are a little princess, aren't you? Now what do you want for Christmas?”
“Well, I want Patty Poopsey and Candy Apple, and…”
As Bra named several more toys, the mall manager, dressed in a gray suit and red tie, stomped over to Santa's throne. He normally knew better than to berate employees in front of customers, but he was so fed up by the umpteenth complaint he received from a child's parent, that he wasn't thinking straight. “Santa!” he yelled. “I just received the tenth complaint this week about your behavior towards the kids! And I heard you were drinking today while on the clock! I want to see you in my office!”
“I ain't been drinkin'!” Santa snapped.
“Then why was that bottle of beer in your coat pocket?”
“Stuckey put it in there! That guy's had it in for me since I started here!”
“Oh, and I suppose Stuckey stashed those three empty bottles of beer in your locker?”
“It wouldn't surprise me! Stuckey's been tryin' to screw me over since I've been here—just cause I get more hours than he does.”
“Whatever,” the manager huffed. “Just hurry up with these kids—and no more problems!”
“Fine, fine,” Santa grumbled. He put his arm around Bra, much to Vegeta's agitation, and asked her in a cooing voice to tell him more of what she wanted. Vegeta was about to yank Bra away from Santa, when a little boy yelled from behind him.
“C'mon, Santa, I want my turn!”
“Yeah! Hurry up, Santa!” the kids behind the boy shouted. “Hurry up!”
“Shaddup, brats!” Santa roared, unwrapping his arm from Bra. “Or I'll give ya somethin' to really hurry up for!”
“Do it then!” the boy cried. “I know you're just some old geezer in a costume anyway. Where's the real Santa?”
“Henry!” his mother hissed, shaking him. “You apologize at once.”
“That's not the real Santa?” Henry's little sister cried.
“Of course he is, Janey,” the mother assured her.
“No, he's not,” Henry argued. “I saw him earlier with no hat or beard!”
“You lying brat!” Santa snapped. “You're on my bad list for the rest of your life!”
“Santa!” the manager exclaimed. “You apologize immediately!”
“Hell, if I will!” Santa retorted. He abruptly plucked Bra from his lap and set her on the floor, none too gently. “That's it! I ain't dealin' with no more brats today! Good-bye!” And he turned on his shiny black heel and marched away angrily.
“Santa, wait! I wasn't done!” Bra cried, close to tears.
“Send me an email, kid! I ain't takin' no more requests today!”
Bra put her face in her hands and began to sob. Vegeta gathered her to him. “Don't cry over that fool; he's not worth it.”
“Why's he so mad, Daddy? I didn't get to finish telling him what I wanted!”
Vegeta wiped his daughter's tears away with his thumbs. “Oh, you will, I promise. Daddy's going to bring Santa back, right now.” He would have preferred to take Bra home, but he wasn't about to let some old faker in an obsolete suit break his child's heart. Santa was going to finish what he started—or else.
 
“Ah, that hits the spot! I love ya, Jack Daniels! You're the one guy in life that's never let me down!”
Santa lay back, chugging one of his favorite liquors from a flask. His Santa hat and beard lay on the worn table next to him in the mall employee lounge, and his jacket was draped over a pile of papers. He was now only in his undershirt and red pants. He wiped the drizzle of alcohol that was trailing along his unshaven face. He tipped his chair back and forth in contentment.
“Alright, Santa, there you are! You're coming back out, right now!” The short and obviously foul-tempered father of the little girl that Santa had held earlier was standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed and black eyes narrowed.
“Name's Rodney! I ain't Santa no more today, troll-doll!”
Vegeta growled, barely restraining the impulse to deliver Rodney the early Christmas present of a Gallic Gun down his throat. After all, he needed the man mostly intact to make his daughter happy. “Do not insult me any further. Now go back outside and tend to my daughter. She is not finished with her requests, old man.”
“How much did she pay to see me?”
“Nothing, you fool! My wife told me that seeing you was free!”
“Then the brat got more than her money's worth! Now go `way!”
“Hell, if I will! You will go out there and finish your job and make my daughter happy—or else!”
“Or else what?” Rodney challenged.
“Or else you'll be the one receiving coal—up your ass!”
Rodney staggered to his feet. “Ooh, I'm so scared, short stuff! Who you think you are to boss me around—one of Santa's elves? Ya certainly look like one of them—heh, heh, heh!” He laughed at his own joke. “They hirin' for elves right now, so do us both a favor, shorty, and go apply!”
“I'm going to apply my fists to your face, if you don't get up and go back out there! NOW! Put your hat and beard on, and let's go!” And Vegeta snatched the red hat and white beard and shoved them over Rodney's head. But before Vegeta could finish, Rodney slapped at Vegeta's angry hands.
“I will when I'm good an' ready, future elf-man! And when you go to apply, bring your wifey along. Your kid did say she looked like her momma, right? If the momma's anywhere as good-lookin' as her daughter, she'd make a hot Mrs. Claus! I wouldn't mind having her for Christmas, if what your kid says is true! So, how `bout it?”
“How about this?” Vegeta roared, forgetting to control himself and slamming his fist into Rodney's face. Rodney's body crashed into a table, but the drunken man had more stamina than Vegeta thought. For even though his nose was bleeding and swollen, Rodney charged like a dog robbed of a steak and launched himself at Vegeta. Vegeta seized Rodney by his collar and flung him out of the lounge and into the hallway. His body crashed into the side of a wheeled dumpster, but despite his head and ribs being sore and bruised, Rodney scrambled to his feet and began running for his life, with Vegeta flying after him in pursuit.
“Come back here, you coward, and face me like a man!”
 
“Where's Santa?”
“Why is he mad?”
“When's he coming back?”
“Yes, where is Santa?” the mother of Henry and Janey demanded to know.
“Where's my daddy?” Bra asked worriedly. “He said he was going to bring Santa back. Where are they?”
“Look!” Janey exclaimed. “Santa's coming now!”
“YAYYY!” the other kids, except for Henry chorused. Santa started running towards the crowd, waving his hands frantically. His hat had long fallen off of his balding head, but his beard had surprisingly remained intact, just enough to still convince the kids (except for Henry) that he was the real Santa.
“Help me!” Santa cried, unconsciously slipping into the fake “old man” voice he had always used around the kids. “Save me!”
“Look!” Janey cried. “There's a scary troll-doll man flying above Santa!”
“Oh no!” screamed another little girl. “He's after Santa! He's going to hurt him!”
“That's my daddy!” Bra shrieked, recognizing her angry father, as he landed onto his feet and right behind Santa. “Daddy, stop, don't hurt him!”
But Vegeta was too angry to listen to his daughter's protests. He was running furiously after Rodney, and within seconds of catching up to him, he seized Rodney's collar. Rodney started to sob and wet his pants as Vegeta turned him around and punched him hard in his face. Rodney tried in vain to punch him back, but it was like hitting a brick wall; his blows had no effect on the Saiyan prince. Vegeta then shoved his fist into Rodney's soft, flabby stomach.
“Daddy, please don't hurt Santa!” Bra cried.
“HELP!” Rodney screamed. “SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE!”
“Oh, I'll help you alright!” Vegeta shouted. “I'll help you into the next dimension!” And with that, he took Rodney by his collar and whirled him around several times and hurled him into a nearby water fountain. The fountain was oval-shaped and Rodney would have fallen all the way into the water, if his shirt had not been caught onto the hand of one of the three mermaid statues spitting out water. The mermaid repeatedly poured water out of its mouth onto Rodney's head.
Bra burst into tears, along with many of the other children. “Daddy, why?” she screamed. “Why did you beat up Santa Claus? I'm telling Mommy!” And after that, the heartbroken little girl dashed away from Santa's throne before anyone could stop her. She scurried towards the mall exit.
“Bra, come back here!” Vegeta yelled after his daughter.
“He beat up Santa!” a little boy shouted. “Let's get him!”
“Yeah, let's get him!” the other children screamed, as they ran towards a row of potted plants. All of the pots were lined with sparkly black and white rocks. The children started to gather up the rocks and throw them at Vegeta, who burst from the ground in time to avoid the assaults.
“Bra, where are you?” Vegeta shouted, paying little mind to the rocks that the children continued to throw at him. Like a missile, he zoomed through the air in pursuit of his daughter.
A troop of security guards were following behind the children, ordering them to stop throwing the rocks. The angry and disheartened children reluctantly obeyed, although all of them commanded the guards to “get the mean man who beat up Santa”.
“Come down here immediately!” the head of the guards shouted at Vegeta, who was already far beyond his height and reach.
“You're under arrest!” one of the other guards cried in vain.
“Come down here at once!” the head guard ordered.
As Vegeta headed towards the mall entrance, where Bra had fled, he flashed his middle finger at the guards, just as he was landing at the door. He thrust the door open with one finger and raced out of the mall.
As he fled the mall, the head guard dialed the police on his cell phone, even as he shouted, “Keep pursuing him! Don't let him get away!”
 
Shivering and scared, little Bra was huddled in a phone booth, waiting for the operator to put her collect call through to Capsule Corp. Without delay, the call was accepted, and Bulma's worried voice answered the phone:
“Bra, honey, what's wrong? Where's Daddy?”
“Mommy!” Bra sobbed. “I saw Daddy beating Santa Claus!”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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