Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ I Saw Daddy Beating Santa Claus ❯ "A Really Mad Troll Doll!" ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Sawnya
Why was the judge mentioning Santa Claus? What did his sentence have to do with that old fool?

He leaned over to the head lawyer, a balding man possibly as old as that perverted moron, Roshi, and asked, “What did that judge say about me and Santa?”

The lawyer laughed nervously. “Um…Mr. Briefs, she said you would have to take Rodney Draknurd’s place as Santa Claus until Christmas Eve.”

Vegeta fell against his chair, chuckling. “So, this judge has a sense of humor, eh? She doesn’t actually expect me to play that old fart, does she?’

“Yes, Mr. Briefs, I do.” The judge’s tone was firm, with no room for argument.

“WHAT?” Vegeta’s voice reverberated throughout the courtroom.

“I think it is a fitting sentence,” the judge continued. “Perhaps, it will teach you the Christmas spirit—and better appreciate the hard work that Santas everywhere do during the holidays!”

“And what if I refuse?” Vegeta dared her.

Bulma and the attorneys looked at Vegeta, horrified, but the judge remained calm.

“Then, Mr. Briefs, you can spend thirty days in jail, instead, and miss Christmas with your family. Be Santa until Christmas, or go to jail—your choice.”

Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Fantasy | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 12.12.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.3K | Visits: 487 | Status: Completed

Chapter Three: “A Really Mad Troll Doll!”
“Today on Channel Eight News…a Christmas tragedy…or comedy, depending on how you look at it…a disgruntled father, who supposedly can fly, attacked Santa Claus at West Capital Mall! The father appeared to be upset because this Santa had left his little daughter behind before she could finish saying what she wanted for Christmas. Other than that, no one really knows what started the fistfight between Santa and the father. The children, who were also there to see this Santa, have described Santa's attacker as `looking like a really mad troll doll with lots of muscles and black hair.' We turn now to our on-the-spot reporter, Nosee Snuup, who's at West Capital Mall! Nosee ?”
The television screen split into two sides, and the anchorman, Newz Worthay was on one side while Nosee Snuup was on other. She fluffed her teased strawberry-blonde hair and flashed her gigantic lime-colored eyes, speaking with just the right combination of sorrow and excitement. “Hi, Newz! So sad, isn't it? We finally have identification on the man who attacked Santa Claus! Several store clerks in the mall recognized the man as Vegeta Briefs, husband of the famous Capsule Corp. heiress, Bulma Briefs. The little girl who was Santa's last visitor is their daughter, Bra Briefs…we'll go to commercials now, but we'll be right back with this tale of holiday hell raising…”
“How could Vegeta do what he did?” Goku exclaimed in horror, as a toilet paper commercial flashed on the screen with dancing toilet paper rolls using their “mouths” to carol Christmas songs.
Chichi, sitting next to him on the couch, sighed, as she knitted a Christmas tree sweater for Gohan. “Why are you so surprised? This is Vegeta we're talking about!”
“Still, Chichi, how could he? Don't you see? Now Santa won't bring him anything for Christmas! Santa will be too scared to go to Capsule Corp to visit! He's gone too far this time! I'm going over there right now to tell him off for beating up Santa Claus!” And with that, Goku marched through the kitchen, over to the living room door and abruptly left the house.
“GOKU!” Chichi screamed, but she was already too late. She flopped back into the couch and sweat-dropped heavily. “Santa isn't re—oh, what's the use? It's not like he listens anyway—can't believe that man still thinks Santa is real!”
 
“…An embarrassment for Ms. Briefs, I imagine,” Newz chuckled over his coffee. “Imagine being the wife of the man who beat up Santa!”
Nosee laughed softly from her side of the television screen. “Well, you know Santa will be too afraid to come down their chimney after today!”
“What happened to the victim, Nosee ?”
“The victim, who was proven to be intoxicated at the time of his assault, is on his way to West Capital Hospital, and is still, amazingly enough, conscious! Let's get a few words with him, shall we?” And Nosee eagerly dashed up to the gurney, where “Santa” was being wheeled towards an ambulance.
“Santa…um, I mean, Mr. Draknurd? What caused Vegeta Briefs to attack you?”
“Ohhh…go `way, I got a headache!” Rodney groaned piteously. “Leave me `lone; go ask Troll-Doll!” And he allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to shut closed.
“I'm sorry, Ms. Snuup, but he must be left alone for now,” one of the paramedics ordered the reporter, as they lifted Rodney's gurney into the ambulance.
As the doors closed, the unperturbed Nosee piped up, “Well, there you have it for now! We'll catch up with Mr. Draknurd later! Meanwhile, the suspect, Vegeta Briefs had escaped from West Capital City Mall, flying through the air! He is believed to still be searching for his runaway six-year-old daughter, Bra! Little Bra ran out of the mall after yelling at her father for beating up Santa! Right now, half of the city's police force is following him, but he's not surrendering. In fact, I was just told by several witnesses driving by, that Mr. Briefs, just ten minutes ago on Orange Avenue, flashed an obscene gesture at the police with his middle finger and shouted, `Tis The Season'—“
Just entering the living room, Vegeta abruptly turned off the television. “'Tis The Season is right! Those idiots tried to prevent me from looking for Bra, who ran away! Bulma, has she called you?”
Bulma stood up with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. Vegeta tried not to gulp, even though he knew he was in for it. “Yes, Vegeta she has! In fact, I just brought her home, so you can stop looking. And right now, she doesn't want to see or speak to you, and I just about feel the same!”
“Is she alright?” Vegeta wanted to know, ignoring his wife's coming fury for now.
“Other than having her father humiliate her by beating up Santa, yes! Other than believing that Santa won't come to see us now because of what you did, yes! What the hell were you thinking, Vegeta?”
“Woman, you don't understand!” Vegeta fumed. “That man had it coming to him! Why he—“
“I don't care, Vegeta! You had no cause or right to beat up on Santa Claus, of all people! I knew; I knew I should have made Bra wait to see Santa when I could take her myself. But that's not the worst thing you did! You broke your own daughter's heart! Why I have a mind to—“
“VEGETA BRIEFS, THIS IS THE POLICE AND NATIONAL GUARD! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”
“Oh, I'll come out with something up, alright!” Vegeta declared, preparing both of his middle fingers.
“And you have the police and National Guard chasing after you? Brilliant, Vegeta, just brilliant!” Bulma fumed, as she stomped towards the front door. But before she could reach it, Vegeta was upon her, grabbing her arm.
“You are not talking to those fools,” he ordered. “I will deal with them myself. Now step aside.”
Bulma remained where she was. She knew what would happen, if Vegeta dealt with the authorities himself—there would be few, if any, of them, left alive. “Forget it, Vegeta; you are not using violence to solve this problem, do you understand me?”
“I'm not going to kill them,” he assured her smoothly, “as long as they don't make me.”
“VEGETA BRIEFS, COME OUT NOW, OR WE'LL BE COMING IN!”
“Oh no, they won't!” Bulma declared. “Vegeta, if we want this problem solved quickly, there's only one thing to do.”
“Gladly,” Vegeta told her, powering up, as he started to open the door. He'd send those police officers and the National Guard an early Christmas present they'd never forget.
“Oh no,” Bulma told him, grabbing her husband's wrist. “You are going to surrender—immediately!”
Vegeta burst into laughter. “You amuse me, woman! Me, the Prince of the Saiyans, surrender to a bunch of weaklings who have only guns to protect themselves? Have you ever considered becoming a comedienne?””
But the stern look on her face told him that she wasn't joking. She leaned against the doorway, awaiting a response. Vegeta knew that position and the accompanying expression well; this time, none of the usual methods he used to change Bulma's mind (often involving seduction) would work. He lowered his eyebrows and scowled at her. “Do you realize what you insist on my doing—turning myself over to human authority?”
“Of course I do,” Bulma coolly replied. “Now, if you want a chance to reconcile with both Bra and I, you will turn yourself in, understand?”
Vegeta growled, long and low, but very grudgingly, he opened the door and exited out of the Capsule Corp. building. He even held his hands in the air, although he gave his pursuers the dirtiest looks possible. He saw a light from an upstairs bedroom, as he marched quietly out onto the sidewalk, and he looked up into Bra's bedroom. He could see the shadow of Bra, with her face in her hands, and the sight of her misery broke his heart and awakened his guilt over his actions. Because of all of this, he forgot his original plan to flip his middle fingers at the police and National Guard.
With guns pointed, the police and guards swiftly surrounded Vegeta. He stoically kept his hands in the air and just barely resisted the urge to give his capturers the “one-finger salute”, or blast them into the next dimension.
 
Ten days later…
Normally, someone who was considered to be as dangerous as Vegeta would have been kept behind bars the entire time before his or her trial, but Bulma relented and paid the huge ten-million-zeni bail to free her husband. Since Vegeta's assault on “Santa Claus” had been caught on the mall cameras, and even in the mall stockroom, there was no way that the dream team of lawyers that Bulma had hired could hope to plead that Vegeta had not been the “really mad troll-doll who attacked Santa”. The brilliant (and very patient) lawyers had achieved a miracle: Vegeta would serve no jail time for his crime, but instead do community service.
It had not been easy at first. Vegeta, of course, was not the most pleasant or easy of clients to have, and the lawyers just barely saved their difficult client from the judge's wrath at the arraignment hearing. When the judge had asked Vegeta how he did plead, Vegeta curtly replied, “The Prince of Saiyans DOES NOT plead!”
“He pleads guilty to assault, Your Honor!” the head lawyer quickly intercepted. Vegeta gave no disagreement. He had grudgingly agreed to plea to that charge, in order to stay out of jail.
Now, at his sentencing hearing today, Vegeta would learn what his community service assignment would be. Bulma was sitting beside him, still not entirely happy with him, but relieved, now that the worst was over. Neither Trunks nor Bra were present, both of them were at school, possibly enduring another long day of their classmates' taunting over their father's attack on Santa. Yet, even then, they had both declined, when Bulma had offered to take them out of school for that day.
The past ten days had been hard on the Briefs family; Bulma had just allowed him back into their bed, and they were on somewhat civil terms again. Trunks, still embarrassed by Vegeta's attack on Santa, had avoided his father as much as possible; his classmates had just now stopped ridiculing him—at least in his presence. Trunks had been in several fights because of such remarks as “is your dad going to beat up the Easter Bunny next?” and “your family won't get anything for Christmas because your dad beat Santa's ass”.
But it was Bra that was suffering most of all. Still angry and hurt by her father's actions, she also refused to talk to him, except when absolutely necessary. When Vegeta had quietly asked her, if she'd like him to read her a story, she had said, “No, thanks. Mommy or Trunks will do it.”
When Bulma had asked her, if she wanted to help decorate the Christmas tree, Bra had declined, saying, “No, thanks, Mommy. I'm not going to decorate `cause Santa's not coming this year anyway. He'd be too scared of Daddy.”
Bulma had tried to assure her daughter that Vegeta had not beaten up the real Santa, but Bra remained unconvinced. She even asked her mother not to mail her annual letter to Santa this year.
“I'm not even going to ask him for anything, `cause I know he won't come. I'll just ask for Patty Poopsey next year. Maybe Santa might not be mad or scared of Daddy then.”
Reflecting on the misery he caused his daughter, Vegeta sank into his seat in the courtroom, wanting his sentencing to be over with. From what his lawyers had told him, he would likely serve in a homeless shelter or charity during the holidays. Well, from what he had heard, at least the food in those places on the holidays was good.
“Vegeta Briefs?” the judge, who was a short, stout, and redheaded woman, prompted. Vegeta slowly arose. “Your sentence has been decided.”
He only nodded, as his thoughts drifted back to Bra. What could he do to make things up to her—to make her the sweet, cheerful little girl she had once been? As he tried to think of all of the things she liked, he half-listened to the judge, hearing words such as “mall”, “Santa Claus”, and “until Christmas Eve”. He nodded again, paying little mind, until a frightening thought occurred to him…
Why was the judge mentioning Santa Claus? What did his sentence have to do with that old fool?
He leaned over to the head lawyer, a balding man possibly as old as that perverted moron, Roshi, and asked, “What did that judge say about me and Santa?”
The lawyer laughed nervously. “Um…Mr. Briefs, she said you would have to take Rodney Draknurd's place as Santa Claus until Christmas Eve.”
Vegeta fell against his chair, chuckling. “So, this judge has a sense of humor, eh? She doesn't actually expect me to play that old fart, does she?'
“Yes, Mr. Briefs, I do.” The judge's tone was firm, with no room for argument.
“WHAT?” Vegeta's voice reverberated throughout the courtroom.
“I think it is a fitting sentence,” the judge continued. “Perhaps, it will teach you the Christmas spirit—and better appreciate the hard work that Santas everywhere do during the holidays!”
“And what if I refuse?” Vegeta dared her.
Bulma and the attorneys looked at Vegeta, horrified, but the judge remained calm.
“Then, Mr. Briefs, you can spend thirty days in jail, instead, and miss Christmas with your family. Be Santa until Christmas, or go to jail—your choice.”
Vegeta actually smiled, and he turned to the lead lawyer again. “So, what are the food and accommodations like in an Earthling jail?” The lawyer's jaw dropped, almost past his sagging neck, at his client's audacity.
Bulma smacked him hard on the back of his head. “You are NOT going to jail!” she fumed. She spoke quickly to the judge, “He will be Santa, Your Honor, I promise you that!”
“WHAT?” Vegeta exclaimed again, but the lead lawyer affirmed Bulma's declaration. Before he could protest further, the judge slammed her gavel down.
It was done.
He, the Prince of Saiyans, the strongest warrior around (except of course, for that idiot, Kakarot) would be forced to don a tacky, outdated red suit and play Santa Claus.
He grumbled curses in several intergalactic languages, including his own, but then he sank back into his seat and calmed down a little.
It could have been worse, I suppose. At least, it wasn't that stupid Easter Bunny I beat up!
 
 
 
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