Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ I Saw Daddy Beating Santa Claus ❯ "How Do You Know That Santa Isn't Real?" ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Sawnya
The lady elf besides Vegeta whispered, “Santa, be nice…you must be patient with the children…”

“Um, Pan, perhaps you should finish telling him what you want,” Goku told his granddaughter.

“Well, I told him all I wanted, really, Grandpa, except maybe a Patty Poopsey doll—it’d be cool to have doll that farts!”

Santa groaned, but he murmured a promise to see what he could for her, handed her a candy cane, and guided her off of his lap after their picture.

“Mommy, I have to go pee,” Pan insisted.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Videl told her. “Goku, we’ll be right back, okay?”

“Sure thing! You both take your time!”

“Alright, next!” Santa yelled after Videl and Pan left.

“Oh, boy, my turn!” Goku shouted, jumping up and down.

“WHAT?” Santa hollered. He snapped at Goku, “Aren’t you a little old for this?”

Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Fantasy | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 12.17.2006 | Pages: 9 | Words: 8.0K | Visits: 458 | Status: Completed

Chapter Four: How Do You Know That Santa Isn't Real?
 
“Are you sure that having that man here is a good idea?”
 
“It wasn't my choice, Stuckey. The court ordered it. Just try not to make the guy mad; if he causes any problems, tell me first. I'm supposed to send reports on how well he's doing.” The manager sighed heavily, as he absently watched Stuckey, a chubby, middle-aged man, with balding red hair, struggle out of his red suit and coat. When the Santa suit was removed, only an old flannel shirt and worn, ragged jeans remained.
 
“That troll-doll should have been an elf, not Santa Claus,” Stuckey grumbled. “I swear, if he causes any more trouble, I'll give it to him good!”
 
“Oh, really?”
 
Stuckey, and the manager turned around and gasped at seeing the infamous Vegeta Briefs standing in the stockroom doorway. The ill-fitting, too-large Santa suit did nothing to hide or improve Vegeta's heavy scowl and deadly glare. With his heavy eyebrows pushing down upon his eyes and cold expression, Vegeta resembled Santa Claus from Hell.
 
“Um…hey,” Stuckey said hesitantly, immediately regretting his references to “troll-doll” and “elf”. The new Santa was short, but with his build, he looked like one to be reckoned with.
 
“Who are you people?” Vegeta demanded to know.
 
The manager smiled nervously. “Well…this is Stuckey, and I'm Mr. Erots Reganam. Vegeta, Stuckey's just getting off, so you'll be taking his place. And, please…be nice to the kids.”
 
Vegeta said nothing; he just looked around the room with his usual air of disdain. “So, where's the guy I replaced?”
 
Mr. Reganam gulped, pulling at his tie. “He won't be back for a while…he just went to rehab…for thirty days. So, maybe, he'll be recovered…by next year—“
 
“Hello, everyone!” a bright female voice chirped.
 
Mr. Reganam sighed again, and Stuckey groaned. “That girl's always too cheerful for her own good…you'd think she was a real elf, instead of just playing one,” Stuckey grumbled.
 
“There's a female elf?” Vegeta asked, mildly curious.
 
“YES!” the feminine voice crowed happily, and at that moment, a tiny petite girl danced into the room, wearing a scarlet elf hat with a short, jade dress with jagged edges. Jingle bells dangled off of the points of her elfin shoes, as she twirled and spun around the room. Her short, flipped brown hair bobbed and floated with her movements, and her emerald eyes sparkled, as she leapt gracefully up to Vegeta.
 
“Hello, and welcome to our team! We are so glad to have you!” she cried merrily.
 
Vegeta just stared at her, wide-eyed in disbelief. His jaw was grazing his chest at the sight of this overly cheery girl. “Who are you?” he gasped.
 
“I'm Perky!”
 
“Yes, I'm aware of that,” he replied coolly. “Now who are you really?”
 
“I told you, I am Perky! Perky Fle, but you can just call me Perky!”
 
“Perky Fle?” Vegeta asked.
 
“Just take her word for it,” Stuckey spoke stiffly, crossing his thick arms. “When she applied here, that was the only name she would give.”
 
“I'm so looking forward to working with you!” Perky cooed. “I know you may not have come here under the best of circumstances, but we still welcome you! I guarantee that once you play Santa, you'll love it! Right, Stuckey?”
 
“Yeah, sure,” Stuckey replied, without meaning it much. His ears were still ringing from the earlier screams of a toddler who had been too frightened of Santa to be near him for long.
 
“Oh, come on, Stuckey, cheer up! It's Christmas, the best and happiest time of the year!” She took Vegeta's arm, intending to guide him out of the stockroom, but Vegeta shrugged her off.
 
“I can escort myself, thank you,” he told her curtly. “Now where are you supposed to be?”
 
“With you, of course! I'll be your elf for the entire shift! I'm so excited! I love working with new people and cheering them up, and you, sir, look in need of some Christmas cheer!”
 
“I'll get my cheer later. Let's just go and get this over with.”
 
“Get it over with? Working with the kids is the best part! I love working with kids, don't you? They are so innocent, wonderful, with such sweet hearts and hope, and all kinds of good things! They're so adorable!” And she danced and twirled out of the stockroom. “C'mon, Vegeta!”
 
As Vegeta grudgingly followed her out of the room, Stuckey suddenly grinned. He said to Mr. Reganam, “Ya know, boss, I think I just might stick around for a little while longer.”
 
“Why, Stuckey?”
 
“Heh, think about it, boss. An overly happy elf-girl and a troll-doll Scrooge in a Santa suit…I think I just might stay and watch the fun.”
 
Mr. Reganam sighed. As much as Perky's perpetual liveliness could annoy him, he felt a little sorry for her, being paired up with that possibly deadly Santa. He was certain, that after today, Perky would no longer be living up to her given name.
 
 
Perky ushered a small, skinny black boy towards the sullen Vegeta. “C'mon, Santa, smile!” she ordered.
 
The photographer in front of the new Santa trembled, as he held his camera; he couldn't believe that the “troll-doll man” was actually on Santa's throne. He prayed for this day to be over with—and for him to survive this newcomer's arrival.
 
Vegeta smiled, but it was the kind of smile he used just before he sent an enemy off to the next dimension. “Hurry up,” he told her, as she placed the boy onto his lap.
 
“Ha-ha-ha!” he bellowed, reluctantly trying to sound as “Santa” as he could.
 
“No,” Perky whispered. “It's not ha-ha-ha, it's ho-ho-ho!”
 
“Ho-ho-ho!” Vegeta belted out with little enthusiasm. “What do you want for Christmas? And why do you have that swollen eye?”
 
“Santa…be nice,” Perky said reproachfully.
 
“My name's Andrew, Santa. Can I talk to you?”
 
“You already are, so just spit it out.”
 
“Santa…” Perky said again, but Vegeta ignored her.
 
“Okay! Well, you see, Santa, there's this big bully named Butchie, who pounds on me every day and steals my lunch money! He says if I tell anyone, I'm dead!”
 
“Have you ever tried fighting him back, Andrew?
 
“No, I can't. My mommy says that fighting is wrong, and I should always turn the other cheek.”
 
“Well, your mommy's…a MORON! Now, listen here, Andrew, the next time that this Butchie picks on you, I want you to go punch his face and his stomach hard! Make him bleed! And forget about fighting fair! Give it to him good! And if you don't, Santa won't bring you any presents, got it? Santa does not bring gifts to weaklings!”
 
“Yes, sir!” Andrew replied.
 
Perky just stared at this new Santa in shock. She knew that she shouldn't have been too surprised, from what she had learned about him, but for him to give such advice to a child? With wide eyes, she shook her head.
 
“Now, what will you do when Butchie harasses you?”
 
“Give it to him good!”
 
“That's right! Make Santa proud,” Vegeta told him. He then gave Andrew a shove. “Now get off of my lap, boy, there are other brats—er, kids, I have to finish with.”
 
“I can't yet, Santa. You have to give me my candy cane, and we have our picture taken.”
 
“WHAT?” Vegeta exclaimed, noticing the camera on him for the first time. “You mean that I have to have this time in my life recorded on film forever?”
 
“Of course you do!” Perky exclaimed. “The kids and parents want pictures. Okay, Fotoe, shoot!”
 
“No, wait!” Vegeta cried, but it was too late…
 
SNAP!
 
Vegeta was shown in the picture with his eyes and mouth wide open, as little Andrew, grinning, hugged his neck.
 
 
After about ten children with the usual requests for dolls, games, trucks, and action figures, Perky escorted a little pale boy, dressed in a dentist's costume, to Vegeta's lap.
“Ho-ho-ho,” Vegeta said mechanically, ignoring Perky's whispered urge to put more enthusiasm in his voice. “Why are you dressed in that stupid dentist costume?”
 
“Santa, please…” Perky pleaded, but Vegeta ignored her.
 
The boy looked around uncertainly, at both “Santa”, and his mother, standing on the side. He whispered gravely to Santa, “I'm dressed like a dentist, because my mommy wants me to be one when I grow up.”
 
“Do you want to be a dentist?” Vegeta asked.
 
“No…” the boy replied in a low tone. Fortunately, his mother was paying him little attention, as she was chatting to her sister, the boy's aunt. Both of them would look over at the boy and Santa and smile now and then, but they were mostly busy discussing the mother's plans to send her son to the best dental school in the world.
 
Vegeta smirked, and a tiny spark of mischief grew within him. “Well, little boy, Santa's mommy wanted him to be a dentist too, but he told her to go screw herself, and he did what he wanted to do. Now, because of that, he's famous, rich, works only one day a year, and has his face on more memorabilia than that moron, Hercule Satan. So, tell Santa what you want to do besides being some stupid dentist.”
 
“Well…I want to be a street fighter or a soldier or a pirate!” the boy crowed.
 
“Very good,” Vegeta told him approvingly, his smile more genuine. “Any other plans?”
 
“Oh, yes! I also want to be a girl, with lots of pretty dresses and long, curly hair! Can you turn me into one for Christmas?”
 
SNAP! In the developing picture, Vegeta's body and throne was shown tumbled over to one side of the floor.
 
 
Vegeta's eyes widened when Perky guided a little girl with blond hair and a pink dress onto his lap. He recognized the child as being one of Bra's classmates, Primrose, whose family, the Flowers, was as rich as the Briefs.
 
Primrose had her hair styled and coiffed in a manner more suited for a twenty-year-old than a six-year-old, and behind her, on the floor, was a pink wagon with a stack of papers.
 
“I am Primrose Flowers, Santa, and you look like Bra's father,” she said primly. “He's the one who beat up Santa a couple of weeks ago.”
 
“Well, I can assure you, Primrose,” Vegeta replied, “that Bra's father would never waste his time dressing up like this, unless he was forced. Now just tell me what you want for Christmas and get on with it!”
 
“You don't have to be so rude, Santa,” Primrose asserted with a queen-like air. “Jeeves, hand me the first ten pages of my Christmas list from that wagon.” A grim-faced butler, standing behind the wagon, did as his young mistress asked.
 
“TEN PAGES!” Vegeta yelled. “That stack of papers in your wagon is your Christmas list?”
 
“Santa, be nice…” Perky ordered sweetly, even though she was wondering just how much Primrose Flowers wanted for Christmas.
 
“Of course!” Primrose insisted. “Now, Santa, I want all of these things this year, not next year, or the year after that, but this year! Understand?”
 
“I understand, little girl, that if you aren't a little nicer to Santa, Bra's father won't let you come over to play with Bra anymore, and you'll receive nothing for Christmas!”
 
The fierce expression on “Santa's” face, added to that last reprimand, was enough to humble Primrose, as she hurriedly read from the first page of her list.
 
“Well…I want a Patty Poopsey doll, three pink dresses, five red dresses, a box of chocolate chip cookie, Candy Apple dolls, a new Candy Apple Dream mansion, a little car for me, a vacation to Hawaii, in the biggest, most expensive hotel, and then I want a hundred hair bows in every color, new Mary Jane shoes, dozens of roses in my room, of every color, and…”
 
“What do you think I am—a department store?” Vegeta shouted. “Save the rest of your list for your letter! You're not the only child I have to bring stuff to, you know! Now get your candy cane and your picture, and let's go!”
 
Primrose shot up and jumped off of Vegeta's lap. “I will sue you, Santa, for treating me this way! My father's a lawyer, you know! Jeeves, let's go!”
 
“That's it!” Vegeta exclaimed, jumping out of his throne.
 
“Santa, no!” Perky insisted.
 
SNAP!
 
Vegeta was shown chasing after a suddenly frightened Primrose, who was seeking shelter behind her butler. Perky was holding him back, but having little luck.
 
 
Oh no! Why did he of all people have to come today?
 
Vegeta sensed the approaching ki of his rival, Kakarot—and also of Kakarot's four-year-old granddaughter, Pan, and her mother, Videl. Stupid Kakarot, picking this mall to come to! He couldn't have that fool see him like this! Vegeta had just barely extracted a promise from his wife that she wouldn't tell the other Z-fighters of his humiliation.
 
I must hide my ki—and fast!
 
And so he did, but he still worried that it might already be too late. Ten minutes later, Kakarot, Videl, and Pan were standing in line. Pan was already waving happily to “Santa”.
 
Beneath his false, curly beard, Vegeta involuntarily smiled. He liked Pan, even though he would never admit publicly to being fond of anyone in Kakarot's family. Pan was everything that Vegeta thought a little Saiyan girl, mixed-blood or not, should be: strong and courageous and in love with fighting. There were a few times that he had wished that he could convince Bra to train to become a warrior, but she had never been too physically strong to begin with, and her sweetness and unconditional (at least until now) acceptance of him had made up for her lack of interest in fighting.
 
Vegeta sighed. He would have liked to train Pan; he was certain that he could have made her even stronger than she was now, but her warrior education was Kakarot and Gohan's responsibility, not his. Besides, he had enough to worry about these days, with Trunks becoming a bit lax in his training; the boy was more interested in girls and partying than he was in fighting. He was becoming too much like his best friend, Goten. Goten especially needed to grow up more and become more serious about life.
 
Not that Goten had always had the best role model in his father, who was sometimes a large child himself. And Kakarot was definitely that child today, waving excitedly at Santa, even calling his name.
 
This was going to be an even longer day. Well, at least Pan was here. Vegeta could always ask her through “Santa” how well her training was going.
 
 
“Hey, Santa! How was your year?” Goku crowed happily, as he held Pan in his arms. “Pan and I have been good all year, haven't we?”
 
“We sure have, Grandpa!” Pan exclaimed. “I can't wait to tell Santa what I want for Christmas!”
 
“She has been good, Santa,” Videl added.
 
Santa smirked. He said to Pan, “Are you still training hard, little one?”
 
“Oh, yes! Someday, I'm going to be even stronger than Grandpa!” Pan boasted.
 
“You just may, you just may! Now tell me what you want for Christmas.”
 
“Well, I want a new fighting gi, and for you to make me even stronger!”
 
Santa chuckled. “Well, the fighting gi I can provide, but if you want to become even stronger, you will have to achieve that yourself. Just train hard and don't slack off, and you will become stronger. Santa wishes that his children were more like you.”
 
“Really?” Pan exclaimed.
 
Santa nodded, and Pan looked closer at Santa's face. He looked very familiar…
 
“Don't I know you, Santa?” she asked.
 
“Everyone knows me!” Santa insisted.
 
“You look like someone I know, but I can't remember. It's been a looonnng time since I've seen him. But Grandpa told me he was really strong and brave and wanted to become even stronger than him. Mommy and Grandma says he does yell a lot and isn't always nice, but Grandpa thinks he's great! Goten told me he used to be a prince—a prince of all the Saiyans.”
 
Santa laughed. “He still is the prince of all the Saiyans.”
 
“You do look familiar, Santa,” Videl admitted. “In fact you almost look like—“
 
“Hey, Santa!” a little boy shouted behind Pan and Goku. “Hurry up! I want my turn!”
 
“Yeah, c'mon, Santa, please!” the other children added.
 
Santa grumbled several unintelligible curses in an unknown language. He then yelled to the other children, “Santa does not bring presents to greedy, impatient children, understand?”
 
The lady elf besides him whispered, “Santa, be nice…you must be patient with the children…”
 
“Um, Pan, perhaps you should finish telling him what you want,” Goku told his granddaughter.
 
“Well, I told him all I wanted, really, Grandpa, except maybe a Patty Poopsey doll—it'd be cool to have doll that farts!”
 
Santa groaned, but he murmured a promise to see what he could for her, handed her a candy cane, and guided her off of his lap after their picture.
 
“Mommy, I have to go pee,” Pan insisted.
 
“Alright, sweetheart,” Videl told her. “Goku, we'll be right back, okay?”
 
“Sure thing! You both take your time!”
 
“Alright, next!” Santa yelled after Videl and Pan left.
 
“Oh, boy, my turn!” Goku shouted, jumping up and down.
 
“WHAT?” Santa hollered. He snapped at Goku, “Aren't you a little old for this?”
 
“No way!” Goku insisted, as he bounded into Santa's unwilling lap. “No one is ever too old for Santa!” he cried, not noticing the pain he had caused Santa when he had crashed onto him.
 
“Santa would like to differ,” Santa grumbled, but Goku was so excited that he didn't pay any attention.
 
“Let's see…well, I don't really have that long of list, Santa, so let's say…I want lots of food, of course, especially turkey, sake, rice, and shrimp…especially that really good shrimp that Chichi makes on my birthday. I also like chocolate cake, ice cream of all flavors, fish, snappers, crab, and chicken, and cheese of any kind, and any other cake is fine, just as long as it's not fruitcake because that stuff is awful. You can give that to others. Oh, and can you bring Chichi a new set of pots and pans and lots of nice dishes, because Goten and I accidentally broke all of them when we were wrestling in the kitchen…” He continued his “not too long” list.
 
“C'mon, old man!” a little girl cried from behind Goku. “Get off his lap; you're too old to see Santa!”
 
“Yeah, that's right!” an older boy exclaimed. “Santa sees kids, not grownups! Get lost and let us see him!”
 
“I won't be too much longer, I promise!” Goku insisted to them. He turned to Santa and added, “Oh yeah, and I forgot to mention that I would love a year's supply of pizza, and also some ramen noodles, soy sauce, ham, steaks, and…”
 
Santa glared darkly at Goku, hoping to discourage him from continuing, but Goku, who genuinely liked Santa, was oblivious, as he continued to babble:
 
“…A new fighting gi would be nice, and if you could send me someone strong to fight, I'd appreciate it. It's been a long time since I had a really strong opponent to take on.”
 
“Oh, I can give you a strong opponent to fight right now, Kakarot,” Santa said in an even, yet menacing tone.
 
“Really?” Goku asked slowly, excited, but at the same time, unnerved by Santa's manner. “Oh, wait, why did you call me Kakarot? Only Vegeta calls me that. Oh, but before you give me my strong opponent to fight, may I have my candy cane? I'm awfully hungry.”
 
Santa abruptly shoved Goku off of his lap. “Eat this!” he shouted, as he belted Goku in his mouth.
 
“Ow!” Goku cried out. “Why did you do that?”
 
“Because you're annoying! Santa does not let grown men sit on his lap, got it? Now go home and grow up!”
 
Goku's face was downcast. “Sure thing, Santa. I'm sorry, if I bothered you.” And he turned on his heel and walked away towards the ladies' restrooms to wait for Videl and Pan.
 
“C'mon, Santa!” the other kids exclaimed.
 
“Fine!” Santa snapped. “Hurry up!”
 
A pair of rowdy twin boys followed soon after.
 
 
“Santa, was that really necessary what you did to that poor man?”
 
“Will you stop calling me Santa? I am Vegeta now, got that? My shift is over! And I know that fool personally; he should be punched every now and then. Foolish man, believing that Santa still exists…” Vegeta grumbled, as he pulled his leather jacket over his usual bodysuit.
 
“Is he so foolish?” Perky challenged him, with her hands on her tiny waist. “What is so wrong with a grownup believing in Santa?”
 
“Because grownups should know better, you twit! Santa is not real, and if fools like that idiot who sat on my lap earlier can't see that…well, they're truly mentally challenged! It's bad enough that my own daughter still thinks he's real, and that she is still convinced that I beat the crap out of the real thing!”
 
“She's only six, Santa—I mean, Vegeta,” Perky said sympathetically. “She'll forgive you in time, I promise. But you know what I think would help? If she saw you apologizing to Santa, then maybe—“
 
“Oh, you mean apologize to that drunken fool I beat up? Oh, yes, Perky, a wonderful idea—me dragging my little girl down to some `clinic' among a bunch of people who can't control their alcohol intake to say sorry to some lout who insulted both her and her mother! That bastard implied that he would like to have my wife for Christmas, and it wouldn't have surprised me, if he had included my daughter in the bargain!”
 
Perky reflected, “Yes, I do have to admit that Rodney wasn't the nicest of Santas, but your daughter feels that you beat up her hero. Hasn't there ever been anyone that you looked up to?”
 
“Well, there was my father…and the Dark Saiyan,” Vegeta admitted, as he pulled on his boots. He didn't know why he was bothering to answer her, an absurd little girl still dressed in her elf costume. Didn't she have any other clothes? That skimpy outfit she wore wouldn't protect her from the elements.
 
“The Dark Saiyan?” Perky asked, genuinely intrigued, as she cupped her soft, rosy cheek.
 
Vegeta found himself telling her about his Saiyan hero and his exploits, in brief, yet unforgettable words. Strangely enough, she didn't mock him or reproach him. She paid full attention to him and gave a sympathetic nod every nod and then. She didn't even seem to blink or flinch when he had alluded to being a former intergalactic terrorist.
 
“I was inspired by him,” Vegeta admitted after finishing his stories. “He was a real hero, not like Santa, that faker in a red suit.”
 
“And how do you know that Santa isn't real?” Perky asked again.
 
“How do you know that he is?” Vegeta demanded to know. “Have you ever seen the real one—not those fools that pose as him every year?”
 
Perky merely smiled gently. “You just have to believe, Vegeta. You just know that he is there…even, if you can't always see him. You can't see the wind, or see perfume, but you know that both exist, don't you?”
 
Vegeta did not answer her question. Instead he said, “Don't tell me that you truly believe that Santa exists? I can understand my daughter thinking so, but you're older, so you should know better.”
 
“I do know better,” Perky replied. But then suddenly, her smile faded a little, and she sighed, “I just wish I could convince everyone else here otherwise…that Santa is not just a bunch of humans who only pretend to be him and wear copies of his suit to make money.”
 
“Perky, if that is your real name,” Vegeta told her bluntly, “you are worse than that grown man—Kakarot—who sat on my lap a while ago. I cannot believe that grownups like you two actually believe in that Christmas clown!”
 
“Perhaps we know something that you don't,” Perky insisted, looking at him intently. “Who do you think helps with Christmas miracles all the time?”
 
“A bunch of soft-hearted fools who wear themselves out for people who can't do for themselves, my wife and Kakarot, usually being among them. But enough of this; I have a family to go home to, even though only my wife is civil. My children are still behaving, as if I murdered the real Santa. All I did was beat up some faker!”
 
“They are embarrassed and hurt by your actions, Vegeta. You must try to see things from their point of view. Your daughter must still be miserable, poor thing, thinking that Santa won't have anything to do with her family. Vegeta, one of the first things that you must do is assure her that isn't true.”
 
“Why? Santa doesn't exist! She will still get everything that she wants for Christmas! In fact, if my wife hadn't forbidden it, I would have already told her that Santa isn't real.”
 
“NO! You mustn't tell her that!” Perky cried in horror.
 
“Keep your short dress on; I'm not—for now. Besides, even if I do later, it's none of your business. Stop advising me on my family affairs; you are merely some girl paid to pose as an elf, nothing more. Now, I'm leaving, so I can figure out how to get my daughter to at least talk to me again. Good night!” And with that, Vegeta stormed out of the stockroom.
 
After he left, Perky sank into a chair and plunged her pointed chin into her tiny hands. “Oh no…poor little girl…and her father! How can I get through to him?”
 
Shivering, she arose, and, holding back tears, she tottered to her locker.