Disclaimer: Now she done it, not only is she stealing from Toriyama, but from the very bard of English literature. Never have I heard a tale of such woe, then that of Toshiba and her copyrighting excesses. Hmm, somehow I don't think they'll be making a great epic love story out of that one.
Note: Along with the 42 (I believe) plays that Shakespeare has been credited as writing, he was also the author of dozens of sonnets. His work is so famous that the style of sonnet that he used, fourteen lines with a set rhyming scheme (you're going to have to look at count it out) is named after him. He wrote many excellent ones about love, but this is one he wrote in mockery of a particular style of poetry, the ones that describe a love. All of these sonnets use over the top comparisons and the love is painted as the ideal blonde, blue eyed beauty, which is the consummate image of the courtly lover. I knew that first year English would come in handy one of these days.
Mine Mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun1;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses demasked2 red and white,
But no roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go3;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
1mouse coloured, a light brown 2 multi-coloured 3 walk, or in this case, glide.
"Damn it Vegeta. What do you think I am, your servant?"
"Of course not, woman. If you were, I would have dispensed with you long ago. You're far too weak, slow-witted, and ill-tempered to be a slave of any worth. Now stop this inane chattering and fix the gravity simulator; I have training to do."
"I can't believe you, you arrogant monkey. You're so obsessed with your Saiyajin pride that you don't care about anything but yourself. Well I have news for you, oh noble Prince, you promised to take Trunks to the park after you practically broke his nose. Since you keep brushing him off, I'm not going to fix the gravity room until you uphold that one favour for your son."
"You manipulative, conniving bitch! How dare you…"
"Ah, ah, ah. Sticks and stones can break my bones but flattery will get you no where. What is so hard about spending some good quality time with your son, doing something that doesn't include trying to bash his head in. Wait, don't tell me, that is the ancient, omnipotent Saiyajin way of raising children. I would have thought you could have come up with a better excuse. You can dress it up any way you want but you are taking Trunks to the park. It's bad enough you're hardly a husband, you are not going to disregard our son."
"Fine, fine, but you will never pester me about this ever again, woman, and you will start work on the machine as soon as we get home.
Kami, could this day get any worse?"
"By the way, Vegeta, Goku and his family are coming with us."
Nature was truly in bloom that day, the summer sun warming the earth below. Throughout the large city park, children laughed and shouted in delight as they played on the jungle gyms or in the forest. Adult couples and love-struck teenagers walked hand in hand as they enjoyed each other's company. Even the birds and chipmunks sang and chattered merrily, the whole park alive and happy.
Vegeta was in Hell.
Leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing that his family and Kakarott's were sitting, he scowled out at the nauseating scene. His own son, the heir to the once proud Saiyajin Empire and product of countless generations of selective breeding was currently hunting down squirrels with Kakarott's clone. In the middle of the grass, the third class idiot, the baka's harpy and his own were sitting on a large blanket, having what the woman called a picnic. The fool stuffed his face with food while the two women gossiped and chattered on worse than the local wildlife, talking about their news, children, and other members of their pathetic band. Catching his name coming from his mate's mouth, he turned away from them in contempt. Let them speak against him, what did the opinion of two loud-mouthed human matter to him?
His promise had only required him to take Trunks to the park. As soon as they had arrived, he grabbed one of the food baskets and walked away from his nemesis and his blue haired mate, whom he was still angry at for forcing him to come here. He had considered not taking any of the food in protest but getting a whiff of the harpy's cooking he relented. His woman was decent as a cook, but she was no match for Kakarott's mate when it came to the culinary arts.
Out of the corner of his ear, he heard a new discussion start and the Saiyajin Prince groaned; once the pair started talking, nothing short of laryngitis would stop them. He would have to get comfortable, only Kami knew when he'd be leaving. His mind debated trying to meditate or grab the last basket of food. Ultimately he settled on the former, though the thought did cross his mind to force Kakarott into a sparring match over the last basket, especially since the fool refused his demand earlier for a match. 'It's a family fun day', the moron chirped. As if sparring wasn't fun. He might get a fight out of the third class if he stole the last basket, sniffing the air to discover the basket's contents. His hopes were quickly dashed, it was Bulma's tuna and macaroni salad. Not even Kakarott would fight him over that. With no other option, he cleared his mind of the noise around him and sunk deep into his thoughts.
By his ancestors, when did this happen to him; when did he become so … hu --- hum --- like them? It used to be the fear of every off world soldier that he would go native and yet he, the Prince of all Saiyajins, was committing the worst sins of all. Here he was eating their food, dressing in their garb, making acquaintances amongst their people, taking a female of the species and producing half breeds, well … a breed with her.
Before he had always claimed the need to survive when he broke the ancient rules and laws of the Saiyajin. It was foolish to let himself die from the lack of an essential merely for the purpose of racial and cultural purity. If adequate food was given to him, would it not be foolish to refuse it, even though he still craved to hunt and kill of his own meat. It would be folly not to blend in with the natives if he was going to reside here, especially when their styles of clothing were rather comfortable and looked good on him, or so the woman used to tell him, but he could never forgive her for that pink shirt. It is not the best to find allies and means of growing stronger. And Trunks; every king needed an heir. With his people so few in number, every Saiyajin that was born kept his race alive. Even Bulma had her place in his scheme, remembering Nappa's and Raddiz's discussion about the use of non-Saiyajin females to satisfy physical urges. Alien women can be used as concubines his teachings from his royal tutors to his remaining liege men told him, concubines, but never mates. Of all the travesties of his race, the crimes against racial purity, he had committed the greatest, caring for a non-Saiyajin.
From his earliest childhood he was always told that as the Prince and future king, he had the greatest responsibility when deciding upon a mate. His choice must reflect the ideals of Saiyajin culture, the perfect Saiyajin woman. As his mate, she would provide the egg from which the next heir would come, she would sit by his side as queen and, if necessary rule the planet in his stead. It wasn't until many years later, after his first experience with a female, that he asked Nappa about this ideal, what his mate was supposed to be like.
"First and foremost, she must be a great warrior, physically the strongest, fastest, most skilled and agile of her sex in all manners of combat. She should be a worthy match for her mate, though it is rare to have the female stronger than the male.
"Secondly, she must have the ideal Saiyajin features, pure black, spiked hair, slanted ebony eyes, high curved black brows. All of her facial features should be strong: firm, pointed chin, straight, Patrician nose, a set, determined mouth with a high forehead and sharp, prominent cheek bones. Only the darkest olive skin will do. Her body must be well built, as befits a warrior but with the natural curves of a woman's figure.
"Her mind must be quick, fixed on the primary issues of victory in warfare and the desires of her mate. With him she must have a home and his battles become her own, for those reasons alone, they must be on one mind, the will of the dominant partner the focus and goal of both.
"With temper she will be ruthless, Saiyajin nature cannot be contained but again she must bend to the will of her mate. A battle between two mates brings only discord and chaos upon a house and in the royal house this especially must be avoided, as it has been the cause of many wars among our people.
"Finally, she must be of high rank, her blood will mix with your own, Ouji-sama, the future of all Saiyajin rests in the offspring you will produce. Her blood should be the best, pure of any taint of lower blood and alien influence, she must be as racially pure as her mate."
What a mockery he had made of the true ideal of his race, the woman he chose to take as his mate was the opposite in every manner to the perfect Saiyajin queen. As a mighty warrior, the woman could hardly open a pickle jar, a Saiyajin infant was more powerful than her. No where in that milky complexion, soft, human features, and blue eyes and hair were the dark characteristics of the Saiyajin race. She certainly had the feminine curves, but her body was a product of peace and her academic pursuits, not of combat and training. Though he could not deny that her mind was sharp and quick, more brilliant than any Saiyajin he had ever known, she had the sense Kami gave a bird, rushing off into situations she could never handle, arguing with him on every point. So much for the agreement of temperament, never had he known two people who fought as he and his mate did, Bulma cared nothing for fighting and war and even less about bending to his will. Her tongue was a sharper, more deadly weapon than anything he had faced. On the last point he had committed the gravest sin, her blood contained not a drop of Saiyajin DNA, the influence of her weaker blood and humanity already reflecting themselves in his heir. He had gone against every belief of his people, every teaching of his youth, every instinct of his blood. And yet…
And yet he had never known such peace in his life until he had known her, never understood simple happiness until their relationship began.
Breaking away from his scowl, he took the cover that the shadows offered him and stared at her, his mate and the mother of his son, this human that he had bound himself to. As demure and passive those blue eyes appeared, he knew they sparked and burned with an inner fire when they fought, not with physical blows, but mental ones. Her mouth had brought him some of his worst defeats against her wit and given him his greatest pleasures when she declared her love for him and showed him that love in the privacy of their bed. He was sure no Saiyajin king had taken such an exotic mate, her features, while not Saiyajin, were still beautiful, pleasing to his eye when he cared to watch her, which was, he hated to admit, more than he should. It was her mind, dedicated not to war but peace that allowed her to bring him into her home, give him the life he had never known under Freeza's tyranny. It built the gravity room and his training bots, it was her heart that took him in and cared for him, who grew to love him and inspire the same alien affections in him. As to her temper, he had enough of yes men during his years with Freeza, he knew the agony of bending his will to another's. The thought of his tempestuous, hot-headed, spirited mate crushed under his own boot was something he didn't want to contemplate. How boring it would be if she did everything he asked, though his life would be much simpler.
His daily battles with his mate kept him on his toes, how he enjoyed matching his wit to her, the mental battles as satisfying as any physical one a Saiyajin woman could provide for him. The son she had produced with her inferior blood was already at the pinnacle of his race, a Super Saiyajin worthy of the title of Prince and heir, his human helping only to dampen the violence of his blood. Trunks' life and childhood would be better than his own for his mate's humanity, the hatred, bitterness and torture of Vegeta's early would be something the boy would never know. Even if he had to give his life to keep his son and mate from such horrors, the Prince resolved.
How she had changed him, woman, he growled to himself, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. Nothing like what he should have had as a mate, but fate dealt him this hand, and never in his life was he so content. Whether it be fighting with her, sparring with his son, living every day in peace, enjoying the nights in his mate's arms or sleeping by her side, he could deny to himself that he was …
"Tag! You're it, Tousan." His young son's voice yelled out and he was almost knocked over as Trunks barrelled into him, laughing with excitement. So caught off guard, it took a moment for Vegeta to pull himself out of his revelation and look down at his son. A sneer was forming on his lips, his ire rising as he open his mouth to yell at his son for indulging in human games and acting in such a manner to his father. But the words couldn't come out, not today, it was a day for him to 'play' with the boy, get to know him before the time slipped away. A feeling of pride overwhelmed him and he put his arm around Trunks' shoulder, holding him and ruffling that lavender, human hair.
"Hey, there's no tag backs, Tousan. I tagged you, so you have to find someone else playing the game and tag them."
"Is that the stupidity that human comes up with, it's amazing the race has lasted as long as it had. So, who else is in this little conspiracy with you." Trunks' eyes went wide, the thought that his father was going to join in and play with him was unbelievable.
"It's me, Goten, Son Goku and Mom." He stated, waiting for his dad to say whether he was in the game or not.
"You'd better run, Trunks. When I tag your mother she's going to use every trick in the book to catch you, and a Saiyajin Prince must never be taken down by a simple woman." Trunks just laughed and flew off into the woods, probably after Kakarott's youngest child. How prophetic his words, warning his son of something which he himself had fallen victim to.
It was an easy enough task to find his mate, no matter how well she tried to hide herself, the striking sky blue of her hair easily gave her away in the green woods. Landing a few feet behind her, he steeled himself in preparation for the task ahead of him, his epiphany a few moments before needing to come out.
"I wonder sometimes, woman, why I ever took you as a mate. Do you know that you are everything my race, my blood, my pride speaks against? There is no strength in you, you are a mockery of those ancient, omnipotent Saiyajin ways you accuse me of." He growled out as he leaned towards her back, his mouth right next to her ear. The woman in front of him froze, whether in shock of his presence or shock that he was speaking to her in such a way he didn't know. Not waiting for her to comment, he knew he must finish before he lost his nerve and this moment of peace was lost.
"Your eyes are not black, your features all wrong, you are no great warrior, and your temper is enough to try the patience of the gods. And yet, I could not think of life without you, woman, you have helped me build a house, raise a son and make me whole. You are my ideal mate, Bulma; know this, for I will never speak of it again." It took Bulma a moment before she could turn to him, he could only imagine what kind of reaction his mate would show him. Finally, she faced him, taking his hand into her own slim one. It wasn't often that he found her at a loss for words but there she was, her pure blue eyes shining with tears. Leaning into him, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him, showing in him in his own way that she understood the weight of his words. Slow and passionate, it was moments before they pulled away, Bulma gasping for breath.
"Tag. You're it."