On the making of this Fanfiction:
Hello VB lovers! Yes, this is Gwendy, the VB Fan Artist. Most people recognize me for my art but well, writing is my 2nd love (my first love is art of course. My 3rd love is singing and 4th isÖokay, Iíll shut up now). This is my first ever try at a fanfiction contest so Iím not at all that confident but I do hope youíll love this piece. I didnít really have plans on joining Adimraís Fanfiction Contest. I was targeting the Fanart. One night, I was watching Mad TV and they showed this kinda 1920s setting of gangsters and inspiration struck. When I turned to the Discovery Channel, they featured the Mafia. When I went to HBO, the movie was "Gangster No. 1." Coincidence? I took it as a sign that I should write something. And so my research began: encyclopedias, CD-Roms, the internet, interviews, TV shows, librariesÖetc. Then came Chicago. I loved the soundtrack of the movie(but of course, this fic doesnít retell the story of that movie), "All That Jazz." I even cut my hair short and made it look like Velmaís to feel the essence of the 20s but after a few days, the inward curl disappeared and was replaced by a frizzy, curly hair. Now I look like Roxie! Okay, okay, that was a lie. I did cut my hair, I did look like Velma, and now I look like Roxie but I did it because my hair got burned when I had it straightened a few months ago. My poor hair! Chopped off! Uhurm! Even if I donít win, I loved writing this enough and Iíve learned a lot of things about the Roaring 20s that Iíve found very interesting. This is my first AU fic too. To those who have read my other works, youíll see that I always stuck on the series so crossing over to AUs is kinda strange, yet challenging. I really hope youíll enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it. VB Rulez!
On the Fanfiction (In more serious matters):
This fic was made for Adimraís contest. It is an AU fic (Alternate Universe) and is set during the 1920s, in New York City. This fic is in no way connected to the DBZ series but uses some of its characters. Some characters may have personalities not coinciding with the series (e.g Veldock and Rosicheena). Hopefully, Iíll stay true to the main characters, but since this is the Roaring 20ís, there will be adjustments of how they will be portrayed. There will also be characters and places made up by me (e.g Joe Winslow; Harlem Nights). I donít know if Iím describing the neighborhoods of New York well but hey! Iíve never been there so donít sue me. There will be a bit of violence and sex in the later part of the fic giving this a rating of NC-17 or R for short. For comments, please feel free to e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org or visit my site at http://www.vbsanctuary.cjb.net/
Disclaimer: I donít own Dragon Ball/Z/GT. It is the sole property of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. Iím just a fan-writer so donít sue me!
What Matterís Most
"Hmn. Looks like he won again."
"Of course he done won again! No one can beat him!"
"Whoa! Look at the muscles on that guy!"
"He ainít just no guy! Heís the man!"
It was one cloudy morning in the streets of Manhattan, New York City. The small puddles from last nightís rain splashed at the clash of shoes coming and going. A crowd had just huddled around a small newspaper boy, buying copies of The New York Post. Those who didnít buy craned their necks to read over one anotherís shoulders. As usual, the end of the war was at the top of the headlines but it wasnít the front page that interested the crowd. It was the sports page.
"Man that Vegeta can sure pack a punch! Imagine knocking that guy down in just one round!"
"Yeah. For a guy his size, youíd never be able to tell how strong he is!"
"Whenís the next fight goiní ta be?"
On and on, the conversation went about the latest boxing star of the decade: Prince Vegeta. Thatís what people called him: The Prince of Knock Outs. In just a year, he had managed to become a legendary boxing champ with 50 wins, over half by knock out and 0 loses.
"His next fight? That will be for the heavyweight championship, right?"
"Heís targeting the heavyweight already? Whoa!"
"Heard tell heíd been traininí day Ďn night which is probably why we donít see him Ďround here."
"You donít say? I thought he stays in the Ritz. Donít tell me that spiffy hotelís got boxing equipment of their own?"
"Who knows where heís traininí himself at."
Amidst the murmurs of that same crowd, the footsteps of a medium-sized man in a brown trench coat went unnoticed, as he walked past. Though it was a dark and cloudy morning, he had chosen to wear sunglasses. A rather large off-white scarf was wrapped around his neck, his mouth and chin hidden behind it. With his gloved hands in his pockets, he continued walking in small strides towards his destination. Raindrops made their way from his thick, black mane down to his broad forehead, causing him to quicken his pace. He made a turn around a building and stopped. His eyes traveled over the scenery, as was his habit whenever he came there. Old, mostly dilapidated buildings lined the streets, with shutters and doors in need of repairing. The walls hungered for fresh paint as some bricks were chipped or taken off. Along the sidewalk, were broken street lamps. Black children ran out of their homes to greet the coming rain, together with children of Mexican origin. At that very moment, the rain started to pour down hard.
"Damn!" the man cursed under his breath, as he ran towards one building marked Joeís Gym on its foggy window. He swung the door open, hitting the chimes; itís tinkles echoing through the empty hallway. A stout black man stood up from behind the counter. Upon the sight of the person in front of him, he broke into a wide smile.
"Looky who has come ta pay us a visit, Precious," he drawled at his pet cat, who looked up as if she understood what her master was saying.
"Yer highness," the black man did a mock bow, before presenting a copy of The New York Post. "Top of the news again! Vegeta: Prince of Knock Outs. Thatís got a nice ring to it. Suits ya well."
"It ainít top of the news, Joe," Vegeta grumbled as he took of his glasses, revealing a pair of cold onyx eyes. He proceeded to take off his gloves and pocketed them along with the shades. Joe went around the counter and assisted Vegeta in taking off his damp trench coat and hanging it in the coat rack together with his huge scarf.
"Whaddya mean it ainít top of the news? Everyone whoís anyone is talkiní Ďbout ya, boy!"
"I know. Heard Ďem talk on my way here. Had to pull my scarf up to keep Ďem Ďn the damn media off my back. But itís still not enough," Vegeta leaned against the counter.
"Not enough?" Joe looked up from gathering the boxerís uniform from the drawers. "If yeír talkiní Ďbou money, I ainít believiní ya. You jes won 500,000 clams in yer last fight and with the upcoming heavyweight, which Iím sure yaíll win, ya get five hundred more."
"Itís not just the money," Vegeta took the uniform. "I wanna be on the headlines. Canít believe they still report on the war when itís all over with," he rolled his eyes.
"Well, people donít forget. They couldnít," Joe insisted.
"Well they should. Itís no use moping around for loss. Everyone needs to go on with their lives," Vegeta stated coldly. The black man just stared at him, knowing what lay between the lines. Refusing to say anymore, the prince stomped towards the locker room.
"People could never forget," Joe mumbled silently, patting his cat softly on the head.
* * * * *
Clams = Dollars
Spiffy = Fashionable/Elegant
*The Ritz-Carlton Hotel is one of the most well-known and classiest hotels in New York still existing today. In fact, the 1920ís slang Ritzy, which means elegant, is derived from this hotel.
* The Heavyweight division of boxing basically requiresÖany weight. Some of you may remember before that I used flyweight but when I looked it up, it requires only 112 lbs! When I thought of Veggieís body, he weighs more than that so there! Sorry for the abrupt change. And I thought of Muhammad Aliís built and that basically convinced me to stick with heavyweight.