Bringer of Death

Cold Saga - Part 4: "Woman"

Cold Saga - Part 4: "Woman" 

Age 763, one month after the defeat of Garlic Jr. 

Bulma awakened with a start for the fourth night in a row. She glanced to her side, the sleepiness in her eyes blurring the red digits on her alarm clock. It was 3-something in the morning, yet SOMEONE was downstairs in the kitchen; it sounded like the Saiyan was trying to cook enough food for an army. "Uggggggggh, Vegeta!" Her sleepy voice was low-pitched and irritated. "I am way too tired to deal with this." She collapsed backwards onto the bed with a sigh and grabbed another pillow, wrapping it around her ears to block out the sound of pots and pans banging around below. It wasn't as loud anymore, but she was no longer comfortable. After a few more minutes, she decided that this time she would get up and let the unthoughtful Saiyan know just how angry she was. If she didn't deal with it now, it certainly wasn't going to go away any time soon. 

She stomped down the stairs with all her weight, hoping that the thumps would give him a hint of her arrival. As she made her way down the hall to the kitchen, she began to smell something burning and heard Vegeta's frustrated grumbling. 

"Hey there, 'buddy', you listen here. I don't know if people sleep or not on your planet, but here in my house we show a little respect for people who actually need rest in order to function!" 

The prince stuck his head out from behind the refrigerator door. His mouth was currently stuffed with a piece of frozen smoked salmon, his left hand juggled three raw potatoes, and his right hand had a gallon jug of milk dangling from two fingers and a pitcher of Sunny Delight grasped between his thumb and index finger. Bulma giggled, trying her best to hide her grin by putting her right hand over her mouth. It was an image she would now have forever etched on her brain, but she didn't want Vegeta to know how silly he looked. 

"Ooaan I oud eee ooore uiet iih i ihin ave oo oo ehhin yself," mumbled the Prince through his teeth. 

Bulma lost it. She had been terrified of Vegeta back on planet Namek, but here he was talking to her with his mouth full, mumbling barely intelligible complaints in the middle of the night. What's more, she now realized that he was completely naked. 

"HAHAHA! Ha ha, what?" Bulma exclaimed, unable to contain her laughter any longer. 

"Pfftt." The prince spat a mouthful of food, including his salmon, into the sink. "What I said was that I would be more quiet if I didn't have to do everything myself. And what's so funny? Few have laughed at a Saiyan prince and lived to tell about it." 

Ignoring the empty threat, Bulma pulled up a barstool and sat at the counter. The laughter had released a lot of pent-up frustration, and she was suddenly in a much better mood. "Do you not get enough food during the daytime, Vegeta? I know you Saiyans have enormous appetites, but hasn't your chef been working this place nonstop?" 

Bulma glanced around the kitchen in amazement; it was completely destroyed from top to bottom. On the stove were a pair of four-gallon pots, each which overflowed with a dark brown substance that now covered the floor in lumps. Looking closer, she realized that the slurry consisted of partially cooked, utterly inedible brown rice. The prince had poured multiple sacks of rice into the boiling water, unaware of how it would expand in size. 

"I was too busy training today to eat. I've only just finished my workout, and I am famished. If you hadn't forced my cook to shut down his activities at night, I would be peacefully eating a gourmet meal right now. Really, woman, it's as if the whole world revolves around your schedule!" 

Bulma chuckled. 'I doubt Vegeta has EVER eaten a meal peacefully,' she thought. He was right on one point; she DID like to have everything her way. She just wanted him to realize he was acting the exact same way.