[PS] Bar/Theatre/Arcade

[Burter]

All official announcements will be here. This is also where you can relax and just enjoy the company of your fellow competitors

[Zangya]

Suddenly, she felt excited—she couldn’t comprehend it, but throughout the teleportation, her fear seemed to be sucked out of her body. The jade-skinned warrior princess felt… energized to be a part of Dante’s Abyss for a second time. Even though her participation wasn’t yet certain, she felt as if she was about to cry from pure happiness. Just a short while ago, she had felt scared, afraid, hesitant—she had felt lost, and now, though this is perhaps the most cliché way of putting it, she felt found.

Something inside of her had risen up, and now, she felt her muscles tense with impatience for the competition to begin. She felt her brain attempting to calculate any strategy they could possibly form, and her mind suddenly was in game-mode. She was in it to win it this year, and no one was going to take that mindset away from her anymore. No one. Not Garlic Junior, not Bardock, not Celipa, not Retane, not Raditzu—no one was going to take it away from her.

She soon discovered that her feet had led her to the bar—a place that, she had to admit, she had failed to visit the previous year. A mistake, to say the least—this was probably the most relaxing room she’d been in so far. It had a nice, simple set up, with a long bar stretching across the room, as well as plenty of booths and tables and such. The bartender sat solemnly on a stool behind the service table of the empty saloon, and when Zangya entered, his eyes brightened.

“Why, hullo thar, missy!” he exclaimed, leaping from his stool to go and begin mixing a drink. “What’ll a purty lady like you be havin’?” Zangya blushed, but it was merely from flattery—this man was quite the charmer, true, but he was a human, and Zangya knew better than to become romantically associated with humans. Especially with one who had such a tender intelligence as this man, whose words were slurred together much like a drunk’s, and severe lack of grammar signaled lack of knowledge.

“Just give me a shot of something,” she commanded gently, in the way that a kindly patron of a tavern would. The bartender obliged, and quickly poured in a random drink and slid the tiny cup across the table to what appeared to be his first customer of the year. He was rather excited, much more than Zangya could say she was, despite the interior monologue that preceded the action in this short account of her travels in the Dante’s Abyss Pre-Show Area.

“Well, go on, now, missy,” he urged, “Take a drink!” Following his insistence, she did just that, and quickly downed the miniature glass of alcohol. It was rather sour in taste, whatever it was, and something that she just did not prefer—but she couldn’t bear tell him that. The past year had humbled her, and so she wasn’t just about to go criticizing him off the fly. Zangya nodded in faux approval, and the ecstatic man took the shot and refilled it, sliding it one again into her fingers. She drank it again.

“It’s very good,” she lied after her second shot had passed, “What is it?” The bartender simply laughed; obviously, he was either quite amused that she was actually falling for whatever joke he was playing on her, or was simply much too euphoric that she was actually taking pleasure in his own little concoction, which, to say the least, she was not. The least he could do was repay her for the kindness she was showing in sparing him the truth about his mixture.

“Oh, it’s my own little secret,” he laughed, taking it up again and refilling it for a third time. She reluctantly drank it once again, this time refusing another, claiming she was rather full—it was a filling drink, to be sure, she told him, and he ignorantly obliged, thanking her for her compliments. At this, the man whom Zangya had deemed quite unintelligent decided to offer up entertainment in the form of a card game. “Feel like playin’ blackjack, missy?”

“Why not?” she replied—blackjack had, after all, always been her favorite card game. Throughout her year of being a nomad, the green traveler had played blackjack with herself quite often. It was a card game that was equally entertaining when playing in solitude and playing with someone else. She had a small inkling that perhaps this indulgence in the game during their lonely moments was something that she and this human man shared. She smiled wearily. “You deal,” she insisted.

“Alright,” he acknowledge, and the cards were played—a deck was somehow materialized from his pocket, and the human man handed out two cards to each of the players. The Ader looked at her top card. It was a ten. She looked at her bottom card—an ace. What a perfect hand! How could she resist toying with the man? The truth was, if this had occurred last year, then she would’ve been ruthless. But now, there was something inside of her that compelled her to be kind to him. He was a weak soul.

“Hit me,” she remarked, knowing those words to be losing commands. He laid down an ace—ah, why did he have to be so cruel as to lay down the one card that, when she busted, he would discover her pity? Nevertheless, she sighed, “Bust.” The wide-eyed bartender looked at her curiously. He seemed astounded—she knew that he realized what she had done, but she said nothing. He took up the cards quietly, and as he did so, a smile came onto his face.

“Play again?” he offered.

“Why not?” she agreed.

“And this time,” he said, “Don’t go easy on me.”

Zangya smiled. “Agreed.”

[Zangya]

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for the two lone occupants of the tavern to get bored with just regular old blackjack—either that, or perhaps the intoxication that they received by getting more and more drinks for themselves finally kicked in. Well, to ruin the surprise, it all began when they started betting things. Zangya had been in prime form ever since she’d stopped going easy on him. So, who was to say that it wasn’t worth betting something? Zangya sure wasn’t about to argue his offer to basically give up something for free. So, when the bartender suggested that bets be placed it got… well, a bit uglier than it had been, to say the least.

“I betcha I can beat ya,” the bartender, who, at this point, was the underdog, but not in the superhero kind of way, belched out drunkenly and confidently. Zangya scoffed at him, having become quite tainted by the influence of the bartender’s sour concoction, as well.

“Wanna bet?” she slurred, and he looked at her rather strangely, then nodded his head (although the nodding was more of a bow, and then flinging himself backwards, then rinse and repeat, at this point) and with that, the game was on. The two people put on their poker—er, blackjack—faces, and proceeded to drunkenly wager random artifacts from across the room. The list went on repeatedly, with Zangya first throwing in her stool, and the bartender throwing in a free bottle of his sour drink. Not knowing any better, Zangya chose to win the game instead of losing it to sacrifice her winning the drink, and, therefore, became even more drunk. It ended up being quite hilarious, in her eyes. “I would’ve given up my stool if I had realized that I would’ve been sober in a shorter amount of time,” she would admit.

Of course, as the afternoon went on, the drunks’ bets got sillier and sillier—until, finally, the bet of all silly bets came out. After Zangya had proceeded to bet her orange locks of hair, the man behind the counter came out with something that had never been expected—he pulled, from under the counter, a perfect, squeaking, rubber chicken.

“What the—” Zangya commented drunkenly; but she didn’t have the energy to finish that sentence. “Tell you what,” she said, wanting the rubber chicken madly, “If you let me have the rubber chicken, I’ll let you cut my hair!” The deal, however, was not set. The bartender politely—as polite as a drunk man can, mind you—refused to part with his beloved Perry, and furthermore decided that he was going to cut Zangya’s hair anyways. So, in turn, while the bartender reached for the scissors, it should be know that Zangya reached for the rubber chicken.

The resulting attack from the bartender was nothing less than hostile.

Scissors stabbed into the hand that was now clutched around the rubber chicken’s flexible body, Zangya screamed in pain and in excitement. She pulled away from the man, holding on to the rubber chicken dearly, as if it was her own child (of which she truly had none) and proceeded to skip, hop, jump, and run towards the door. The bartender, being the amazing acrobat that he was (despite his rather large waist area) progressively followed suit, vaulting over the bar and then chasing after her. However, his only victory was that when he reached for the rubber chicken, he grabbed the scissors and snatched them out of Zangya’s hand, causing her more pain.

Well, that, and the fact that as she exited he got in one little snip at her hair—one little snip that was enough to send everything from the neck down falling to the floor. A scream followed, and repeated curses in his direction came shortly after. Needless to say, Zangya and the bartender would not meet again. At least, not in an occasion where the bartender would not end up dead. Or fatally mangled.

[Android 17]

Seventeen let out a sigh as he tried to relax up against the worn cushions of the bar’s booth seating. It hadn't taken more than an hour for the novelty of pre-show to wear off and for him to find himself in the bar. All around him, potential competitors and the media paparazzi were dancing around like overly stimulated children. Over the last hour of so, the android noticed all walks of life walk by the window next to his table. In that span of time, he’d also managed to categorize the majority of competitors into two categories—paragons and maniacs.

If you sat around for a long enough and took enough shots (like the overly enthused android), then the differences got easier to spot. The paragons were the types that wore the smiles on their face as they perused the many corridors and chambers of the pre-show facility. They were the types who were here to compete like Dante’s Abyss was some type of sport or tournament. They were the caring ones who would wind up dead for a friend or turn their back to the wrong type of person and wind up with a knife in their spine.

The maniacs were the other cliché of competitors. They were the more awkward types that either slinked around or sat in one place and scowled at everyone. They were the bloodthirsty ones…the dregs of society who felt they had some sort of score to settle. On the island, they were the vicious, calculating types with the poisons and the backstabby mindset.

“Where do you fit in?” Seventeen asked, glancing in his reflection at the bottom of the glossy shot glass. The answer was muddled at best, after all, the android had already played the paragon role and got blown up because of it, and at the end of the day, Seventeen had a hard time picturing himself being overtly malicious. After all, it clashed with the whole hero image he’d spent the last two (or was it three by now?) years building.

But then again, this was a new year, and that meant that all the avenues were open again. The only real constant that remained throughout all the years was that Seventeen wanted to win. He’d struck out two years in a row, and even for someone with his go-getter attitude, the continuous failure was starting to make him a little crispy around the edges. From the corner of the android’s eyes, he noticed a woman with a microphone and a cameraman creeping up on him.

“Bollocks,” the cyborg groaned, resting the shot glass back down on the well-polished tabletop. Sure, he loved to dance in the limelight, but the tequila had more or less given Seventeen a temporary excuse to be uncharacteristically introverted. And of all the people in the world, a news reporter was the last person he felt like having to entertain.

“Mr. Seventeen!” She said, her overly red lips curling up to reveal her polished molars as she went to shove the microphone into the face of the android.

“I’ll pass,” the cyborg groaned, pointing a finger toward the camera and blasting it apart with a well-aimed shot from his fingertip. Horrified at the equipment exploded next to his face, the pudgy cameraman ran away, leaving the Latina newscaster to pelt the android with her admonished glares.

“Not in the mood,” Seventeen muttered, dismissing the woman with a flick of his wrist. “Go find that monkey, Rad…I’m sure he dance and hop for you,” he added, sighing as he rested his cheek in his palm. Turning his attention to the hallway on the other side of the bar’s window, he squinted for a brief moment, almost believing that he could see one of his alliance members milling around down at the other end of the sprawling hallway.

Nah… The machine-hybrid mused, turning up and gently shoving passed the news reporter, who apparently had been yapping on about something the whole time. Ignoring her trivial banter, Seventeen walked up to the countertop and asked for the bottle of liquor from the rack. As he snatched the outstretched bottle from the bartender, the android twirled the cap off and quickly did a two count before making his way out of the homely, rustic establishment.

“This is going to interesting,” he said, his eyes glancing up to the large ‘Dante’s Abyss’ logo that was suspended in the center of the crosswalk. Allowing his shoulders to sag, Seventeen wandered off into the crowd to ponder the game that lie on the horizon.

This one'll be different...I won't let it be anything else...

[Violet]

Against her best judgment, the brooding woman left the ‘champ’ and his lovely model to their privacy. She wondered if it hurt when his bloodflow changed course from the bigger head to feed the smaller? The way that…that…girl clung to him, there was no mistaking what this bitch wanted. Fangirl, groupie, did they all just fall neatly into the same category?

His moods were unique, as changing as flawlessly as a chameleon. How could he could go from being casual to completely serious unprovoked? She felt much smaller than her modest five three as he tilted his head downward to gaze at her. The blood red headband stretched across his forehead stood out like a neon sign, its vividness contrasting sharply with the deep honey cast of his skin. His eyes were two black coals in his face, striking, yet fearsome.

“Problem? What problem?” The cool response didn’t curtail his suspicious glare one little bit. Turning away from his unnerving attention, she started walking towards the flashing lights of Dante’s Bar & Drinks. At this particular moment, she could go for a shot. Or five.

“I want to know what the hell your problem is, Vi.” he pushed, quickening his footsteps to keep up. He saw the bar just ahead of her, and could read where her train of thought was leading her. Grabbing her shoulder, he jerked her around to face him.

Casting him unfriendly eyes, Violet swiveled her shoulder out of his hand and eased away. “If you really want to know, you’re my problem.” His eyes widened just a little at her assertion. “I’ve dealt with some very complex people before, but you, you’re like, some bi-polar version of Rambo. One minute, you seem so fucking shut off from everything around you, and the next, you’re almost…normal.” She scoffed despite herself. “I wish you’d make up my damned mind already.”

“…” He was confused, not for the first time in his life. What the hell kind of nonsense was she spewing now? “Who’s Rambo?”

“He’s this guy from-nevermind. Just take my word for it, okay?” Some of the tension left her shoulders, but her steely reserve never faltered. “I'm trying, I really am, to get to know you, really get to know you, not as some famous guy from a gameshow, but as...as a man.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, anxious about where this conversation was heading. Something didn’t smell right, the sour scent of apprehension perfumed the air around them, stifling in its thickness.

Wiping her hair back from her face, she lifted her gaze to his rather sheepishly, cheeks warming as she tried to explain. “I like you, Bar.” She chuckled nervously, her hands splaying across the front of her leather armor. "I just don't know how to take seeing you look at that...thing like that."

Bar’s mind worked furiously behind his masked expression, trying to form some sort of sense of what she was talking about. His mouth opened, but she cut him off before he could question further, “You’ve just changed, that’s all.” She sighed. This wasn’t the time, or the place to really explain herself. All she knew was that she felt possessive of him; for what reason was beyond her. Some things you just couldn’t explain, it was but another quirk life threw at you. Fate was just tossing in all kinds of ironies her way lately. “Just now, seeing that beanpole bitch squeezing her plastic tits all over you, and then reading her thoughts, I wanted to beam holes through her skull.”

Suddenly aware of the growing crowd around them, Violet grabbed his wrist and pulled him along as she sliced through the pack of awestruck fans. They wanted to know everything there was about their hero, but this was something that they were definitely not allowed to nose into. This was her personal time with him, damn it.

Their disdain of her quickly began to suffocate her already populated thoughts. She heard their insults slowly chant amongst them, rising in pitch as she broke into a full out run. Breaking through the thick oak doors of Dante’s, she pulled him inside, the crowd finally bleeding away, and the electronic music of the many arcades berated them with its disorganized harmonies like a puff of superheated smoke. Televisions turned to different sports channels, all highlighting some aspect of previous events, were spread along the expansive bar opposite the doorway. The lighting was severely muted: aside from the glow from the TV screens, small lamps dotted the small area that the bar occupied like tiny stars in a dark cherry wood sky.

A short bug-like humanoid skittered into view, an expressive pink and purple suit wrapped across his upper body, leaving his lower half, which, to Violet, looked like some giant version of a tarantula’s legs, naked. In his upper two hands, he held two pitchers of a dark ale, brimming to the top, its white foam puffy around the rim, and sloshing over the edge.

“Welcome, welcome!” the bugman greeted, shoving the pitchers towards the pair. “Welcome to Dante’s. We are honored to have the champ in our establishment.” His sincerity was almost genuine, if it wasn’t for the major cheese factor of his delivery.

At first, they hesitated, wondering which Hell would be worse: one made up of raving, adoring fans, or one where you are guaranteed to be exploited in order to gain some other guy credit? To Vi, the beer was making one hell of a compelling argument.

[Bardock]

Bardock jerked his head over to a small table in a corner, glad to be away from the raving lunatics who actually thought the saiyan cared about them. He just hoped that someone would show up and draw their attention to another player. The fighter and Violet sat down as the bug-creature skittered behind them, setting down the pitchers, and quickly producing two glasses with cardboard coasters.

“Drink up! Only the best for the warriors of Dante!” the alien encouraged before crawling away.

Bardock grabbed a pitcher and poured a glassful for Violet, and one for himself. He immediately grasped his highball and relaxed his throat, letting the contents slide quickly downwards to the very last drop, upon which time the glass was immediately refilled. The saiya-jin tried hard to keep his thoughts in check, ever aware of the human’s growing abilities to read them. But it was hard to restrain the racing contemplations. Everything was wrong place, wrong time. He didn’t need this, not right before the tournament was about to start. It complicated things, and he wasn’t good at complicated. This was supposed to be the point to get loose, and get ready for all the killing that was about to commence, not give him something to think about instead of how he was going to ice the competition.

“I like you, Bar.” What kind of like? When did this happen? What happened to wanting to beat each other’s faces in? What about just wanting ‘respect’? Was he reading too much into this?

So many questions attacked his brain at once. Apparently aware of his growing apprehension, Violet too occupied herself with the suddenly important task of chugging the glass of beer before her. Thick fingers set the saiya-jin’s empty tumbler on the table, gripping it tightly as he stared at a neon sign of some alcoholic brand. He clenched his jaw and furrowed his eyebrows. Now wasn’t when this was going to be figured out. It was going away, filed in the back of his consciousness and forgotten until he could afford the luxury of worrying about it. He didn’t need it clinging to the forefront of his brain while someone splattered it all over the battleground taking advantage of any hesitation. Bardock focused purely on what lay ahead, sealing everything else away. Violet gazed into his averted eyes, and it was like the telepathic feed just shut off and went black.

“It’s just you, me, and a whole lot of bodies. That’s it,” Bardock declared, eyes rolling to meet her stare.

“There. Right there,” she observed, a wry smile crossing her face. “For one second, it was like I could see something about you, and then you go cold.”

Cold. That was a word he’d heard often, a single word that spoke volumes.

“See something about me?” he repeated. “What more is there to see?”

The clack of a cue ball striking against its striped and solid objects filled the silence, followed by the sound of pockets being filled. Seeing an opportunity for a sale, the strange little bug sidled up to the table, puffing himself up on his tarantula legs.

“What kind of appetizers can I get for you today?” the bar employee suggested.

“Go away,” Bardock responded instantly, never for a second taking his eyes off the human.

“I’ll take some cheese sticks,” Violet countered, she too keeping her stare locked.

“We don’t want anything. Get lost,” the fighter insisted, more firmly this time.

“And can you bring extra sauce with that, please?” the woman continued.

“Hey, hey! Cheese sticks for the lady and nothing for the champ. Be right back with your order!” the insectoid rattled off, completely unruffled by the saiyan’s surly attitude.

Bardock’s nostrils flared, and he broke the connection of sight, head turning away as he leaned back in his chair. Violet tilted forward and politely refilled his glass before filling her own. Without looking, the bronze bruiser brought his tumbler to his mouth and gulped it down, slamming it back on the table. He stared quite contentedly at the many bottles that lined the shelves behind the bar. Within moments, their server brought back a steaming basket of food and set it neatly before Violet. The basket was piled high with bread-and-garlic battered mozzarella that was accompanied by a large plastic ramekin of thick, warm marinara. Nonchalantly, the woman began picking up one stick after another, dunking them and munching them.

“I’ve never known you to turn down food,” she wondered aloud, looking as if she was pondering a deep, philosophical question.

“You don’t know me at all,” Bardock said quietly.

“I’m trying,” she protested.

“I don’t know you at all,” the fighter continued as if he hadn’t heard.

“Don’t,” Violet implored, not liking where this was going.

“I don’t know how it got this far,” he carried on.

“Stop,” the woman persisted.

“And I don’t know why I’m here,” Bardock finished, finally looking back at her. He placed his hands on the table and pushed himself up out of the chair, turned, and began to walk away. He wasn’t here for a piece of ass, and he wasn’t here so he could sit through a lecture of his character. Once the tournament started, he would be free again, and once the tournament ended…

“I’ve asked myself that question,” Violet confessed, and Bardock stopped in his tracks. “But I’m here.”

The simplicity of the statement rang in his ears. He swallowed, turned back, and slid into his seat. It was harder than he thought to not walk away, to not just cut and run. That had been his goal ever since leaving King Kai’s, and with each difficulty that was thrown his way, his resolve was chipped away a little more, and the temptation to split kept growing. Contrastingly, it was strangely also getting harder to break the bond that was forming. The fighter was on the edge of the game, ready to begin the Abyss, and he didn’t need this. Pouring the last of the first pitcher into his tumbler, Bardock watched the foam fizzle away like a ripple in a pond. He always knew what he was bargaining for, even with this most recent curveball. For once, the question was pointing the other way.

“What do you want from me?”

[Violet]

“What do you want from me?”

The atmosphere of the Bar was casual, everyone kept to their own business, save for the adamant Bartender who insisted on refilling their beer pitchers. She didn’t know if she should thank the insectiod for helping take the edge off of this already awkward conversation, or beat the hell out of him for making it even more awkward by hovering within hearing distance of them, seemingly hanging on their every word. There was just no privacy, whatsoever. Closing her eyes, she slid the tankard away and sighed reluctantly. “Besides what I’ve already so articulately revealed so far? Well, I guess what I want is just…” She paused, waiting for some kind of reaction, but he remained as stony as ever. “You.”

“Why though? Why me? I thought you didn’t give two shits about me, and as far as I knew, the feeling was mutual.”

“I’m not looking to jump your bones anytime soon, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she added, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “But if it will facilitate our relationship better, then I suppose I could take one for the team.”

“You make this sound like a game.” He stated a little irritatedly; the Saiyan didn’t miss the hidden implication buried in her comment.

“Isn’t it, though?” She spread her hands out in front of her, as if that would encompass everything that sentence implied. “We’re going about this like a huge chess game, where we’re trying to check mate the hell out of each other.” She reached into the basket of foodstuffs, only to find it was empty. Had she really eaten all those damned things already? “Maybe I’m just overreacting.”

Leaning back in the chair, she gave him a long, cool stare. “So, do you think we’ll run into each other out there?”

The sudden change in subject was almost too abrupt for him, but he managed to catch her meaning. “Probably.”

Although she couldn’t complain about the change in subject to something less awkward and personal, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that out there in the deep wilderness of Dante, something was going to happen. The spirits of the island whispered it to her, telling her of things that made sense to her soul, but not so much her mind. There would be a time when she could approach him, without pretense, and show him what she couldn’t tell him with stupid words. How this situation presented itself was a complete mystery to her. She’d have to let Fate do whatever it was that it did, and roll with it. Whether it makes or breaks this relationship, she wouldn’t know until it happened.

“I won’t kill you, Bardock. Even though this is just a game, I won’t be able to do it.”

He gave a slight shrug, watching a group of people arguing behind her head. “Can’t say I feel the same.”

She gazed at him incredulously. “You’d kill me??”

He gave the slightest of smirks, his eyes glittering in mischief. “Maybe.”

“What the hell kind of answer is that?” She poked. “It’s either yes, or no.”

“I do things that I don’t like, killing included.” He began, taking a moment to sip more of his ale. “But it’s just one of those things you have to chalk up and move on.”

Music began to play somewhere deeper in the club, the rhythmic pulse pounded from huge speakers affixed to the walls. People had begun to move towards the bar’s small dance floor; several tourists made fools of themselves trying to impress their partners, and those with cameras were busy snapping their pictures, capturing the fools in the midst of ridiculous moves and cheesy kisses. They were having a good time, so why the fuck weren’t they?

She raised another filled tanker to him, and deliberately ignoring his last comment, said, “You know, if we keep going like this, we’ll be too wasted to enjoy the rest of the preshow.” She drank deeply, once again, beginning the slow decent into the alcohol induced world where she usually found some sort of peace for her confused thoughts. Confusion that all stemmed from one person: that was the man that sat across from her now. He was taking down his walls, but it didn’t help her one little bit.

Maybe, she thought, while they were out there, she could finally solve this confusion, because damn it, she couldn’t take anymore of this ineptness for much longer.

“I suppose it would be fair if I asked you the same question, though. What do you want from me?”

[Bardock]

Of all the answers that belonged to that question, only few passed his lips. “I want you to fight with everything you have. I want you to shut everything else out but this. I want to see what you really can do, to see you go until you can’t anymore. No holding back. And if the time comes, I want you to come at me with the intent the kill.”

All, of course, in reference to the Abyss. He knew she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that was his only answer, but it would have to do for now. Point blank, that was what he wanted right now. The rest could follow when it was over. Bardock looked over to where she kept drifting her gaze to, and saw the little mass of people on the dance floor. That practice, considered by most to be entertainment, was yet another thing that didn’t do it for him. The song changed to something heart-pounding and fast-paced. Some of the tourists pulled real close to each other, grinding hips and shuffling while spooning, or whatever passed for dancing these days. He quirked an eyebrow, and couldn’t imagine ever doing something like that. To each his own, he supposed.

“That can’t be everything,” Violet pushed.

Bardock turned to face her, wondering what she had expected him to say. “For now it is.”

“But…there’s more?” she ventured.

“If you give me what I ask, then I’ll tell you the rest,” Bardock proposed.

“That’s not fair,” she replied.

“Everything is earned. Nothing is given,” the brawler declared. “You wanted my respect. I told you to take it. That’s how it is.”

Violet nodded, absorbing the information, taking a large draught from her glass. Bardock snapped his fingers at the little bug-man and indicated that they were done with their pitchers. The insectoid whisked them away, leaving only the two glasses. Bar figured they’d both had enough to loosen up, and any more was liable to affect their performance in the beginning of the game. He didn’t want to go down by way of dulled reflexes, and he didn’t want Violet to be able to give anything less than her best. She already looked like she was getting sloshed enough.

“Can I get you two warriors anything else?” the bartender asked, returning for one last swing.

“More cheese sticks,” Violet answered promptly. She appeared to be as annoyed as Bardock at the constant interruptions, but the appetizer seemed to be worth the trouble. When the next heaping basket arrived, they both let a period of silence ensue as she began to work on the mozzarella.

It gave Bardock a chance to think about what had just been said. Since he obviously wasn’t going to be given the opportunity to forget and move on, he might as well get some of it out of his system. Things hadn’t been the same since the prison break. The dynamic of the relationship had completely changed, and the saiyan had been oblivious to the shift. It had come a long way from where it had first started, and Bardock marveled at the leaps and bounds. The questions he had to ask himself, how would he respond, what would he do, how was he going to deal with this, had never before been considered. Violet had offered him much more than just a favor now, and the pieces left on the board were moving fast. No longer was it just simple training, or simple fighting. The fighter had to ask himself: did he want what she wanted?

Suddenly, a question popped into his head out of nowhere. “What was he to you?”

“Huh?” Violet mumbled, caught off guard.

“What was he to you? What am I to you?” Bar repeated, throwing in a comparing inquiry. He saw her hesitate, putting the words together.

“What do you mean?” she asked carefully.

“Surreo.”

[Violet]

Her appetite had suddenly disappeared quickly as fog when the noon sun came pressing its heat down on to the earth. Dropping the half eaten appetizer, she wiped the crumbs from her fingers and for the moment, ignored his entirely too personal question. How could he think she could compare him to Surreo? It was like putting Link against Ganondorf. They were two entirely different creatures, natural born enemies. Of course it would make sense that the similarities were quite narrow. Each had appealed to her in different ways, but where the Changeling had once made his home inside her soul, the rather blunt Saiyan was gradually burning his own trail into those hollows left behind.

He watched her expectantly, for the next words she would speak would validate whatever unspoken deal that was between them. The scrutiny was almost unbearable, choking in its viscosity. Her eyes following the wildly flicking tail behind him, Violet choked back the truth that threatened to spill from her lips. Under no circumstances could she tell him what he was to her: he’d never believe her, nor would he welcome it. As for Surreo…that she could tell him. If she lied, he would most likely sense it, so it was a moot point to try. She’d simply leave out what she didn’t want to say.

“Surreo was…He was…” Her voice trembled as she tried to piece together the words, her gaze averting nervously to the dancers a few yards away, welcoming their distraction. Why was this so hard to say?

“What?”

“A friend.” She finished quietly. “A really good friend.”

He delicately scented the air. “There’s something you’re not saying,” he coaxed, tail freezing behind him. “Out with it.”

“I told you what he was to me;” she played innocently. He didn’t buy it. There was an internal war raging between them, nothing that they could consciously see with their eyes, but it was there nonetheless. It wouldn’t take much to tip the scale in either direction, it just all depended on how this particular conversation ended. Right now, she’d kill just for an opportunity to not continue it.

Grunting impatiently, he replied, “I see.”

Angry eyes lifted to his face. He was striking, just sitting there, oblivious to the reality of their situation. If she really wanted him, it wouldn’t take much convincing. Maybe it was a good thing that the alcoholic beverages she’d chugged the last hour or so were weak, because her mind couldn’t get any clearer than it was now. “You don’t see, Bardock. Right now, it’s just not the time, nor the place to discuss it.”

The sardonic smile etched its way across the stubbly half of his face, taking nothing away from his already startling attractiveness. “And when do you think it would be a good time? Maybe we should make an appointment to sort this shit out.”

“You make it sound like it’s something we can debate over. It’s not.”

“It’s not? How the hell am I supposed to know what to do? You haven’t explained shit, you just keep confusing the fuck out of me every time you open your mouth.”

“I have, too, tried!”

Shaking his head haughtily, he crossed his arms across his plated chest and leaned back in the chair, the smirk never faltering. “You still haven’t even touched the other half of the question.”

“Maybe it’s because I don’t want to.” And maybe it was because she was afraid. How could she clarify something that just didn’t have a tangible way to be explained? “And you wouldn’t want to know, anyways.”

Scoffing, Bardock kept his eyes steady on her trembling features. He had a feeling what it was, he just wanted her to say it. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her; it was so completely outside of her character, and had the possibility of putting them in one hell of an awkward situation. However, perhaps it would be better to just show him, and hope to GOD it explains it all for him. Her ever elusive courage crept back to her, and she scooted from the barstool. Her steps were tentative, yet purposeful as she edged her way closer into his personal space. Her hand gently rested on his knee, and her eyes lifted to his, her guarded expression softened as she watched something indescribable pass across his face. He couldn’t be scared, could he? Or maybe he was surprised by this uncharacteristic move?

It didn’t matter right now. He had already given her permission when he asked the question. She wouldn’t back down, because this was a challenge all in itself, and he had already stated that this is what he wanted from her. His legs moved apart, hesitantly at first, but he seemed to get the hint. Stepping into the gentle vee, she pulled herself against him; her hands glided over the smooth black and emerald surface of his breastplate, her gaze dropping to where her hands made an uncertain ascent up to his face.

As the soft pads of her fingers stroked upwards, the tips of her left hand caressed the old, jagged scar that slashed deep into the stubbly flesh. “How did you get that scar?” she asked softly. Before he could respond, however, she quickly lowered her face to his, her skin just a mere fraction from his. Her breath was hot as it buffeted his lips in erratic waves, but she found herself unable to complete the action. She just couldn’t do it.

As if the world suddenly came back into focus, reality smashed its massive fist around her, feeling the eyes of bystanders locked absorbedly on the scene playing before them. Her eyes finally saw him, the surprise, the anxiousness, the uneasiness. Her hands fell away from his face, but her feet remained frozen to the spot, their auras flicking a gentle halo around them.

It would be beautiful if she had noticed them.




OOC: Eh, sorry if that's pushing it a little too soon, but I thought it would fit the situation. :]

[Bardock]

Bardock raised his hands up, resting them on Violet’s shoulders at first, and then gently slid them down her back until he firmly grasped her hips. His eyes were locked onto hers, and he observed the expression on her face at his touch. The human’s face hovered so close to his that he could feel the heat from the flush in her cheeks, and he inhaled the taste of her breath as it heavily blew across his skin. A moment in time crawled to a halt, and the rest of the world faded away. Their hammering hearts slowed, beating in a fragile rhythm. Slowly, deliberately, Bardock leaned forward.

His head slighted to one side, and his lips softly grazed her cheek until he stopped just beneath her earlobe, his face like soft sandpaper against her own.

“That’s all I needed to know,” he said quietly.

When he pulled his head back to face her again, his expression was chiseled from ice. Violet’s own visage was unreadable, mixed with too many emotions. None too delicately, he sat up, guiding her backwards and away. His fingers trailed from her hips, releasing their grip, and the saiyan turned his back to her, immediately locating and heading towards the men’s room. A skinny frat-looking boy grinned at him as he walked past.

“Alright, dude!” he whooped, raising a hand for serious props.

Without even looking at the boy, Bardock palmed the kid’s face and roughly shoved him into a wall, never once slowing.

He couldn’t see Violet as he pushed the swinging door open and stepped inside.

* * * * *

The splash of icy cold water against his face began to neutralize the heat that was still coursing through his body. His breathing, which he had tried so hard to control before, now came unevenly. Bardock replayed the scene in his head, reliving every second. He couldn’t shake how her touch had electrified his skin, and even now it was still tingling. He still felt the softness of her hands when they stroked his face, albeit somewhat greasy from the appetizers. The fighter hadn’t expected her to be so bold. Certainly he had challenged her, and he got exactly what he asked for, but he never anticipated she would take it that far. Why hadn’t he just followed his first instincts and let it go? Why did he let it get to that point? What rattled him the most was the impulse to close the distance and finish the job. It had been fleeting, but strong. His head had been in a haze, her enthralling presence numbing his judgment. His resolve eventually won out: that wasn’t what he was here for, and nothing was going to take that away. But Bardock wondered how the feeling could have been so strong. Now he had to question himself, something from which no good ever came.

“I fear…my emotions.”

The words echoed in his brain, and he realized them to be his from long ago. A hand clutched at his chest, remembering the pain he had felt that day. Things were the same now, but so different.

Bardock looked up from the dirty sink, staring at his sopping wet reflection. There was no mistaking it now. He’d gotten his answer beyond a shadow of a doubt, whether it was what he’d expected or not. But in the end, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take what she wanted. She lacked the conviction to see it through. And now he was unsure how to proceed. A callused hand rubbed the dripping water from his face, and his thumb rested on the old scar embedded deep in his flesh.

“How did you get that scar?”

Truthfully, he couldn’t really remember, and if he didn’t remember, it meant he didn’t want to. He’d always been good at erasing his own memories. The only person who had ever successfully unlocked them, besides the incarnation of his greatest fear, was Katel. Even then, the remaining fragments that she had loosened were slowly receding back into the darkest corners of his consciousness.

“Fuck,” he swore to no one in particular.

This was really messing up his pre-game. He badly wanted for the Syntex goons in black to just finally come and tell him he was accepted, so he could move on, get his weapon and his gear, and fling himself head-first in the Abyss.

Exhaling loudly, he turned away, taking advantage of the urinals.

Once finished, he positioned himself just behind the door. The armor was back, a thick coating of iron that guarded his inner thoughts. His face was cool, calm, and collected. When he finally pushed the swinging door open and looked towards his table, he was surprised by what he saw. Or rather, what he didn’t see. Violet was gone.

Growling low in his throat, he set off to find her.

[Violet]

So, here she was, once again: wounded, beaten, and so fucking confused that she couldn’t see straight. Oh, did she mention that she’d humiliated herself? It was shaping up to be one hell of a day.

As she peeled the torn leather away from her shoulder, letting the tattered folds fall over her half-exposed chest, her eyes surveyed the damage caused by Seventeen’s power sword. The wound was neat and clean, that is, if you ignored the blood pouring from its gaping maw. Her fingers touched the swelling flesh, wincing as pain shot through her shoulder. She’d have to get stitches for this one. Why was it shit didn’t hurt until you seen blood?

Rising from the weather-beaten park bench, Violet limped towards the back entrance of the bar. Music blared from the speakers affixed to the walls, but the dance floor was deserted. On the other side of the establishment, a huge, jagged opening tore its way through to the outside, where the missing patrons had amassed in a panicked mob. Blinking stupidly, Violet felt almost embarrassed as she strolled up to the bar and greeted the rough and rowdy looking employee.

“Uh, you got any towels back there, hot stuff?” she flashed her winning smile, hoping he wouldn’t point out the damage she’d caused just a few minutes ago. He gave her a strange look and disappeared into the mysterious beyond known as the kitchen. Different scents assailed her senses, but one fought its way to the forefront: the rich, earthy scent of a particular Saiyan that hung in the shadows, his eyes transfixed on the injured female that he’d just begun to search for. Her eyes veered into his direction, not because she saw him from the corner of her eye, but because she just felt him, smelled his distinctive scent like a pungent, sweet perfume that assailed her nostrils with its raw masculinity.

Standing there with an open wound seeping freely, all pain was forgotten when she saw the raw look in his charcoal eyes. He was as disturbed by their brief encounter as she was. Averting her gaze as the Bartender emerged from the kitchen, she noticed the stack of white towels piled underneath one arm, and a very displeased frown plastering his bearded face. “You better be lucky Synex is paying for that damage.” He growled unhappily. His eyes were cold as she took the towels from him, muttering a rather flat “thanks” as she ambled off to an empty table.

She’d made a friend.

* * * * *

The impromptu ER was set up: she had her hot water, the clean cloths, and her new buddy, the Barman, had provided some string, a needle, and a nice bottle of booze to wash away the pain. She did it in a pattern: sip, dip, suture, sip, wipe. The wound wasn’t so much wide as it was long, and all in all, she’d stitched in all of twenty three stitches into her shoulder, and just like a big girl, she didn’t cry. Not once.

Maybe it was because she could feel his eyes on her the entire time as he stood quietly away from her. A part of her was bothered that he didn’t come to at least poke fun at her for being such a newbie, but the other part, well, she just didn’t know if she could handle it. She should have just kissed him and be over with it, she wanted it so badly that she could feel the ghostly impression of his lips against her earlobe as he spoke in the softest, most benevolent voice she’d ever heard emanate from the rather standoffish man.

One of these days, she’d quit being such a pussy and do it. Just to see if the spark he had ignited deep within her very core was as genuine as she felt it to be. After that, well, she didn’t know what she’d do.

Heaping the bloodstained rags together, she disposed of them in a nearby receptacle and left the brooding bartender to his business as customers began their cautious reentry through the rear entrance. Grabbing the remnants of the alcohol, she sloshed it back in one solid gulp, and tossed it in behind the soiled rags.

The sad thing was, the alcohol did nothing to dull her senses. Her entire being was tingling with the sensation of his gaze, but she didn’t dare approach him. If he wanted her, she’d let him come to her, but until then, she didn’t think she had the gumption to go to him.

Spotting an empty chair within the deeper recesses of the establishment, far away from the almost solid haze of cigarette smoke and sweaty bodies, and him.

[Bardock]

His search was short-lived. The fighter had quickly pounded down the remaining beer from their table, and no sooner had he began to decide which exit she had taken, then did an explosion rip through one of the walls. Coolly, Bardock noted that the explosion happened to be the very person he was looking for, and it looked like she hadn’t gotten very far. Just as he was about to investigate why Violet was flying through concrete, the saiya-jin also noticed the second brawler, and not someone he particularly wanted to approach until pre-game was over: Android Seventeen. The young cyborg, crazed beyond all hell, had nearly been the one to finish Bardock off. Although, the android’s mind was so wrapped in delusion that he might not even remember their two encounters, as Seventeen was under the distinct impression that Bardock had been Super Buu. Regardless, the saiyan felt it best not to interfere. It wasn’t yet time to unleash his primal wrath. Instead, he picked a comfortable spot and waited for the little tiff to be over, leaning against a table and crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes immediately picked her up as she slinked back into the bar, a long, nasty-looking slash lining a trail of crimson along her shoulder.

Stupid, he thought expressionlessly. Fighting was what they were all here for, but why handicap yourself before the real fun even began? It just wasn’t a smart move. Bardock couldn’t help but wonder why she was even fighting the android in the first place. He racked his brain, trying unsuccessfully to connect the two, and was reminded just how little he knew about either of them. As he traced his memory of Violet back as far as he could go, it hit him in a flash of imagery, and the saiyan couldn’t believe he’d missed it. His first, and still one of the most prominent, recollections: Seventeen had been in the brutal and bloody alliance war two years ago. So he’s one of those “clansmen” she was talking about… he pieced together at last.

After she’d made her way to the counter and asked for towels, she shot a look in his direction, obviously aware of his presence from afar. Bardock’s face remained stony, but his eyes betrayed the rush of confusion that swelled beneath their ebony depths as hers locked on. The human resumed her patch job, completely absorbed in the process. He watched her, trying to make sense of things. His carefully constructed walls were being threatened, and he had to figure out why. But the fighter quickly found he wasn’t going to come to the solution on his own, much to his irritation. When finished, Violet retreated to a far corner, as distanced as possible while still remaining in the sanctuary of the establishment.

Bardock’s lips curled sourly. This stuff didn’t make any sense to him. Unfolding his arms, the bronze bruiser set off into a sea of lights and sounds, searching for something that did. He passed rows of video games in the arcade section of the bar, machines that mystified him and chased away the lingering thoughts of the human. He came across one that was perfectly self-explanatory. A young punk kid was standing next to a sensor, postured into a boxing stance. His scrawny right arm snaked out, striking the sensor, and a meter on the screen above rose from red to yellow, words flashing across: ‘Weak sauce.’ Apparently, the meter measured the strength of the fighter and labeled them accordingly. The teenager spotted the former soldier, and upon recognizing him, offered to let Bardock give it a try. The saiya-jin clenched his fingers into a fist, and lashed at the sensor. The little meter bar barely tipped the red zone, and the animated sequence of words slid onscreen: ‘Girly man!’

Somewhat frustrated that the kid had gotten a better score, Bardock cocked his arm back and tried again. This time he grunted with the strike, and the gauge jumped up to a mixture of yellow and green, the fighter’s coal-black eyes following the letters that formed: ‘Superman!’

A smile cracked across his face, but quickly vanished with the next and final exertion. The measuring device spiked to the top, and a flash of golden lights and sparks paraded on the screen as it proudly displayed: ‘Dante Champ!’

If they weren’t announcing the start of the tournament anytime soon, at least Bardock could amuse himself for a while. Deciding that the fighting games were entertaining, he went off in search of the next one.

[Kirano]

Kirano slowly made his way towards the large hotel, which apparently held all of the potential participants. His eyes refused to look away from the hotels golden header, which read “Dante’s Abyss Hotel’. It was very attractive and he liked attractive things. After a few more moments gazing at it, the young man lowered his head towards one of the many entrance doors.

So I’m here, I’ve actually left earth, he realized. The journey had been a short one, which had lasted only a mere matter of moments. That was one of the two reasons why he was struggling to sink in where he was, the other reason was the fact that neither Phoebe nor Paige knew he was here. They had no idea he had come this far in search of Seventeen.

Placing his hand by his right hip and then into the right pocket of his grey Nike jogging bottoms, he took steps towards the entrance, being the gentleman he was by allowing one of the female staff out the door before he made his way in. “Thank you,” she smiled.

He glanced at the golden nametag on her blue suit with black pinstripes. At the top it read in black print; ‘DANTE’S ABYSS STAFF’. Her name was printed underneath it. ‘ALICE’. “The pleasures all mine, Alice,” he returned with a similar smile, before actually stepping foot into the busy building, where warriors off all shapes and sizes and various races across the universe roamed.

So this is Dante’s Abyss.

Kirano wondered how many people the hotel occupied considering the vast amount of people that had lined up in order to sign up, and that was only on earth. If you took into consideration that people had signed up from other Planets, or even otherworld’s, then there had to be hundreds of thousands of people here.

A pity only 44 will make it.

He shook his head, feeling sorry for them. He would not want to be any of the ones who were going to eventually suffer rejection.

The human was weary all throughout his wonder in the hotel, remembering why he had travelled in the first place. Being a first timer, the man had no idea where he was going. He regretted not picking up one of those tour maps by the entrance.

Maybe I should go back and get one?

He turned his body clockwise, gazing at the maps near the entrance, which seemed so far away now.

“Wanna head to the bar?” he heard someone near him say. Kirano quickly spun his head around towards the voice; the quickness of his spin could easily match the reaction time of a King Cobra. Nobody knew Seventeen better than he, which could only mean one thing.

“Take me to this bar,” he said to the pink alien, who had a head shape like ET.

--------

“I bet you’re dying to be called up to the barracks, I know I am,” said the friend of the pink alien, to Kirano, as they continued their trek.

“I’m not participating,” the human replied

“Oh,” he retorted, exchanging odd glances with his friend.

“Trust me; you don’t want to know why I’m really here.” In all honesty, he just did not want to tell them the reason. The last thing he wanted was to be the laughing stock of Dante's Abyss, the butt of peoples jokes, disgraced by comments such as, 'Oh look at him, he's whipped,' or 'the girls have got him wrapped around their little fingers'.

“It’s probably best we don’t know then,” the pink alien concluded.

------

The journey to the bar had not taken a long, just a couple minutes spent walking.

“Well, here we are,” said the pink skinned warrior.

There was no sign of the android, but Kirano was certain he was in here. In the mean time he could do with a drink. He had not gotten the chance to drink while he was at the CU mansion, so he would make up for it here. He tapped the left pocket of his jogging bottoms, pleased he had his wallet on him at least. He turned towards the duo that had led him into the bar. “What you having?”

“Oh no, we’re fine,” said the Pink alien, answering for the two men.

“You sure, it’s the least I can do for you guys helping me out.”

“No really, we’re fine,” the same alien answered, joining his left hand with other man’s right. Kirano immediately knew the score.

Oh...my...God...

“Okay, fine, suit yourselves,” said the human, turning towards the bar, not looking back at either of them. Once he got the bar, a bartender immediately attended to him. The human was pleased. Service was never this fast back on Planet Earth. “A vodka and tonic,” he asked. It was only the beginning. The drinks were cheaper and significantly, he was over the age of 18, therefore he would make the most of his time at the bar.

After two drinks I'll go look for him. ...No no no, after three, three definately.

OOC: Anyone is welcome to associate with Kirano

[Violet]

For the space of several minutes, she just sat back and watched from her dark corner, wresting with herself over whether she should go to him, or not. There was business still left unfinished, and the urge to complete it was overwhelming. Her cornflower eyes followed the ebony haired Saiyan as he migrated from game to game, his attention focused on beating each one’s challenge, and succeeding. She smiled as he showed the difficulty in trying to beat one of them; from her position, she couldn’t see the game’s title, but knowing this place, it had to be a fighting game.

The rest of the back area was quiet, leaving only her and the object of her attention. She imagined how she would approach him, from being overly obvious, to just downright sneaky. Which would appeal to him more? Maybe a mixture of both? Her hands tingled with the texture of his skin, and rubbing them on the rough surface of her jeans, she tried to quell the irresistible pull.

Her feet moved on their own accord, her body following in step as she crept from the shadowy booth and into the back room of the arcade. Hands flexing at her sides, she padded softly through the rows of bleeping and buzzing games, her eyes transfixed on the distracted Bardock. A cool sweat broke out across her brow as she grew nearer, her heart hammering like a thousand drums within her chest.

Finally, it was the moment of truth: she could do this. She would. His back was turned to her, his attention completely immersed in whatever game he was playing now. It didn’t matter to her which, the only thing that mattered at this moment was him, and showing him that she wanted him: not because of some stupid championship or because of jealousy over the raging fans that practically threw themselves at him, but because…because at that moment, Epiphany let down its scarlet gown, revealing what Fate had so painstakingly pieced together for her. Denying herself was one thing: but not a single mortal on this planet could deny destiny.

Her fingers touched lightly at his hips, startling the engrossed Saiyan. Whirling around on her, Bardock’s cold eyes met hers, bewilderment shining within their onyx depths. She broke the contact between them, her eyes locked onto his. She didn’t say a word, as it would most likely deter her from her mission; she simply leaned her softness against him, melding herself against the unyielding hardness of his chest. Her hands snaked around his neck, and pulled him down so their faces were a mere breath away from each other.

“This,” she whispered, “this is what I want from you.” And with that, her mouth found purchase on the rough planes of his lips, the kiss almost painful in its urgency. Her entire body quivered in excitement as his arms encircled the soft curve of her hips, fingers digging into the flesh of her buttocks as he pressed her body closer to his. She fed from his kiss as he massaged the plush flesh, arms tightening around his neck as he returned her embrace.

All too soon, however, she broke away, her cheeks flaming, breath heavy and erratic. Her body slowly unmolded from his begrudgingly, the warmth of their skin stolen away by the cool air of the air-conditioned room. Time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace as her hands lingered at the empty space between his armor and torso, feeling the muscles of his abdomen move beneath her trembling fingers. “From this point onwards, you’re all that matters to me.” She promised. “I’ve taken what I wanted, and it would only be fair if I offered the same, in turn.”

“Ahem.” The pair’s heads turned in unison at the intruding noise, eyes lowering to see the bug-like creature that had greeted them upon their arrival intruding upon a rather private moment.

“What the hell do you want?” Bardock’s voice came out rough, but he managed to thrust as much intimidating force into it as he could muster. Right now just wasn’t the time to be dealing with the enterprising owner or Dante’s Bar.

“You’ve been accepted, you and your friend here. I just wanted to come give you the message personally. You’re free to head to the Barracks any time you wish.” The bugman’s multiple legs tapped nervously on the stone floor, a nervous glint reflecting from his compound eyes.

The news brought a wry smirk from the Saiyan, but before he could reply, Violet spoke, “Thanks. Now, could you ever so kindly shove off the other way? We were in the middle of discussing some rather…pertinent matters.”

The bugman scowled at the grape haired woman, seeing her as just an insignificant female who’s only goal was to get as close to their champ as possible. The bad thing, was that there was nothing he could do about it. The champ could handle himself, but he was just a man, after all, one the one language that they all shared was that of the flesh, and damn it if she wasn’t exercising her fluency in it.

“As you wish, Ma’am,” he replied. The black-faced arachnid disappeared back in the direction he had come, leaving two rather unsettled fighters basking in the awkward aftermath.

Chuckling, Violet stepped back, afraid that if she remained as close as she was to him, things would get out of hand, and that was something she didn’t want. Not yet, anyways; she respected him enough to let him digest what had already transpired, so his mind would be clear later when the time came for them to enter the battlefield. When that time came, no distractions would be welcomed.

“I’m headed to the barracks,” she informed him. “We both need some downtime.” Turning to leave, she paused, and threw behind her, “I know this changes something, Bar, and I’m sorry for that. If you don’t want me to stay after this game, I’ll understand.”

And with a slightly more defined sway to her hips, the perplexed woman left the bar.



OOC: BARRACKS!!! WOOT. Um, Bar, heh, I told you you'd probably kill me over this post, but you know, it was really fun to write. I may have jumpstarted shit a little, but that'll be all the emo shit from me for a few posts. :3 I left you back at the bar in case you had other plans in mind with anyone else.

[Bardock]

One moment, he was caught up in the instant of the game he was currently fixated on. His performance was getting better and better with every try, and the saiyan could finally release some of what had been pent up the last couple days or so. The next moment, she was in his arms, and he was swallowed up in pure physical craving. As much as he had been on fire before, now it was an inferno.

And then, she was gone, leaving him in the wake of the whirlwind. Violet had made perfectly clear before what she had wanted, but this had gone into new territory. He hadn’t even been thinking. He just reacted. His mind froze, but his body moved just fine without it. It was an indulgence that Bardock had not even expected of himself, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it now. Things were rapidly complicating beyond the fighter’s ability to keep up with. She had proved that she was capable of following through, something that threw him off just now, but he wondered if the price was one that they were both willing to accept.

In a fit of frustration, he lashed out at a nearby sensor game. The meter spiked sharply and malfunctioned, sparking as the mechanism blew. Tiny little pieces of gears spewed forth onto the floor in a puff of smoke.

You liked it, something in his head murmured.

“Shut up,” he whispered to no one, his words lost on the din of the raucous bar crowd. He couldn’t deal with it. He wasn’t equipped to. It was different any other time when he had been the one to initiate, because he had always been ready, always prepared for the consequences. This was a human he had let into his life and now she was running rampant through his innermost thoughts. She was getting far too attached, and he was starting to lose his composure.

“Hey man, you broke it!” somebody complained.

In less than a second, Bardock located the voice, which was fortunately in swinging range. He spun around and back-punched the poor loser and sent him spiraling into a pinball machine. “Anybody else got somethin’ smart they wanna say?” he roared, his dangerously dark eyes roving around in challenge. Nobody stepped forth, though many heads turned, and the ones closest backed away, with only one thing on their minds: these tournaments always brought out the violent crazies.

Instantly after striking down the smartass, he felt better, but not nearly better enough. He should have been happy. He had been accepted into the tournament, which could only mean it was starting soon. Bardock would find his asylum in the warzone. Something prevented him from marching straight to the barracks. The kiss still burned on his lips, and it wouldn’t go away. Her words played in his head like a broken record. She offered more than a favor, more than simple pleasure, she offered her life. A gift so precious was lost on him. He was but a simple slave to the fist, and had long ago foregone such people in his world. It was supposed to be as simple as get in, get what you needed, and get out. Needless to say, what had just transpired was completely outside the boundaries of that creed.

Maybe all he needed was to get it out of his system, one way or the other. His fists were heavy with thought, but his body still felt the human’s sensual touch. Which way…

The choice hardly even needed to be presented. Bardock stormed out of the bar, and found a nearby establishment that was fenced in by concrete. Without hesitation, he drove his fist into the wall, creating a neat little arm-sized hole. The punch was followed by another, and another, and another, until the whole barricade came crumbling down into a cloud of ground rubble. He howled at the sky, tensing his whole frame up.

Why?

He couldn’t fault her for doing exactly what he dared. He couldn’t fault her for following his own philosophy of life. But why did she pick him? Was this the design all along, set forth in motion by the senseis of Heaven and Earth? Too many questions, and not enough answers. Bardock didn’t want her this close, didn’t want her to be able to get to him like this, like nobody else had been able to. Nobody that he remembered.

Punching walls in aggravation wasn’t as good as the real thing. The saiyan would fight her, and he would get the answers he sought. He would feel it in her fists, as she would feel it in his. It would be so easy. Go for the stitched shoulder, hit the weak spot, get her off balance, finish the job…

…and then he wouldn’t get what he wanted. Bardock still desired to see her during the Abyss, and nothing was going to take his game away. Not even this. A loud rumble finally managed to divert his attention. Always the saving grace, he realized he was hungry. Really, really hungry. One of those internal functions that couldn’t really be ignored. The saiya-jin was reminded that he would be forced to live off dry, stale bread and water for the next few days, and didn’t relish the thought of entering such a horrible state of hunger without at least giving his stomach a proper send-off.

Calming down, Bardock took a deep breath, and re-entered the pub, ordering two of everything on the menu.

[Zangya]

“Hey, Celipa,” Zangya called as she stepped away from the tandem walk that she and Celipa had formed. They were on their way to the barracks, but Zangya had decided to indulge in something a bit more… relaxing: alcohol. She had taken it upon herself to decide this, and was telling Celipa her plan as she broke away from the pack, however small it was. “I’m gonna go grab us some drinks—you go ahead and go to the barracks, I’ll catch up.”

Celipa nodded. “Alright,” she said, and continued walking as Zangya turned and headed for the medieval tavern to get her and her new friend some drinks. The bar wasn’t far off; and thank goodness, because Zangya didn’t think she could make it far without sustenance. That fight with Celipa had worn her down considerably.

She strolled nonchalantly into the bar, heading quickly up to the counter and leaning over it anxiously. The bartender was quick to return, but he had a heated look on his face. Zangya quickly recognized why—he was the bartender she had stolen the rubber chicken from. Grinning innocently, the girl ordered her drinks obediently and in a manner that seemed to be that of a kiss-up. “I’ll take two of that marvelous lime concoction you showed me earlier,” she said cutely, and then backed off a bit, attempting not to make eye contact with her.

“What did you just order?” said someone who was sitting in the seat beside her. She turned to see a blonde-headed human sitting there, looking at her questioningly.

“Some lime thing the bartender made himself,” she replied, “It’s good.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” he replied, “I’m Kirano.”

“Zangya,” she introduced, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Kirano nodded, and the bartender came back with the drinks. “So, what’s up with you? Been accepted yet?” Kirano asked, assuming that since she was here, she hadn’t been—this woman he remembered from last year, however short a time she’d been on the show, though, so he assumed she had probably been accepted, or was bound too soon.

“Oh, no, I’ve been accepted,” she said, “I’m actually heading back to the barracks now. You?”

“I just got the news, but the attendant got called away before he could take me there,” Kirano lied, “You think you could show me the way?”

“I don’t see why not,” Zangya said, “Come on.”

Kirano beamed. Perhaps he could find Seventeen after all.

OOC: Sorry it's so short, Kirano, but it's all I could manage. I don't have much time.