05-25-2008, 06:40 AM
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?”
“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?”
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
_=Pass you by, it's all in this life you have
Pass you by, good-bye to you=_
Pass you by, good-bye to you=_