Chapter 1: Introduction

The harsh, cold wind slapped her neck unapologetically , making Bulma curse herself again for not wearing her scarf. She sucked in a crisp breath of air, making her teeth chatter in retaliation, but soon only the loud clicks of her heels on the pavement clouded her mind. She had to make it on time—she just had to— or Yamcha would never let her hear the end of it. And she would run down the busy streets of West City in six inch heels with no scarf, battling the coldest day of this ongoing winter before she fought with him again. Relationships are supposed to be fun, right?

A ghost of a smile tugged on the corners of her mouth as the theater came into view. She stopped and scrunched over, taking in precious gulps of the minty air as her lungs struggled to regain their normal pace. Looking up again, she saw that several people were outside poisoning themselves with nicotine, laughing and chattering away as if there was no concert at all. Looking down at her watch, she laughed deviously as she realized she had twenty minutes to spare. All those late night trips to the gym had paid off, and damnit all if she didn't deserve a reward.

She snuck into the alleyway, pressing her small frame against the brick wall and pulled out a cigarette. Her eyes deliciously devoured the stick, excited for the promise of mentholy goodness that she had not inhaled for… weeks? Months? Who knew anymore. Yamcha had told her it was unfitting for a woman of her stature, so she had given them up.

Well, not all of them.

She fiddled around in her pocket for her lighter, her fingers scrapping over receipts, candy and coins. "Oh come on!" she clicked her teeth, now practically turning her pockets inside out. "Oh just fucking fantastic! I finally get a chance to smoke, and I don't even have a lighter!" Feeling a tantrum slithering it's way through her chest, she turned around to face the wall and kicked it. That felt good. She turned to check both ends of the alleyway. No one there. Perhaps the wall deserved another kick…and another…and another…

Bulma lost herself in her own mania, frantically kicking the wall for the pent up frustration she had been stifling for weeks. The front of her cherry red pumps were scuffed, as well as her big toe, but she laughed away the pain. For the first time in a long time getting lost in not able to feel it. Or feel anything…

"What the hell?"

A velvety baritone made her look up, her gaze locking with judgmental black moons. Oh, well great. Here she was making an absolute fool of herself, and not only had she been caught, not only had she risked being identified, but now her current cause of anxiety was handsome. It made her blush away in embarrassment.

"It's nothing so you can stop staring now. " She pursed her lips, removing the cigarette that threatened to fall from them. She curiously ran her eyes over the man in front of her and propped her hands on her hips. "So? Aren't you going to get on with it?"

He rose an eyebrow.

"Taking your picture? Selling it to the press? I can see it now— Bulma Briefs Breaks Down in Alleyway. I know how you deep city people are."

The man huffed, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "Is that supposed to be a clever way of demanding that I know who you are?"

"Everyone knows who I am."

"Well then it's a damn good thing that I'm not everyone else," he rolled his eyes and began to fumble in the thick pockets of his long black coat.

"You've never heard of me? The Bulma Briefs ? Heiress? Socialite? Makes a mean cocktail?"

"Hmph. Well now I want to know about you even less," he drew out a premium looking cigar, studying it over with distaste. He propped it in his mouth nonetheless, proceeding to light it.

"Hey can I borrow that for a sec?" Bulma's eyes widened in excitement, her goal seeming more attainable.

He looked over at her, his face brooding. He clicked his teeth. "I'll light it. I don't want your grubby hands dirtying it."

Bulma looked at him in disbelief. The nerve! But what other choice did she have if she wanted to sate her vice?

Once it was lit and she dragged slowly through the butt, her words became sharp daggers. "You always such an asshole to complete strangers?"

"Depends? Do you always annoy strangers in alleyways with your pretentious babble? " Asshole. He shut his eyes and drew a long puff from his cigar, immediately releasing the vapors.

"You're smoking that wrong," she chided, "you're not even letting yourself enjoy the flavor of the smoke."

"That's because I don't smoke," and with that, he let it fall to the ground before being crushed by his heavy shoe.


"Then why are you?"


"Why are you asking so many damned questions?" He grit his teeth. She smiled. Her father had always called her inquisitive.


"Just curious. Never knew someone could be so secretive with tobacco."


"If you must know," he growled, "someone gave it to me. They're just trying to kiss my ass, but the least they could do is get me something useful."


"And yet, you're still smoking it. Says more about your character then theirs. "/pp

"Such an infuriating woman," he cursed under his breath, but she still heard him. She smiled. This was fun. /pp

"You here for the concert too?" She sucked in more of the mint smoke, the tobacco vapor helixing down her chest. "My boyfriend is in the orchestra."

"Oh?" His eyes perked up then, curiosity dancing across his irises, "which one is he?"

"Long black hair, scar on his cheek from a teenager. He's second chair cello. " She beamed with pride.

"Only second chair?"

She scowled and cast him a death glare. "Hey, I'll have you know that he could've been first chair if he wanted to! It's not his fault that his conductor is such a prudish stick in the mud!"

"How so? Do you even know the man you're speaking so ill of?"

"I don't need to know him! I've seen Yamcha come in late at night, fuming over that arrogant asshole! He may be talented, but that's no reason to treat the orchestra like crap!"

"Hmm, well perhaps your boyfriend should find a new orchestra to play in. We all get a choice in our affairs, so if he's just going to whine, why stay around?"

"You say that now, but you'll see when the concert starts. Yamcha says he even conducts like he's got a pipe up his ass."

The man shook his head and chuckled. "You're such a vulgar woman. I can't fathom how your boyfriend puts up with you but complains about his job." He turned stiffly on her, walking in the opposite direction of the theater. Bulma felt the irritation colliding with her reason. How could anyone be such a smug piece of shit?

"You're not staying?"

He shrugged his shoulders but continued on. "I refuse to sit and watch these things. I have more important things to do."

Bulma clicked her teeth and watched him walk down the alley until he was barely visible. What a jerk.

She stomped out her cigarette and made her way to the front of the theater. Her foot collided with something weighty, and upon looking down, discovered that it was the man's lighter. How hilarious that he didn't want her touching it, but had dropped it so easily.

She picked it up and studied it. What was so important about it anyways? It was detailed in its design on the rustic surface, embroidered with small crests and vines. A intricately cursived 'VN' sat perfectly in the center. Clearly important enough to etch the initials of your name into it.

Now where had she heard those initials before? Something tickled her mind, and she grabbed her clutch to look at her ticket. The Greater Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Vegeta N'Ouija.


He couldn't sit and watch it. Had more important things to do.



I really shouldn't be writing another story. But inspiration never warns when it strikes. This is based on an ask by VegetaPsycho's Tumblr, which I will link when I get to a computer. And it was the encouragement of my fellow Vegebul Tumblr friends that made me want to make this into a fic. I hope you guys will enjoy this one . Rate and Review please!