To open a scene and twist it about.  That's what a writer loves best of all.  To find the perfect word.  The perfect description.  To communicate what, verbally, cannot be accomplished.  If a writer can do that, he has fed the fire that burns within him, kept away the beasts that live inside him, and can sleep peacefully for the night.

To accomplish this dream, the writer must aspire.  He must perform it himself, he must bring forth something completely new and unexpected, and he must succeed.  If not, he will perish…

Along with the story within him…

The Brute

Kakarroto stepped into his father's kitchen, absentmindedly chewing on the remains of a snack he'd gotten not two minutes before.  He liked this room most of all in the house.  It was constantly stocked with food and easily accessible, as it was the center of the building.  It cast the odd impression that the architect had carefully designed the most important chamber, and then stuck other additions off at randomly picked locations, as if from afterthought.  Not only that, but the air within it always had an easy-going smell: one of tomatoes long sat in a window's sunshine, fruit flies, and sink soap.  Soap was the most prevalent of all, as there were always dishes that needed washing in a Sayian household.

He polished off his first meal and dug into a cabinet for another.  After selecting, he poured himself a glass of water, pausing only to gloat at his reflection.  By golly, he was a fine specimen of handsome if there ever was one.  He smirked, picked up his glass, and drank his reflection.

His father wasn't home yet.  In fact, he wouldn't be home by the morrow's night.  Not that Kakarroto was complaining, for his father's absence left him in charge of the house and gave way to less interruption.  This way, he could enjoy the pleasures of late-night feminine company without having to face his father's chiding.  And just that night Kakarroto was booked with not one, but two female visitors; one at seven, the other at ten.

It would be a relief to have his father back, however.  The pile of dishes had outgrown their lodgings in the sink and had threatened to topple over on more than one occasion.

He crammed a slab of meat into his mouth and managed to squeeze in some water, proceeding to wear it down.  Thoughts traveled right back to his late-night company to be due, and he realized just how far his territory had spread.  Being the top dog when it came to sheer strength, all females of third class birth had naturally flocked to him, be they fifteen of age or fifty.  But power does not go by unnoticed by Sayians, and those of second class were some of the most ready to recognize a profitable mate when they saw one.  In fact, one of the soon-to-be mates of his had a secondary status.

Kakarroto racked his brain as hard as it would permit.  He had been in bed with almost every fertile, third class female, if he was correct.  And if he were wrong, he dismissed it as their loss.  He was already setting a record not seen in the past ten years; there was no need to smudge his face and beg for more.  He turned back around and bounced on his heels, stopping only once to praise his shallow reflection in the window.

He kicked at the wall and dented it, wishing for company.  Though smaller than an average Sayian house, his home always felt much too spacious when he was alone.  He found himself desiring a second pair of eyes for the back of his head.  Not that he need feel that way.  He was the strongest Sayian he could recall coming across.  In spars, he had creamed the third class, swept by the second, and, on one unforgettable occasion, a first class had challenged him.  And Kakarroto beat him, too.

Even though he was by far more powerful than any opposition he'd ever faced, his power level never decreased.  And though he hadn't had a fitting challenge since he was five, he grew in strength after every battle, whether the fight be one with a Sayian or a slug.  There was always the chance that his "gift" was genetic, that his genes had been mutated in an interesting way.  But he liked to believe that this wasn't the answer; that he was just the Legendary, plain and simple.

But whether legend or not, it was pure fact that Kakarroto was the strongest Sayian around and the alpha male of his time.  Ask any third class for a second opinion, if you desired to doubt.

Kakarroto finished his second snack and reached for another.  He stopped himself, though, figuring to step into town and get himself something quick.  If he were fortunate, he'd spot a lucky male and his current mate—a mate he could steal.  Kakarroto grinned wolfishly at the thought, putting his boots on.  That was possibly his favorite pastime—next to combat and eating, of course.

He glanced at the clock half-heartedly, wondering if he'd be able to be back in time for his seven o' clock guest.  He dismissed his concern, however.  If he were late, it would be nothing more than her loss.

That's the end of the prologue.  Goku's name is going to stick to Kakarroto the entire way through, because he's never been to Earth.  His attitude will be like that through most of the story, too.  (He's meant to be waaaaaay out of character.)  Bulma and Chi-Chi are also going to pose as Sayians just to simplify matters.  That's all I can think to say…  Oh, and let's just hope that there are no STDs on Vegetasei, because if there were, Kakarroto would be swarming with them.  X(

Next Sunday it's the real beginning of the story!  Ciao!