I SAW DADDY BEATING SANTA CLAUS
Chapter One: "Jingle Bells, Frieza Smells..."
(Dragonball Z characters belong to Akira Toriyama, Toei, Funimation, and all other involved parties.)
This is a non-profit story that has been floating around in my head for over a year. A bit early, I know, but what the hey...I want to see, if I still have what it takes. Enjoy!
"Yes, Miss Mitchum?"
"It's your turn today to pick the Christmas song for us to sing before we go to lunch. What's your favorite song?"
Six-year-old Bra grinned mischievously, as she proudly strolled up to the front of the classroom, dressed in her little pink shirt and red jumper. "It's a song that my daddy made up. He sings it all the time when we have Christmas. Can I sing that?"
"Well, sure, Bra. I didn't know your daddy wrote songs. What's this one about?"
"Well, Daddy says it's about a bunch of people he knew before moving to Earth."
"Moving to Earth?" Miss Mitchum was genuinely puzzled.
"Yes, he told me he was prince of a planet far, far away, before some skinny white lizard who talked like a girl, but was a guy, blew it up and made him his slave."
"Of course, sweetheart...well, glad he escaped," Miss Mitchum said uncomfortably. She was really going to have to schedule a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Briefs about Bra's overactive imagination and the bizarre stories that Bra always told. Ever since Bra had started in the first grade class, she had been telling her classmates and her teacher wild stories about her father being an alien prince who came to Earth to take it over, but decided to later turn good. Bra was quite a storyteller, but Miss Mitchum was starting to think that Bra was going too far with her tales.
"Why don't you just sing your song, okay?"
"Okay! And everyone sings with me!" Bra chirped.
Bra opened her mouth wide and belted out:
"Jingle Bells, Frieza smells!Zarbon waxed his legs!
Daddy kicks that fag's green ass,
No matter how he begs..."
"Vegeta, this is not funny!" Bulma yelled at her still laughing husband. "How could you have taught Bra that song?" She was squeezed into a tiny desk, while Vegeta, standing up, was enjoying Miss Mitchum's story of Bra's antics in class. It had lightened his mood somewhat, especially after the intensive training that Bulma had forced him to interrupt.
Earlier, he had been annoyed that he had to come to this ridiculous meeting. He had to interrupt his training, just because his daughter used a few "naughty" words in a song. He had sang that song around his daughter several times, but even he never expected her to teach her classmates the words.
But still, teachers always seemed to call him and his wife down to the school for the most ludicrous reasons. Such as that time that Trunks was in a fight at school five years ago, when he had been forced to come to Trunks's school by himself because Bulma had been out of town on business. Not caring too much that Trunks's opponent had been on the way to the hospital, Vegeta's first question had been, if Trunks had won the fight. When the principal had angrily hissed a yes, Vegeta had yelled, "Then why in the hell did you call me down here, if my son won the fight?"
Now Bra and a few classmates, still waiting for their parents, were outside the classroom, still happily chorusing the song that Bra had taught them.
"JINGLE BELLS, FRIEZA SMELLS! ZARBON WAXED HIS LEGS..."
Vegeta chuckled, despite the deadly glares he received from Bulma and Miss Mitchum. "I didn't exactly mean for her to sing in front of her classmates, you know! But she was telling the truth! I did kick Zarbon's sorry green ass, and I still don't regret it! That prissy right-hand man of Frieza's had it coming to him!"
"Mr. Briefs..." an exasperated Miss Mitchum began.
"That's Prince Vegeta to you!" Vegeta shouted.
"And about that 'prince' matter...you really need to stop telling your daughter such fairy tales...she actually believes them and repeats them to the entire class! It's time you told your daughter the truth and not just a bunch of pretty stories."
"Well, actually, he is a prince—"Bulma spoke in defense of her husband, but it was already too late. Vegeta's face was red, and his fists were clenched. Low hisses emitted from his between his teeth.
He exploded, "I AM A PRINCE! MY RACE IS NEARLY EXTINCT, YES, BUT I AM THE PRINCE OF ALL THE SAIYANS! DO YOU HEAR ME?"
"Sir, please; I just don't think it's right for you to—"
"To do what?" Vegeta roared, slamming his fists on the teacher's desk. "To tell my daughter the truth about her heritage? She herself is actually royalty, you know! What do you want me to do? Lie and tell her I am some mere Earthling?"
"Vegeta, calm down," Bulma told him firmly, taking his arm.
"No way! I am not going to allow this woman, this so-called teacher to accuse my daughter and I of being liars?" He took a deep breath and huffed, adding abruptly, "But, you know what, she's not worth wasting our time any further!" He stormed over to the door and opened it, yelling, "BRA! It's time for us to go home!"
"O...kay," Bra said very hesitantly, as her father scooped her up into the crook of his arm.
"Are you coming?" Vegeta asked his mortified and irritated wife.
"I suppose," Bulma grumbled, vowing to give him a piece of her mind when they returned home. She apologized in a low voice to Miss Mitchum, promising her another meeting time, and stormed out of the classroom after her husband, who had embarrassed her at yet another parent-teacher conference. When was she going to learn never to bring him along?
"I am not apologizing to that wench!"
"Oh, yes, you are!"
"Oh no, I'm not!"
"Yes, you are!
"No, I'm not!"
"Yes, you are!"
"I said I'm not! I don't apologize to those who question my heritage and blood!"
"You will this time! You went too far!
"No, I won't, and no, I didn't!"
"You will tell her you're sorry, and I'll speak to her on my own!"
"I am not speaking to her again!"
"Yes, you will!"
"No, I won't!"
"No, and I mean it!"
"Yes, you will!"
"Yes, I will!"
"No, you won't!"
"I will, and I mean it!"
"No, you won't!"
"Oh, yes, I will go back and apologize."
"No, you won't, Vegeta! You're not going back to apologize, and that's final!"
Vegeta chuckled and crossed his arms. "Okay, woman, you win! I won't apologize! I'm going to train now. See you later!" He started to walk towards the exit of the elaborately decorated living room.
Bulma shook her fists and growled, as Vegeta started walking away. "You tricked me, you bastard!"
He smirked. "So, there is something to be learned from Bra's cartoons, after all. Now, tomorrow is Saturday, you know, so naturally, no school nonsense should interrupt my training then."
"I trust you'll be able to keep better control of your temper after today," Bulma retorted.
Vegeta grinned. "Don't count on it. You and that teacher get too worked up over nothing. And to make you feel better, I told the girl not to sing that song anymore at school; that should shut that wench who teaches her up."
"Vegeta," Bulma said, with more careful control of her voice, "Miss Mitchum had a point: Bra doesn't need to be using those words at school. And you're not showing her a very good example by allowing her to use those words and losing your temper with her teacher. That temper of yours has put you in trouble more than one time in your life; one of these days it could cost more than even you or I could pay."
"My temper is just fine, and you would throw a fit too, if someone accused you of lying about who you really are! Besides, your language isn't always what I would call, 'ladylike'."
"At least, I don't use those 'unladylike' words around my children!"
"The way you don't 'use them' around the children is loud enough for them to hear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to catch up on the training that I was rudely forced to stop." He turned on his heel and started walking away.
"Well, excuse me, for interrupting your always-important training with real-life problems, such as your daughter misbehaving at school—"
"Mommy, I'm sorry," Bra's soft voice interrupted her mother's tirade.
Bulma bent down towards a now repentant Bra. "It will be alright, Bra, but you must write a note to your teacher saying that you're sorry, okay?"
"Okay," Bra assured her somberly. She then whispered, "Mommy, will I still get to see Santa Claus tomorrow?"
"We'll see," Bulma replied, as she pulled out her PDA and pressed a button to show her schedule. After consulting her device, she gasped, "Oh, no! I forgot! I had a series of meetings scheduled for tomorrow!"
Bra's face fell. "That means I won't get to see Santa tomorrow?" Tears glistened in her aqua eyes.
Bulma looked down the corridor towards the figure of a retreating Vegeta, who was already near the gravity room. She said, "Bra, wait here, okay?" Before Bra could reply, her mother had vanished.
"The answer is no!"
"You can't even take your daughter to see Santa Claus? Vegeta, I have meetings all day tomorrow, and you'll be here at home all day! It's not like there's an enemy waiting to destroy Earth tomorrow!"
"And how would you know? Besides, I don't like the man!"
"And what did Santa do to you? Leave too much coal in your stocking?"
"Don't be smart! The man is a pervert!"
"WHAT?" Bulma exclaimed.
"It's very simple. Even I know how that moronic Christmas song goes: 'He sees you when you're sleeping/ He knows when you're awake'. Doesn't that worry you a little? How do you know that old fart isn't 'seeing' you in the shower?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter!"
"My mind is in the gutter? I'm not the one who bribes little children with presents and candy to sit on my lap and cuddle with me! Think about it: if any other man offered our daughter gifts to sit on his lap, you'd think he was a potential child molester."
"Vegeta, we are talking about Santa Claus! He is just a jolly, old man, who wants to make kids happy."
"Or expects kids to make him happy! And anyway, you told me before that there are men who are paid to dress as that old man. How do you know one of them isn't really after small children? And besides, even if Santa and his friends meant no harm towards children, he's too annoying for my taste. Too cheerful, too jolly, too ho-ho-ho all the time! And how can any man, without ki knowledge be able to travel to every single house in one night! Doesn't that strike you as bizarre?"
"Vegeta, I told you before that Santa wasn't—"
"Yeah, I know. You said he wasn't real. So, why should I waste my time taking my daughter to see some loser dressed in an outdated suit, who isn't going to give her anything more than a candy cane? We're the ones who give her all her gifts!"
"Vegeta, Bra really wants to see Santa. Look, why don't you try doing something family-related for once?" Bulma insisted. "Do it to make her happy."
"If she wants to see Santa, she can watch him on TV. His wrinkled, old face is on every channel here lately."
"It's not the same thing. She wants to be able to tell him what she wants for Christmas."
"Why? She gets her gifts from us, not that old faker!"
"Vegeta, will you please take Bra to see Santa?" Bulma pleaded in a strangely submissive tone. "I know Trunks wishes that you had taken him to see Santa, and I don't want Bra to miss out on what Trunks did. And, I know two females in this house who would be happier for it, especially yours truly." A half-seductive smile formed on her face, as she traced Vegeta's chin with her index finger. "I promise, if you take Bra to see Santa and make her happy, I just may make it worth your while later."
Vegeta smirked, mellowing somewhat. "Very well, I suppose I can endure a day with the old fool. But if he turns out like I suspect and makes my daughter unhappy, I shall—"
"Thank you!" Bulma exclaimed, kissing him soundly on his lips, and Vegeta was content to be quiet for a few moments.