[COMPLETE]

[turtletea.livejournal.com]

Who: Vegeta, saiyanwarrior. Yamcha, turtletea.
Where: Around about the Industrial District.
When: Shortly after this entry.
Rating: PG-13. Violence.
Summary: Yamcha's looking to prove himself and Vegeta's itching for a challenge. Can he give it to him? Probably not.

THE LOG:

The warehouses of Discedo left much to be desired, especially in the dead of winter. It was cold and barren, save for the sounds of monsters roaring in the background, and maybe the sound of people nearby. Vegeta didn't really care about any of that, though. He hated winter, and he hated waiting. He folded his arms and leaned up against the walls of one of the run-down buildings. The Saiyan tapped his foot as he awaited Yamcha's arrival. He stopped after only a few moments irritated with the sound of the snow crunching under his boot. He let out a grunt as he continued to wait, his patience quickly wearing thin.


Yamcha would never admit it, even as he jogged through the snow-clad streets, the sweet rush of adrenaline fueling his every stride, but he was excited. His final fight had ended in a crunching blow, a twisted bone, a strong sense of fear he'd spent years before avoiding for all he was worth, and, ever since, he'd been grounded. Left with only the option to run and hide, see an alien city build or burn.

Lost was the chance to prove himself.

That, alone, was enough to make Discedo unbearable.

(Coarse white streets and coarse white buildings blended into an expanse; Yamcha laughed low, edging ever-closer.) Then, he'd met Vegeta. Then, he'd rid himself of that damn chip. And only then did every small mention of Goku slowly come together. This, now, seemed like something he simply needed to do. Simply.

"If Goku can do it...!" His cheeks burned from the cold, but his smile only widened. Vegeta came into view quickly -- a man held aloft and reserved, a man who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

Again, his blood boiled with excitement. "Yo!"


It wasn't hard for Vegeta to spot Yamcha coming in the distance. The distinct run, the dopey expression on his face - it was all too familiar to Vegeta. The Prince's normal unimpressed look faded to a scowl as the human man drew closer to him. The sound of his voice was even more grating in person than he'd remember. The spiky-haired Saiyan inhaled sharply as he began to wonder what the point of this was. Of course he wanted to spar, but he also desired a suitable challenge.

"Even with his chip in, Kakarot could provide a better challenge," Vegeta grumbled to himself. It was nearly inaudible, but he couldn't help letting the words pass his lips. Yamcha, really? The very same Yamcha that had been destroyed in a matter of moments by a weak-willed Saibamen? The same Yamcha he was forced to listen to Bulma babble about all the time back in West City?

No, this Yamcha was different. He was younger. He was more naive than even his older counterpart, and his ki control didn't seem to cover more than a basic Kamehameha, an attack so easily countered that it was practically a waste of energy to even try. The thought caused Vegeta to lose control for a moment, closing his eyes and letting out a hearty chuckle. The mere idea of Yamcha defeating him was so hilarious that the Saiyan considered actually humoring the weaker human.

"Cut the blasted small talk, I'm here for a fight."


The snow crunched. Yamcha stopped.

In the presence of Vegeta, standing maybe five feet away, taking in every detail of that smug expression with a hard-beating heart, his smile dropped. He wasn't sure what he was getting himself into; he merely built himself up and clung to that ounce of confidence saying he'd never be knocked down. If he concentrated, never dropped his guard or his belief in himself, (whether well-founded or not,) anything was possible. He'd come a long way since his fight with Tenshinhan, and he was ready to prove it.

He crouched, pushing back the snow in his movements to reveal a swirl of brown-dead grass. His position was steady and practiced: a wolf ready to pounce. "That makes two of us."


Without another word, Vegeta stepped away from the wall of the warehouse. On his face, a moderately arrogant smirk appeared, though it was soon replaced by the expression of intense concentration. His fists clenched at his sides as he let out a thunderous roar. In that moment, the Saiyan began to unleash his ki, and if Yamcha was capable of sensing it, he'd realize how out of his league he truly was. The ground around them began to shake, and the small rocks and loose pieces of concrete began to float in the air as a result of his energy being let free. After only a few moments, he stopped.

If he went any further, he'd kill Yamcha. Not that he particularly cared to spare the human's life, but Vegeta had more important goals in mind to have to deal with the bizarre uproar the city made with every death. It was a waste of his time, and the weeklong backlash was something that would only impede his progress.

As the charge of ki stopped, the rocks abruptly fell to the ground and the Saiyan prince immediately took his fighting stance. His eyes narrowed at the man that stood before him, and his smirk grew wider, and possibly more arrogant.

"Are you sure you're ready to face your utter defeat, Yamcha?"


As the earth shuddered beneath him, Yamcha almost lost his footing. He dug his heels into the ground swiftly, only hoping Vegeta hadn't noticed that split-second falter, but couldn't contain his grimace as fractions of the earth rose and plummeted. Composing himself, Yamcha attempted a laugh. To his dismay, the sound he made was more of a hoarse groan. (The cause was a gathering lump in the back of his throat.)

He forced his eyes forward, staring straight at Vegeta. "Don't be so sure it'll end that way," his voice was shaky, a contradiction to that slight smirk he held tightly to, but still he pushed, "I'll turn you into pulp."

His brow dirtied with sweat as he stood still. Vegeta's confidence was intimidating, but it was also arrogant. Yamcha felt that would be the other man's downfall; he wasn't sure when, or even how, just that it would open up a plethora of options to be exploited. If he paid enough attention to Vegeta in those first few blows and studied his openings and technique, this wouldn't be such a hard battle.

Yamcha kept his eyes sharp. Not wasting another second, he surged forward.


Pulp? Vegeta nearly burst into laughter at the thought of Yamcha defeating him. It was humorous, to say the least. So when Yamcha lunged forward, it was easy to see just how simple the fight was going to be. In the time he had to dodge, he considered his options. One would be the simple one - simply flying into the air. But there was very little fun in that. He'd save that show for later in the fight.

As the man quickly drew near, Vegeta furrowed his brow, his expression becoming more focused and ready to respond. Just as Yamcha appeared to try and make contact, the Saiyan vanished.

For a moment, at least.

Using his immense speed, he made his way behind Yamcha, lifting himself off the ground and sending a white boot in the direction of the man's neck.


With his fist pulled back and his head raised high, Yamcha's concentrated punch was aimed straight for Vegeta's chest. Even as he sailed forward, (further than he had anticipated,) the image of that smug man before him remained burned clear as day into his mind; and, despite his fingers grasping at air and his body spurred by quickly-retreating adrenaline, his mind didn't grasp what had happened until something solid plowed straight into his neck.

The crunching sound of snow was dull to his ears. He fell face-forward, only his elbows quick enough to halt his decent. He gasped once, twice, spluttered as he felt the distinct taste of blood rise to settle at the edge of his tongue. Closing his eyes tightly, he spat at the ground. Not daring to spare another glance to the small lump of reddening snow, already feeling his gut twisting, he lifted himself up and back to his feet.

Yamcha frowned, a hundred questions bubbling to the surface. "N-Nice shot."


Vegeta let out an arrogant laugh as Yamcha plummeted into the snow. Already, this was far too easy for him. There was no challenge - it was hardly providing any entertainment for him at all. He let out a scoff, using his ki to hover a few feet off the ground while he waited for the human man to stand up once again. He folded his arms and shook his head.

"I told you, boy, you are no challenge for me. I am the Prince of all Saiyans, and you're nothing more than a pathetic human! You're not even worth finishing. Perhaps I will just kick you to the ground and wait for those blasted dogs to just eat you alive. I'd much rather wait for Kakarot. Even Gohan would provide a better challenge when his chip is removed. This is a waste of my time!"


Yamcha could barely move. Snow at his ankles, he was shaking; not because of the cold. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, teeth grinding into his bottom lip. Barely five minutes out here and, already, Vegeta felt the need to insult him. Everything was spiraling again, every little feeling of anger he felt towards this man was creeping back up. "You haven't proven anything to me," he started, and stopped.

The idea of simply letting Vegeta leave was quickly becoming a smart one. That single kick had been more powerful than anything he'd ever felt before. Still. Something within him said not to give up so easily, that if he did he'd regret it for as long as he lived. Vegeta needed to know that not everyone was going to take every cutting thing he said sitting down, that being a 'prince' didn't give him any special privileges, and Yamcha was just the man to prove it.

(And it wasn't as if this would be impossible, either; that kick was probably the best Vegeta could muster.)

Yamcha slipped back into his fighting stance. And he chuckled. "I don't see what's so great about Saiyans."


"Oh, it that so?" Vegeta retorted, the arrogant smirk on his face. The one thing that could get Vegeta to stay? Yamcha had just managed to dig at that. His pride was not something to be questioned, neither was the strength of the Saiyan race. Without bothering to land on the ground, Vegeta held both hands in front of him. He let out a vicious grunt, alternating both hands forwards and backwards. Hot, yellow balls of ki came flying from them, aimed directly at the ground around Yamcha. He could see the dust begin to pile, and the bits of cement begin to crack around him.

He paused for a moment. "Are you beginning to see, boy? You're not capable of keeping up with my strength!"

As he spoke, he clasped his wrists together, placing his arms in a position that he knew would be familiar to Yamcha. It wasn't the Kamehameha, but it was Vegeta's equivalent. An attack rarely used because it was often a waste. But if it would prove his point - and his strength - it would. His fingers curled into just the right position as he let the energy build for a moment. The purple ball of ki remained between his palms for a minute or so before he released it, aiming directly at Yamcha. "Gaaaaaalickkkkk Gunnnnnn!"


When Vegeta's ki attack, aimed for the ground, connected, dust rose up over the snow, clinging to his pant-legs in a tainted-white mess. Yamcha stood firm best he could, never letting his new-found smile slip. Vegeta's level of ki-control wasn't something he'd never seen before, and it wasn't something he couldn't compete against.

He couldn't, however, contain the hitch in the back of his throat when Vegeta prepared something reminiscent of the Kamehameha, (an attack only demonstrated to Turtle School students,) watching silently as the ball swirled into a purple mass. He was mesmerized, the flash and crackle of the attack overwhelming his vision, only to be snapped out of this state by Vegeta's deafening yell.

Not even wasting a moment to blink, Yamcha concentrated his ki into his feet and propelled himself into the air. His chest was heaving as he narrowly dodged the attack, adrenaline quickly wasting away, and he fell back down to the earth. He landed safely on his feet, knees sinking a little from under him.

He quickly straightened himself up.

"Heh," he breathed, steadying himself, "that's it?"

Yamcha pulled his arms back, feet planted into place. "You're not the only one with a few good tricks," he said, feeling the flow of ki race through his veins -- ready to fuel his movements with speed, with strength, with endurance. He smirked, he charged.

"New Roga Fufu Ken!"


"That's it? Give me a break, moron. It's obvious you are barely standing!" Vegeta let out a bellowing laughter, allowing his feet to touch the ground once more. If this was the kind of fight Yamcha wanted, than that's what he would get. At least, until the Prince was bored to tears and teetering on the decision of killing him or sparing him.

At the call of the attack, Vegeta shook his head. He was all-too-familiar with the attack. He didn't move as Yamcha moved towards him, waiting until Yamcha had nearly made contact to begin evading the rapid swipes of the Rouga Fuu Fuu Ken. A couple of the hits had connected as Vegeta backed up, but they hardly left even a marking on the Saiyan. He let this continue a few moments longer before taking flight.

It was getting boring. He hovered far enough off the ground that Yamcha would have to use flight in order to reach him, and once more laughter bellowed from deep within his throat.

"Pathetic! It's time to end this, Yamcha!" Still hovering above, Vegeta put his hands at his sides, powering up his ki once more. He had an attack he wanted to perfect, but it wasn't ready yet. In his current state, he couldn't control it well enough to use it with satisfaction. The attack it had derived from, the Cosmic Cannon, would suffice for the time being. With his power charged, he focused his energy once more, creating a ball of fire that once before had burned the shirt off Goku's back and nearly destroyed him. With a satisfied laugh, he let out a roar and hurled the mass of ki in Yamcha's direction.


Yamcha's concentration, at the very least, was unrelenting. Whether it was a hit or a miss, he followed through with his Roga Fufu Ken; even as Vegeta took to the air, it took him another moment to pull back. Another flash of ki was gathering in Vegeta's hands, just out of the corner of his vision. "End this?" Yamcha muttered to himself, diverting his full attention to the sky and the whirl of energy heading straight for him. "Uh...!"

He had no chance to dodge it, so he went for the next best thing -- he threw up his arms and blocked.

The end result was less than satisfactory as the physical form of energy cut into his forearms, sunk through his defense and attacked his body at an alarming rate. "D-Damn--!" His eyes shut tight and his head bowed -- it took every ounce of strength not to scream, then, but in the end he even gave into that.

Vegeta's roar, Vegeta's laugh; he could barely hear anything else as the blast pushed him back and knocked him to the ground, skidding past him and crashing into an empty warehouse behind.

He didn't move, just lay there in the snow.


There lay Yamcha. Motionless in the snow. Vegeta scoffed, lowering his ki and once again bringing his feet back to the ground.

"Foolish brat. Did you think you stood a chance? That your pathetic Fuu Fuu attack would harm me? That you'd really defeat the Prince of all Saiyans?! Consider this a lesson learned, boy. You will never cross me and win. Next time, I will not be so kind as to spare your life. Your existence has always been worthless to me and will continue to be so long as you are so damned pathetic. Kakarot in his chipped state would have provided a more interesting challenge!"

Vegeta, in an attempt to arrogantly rub in his win, swiftly kicked Yamcha in the side. It was a cheap shot, but Vegeta didn't care. He was done with this supposed spar. Using his bukujutsu technique, he lifted himself from the ground and began to fly away. He'd taken to the skies, and once more scoffed when he looked back to see Yamcha still lying in the snow. The Prince rolled his eyes and reached for something in his pocket. A small, green bean.

"Eat that, moron, if you wish to live."

Saying nothing more, Vegeta flew off. He'd allowed Yamcha to live, and that was his good deed for the day.


It was the kick that jolted him, his eyes wide open but his vision blurred as the world came crashing back down around him. He could have cried out then, too, but he just didn't have the energy. He was sprawled out and close to death, Vegeta's words a muddle of mocking and belittlement to his ears.

A horrible, painful, muddle.

He breathed no easier as Vegeta finally left him, the disappointment he felt for himself over this whole ordeal finally hitting home. He hadn't proven what he'd wanted to prove, not to Vegeta, only given the older man more reason to ridicule him. With that thought, he groaned, though the sound was more airy than he would have hoped, rolling over in an attempt to get back to his feet. It was hard, perhaps even impossible, but it was in that moment he grasped something small but solid. Pulling away his hand, slowly, revealed a small green bean -- a contrast to the white (and red and brown) of the snow.

He doubted it had grown there, what with the vast amounts of snow. "Ve-Vege--?" He stopped short, feeling the horrible clench in his stomach, but lifted up the bean despite. He'd only seen such a seed once, when Trunks had given one to Goku a month or so beforehand, though he knew all too well of what it could do.

He was feeling dizzy when he finally popped it into his mouth, not expecting the bitter taste and falling face-first back into the snow because of it. The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Yamcha was on his feet in an instant, taking a look over his body and realizing every scrape and cut was completely gone.

The stench of blood, however, continued to creep up.

He felt sticky and he felt sick, standing there covered in blood and snow. Just a reminder.

"That can't be it," he said, low, eyes never leaving the tear of his shoes, "I can still--!"

But he cut himself off, pumping his fist in front of him with power and determination. It didn't have to be said; this wasn't over. He was still a fighter, a fighter who never gave up. Vegeta, he was still arrogant and mighty and every little bit of what Yamcha hated in a person.

This wasn't over.

He didn't go home, that day.