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quillovesdbz · 6 years

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Week 3 Submission for @tpthvegebulmayhem Clandestine Downfall

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Chapter 4: The Weeping Wounds

Rating: T

Genre: Cloak and Dagger, Fantasy, Fairytale AU, Horror, Dark Fiction, Mystery

TW: Violence, conspiracy for murder, assassination, injury description, poisoning, vomiting, death, graphic depiction of an autopsy, light smut, homophobic ideology

Summary: Death! Who has poisoned the general? Is the same person after the prince? The kingdom has been compromised! And just who is the regent? Find out all that and more, in this installment of: Clandestine Downfall!

From the slight crack in the cellar door Bulma and Tien saw 3 men forcefully enter the cottage. The two smaller men seemed to be carrying a much larger, nearly unconscious one. The concealed two instantly recognized Yamcha. And Bulma recognized the other to be the prince. Her mind was suddenly flying, trying to piece together the situation, and then…

“Who is trip trapping on my bridge, and trespassing in my home?!” yelled a familiar prepubescent voice. The unsurprisingly agile young boy swung down from the rafters like an exotic eastern monkey. His feet landed in perfect sync as he immediately stabled himself. In his two hands he held a long staff, a memento from Bulma’s father. Though her father had only used it as a walking stick in his later years, Goku seemed to favor it a weapon.

Though she feared for the boy's safety she knew very well he could hold his own in one on one combat. And with the larger man seemingly incapacitated, Goku and Yamcha could defend themselves if need be. She frantically looked around for the other missing two, Oolong would be easy to spot, but Lazuli was a master at hide and seek. Neither were in plain sight, which comforted her to some extent.

“Well speak up mister!” the monkey boy bellowed, pointing the slender red rod towards the prince.

Vegeta scanned the boy, from messy black head to dirty bare toes. Something about him seemed familiar. The hair, his striking dark and determined eyes, even the way he held himself, ready to lunge. He was so familiar yet so foreign and strange. Even the way he spoke, authoritative and calculated. Yes, Vegeta had seen this boy somewhere before, though he couldn't tell where.

“Who are you boy? And do you know who you are talking to?!” he retorted, with a disgusted look on his face.

“I am Goku, and no I don't know who you are, I've never met you before.” the boy replied rather matter of factly.

Feeling the slight tension between Vegeta and Goku, Yamcha cut in to calm the situation.

“Goku, he’s fine, he won't hurt us… for now. We need Bulma though! Where is she?”

The ominous mention of “for now" horrified Bulma, but she trusted Yamcha and decided to reveal herself. She whispered lightly to Tien to keep the girls hidden while she figured the situation out.

Goku completely let down his guard at Yamcha’s reassurance. He grinned a playful and mischievous grin, announcing “Alright I'll go get her from her hiding spot!”

Oh come on! She silently uttered, raising her open palm to her clammy forehead. Disgruntled as she was, she climbed out of the cellar door as quiet as a mouse. Luckily the prince wasn't looking in her direction, rather he focused on Goku with a very odd concentration.

Bulma extended her legs, pushing herself to a mostly standing position. She brushed the dust and dirt from the cellar off of her flaxen colored shift and bloomers. Her hair was tied loosely behind her head, but a large portion of her bangs fell softly in front of her eyes. Some strands from that portion had begun to soak the sweat from her forehead, and stuck to her face.

She stepped from the hallway connecting the kitchen and entryway, fist to her brow in preparation to bow. But she immediately caught herself, a man bows, a woman minds her modesty with a curtsey. Her fingertips traced the lace bottom of her shift and her hands pulled in each direction spreading the cloth for a proper bend. She swept her right leg behind the left and slowly dipped into a low, respectful greeting.

“Your Highness,” she breathed.

Yamcha nearly cried out, your highness?! But was cut off by the prince.

“Disgraceful! Your immodesty is only forgivable because this is an unexpected… visit… but you should be ashamed to even present yourself to me in such a state. Begone! Cover your nakedness!” Vegeta spewed after taking in the shocking visual of her.

Her face spontaneously combusted into flames the second she realized what she was wearing. And the Prince called her out so… elegantly. He could not have worded his disgust in such a way to make her feel any worse. Damn that's embarrassing… She shrieked internally. Without hesitation she fled to her chambers for a heavier, more company appropriate smock.

Yamcha turned to Vegeta when Bulma was out of earshot.

“Listen, I don't know what kind of crime warrants a visit of the prince himself, but please know she's done nothing wrong. Let her pay by healing your friend, and let her go.” The scar faced bandit pled.

“Don’t speak so plainly to your Prince! And I'll see to it she is punished of her crime regardless of what happens to Nappa, mark my word.”

…

Soon, the physician's daughter had Nappa situated.

“I've given him quite a large dose of opium, taking his size into account. He will be comfortable for now, but I'll need to know what the ailment is to properly treat him.”

She stood with authority and intelligence in her posture. She sported a white smock, tied in the waist that fell loosely to her ankles. She had a cloth covering most of her face and gloves on in case Nappa vomited again. She'd given Goku instructions to gather the rest of the children and wait in the cellar until this was all over. I'll come get you as soon as they leave. She half heartedly promised. Honestly, she had no idea what would happen to her in the next few minutes or hours. But what did happen was very far from anyone's expectations.

“He said he'd been poisoned. However he's been sick for the last few days, maybe he is just delirious.” the prince explained.

“That would explain the vomiting and the pale complexion, but those would be symptomatic of most illnesses. I need more time to observe him... Your grace.”

Vegeta sneered at the girl. Tch. He wanted to say he didn't really care whether Nappa lived or died. But he needed backup, and if anyone would kill the Great General, it would be the most powerful man in the kingdom, the prince himself. There's no way the prince would let him be beaten by a coward who poisoned him.

“Do what you must.” he replied, grasping his long navy cloak. Before leaving the room he glared at Yamcha, the way an alpha wolf would intimidate another male during meal time.

“Let's let him rest, Yamcha. Thank you, for doing this and I am so sorry to have dragged you into my mess…” Bulma nearly choked out. She felt her eyes becoming hot and wet, feeling responsible for his predicament. Yamcha instinctively leaned in for an embrace or a kiss, but Bulma pulled back. Silently she swept past him to meet the prince in the kitchen. Yamcha stayed a while thinking about his decisions.

“I'll fix you some food, your highness. And you're welcome to stay as long as it takes for Nappa to heal.” she offered.

With a grunt he accepted the food, the sliced apple that was meant for Tien and Goku, along with cheeses, cured meat, and a glass of wine. She secretly hoped the wine would loosen him up because his sober state was nearly unbearable.

Bulma and Goku fixed a room for the prince, with the softest of the hospital's twenty mattresses and a pea blossom bouquet for fragrance. I don't even treat myself to such luxury. She lamented.

She decided to conceal the children longer, in case anything happened to her, they would be able to escape.

…

It was early the next morning when Nappa said his final words.

Goku had wandered into his hospital room early in the morning to observe the giant. Goku had never seen such a big man in all his life. It was both daunting and exciting. He wanted to challenge the man to a spar when he awoke, like he, Krillin and Tien did with the old martial arts master in town. Master Roshi had challenged Goku to find bigger and stronger opponents. Goku delighted in the idea of becoming stronger to protect his family… and for fun of course.

...

Nappa dreamt of one thing for the entirety of his sleep. He replayed a peculiar conversation he had with the Regent a fortnight ago.

“Your grace,” Nappa greeted, head low and fist to brow. He had been called into a meeting in the King’s counsel, though he had no idea what it was about. He was generally not invited to such discussions unless they involved war or battle, both of which had not occurred recently. To say the call for him was odd may have been an understatement.

“General Nappa. Please stand. Join us at the table, our guest.”

Nappa lifted himself from the wooden floor. At the table sat several confidantes, and an ambassador. There was the Regent himself at the head of the table. He was cloaked in black and crimson, which suited him well. There were small golden chains latched from his cloak to his lapels. His collar was a frilly black satin that crawled like a lizard up his thick neck. His skin was dark, and scarred. He too had seen battles, many of the same Nappa had, though they once fought on opposite sides. As handsome as the Regent was, Nappa wasn't jealous. He was thankful that his own face hadn't been scarred in such a way, or else the castle maids wouldn't favor him!

To the left of the Regent was Piccolo, the highest ranking monk in the kingdom who attended the meetings as a spiritual guide. He was draped in loose white linens, no doubt an inexpensive thread. He was a very serious man and rarely spoke. He was very tall and muscular, but he wasn't intimidating. Nappa respected him.

To the right of the Regent was another confidante, Mistress Baba. She was the master of coin, a mousey broad with a large body and witch-like face. She was a voluntary spinster, though it's not certain she would have married if she wanted to. She was ugly, with an ugly personality to match, but no man could match her expertise in kingdom finance. She too, was clad in black nearly an identical outfit to the regent but in female form. Of all the people in the room, Nappa feared her the most.

Finally, next to the mistress was a man that Nappa recognized as a French ambassador, due to his French Crest proudly displayed on his right breast. His long grassy blonde hair was fastened in a tight braid, flowing gently down his chest and ending in his lap. His uniform was of high military rank, though Nappa could not identify what rank exactly. The deep navy, crimson and white threads in his uniform beautifully highlighted the cool undertones of his skin and bright green eyes.

Nappa took his seat next to Piccolo, so as to not to look highly underdressed next to the ambassador.

“This is Ambassador Zarbon, hand selected by the French Emperor to discuss a treaty with us today. I trust you know the rest of us here?” the Regent inquired.

“Of course,” Nappa replied, trying piece together why exactly the emperor would send an ambassador for treaty talks.

...

Nappa was restless in his comatose state. His body fought violently to subdue the arsenic, but unfortunately it was too late for the general. He had soaked the hospital mattress with his perspiration. This was his greatest and final battle.

…

The meeting was more of a declaration than a discussion. There was to be an assimilation with France, a merging of the armies and joint power to the emperor and the regent, followed by the king when he came of age.

Though Nappa vehemently opposed the idea, there was no arguing as all four other people agreed to the treaty. Nappa could envision a future where the emperor would get his sticky lizard hands on the prince and control him to do anything he wanted. The empire of France would get so large it seemed world domination may even be possible. And that's if the emperor kept his treaty promise. There was nothing him stopping from gaining the kingdom’s army and viciously turning it against itself like he'd done with so many others.

Baba claimed war would be too expensive. This is the only way.

Piccolo claimed that the treaty would bring the least bloodshed. This is the only way.

The ambassador claimed anything less than assimilation would displease the emperor. This is the only way.

And the Regent claimed this was the way to protect the kingdom, themselves, and the prince.

“This is the only way, General. Please order your soldiers at every station to stand down as the French make their way in. They will not be harmed.”

Nappa could not bring himself to agree, his pride being trampled on as it was. Instead, he stormed out of the room, his thunderous footsteps were audible for some time even after his exit.

After the dream replayed, several sickening times, a new event unfolded itself in Nappa’s mind.

The Regent stood from his chair. With a growl he followed Nappa. The regent was smaller, quicker, and caught up to Nappa without even breaking a walk. Nappa felt his legs grow heavy, his lungs filled with heavy unbreathable oxygen. He opened his mouth to give the Regent a piece of his mind when suddenly…

The regent lifted his fist and clenched the space between he and Nappa tightly. His own blood made ribbons on his wrist from his fingernails. His face was suddenly demonic, twisting into an evil scowl. As he tightened his fist, Nappa felt his lungs grow tighter and heavier as well. He couldn't breathe, or speak.

“I will kill you!” the regent threatened, further tightening his grasp.

The general's vision blurred, his pulse weakening in dream state and out.

He opened his eyes for the last time, and beheld a child with wild black hair. The spitting image of the regent. Though he couldn't tell if he was dreaming anymore, his eyes widened.

“Hi! I'm Goku!” the boy said.

The prince stood on the opposite side of the room, leaned against the wall, silently watching his general. When Nappa saw the prince he was relieved to be in at least half friendly company. But as his last breath drew near, so did the prince. In Vegeta’s left hand was a dagger.

“B-bardock! He is going to…”

Vegeta took one look at Nappa and knew this was the end. His face was ashen, purple even, with lack of oxygen. His black eyes were glazed over, veiny and red. Blood vessels all over his face and neck had ruptured forming an almost web like blanket on his face. He looked just like his father had looked so many years ago…

“I won’t let you die weakly, Nappa.”

“Vegeta-" Nappa choked, acid snaking its way from his empty stomach to his esophagus.

“The regent,” he whispered as Vegeta slid the cold smooth dagger into the General's heart.

In that moment Nappa thought nothing and said nothing as his eyes inevitably faded into nothing.

“Hey!! Why'd you do that?! Bulma was trying to save him! I was going to ask him to fight me!! He was your friend!!” Goku valiantly pled.

The prince said one thing and one thing only, not even noticing the boy's tantrum.

“Bardock.”

…

Nappa wasn't the only one to be plagued by dark dreams that night. Bulma also had a restless and nightmarish sleep.

She was walking barefoot on moist ground. The almost mud felt soft on her toes, not an unpleasant experience. It was dark where she was, but she felt like she knew the way. She pressed on, wondering what was next. She could not see much of her surroundings, just black ground and black rock walls. It was a cave of sorts. In the distance she heard a river, an indication of an end to the dark tunnel. She smiled in relief that the trek would soon be over. The smell of the cave began to shift from musty, saturated dirt to a more floral essence. She recognized the distinct scents of lavender and sweet pea blossom. It was an intoxicating mixture, and the promise of a fresh cool drink of water made her press on.

It seemed like ages that she was trapped in the cave, alone but not fearful. Finally she could see the end. The misty rays of morning sunshine leaked into the entrance of the cave. Outside she could see long blades of green grass, dotted with bunches of pink and purple flowers. Tall pines, junipers and a few silver birch trees lined the entrance of the cave and the river.

“Peasant,” an abrupt, deep voice called.

Curious in nature, Bulma twisted toward the voice, coming from behind her, inside the cave.

“You can never leave me.” the voice was rigid and almost predatory. The voice began to take the form of a man. He was the same height as herself, and muscular though not overly so. His face was hidden in shadows. Bulma could only just see his chest was bare, but he had dark navy trousers on. She tried to speak but the words dissipated in her mouth before she could form them.

The figure grasped her wrist with his own coarse calloused hand. The hand of a swordsman. He reeked of lavender, a scent she now knew originated with him, and not the outside of the cave. She wanted to recoil at his touch but felt powerless in his grasp. His skin felt much colder than hers, almost stinging when he touched her. When she decided to stop resisting she was electrified. The forbidden feeling of letting go excited her. He pulled her in, wrapping his other arm around her waist and locking her there. Her chest was pressed to his, which she could now see was scarred with snow white lines. She now knew this was the prince, but he had captured her. It felt so wrong to betray her beliefs and ideals in favor of his tantalizing body, but she did so anyway.

“But I hate you,” she was finally able to say. His head moved ever closer to hers as if he hadn't even heard her. When he was so close she could feel his warm breath on her own face, she stopped breathing. Anticipating. Suffering. Craving.

And then she awoke.

…

Bulma wore the same medical smock from the day before as she prepared to check on her patient. Yamcha had spent the night with her, though not in her bed. He was still asleep in her large reading chair when she glanced his way. She felt a small pang of guilt for her heated fantasy about the prince, even though it was just a dream. His features were soft and boyish when he slept. She frowned though, when she remembered that he had left her. He had no intention of being with her and she had to accept that. And the feeling was surprisingly mutual.

Out of the blue she heard her small brother yelling incoherently. Goku! Her mind raced.

Without gloves, boots or mask she sprinted to where she heard the voice, the patient's room. When she reached the doorway she was stopped by the broad figure of the prince. Her heart fluttered with visions of her steamy dream. Involuntarily, her face began to redden at the thought of how close they were. “Eep!” she yelped, at the sudden shock.

Vegeta was in his own head trying to work things out when the doctor's daughter appeared. She seemed flustered, red and messy. She hadn't her shoes, gloves or mask, likely due to hearing the child and rushing here. Her skin was dewy and fresh, her hair tangled but soft looking. And her deep blue eyes were wide and easy to look at. She was slender with pale skin and shoulder length hair. If she weren't a criminal peasant, the prince may have even favored her. But those matters were far from his mind when she stopped him in that doorway.

“He is dead. We must discuss some matters urgently, over breakfast,” he ultimately decided to say.

Bulma had to replay what he said before realizing what he meant. She stepped to the side of the prince and forced her way in to see the patient.

“What?” She vocalized. Dead? He was stable last night! She questioned herself. And then she saw the bloody mess of sheets draped over the patient's heart. And Goku, standing over and studying the corpse.

“What happened?!” Bulma yelled, exasperated. She was so infinitely confused, did Goku do this? The prince? Yamcha or an intruder? She pressed her bare fingers to Nappa’s throat for a pulse. Nothing. Her fingers made contact with some blood from his chest wound, making her regret not wearing her gloves.

“He killed him! I wanted to spar with him when he got better, but he killed his friend!” Goku answered back to her.

Bulma was shocked and even more confused than before. Was she housing a psychotic murderous prince? Was this all part of the nightmare?

…

Yamcha had risen just slightly after Bulma, though he was awake long before her. She was restless in her sleep, tossing, turning and moaning the entire night. All he wanted to do was get away but she kept reeling him back in. Her hooks were deep and jagged in his heart. He cared for her and her family so much, and even though he could have escaped in the night and let her make her own bed, he stayed. At some point he was curious about the other children. He assumed she had them tucked away in the cellar but he decided to test that hypothesis. When he found them down there, he brought them food. Six bowls of porridge of varying sizes and temperatures. They were grateful, having not eaten the entire day. Yamcha patted Tien on his fuzzy head. He said something along the lines of Keep everyone safe in case anything happens. And Tien accepted the command with a nod.

And now Yamcha was awake and he noticed the bed in shambles. He lifted the blanket and began to smooth out the sheets. He tucked the corners neatly and fluffed the pillows, when suddenly he heard a commotion. The scar faced boy immediately pursued the noise.

Leaving the room, Yamcha passed right by the kitchen where he only barely noticed the prince sitting at the dining table… In fact the prince was sitting in his own usual spot at the dining table which really seemed to burn Yamcha.

Yamcha didn't exactly grow up learning proper gentleman's etiquette. In fact he was an orphan from the time he was young and he had to beg and steal to survive. It wasn't until recently that Bulma had begun correcting his grammar and social appropriateness. He learned not to call every woman he met a broad because it was impolite. He'd never learned what polite was, but he figured it meant saying the right words at the right time. And it was not a simple feat.

“Hey, ya sod! Make yourself comfortable in my chair why don't ya?” he spat at the prince. Vegeta stared at the young bandit, who had just committed three crimes against the crown in one sentence.

Tch what am I even doing here? He questioned himself sincerely. He came to arrest the peasant woman and maybe publicly humiliate her, but he didn't expect Nappa to die and… I can't go back there… What if the murderer comes after me?

Vegeta now recognized the smaller black haired boy as very similar to the Regent, but he couldn't be sure if there was any relation. Maybe this plot went a lot deeper than he originally anticipated. Just then Bulma entered the kitchen with a scowl directed towards the scar faced delinquent.

“Watch your mouth, Yamcha!” You'll get us all killed! She thought.

“Would you kindly mind explaining exactly what happened in there?!” she screeched at the comfortable looking prince. He shifted silently contemplating whether to tell her or not.

“Your grace?” she added as an afterthought.

“I killed him because he wouldn't have wanted to die in disgrace covered in his own vomit and feces.” he said smoothly.

“He may not have died! He seemed to have a very developed constitution, and-"

“He was choking to death as I watched him! And you have no right to instigate me, the prince and most powerful man in this kingdom! I should be asking you if you accelerated his deterioration?!” Not only did he cut her off but he insulted her medical skill and intelligence and accused her of murder! Almost nothing could stop her from raising her furious fist to his face, almost.

Goku grabbed Bulma's outstretched fist.

“What's a Bardock, Bulma?” he asked innocently and sincerely.

All three adults were silent and waited for what would be said next.

Vegeta decided to break the silence first. “You've tread on very thin ice here, woman. As I see it you have very few options. First you answer every question I have for you honestly and without hesitation. Secondly, you help me clean up this mess and get to the bottom of the poisoning fiasco. Thirdly, you submit to your arrest and face trial and punishment when this is all over. Do this, and I may spare you and these two clowns’ worthless lives.”

With her hand in Goku’s she focused on what the prince said. He doesn't know about the other children yet. She sighed, relieved. But that doesn't mean he can't find out. And Bulma had sworn to protect them no matter what. So she grimaced and bowed low to the prince, who seemingly had her in a corner.

“You may be a vulgar woman, but it takes a lot of guts to raise your fist to a prince,” he said, almost grinning respect for her.

Though arguments were had, Bulma, Goku, Vegeta and Yamcha settled on a quick breakfast before the autopsy of Nappa.

…

“Someone's been eating my porridge,” Bulma rummaged frantically through her barren kitchen cabinets. Her voice was hushed, her hands searching. Her fingertips grazed the dust inside, and she frowned at the thought of her siblings going without. Giving up on the idea of porridge, she placed her hands on her hips and sighed. Faintly, the children in the cellar could be heard rustling.

Munching eagerly on a bright red apple, the prince hadn't heard the children at first. Bulma stamped her foot loudly on the solid wood floor, a warning to quiet down for the moment. Though he had been deep in thought, mostly pondering the significance of the boy Goku, the stomp shook the prince to attention. Dirt fell on the children like rain. Tiny Lazuli breathed in, filling her lungs with powdered air.

The moment was short but lasted a lifetime in Bulma’s mind. The little girl’s cough was heard by every ear in the kitchen.

The Prince's first reaction to the small cough was suspicion. Why would this woman be hiding a child? He stood from his chair, and traced the sound with his eyes.

“No,” Bulma breathed.

“What are you hiding from me, woman?”

Like a hunted doe she froze, she waited, she tried to figure out what to say but it was almost too overwhelming.

Tien decided he was done playing hiding seek now. He wasn’t afraid of this stranger. With Goku and Yamcha, they could take him down if need be. The boy grabbed his sisters by their hands and motioned for his two brothers to follow behind. The six short orphans crawled up from the cellar door near the back of the kitchen, Lazuli still hacking away at the dirt.

Revealed and vulnerable, Bulma had no choice but to resort to her feminine wiles in hopes the prince would agree to leave them alone.

“Um, oh, they're just sick children I'm caring for. They aren't related to me at all in fact, run along home little ones,” she gestured to the back door, and then turned to face the prince once again, “so that the adults can get down to business…” her voice and eyes dropped low and sultry, towards Vegeta.

Yamcha flushed as he realized what she was doing. In his limited wisdom he could not see this ending well so he broke his silence.

“Uh look, this has gone on long enough! We all know you're here to arrest Bulma. This is her family and without her they will die. In order to take care of them she had to make a living, and if it's a crime to love and care for your family then this kingdom is doomed.” Yamcha hadn't planned to insult the kingdom or its laws, it just came out that way. He always said what he felt.

“Look, I don't care what is going on here, because the kingdom is compromised. I need your help to figure out what exactly happened to Nappa. Then I can handle that situation and then arrest the woman!”

“Arrest me and let her go!” Yamcha yelled valiantly.

“No! Oh my God stop trying to save me!” Bulma yelled at the bandit.

Yamcha was visibly confused.

“I'll help you,” she stated, a promise. “But you have to promise no harm comes to my siblings… or Yamcha.”

“So far my only interest is punishing those who've committed crimes. The children have not, and you have my word no harm will come to them.” he promised back.

There was no promise to Yamcha, but Bulma had to agree to the terms to protect the children.

With knowing eyes she told Yamcha to take the children to pick apples, silently. And silently he agreed.

…

To hasten the process of congealing Nappa's blood, Bulma mixed a fine powder of yarrow and myrrh sap. The mixture was a sticky sweet smelling syrup that she applied to each incision. The result was thick, molasses like blood that did not spill all over the floor. Nappa was far too large to let his blood in the tub, so this was a necessary process.

While the woman worked her magic on his general's corpse, Vegeta wandered close by in the connecting library. There had to have been a hundred books on medicine, poison, gynaecology, pediatrics and more. Most of the books looked well worn, likely years of reading and rereading. The prince slid his right hand fingers on an odd book, seemingly out of place with all the medical texts; Richard III by William Shakespeare. A play… how oddly refined for a peasant woman…

His calloused fingers admired the worn leather of its binding. He shook the book open to a page and read an excerpt:

“Foul devil, for God’s sake hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill’d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O! gentlemen; see, see! dead Henry’s wounds Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God! which this blood mad’st, revenge his death; O earth! which this blood drink’st, revenge his death; Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood, Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered!”

Vegeta mourned the act of killing his friend. As if precautionary, he checked to see if Nappa was bleeding again in his presence, even though he knew it a superstitious and outdated practice.

The physician's daughter cut away, a long Y shaped incision into the general's chest. She was unphased by the sight of blood, organs and the smell. The smell was most horrible, a fleshy and iron smell that turned sour the closer she got to his stomach. Even Vegeta, who had seen some battle in his young life, almost turned away in disgust. But not Bulma.

“Eureka!” the blue haired surgeon shrieked after some time spent digging in the general's stomach. Her blood-soaked and gloved hand pulled out a small amount of what looked like mud to the untrained eye.

“What is it?” he demanded as he got closer, eyes wide as if it could help him understand better.

“Food.” She proudly proclaimed, as if it truly answered his question. She knew it didn't but it was fun to dangle her superior intellect in front of him, teasingly. She turned away from the prince, and towards a table with many dishes and vials. And, next to them was a machine the prince hadn't seen before, even in the castle's infirmary and laboratory. It was a cylindrical device mounted on a small stand which held a glass plate. Curious and disgusted Vegeta watched her work. She placed the bloody mud she identified as food on the small glass plate. Then she ungloved her right hand and grasped the cylinder in it. She delicately placed her eye over the cylinder, where the prince now noticed there was a circular glass piece.

“A magnifier?” the prince guessed, moderately educated in his own right.

“Sort of,” the genius girl teased.

But quickly his mind wandered from what she was doing at the moment, to what she was doing with her life.

“Why do you harbor these orphans and that street rat?” He asked, bluntly.

For a moment Bulma was quiet. Through a quick look she determined the sample was of an apple. Though, the stomach and mouth of the corpse smelled distinctly of garlic. An odd combination that is rarely seen in traditional cooking.

Something inside her told her to answer him truthfully. So she did.

...

“I see. My father also passed when I was young… He appointed the Regent, Bardock, to fulfill his duties until a time when I decided to take over. I promised my father I would follow in his footsteps and become the most powerful man in the kingdom. But here I am chasing a silly criminal getting my most valuable general killed.”

The prince had opened up to her, albeit not without calling her silly, but he had really left himself vulnerable to whatever she could say next. His insecurities and fears of not meeting expectations seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. Ignoring the “silly" comment, she opted for a sympathetic response.

“You are doing a fine job, Nappa's death was not your fault. But you can make it better. Avenge him, and prove to your father and the regent that your time to rule is now.” She raised her gloved hand in a fist of rebellion.

“And fulfill your promise to be the most powerful by eliminating the French threat and protecting your kingdom!”

Oops. She had gone off on a tangent and revealed her true political ideals.

“I… what do you know about France?!” Vegeta demanded, cross browed and inquisitive.

“I um, sorry, I just have strong opinions and I let myself get carried away… your grace.” She stated, much quieter than before.

He just stared at her and let the sight of her fill him. That passion…

“Well since you will rot in a cell for the rest of your miserable life, you should know we are in the middle of a treaty with the emperor of France. We will assimilate and become one.”

Bulma was most shocked about the declaration of a treaty with France. It was almost as if she hadn't heard the rotting in a cell part. Almost.

“You fool,” she breathed, involuntarily. “he’ll kill us all before he even thinks of peace with this kingdom. What your father did was unforgivable and Emperor Frieza will make our kingdom pay… this ‘treaty’ is only a ploy and I can't believe you don't see it…”

It hadn't occurred to him that it was a trick, but she had made a fascinating point. If Frieza still harbored any ill will, he could flawlessly execute a coup d'état with the appearance of peace. It left the prince speechless, this woman’s intelligence.

“In fact, the plot may have already begun with the poisoning of your general. Arsenic.” and with that she removed her remaining bloody glove and began to cover the body with sheets.

…

They had made a makeshift wooden cart to carry Nappa behind their horses. His body was beginning to stiffen, but Vegeta and Yamcha were able to place him without too much effort.

Bulma mounted the fallen general's stallion with grace. Yamcha grabbed its reins to lead, but she insisted he join her on the horse. When he did Vegeta felt a small jealousy ignite in his chest. Alone on his own dark horse, Vegeta thought about one thing; the unexpected infatuation he'd developed with this vulgar cross-dressing harlot over the last three days.

God, how she glows. She is like a sinful fire and my body is freezing and my mind naive. She is not only beautiful, with porcelain skin, rivers of blue hair and deep twilight eyes, but she is intelligent and strong willed. She's got guts. The mousey maids in the castle are nothing like her. The dutchess suitors I'm accustomed to are so timid and withdrawn. None would even think to accomplish the feats this woman has in her eighteen years of life. I can never have her, and that makes me want her so much more.

Her beauty is nothing if not underrated by those around her. How she even managed to dress as a man for so long looking like that is beyond me. Her facial structure is angular and soft all at the same time. Her skin dewy and perfectly delicious. I don't know if I want to kiss her or eat her. I definitely want to touch every part of her, hair and skin, lips and neck even… Yes, she is certainly the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.

Her intelligence is by far her most hidden trait. She has knowledge that could rival even the most skilled castle physicians. The graceful way she cut into Nappa, spilling the least blood and quickly identifying the poison. The exact food the poison was in even! She was taught well by her father. And to her credit he probably didn't teach her everything. Not a single book in her library was dusty nor pristine. All were well used, and well absorbed. Even the entertaining reads of plays and poetry showed her deep and critical knowledge. And she squandered her intellect, by working as a stable hand in my stables.

Her will power rivals even that of my own. In my life I have been dedicated to nothing but becoming a powerful warrior and king, to fulfill my father's wish. I can relate to her trials, she too promised her father, and kept it all these years. Here I am hiding away from the man who wishes to usurp me, or worse. And she is burying the friend of her enemy to ensure safety for her family. She has done all I have asked, albeit not without argument, for the prosperity of her family. She is passionate not only about them but the entire kingdom as well. It reminds me… well it reminds me of my mother. She was so strong even at her weakest. And Bulma is no different.

In fact, I respect her for all of this. How different and similar we are isn't so odd. In another world I'd scoop her up and steal her away, and she'd be my princess or I would be her peasant husband. Unfortunately...

Vegeta day dreamed silently as the trio rode further into the forest.

He made a decision then, and although he didn't know it yet, it would ultimately be the death of Bulma.

…

The group arrived at a clearing near a river shortly before sunset. Yamcha still wasn't sure why he needed to come, besides being secondary muscle to transport the hulking abomination.

“Here will do.” The prince called out, halting his horse and dismounting. Bulma and Yamcha also dismounted and looked around. It was a far stretching meadow, mostly grassy with some large patches of sand and rock appearing closer to the river. Surrounding the clearing was a plethora of aspen trees and a few juniper and birch. In the distance the Jura mountain range could be seen, the citrus and peony sunset settled quietly behind it. No one said a word.

Once Nappa was buried, and as if on queue, hundreds of fireflies made their appearance in the dim and fleeting light of day. The floating flames danced around the trio, a spiritual sight to behold. Bulma smiled and reached out to touch one, her other arm rested safely on Yamcha’s shoulder. The prince took notice of the bugs, but to him they were far from wonderful. They stung him like bees, reminding him that his friend and mentor would never see the light of day again. Nor his father. Nor his mother. Nor his infant brother. His entire family, everyone who had ever meant anything to him was completely, utterly gone.

Darkly, the prince demanded “Get out of here.”

Taken aback by the demand, and not quite knowing the exact meaning, Bulma responded, “W-why, are you sending us home? Will you arrest me?”

“I will be back for you tonight. Make the final preparations for your family and leave them in his care,” he gestured to Yamcha. “You will be tried, and if found guilty you will be subject to punishment. There is a chance you may never return, so please make preparations for such a case. NOW GO!!” He roared, a lion towering above two mice. He grasped his cloak and turned to face the fresh grave, his back to the boy and girl.

“But you!” Bulma fought back tears. How could he? I've done so much! This isn't fair!

Yamcha threw his arm around Bulma, who was now a slobbering, whimpering mess, whose words felt like a different language altogether. He took the reins, poorly leading the horse back home. Bulma sobbed and held her one time beau tightly as they headed back, slowly.

The prince stood in the clearing for what seemed an eternity. His chin was high, but eyes low examining the final resting place of the great general. The fireflies did not tire, even as the sun finally disappeared, they danced on. Slowly, a salty stream manifested in the prince’s eyes. Though he fought it, his thoughts had finally overwhelmed him. The annoying flying flames had finally bursted his last nerve. Withdrawing his sabre with finesse, he swung hard at the air, at the bugs. Frustrated from missing them, he turned his anger to the trees. He hacked and sliced for a while, until sweat had drenched his shirt and cloak. He discarded them without thought and returned to sparring the tree. He hadn't noticed but he was shouting with each swing. Only once he was hoarse and parched did he realize what strain he had put on his vocals.

He collapsed on the grassy, sandy earth in a huff. It was time.

…

Though Yamcha had plead for her to take her chance at escape, she declined. He had devised a quick and fairly executable plan to pack the children and run as far from the kingdom as possible. But Bulma was nothing if not brave and honorable. “This is my fault. I need to pay for my actions,” she told him.

They agreed not to tell the children, most of whom were sleeping. The rambunctious Goku was still awake and raiding what little stores of fresh food they still had.

Bulma and Yamcha spent most of the time they had left in silence, scrubbing the death soaked room that once housed Nappa. There was no arguing with Bulma, and there was certainly no arguing with the prince.

“Bulma,” Goku had made his way into the room where they were, seemingly without a sound.

Bulma's face was colored deep red from hours of sobbing, her eyes swollen. She looked up from her position on the floor, to see him standing in the doorway.

Without words, the three of them just embraced. Each one felt it deep in their hearts, it would be the last time. But it wasn't in Goku's nature to give up like that.

“I will become strong! I will rescue you!” his eyes began to glaze and fill with tears.

“Shh, no, please don't. That would only get you killed and put our siblings in danger. Promise me you will take care of them, Goku,” she pled, a lump in her throat.

He just grasped her tighter, his arms around her neck, fingers digging into her skin. He never wanted to let her go, his sister, his rock, he loved her. She squeezed him back with all she had, her hand on the back of his wild head, fingers braided between his hair.

They couldn't let go. That is until they heard him coming.

Bulma grabbed a small bag packed with essentials. But the prince motioned for her to leave it. “You won't need a change of clothes when all you'll be wearing is a prison shift. Leave the unnecessary things and let's go. I tire of waiting.”

…

She was voluntarily silent for the entire ride to the castle. She was understandably furious with Vegeta, though he never lied to her. He always knew she would be punished, and he never said otherwise. But his reason for bringing her was not punishment, yet, it was for her help in determining the assassin. Once she helped him to clear out the bad apple or apples, he would release her. Though he hoped she would stay with him, he would never ask it of her. And he knew she would never want to anyway.

Vegeta tugged the reins and dug his heel into the side of the stallion, forcing it to gallop at almost full speed. Having nearly fallen from the abrupt change in acceleration, Bulma threw her arms around the prince’s waist to anchor herself. She grasped tightly, trying hard not to admire the feel of his firm abs against her arms. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, he leaned forward and tightened his muscles. She'd teased him earlier with her superior mind, now it was his turn to tease her with his superior body.

She both despised and delighted the entire ride.

…

In the twilight Bulma could barely see the outline of the stables. Vegeta had slowed the horse drastically, and motioned for her to be silent. She wasn't entirely sure why he required her to be quiet, but she complied all the same.

When they were in walking distance the prince dismounted, and placed a hand on her thigh as a command to stay. She slid forward in the saddle and grasped the horn. Vegeta soothingly patted the horse, an effort to keep it silent as well. The smell of hay and manure filled the air, a familiar scent to the whole company. Vegeta led the horse into its stall and moved to its side to help the girl down. Not wanting his help, Bulma kicked his hand away and growled like a feral cat. Then she dismounted most ungracefully, her shift sliding well above her thigh revealing her short bloomers. The prince tried to pretend not to see, but his face flushed at the audacity of this wild girl.

“Why are we sneaking?” Bulma asked.

The prince looked around the barn, that had been closed up for hours. With no one in sight he moved toward the tack closet. “I can't explain you away in your current state of undress,” he explained, which made sense to him but not to Bulma.

“Just take me to my holding cell so that I don't have to be in your royal presence anymore.” she attacked.

“That's not why you are here,” he said, ignoring the insult, and pulling what looked like folded linens out of the tack closet. Becoming frustrated by his lack of explanation for anything, Bulma raised her voice.

“Oh? Then just why am I here, your majesty?!”

Horrified by her rash action the prince used his free hand to cup the woman’s mouth while simultaneously forcing her back to the stable wall.

He placed his head nearly parallel with hers, his lips less than inches from her ear. Her heart began to pound, in fear and in lust. His hand smelt of lavender, his breath like sweet honey.

“I said you will assist me in my investigation. Until then you will present yourself as my apprentice, hand chosen by the late general. Do I make myself clear, Bull?” he whispered threateningly while shoving the stack of male clothing at her stomach.

She nodded her head and grabbed the clothing from him. He released his grasp on her face and turned the other way, allowing her a small privacy to change.

After removing her shift and boots, she pulled the off white trousers over each leg. She tightened the strings of the waist, this pair was just slightly large on her slender frame. She buttoned up the white dress shirt, more frilly than she was accustomed to, and tucked it neatly in the trousers. The overcoat was navy and gold, but not fancy enough to indicate royalty or similar. She looked the part of a wealthy young man, and not a bit overdressed. Her worn leather boots helped to tone down the prestige in her outfit as well. No one would have reason to question their story as long as she went unrecognized.

Bulma fastened the navy ribbon at the base of her head. That being the final touch on her costume, she turned to the prince and nodded a signal of her readiness.

It fascinated to prince just how beautiful she could be even in such form fitting clothing. It felt awkward admiring her masculine form, but his mind couldn't differentiate between this uniform and her tattered shift dress. All he saw was her beauty, inside and out. He wanted to touch her, so with authority in his movement, he grabbed her wrist. She followed without complaint.

Without a word he pulled her towards two large doors that she assumed connected to the castle. To her slight surprise the room behind the doors was filled with more hay, and what looked like training dummies. On the right wall, many different swords of different shapes and sizes were hung. The prince grabbed a smaller looking saber from the wall, and lifted it above Bulma's head and onto her shoulders. The sword was protected by a worn leather sheath and held to her chest by a belt of the same color. It was ordinary, just like her disguise. She was completely ordinary.

From the training room they made their way into the palace kitchens, no doubt a place the prince rarely entered. The kitchens were vast and empty of life. The walls were bare red brick and the floors hardwood. Several ovens lined the walls, butcher’s block on all the countertops, and dozens of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. There were more knives than swords in the other room, a fact which excited the aspiring chef in Bulma. To the north of the large open room were several narrow wooden doors. “Servant quarters,” he whispered when he saw her notice the doors.

Discreetly, he grabbed her hand in his and tugged her along. He seemed to know the exact route to avoid people, though most were asleep at this hour anyway.

Finally they arrived at a long hallway lined with several doors on both sides. There was a red carpet with an intricate design down the middle, but it was well worn and faded where it had the most traffic. The hall itself smelled dusty and old, and several spiders had woven their webs in the corners. It gave Bulma a small sense of sadness and emptiness to be present in this hallway, as though only ghosts were permitted here.

“This is my chambers,” the prince stated, pointing to the door closest to them. “You will not enter under any circumstance, you are forbidden.” Bulma nodded in acknowledgment and watched the prince as he walked further into the hall. The very next door, roughly fifteen feet from the first, was another chamber. The prince grabbed the knob and twisted as he pushed the door open.

“This will be yours for the time being…” he lingered on what to say afterward, contemplating whether to be rude or hospitable. “You may knock on my chamber if you need anything. Do not break disguise, I will fetch you in the morning.” he whispered the last part before returning to a normal tone, “understand Ser Bull?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she responded meekly but masculine. She stepped inside the chambers and absorbed her surroundings. It was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight that peeked in the drapeless window. In the center of the room was a large bed, dressed with red and indigo sheets and quilts. The bed had a canopy frame, though the canopy was seemingly missing. At the foot of the bed there was a large chest, which she assumed held clothing. On either side of the bed were hand carved oak nightstands, on top of each a single unlit candle. Adjacent from the bed was an older looking desk and chair, somewhat out of style for the year, yet not quite antique. On the desk was a quill and an inkwell, though the ink had long since dried. She determined from the dusty state of the room that it hadn't been used in quite some time. But it was more comfortable than the stone cold floor of a jail cell, so she rejoiced.

She kicked her boots off near the door and decided to sleep in her costume, in case any soul dare visit her during her sleep, she would be fully concealed. The mattress was like heaven to her aching bones, and she drifted off in a matter of minutes.

The prince, did not have such luck.

…

He dreamt of a deep azure lake with placid waves. He was sailing on the lake, at twilight. Though it was dark the full moon and blanket of stars lit up his surroundings. It was peaceful, for a time. His mother was aboard the tiny schooner, clad in her yellow Sunday gown. Underneath the gown her white lace petticoat peeked through. Her outfit was embroidered at the edges with lavender blossoms, her favorite flower. Her hair was long, nearly reaching the seat she rested on. It was lighter than his own, he inherited his raven hair from his father, hers was a hazelnut colored waterfall of curls. She smiled tenderly at him, as he rowed, steady.

From the middle of the lake he heard a cry for help. Shooting a glance toward the noise, the prince began to row faster.

As they neared the source of the cry, Vegeta was able to make out the figure of a girl with blue hair. She struggled to stay afloat, gasping as her head bobbed above and below the water. In an instant the weather turned violent. Dark clouds shrouded the once bright stars and moon, as heavy rain began to fall. The small boat began to rock as the waves gained speed and height. The prince bent his torso over the edge of the boat, stretching his right arm toward the maiden.

She flailed about, trying in vain to grasp his hand. As the environment became more intense, his mother stood from her seat. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and lowered her face to his ear. He struggled to reach the drowning girl, each second ticking by she got further away.

“You’ve doomed her,” his mother whispered lightly. The girl’s head sank below the surface as her arm seemed to go limp.

Suddenly, a deafening roar of thunder and lightning crashed in the sky.

And the prince awoke with a jolt, sitting upright in his bed.

…

Bardock sat alone at a small tea table in his personal chambers. It was early, still dark outside. Several candles lit the room dimly, just so he could see at about arm’s length. He pulled a small dusting cloth from a drawer in the table and began to wipe his porcelain set of tea cups. They were a gift from a long lost friend, she had purchased them from a ceramic artist in the orient. Of his numerous regrets in life, the one that pained him the most was not marrying her. The mistake had cost him too many years of unrelenting loneliness.

Her image had all but faded from his mind. The last time he saw her was over ten years ago, before the king had died. Each day, as he took his tea, he tried to recount her features. She had blunt black hair, and big brown doe eyes. She was thin, a product of malnourishment due to her chosen profession. When he first met her she was covered in bruises, her eyes and cheeks sunken in her face. He’d wandered into the amoral establishment by accident when he was looking for the tavern his fellow soldiers where at. She was used, like a scribbled piece of paper, wasting away in a dirty bin. But she had so many invisible words printed on her skinny face, he could never read them all, not if he had known her his entire lifetime.

She offered him services, to which he blushingly declined, at first. She gave him directions to the tavern he was looking for, but asked him to return to her if he thought of her. He promised he would. And he never stopped thinking about her. So when he did return he stole her away, taking her to his quarters at the castle. There were no women allowed in the soldiers barracks but he defied the rule for her. They laid together every night for four weeks until she was found out. After which, she was permanently exiled from the kingdom, and he was given a stiff slap on the wrist. And he never saw her after that. Their affair was the first and last time he had loved anyone. But he should have known better than to fall in love with a whore.

Slowly, he poured the tea that had brewed into the delicate looking cup. He knew not what became of her, but he assumed she had died at some point. The lifestyle she chose was not sustainable, especially outside of the safety of the kingdom. So to honor her, in his own private way, he drank tea dedicated to her. Gine.

After drinking his tea he made his way to the mirror. He removed the red drape from it, and began the ominous chant. “Mirror, mirror,” he uttered coldly. Inside the figure of a face took form. It was nearly impossible to tell whether the form was male or female, its skin pale blue and long white hair.

“Milord,” it answered predictably.

“I wish to know what has become of Nappa, and where is the Prince?” Bardock inquired.

“The general breathes no longer,” the mirror reported. “The Prince is returned home last night, from a quiet journey where he laid the great general to rest.”

“And what of the blue haired girl?”

“She is very intelligent. She will help him discover that you were the source of the general’s demise. Should she be allowed to live, she will lead the kingdom in rebellion against the french, as his queen.”

Content with the answers Bardock dismissed the mirror, concealing it once again with the long red drapes.

…

It was before sunrise, and his chambers were still dark. The prince rose to light a candle, his body fully awake from the terrifying dream he’d just had. His hands still shook with adrenaline, his breath still hard and cold. He was dressed only in trousers, the rest of him bare. For a split second he worried about Bulma, and decided to check on her.

Quietly he pushed the heavy wooden door open. The hinges made a slight squeak, though no one was around to hear. Barefoot, he crept silently toward her chambers. Her door made a much louder squeak, due to many years of unuse, but she did not stir. He made his way to her bedside and concluded that she was in fact safe and sound. He decided to check her breathing, in case anything had happened in her sleep. As he got closer to her face he heard her gentle breaths. Relieved, he rested his bottom on the wooden floor. He admired her soft features for a long time, entirely too long in fact, as she began to wake up while he was still there.

He rose to his feet immediately, as she began to stretch her arms out. She hadn't opened her eyes or noticed him yet. His heart leapt from his chest as he scurried to get to the door. Safely on the other side, he let a large breath out of his lungs with an audible sigh.

As Bulma stretched out her well rested muscles she turned to see a lit candle on her nightstand. Alarmed, she looked around the room for an intruder. Seeing nothing she slowly got up and walked to the door where she heard heavy breathing. Expecting to find a creep on the other side she grabbed the sword she had lent against the wall the previous night. Slowly, she unsheathed it and readied herself for war.

She gradually opened the door, where to her surprise the prince was waiting on the other side.

“Oh jeez, it's just you,” she sighed, relieved. And then she remembered the candle. “Oh my God, were you watching me sleep?!” she ordered the prince to answer, her face close to his, an intimidation tactic she'd been using most of her life.

“I! No! I was just!” the prince struggled to defend himself, his face reddening. Narrowing her eyes, she felt a slight smile begin to form on her lips.

“Oh, I see,” she purred, finally aware of his crush. She lifted her extended index finger to his bare chest. “You fancy me,” she accused as she turned her body around, the tip of her finger grazing his nose. She folded her arms with her back to him.

“What?! Of course not!” he growled, his face twisting to a scowl, his fist raising as a threat.

While the prince stumbled over what words to use to articulate his feelings, Bulma tied her hair in a navy ribbon. When she finished the bouncy bow, she turned back around to face the prince. He was frozen as she gracefully moved toward him, stopping inches from his face. Without saying a word she quickly pressed her lips to his, an action which seemed to stop his heart beating. It was just a peck, over in an instant. The feeling of his blood boiling over led him to believe he would surely die. And as if nothing even happened she strolled past him, through the open door and into the hallway.

“Well make yourself useful and show me to breakfast,” she demanded, disguising her voice to sound more masculine.

He found it physically impossible to say anything at all, his jaw clenched so tightly it would take more than will power to pry open.

…

In the kitchens several maids scurried about, preparing breakfast for the court.

Near the kitchen entrance the prince sat in his usual chair at the head of the table. It was his usual chair, that is when he didn't take meals in his chambers, which was a rare sight. Bulma sat in the chair to his right, and when she did so she received several wide eyed glances from the servants. No one else in the court had arrived for breakfast so every other seat was empty. It must have been an important seat, but the prince did not protest so she stayed put.

He did everything he could to avoid looking at her. His elbow was propped on the table, his head in it's hand, and pointed away from her. He was red as an apple, and the servants took notice. The most odd thing they noticed though, was that the two, the prince and his new friend, said nothing at all to each other.

“Who-" Fasha began to say to her servant counterpart, Maron, who interrupted her.

“No idea, but he's bloody cute I tell ya what.”

“I've never seen him around before, but he looks awful familiar,” Fasha replied, searching her brain for some indication of the blue haired boy’s identity. The two servant girls whispered away in the kitchens, as Fasha stirred the wild boar stew she was making for that night's dinner banquet. Maron had several baskets of rolls to deliver to the tables, but was neglecting that duty for an opportunity to gossip with her friend.

“Yes but… something is off about him. And the way the prince is blushing… Do you reckon…?” Maron suggested, heavily implying that Bulma may be a homosexual man.

“Gee I hope not,” Fasha aspired, wanting to make the new boy her own.

Just then another maid entered, in a rush to have the rolls served.

“The lords and ladies are arriving, please get these out!” She demanded, pointing to Maron and the baskets.

“On it, Miss Mai,” Maron apologized as she hopped to work.

Mai was taller and older than both Fasha and Marron but had yet to marry. Though it wasn't for lack of beauty. She had long black locks that she kept braided at all times, and lips like ripe plums. Recently she had become a sort of forewoman of the kitchen, since the head chef had disappeared. It wasn't unlike Hit to disappear every once in a while, so she was appointed to a supervisory position in his absence.

“Miss Mai,” Fasha started, still stirring away. “Did you notice the new boy who is sat directly next to the prince? How bold.”

“How bold indeed,” Mai said with suspicion in her voice and narrowed eyes.

Unknown to Fasha and the rest of the castle, Mai had witnessed a very immoral act that morning, of which she was very conflicted. She saw the new boy kiss the prince as she walked past his chambers. She struggled to define her role in the act, and wondered if it was her duty inform anyone. Afterall, sodomy was a sin, punishable by death. But would she risk an accusation on the prince, of all people?

…

Several of the high class knights and a few of their ladies joined the breakfast table. These were all high born men and women, who achieved their rank through birthright. Many of them were scarred from enduring many battles with the French. Bulma felt nearly sick wondering how they must feel about the treaty. She wondered if any had protested, or if they feared to do so. Most of the ladies wore a somber look on their faces and in their dresses. Maybe they had heard of the death of the general, though the only people who knew were herself and the prince. Finally, filling the very last chair at the opposite end of the table was a tall and handsome man, with a ruggedly scarred face and black hair. He looked familiar, but Bulma couldn't quite put her finger on who he was. His position seemed to indicate royalty or very close to it. He must be the appointed regent. She decided silently.

Bulma and the prince had nearly had their fill of bread and pastries, and she was beginning to feel apprehensive about being in the presence of so many people. She tapped Vegeta’s leg with her riding boot, and motioned her head toward the exit when he looked at her. He gave a light nod and looked away from her quickly. Just looking at her made his heart race, and he didn't want to risk anyone noticing. He grabbed his fourth Danish, and shoved it in his mouth.

“Prince Vegeta, so nice of you to join everyone,” the regent announced from the other end of the table.

“Not because I want to,” the prince began. “I have news. General Nappa has been slain.” There were some hushed gasps and whispers among the guests, but not a single reaction from the regent. He didn't even blink at the news, it was as if he already knew.

Bulma had a terrible feeling about this man, though it was hard for her to understand why. She swallowed hard on the dry muffin she was eating.

“Unfortunate news. How did this come to pass?” the regent inquired.

“We were dueling, and I mortally wounded him. We didn't believe it to be life threatening. I bandaged him and we rested for the night. In the morning he had passed.” Bulma studied every second of the regent's reaction, scanning him for abnormalities. He twitched slightly at the explanation, almost as if he knew it to be a lie.

“I see. And what of this... “ he motioned a hand to Bulma as if indicating whatever he believed her to be was a dirty word.

“My squire. Appointed by the general himself three days ago. I will train him under my wing until a time when he can join the militia. My apologies if he does not know proper court etiquette, he is of very low birth.” he made it sound like she was a child or at least not even fifteen yet, the age when it is mandatory for men to join the militia. She pondered for a moment just how old she looked to everyone else in her male regalia. Her sort of short stature, slender figure, and smooth face probably made her look much younger as a boy. She decided she wouldn't be insulted at the implication afterall.

“Excellent…” the regent replied, losing interest in the topic as he turned to one of the other guests to ignite a new discussion.

Out of the limelight, Vegeta threw his hand on Bulma's and pulled her to her feet with him. Realizing that he had actually touched her, he dropped her just as quickly. Bulma felt a grin in her heart, though it didn't make its appearance on her face. I'm disgusting. She lamented, partially enjoying her newfound infatuation, partially hating herself for it.

…

Later in the evening, Bulma found herself in a slight dilemma. She'd been assigned a chambermaid, who wished to draw her a bath. In these instances, a normal person would undress and allow the servant to bathe them. This was not in Bulma’s best interest for she was concealing her gender.

“Ser… Bull was it?” the red haired maiden called.

Bulma panicked as she turned to face the servant. “I won’t won’t be needing a bath today, dear.” She claimed in her most baritone voice.

“As you wish,” the maiden said, rolling her eyes and turning up her nose. The gesture reminded Bulma that the last time she had bathed was three days ago, and her body odor did her no favors.

“Can help you dress down for bed, sir?” The maiden offered, with a slightly disgusted tone of voice.

“N-no,” Bulma answered, flustered by the prospect. Persistent broad. She sighed silently. Finally, the redhead left, taking her harsh judgments with her.

Bulma sat at her desk and pondered the events of the day. An awkward breakfast followed by hours upon hours of being alone in her chambers. The prince had several duties to attend to since he had been absent the past few days. He didn't trust her wandering about on her own so he ordered her to stay put. So she did, and the only human interaction save for breakfast; was the annoying chambermaid she had finally gotten rid of.

She pulled a piece of parchment from a leather bound notebook she had found within the desk. In these uncertain times she felt like penning a letter, an activity that usually brought her peace. As she pulled the quill and inkwell from the desk, her chamber door wailed open.

Vegeta had quite the day. He had run from one end of the castle to the other appointing high ranking officers to new positions within the army. Like a cascading waterfall, when he replaced Nappa with Toma the tall, he needed someone to replace him, and so on and so on. Bardock appointed him these responsibilities to prepare him for when he would become king. The day was so soon in fact, he would be turning eighteen in just one month. He always knew it was coming but deep inside his unconscious mind he felt apprehensive about the title. He had always been the prince. And now he had very big shoes to fill.

His heart told him to seek out Bulma in his uncertain mood, though it did not tell him why or what to say. So he stood in her doorway, staring at her intensely, saying nothing.

“Can I help you, your highness?” she asked as she twisted in her seat.

“Rise,” he said, ignoring that she may not know the context of his command. “Er, rise when your prince enters your presence. That is proper court etiquette,” he explained.

Wow, she thought, he isn't demanding me and demeaning me as he does so. She was nearly floored at his unusually kind demeanor. So she rose and bowed formally to him.

“Again, how can I help you?”

He stood for a moment gathering the vocabulary to express what he wanted. He needed her to investigate the safety breach that had occurred, resulting in the poisoning of his general.

“I was wondering if you had any leads,” he whispered, slowly closing the rusty hinged door behind him.

“Ah,” she spoke, bringing her hand to her chin and looking down at her boots. She did have suspicions, but no concrete evidence, of anything. And what's more, she had been ordered to stay in her chambers all day, how was she supposed to have learned anything?

“The typical smell of arsenic is very close to garlic. Although, it has been at least several days since the poisoning, and so anyone who may have had it on their hands would have definitely been washed by now.”

The prince shifted his stance to one side, pulling his hand to his opposite hip. The shift made a floorboard creak slightly, bringing her attention to him. Just the simple act of looking up at him made his heart skip, her eyelashes perfectly framing her large doe eyes.

His face flushed, an action he could no longer control. His treacherous body’s ridiculous crush was absolutely maddening to the prince. His mind involuntary shoved the picture of her soft lips against his to his eyes. His heart betrayed him again as it leapt. Just being in her presence is driving me… He lamented silently.

Bulma took notice of the odd behavior the prince was exhibiting but she chose to ignore it. Instead she focused her brain on the mystery at hand.

“We should investigate the kitchens and the servants who work there.” she suggested.

“Yes,” he agreed, still fighting a great battle with his hormones. “But should we wait until after dinner?”

Bulma nodded, agreeing that he had a good idea.

Again she noted his odd behavior, flushed skin and awkward, stiff stance. The evil prince had fallen so hard for her; she was resisting the urge to gloat. Maybe the key to her freedom was making the prince fall in love with her. He wasn't terrible looking, in fact his body was godly, but she wasn't keen on his personality or political policies. And God forbid, what if he wanted to keep her because he had fallen in love? What if he never let her go and she was stuck here the rest of her life to be his mistress or else rot in a cell? Bulma mourned not having the answer, like she might have if he were a horse or a sick patient. Still…

She moved on him, fast and hungry like a predator. Without thought, she grabbed his face, and pushed her lips to his, again. Her hand ran through his shock of wild black hair, holding him in place. Her other hand cupped his cheek and square jaw.

He was stunned, his heart had stopped. He did nothing, she had complete and utter control of him.

Her lust enveloped her, controlled her every move. She could not think, she only felt and acted, a slave to her emotions.

Losing all sense of morality and pride he lifted her from the ground and pressed deeper into her kiss. In response she wrapped her legs around him, a surprisingly easy task when equipped with male trousers. She pulled back from his kiss and looked into his eyes, sending a message that she wasn't completely sure of. She wasn't exactly a maiden anymore, the sentiments of which she didn't find too important to her lifestyle. She still valued most virtues, and as a girl she wanted to save herself for marriage. But her carnal desires had soiled that dream not too long ago. Her eyes dared him to take her, she didn't care to debate the morality of the act any longer.

For the prince it was so very much the opposite. He had never laid with anyone, and his hesitation to accept her dare very dangerously showed it. She had been his first kiss even, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take her bounty just yet. His grip on the underside of her thighs loosened slightly, his courage faltering. He pressed some of her weight against the wall, anchoring himself to a more sturdy position.

As her body was lowered slightly, she felt the eager tightening of his pants, pressing into her. It was exhilarating, a dangerous situation on the horizon.

“Bulma,” he breathed, creasing his brow and questioning himself.

He was brave. He'd been in several battles. He had seen men die, some on his own blade. Some close friends to the enemy's blade. But for this, as with most firsts, he was nervous. And he also believed he would take her womanhood, an act he fervently believed should be saved for marriage. He waited for her verbal reply.

She did not give it. Instead she leaned her head to his and tugged his hair, lifting his face to hers. She again pressed her lips to his, but this time she took his lip in her mouth, and bit down lightly. His pained moans excited her, she felt powerful despite being pinned by him.

He couldn't take it any longer, he tightened his grip once again, lifting her off the wall. He swiveled around to face the bed and began to walk toward it. Not wanting to hurt her, he set her down on the bed gently, lips still tightly locked. When he pulled away from her she rose her hands to the base of her head. She untied the ribbon that held her hair, letting it fall heavy onto her shoulders. Her hands then reached for her shirt, and she began to unbutton it.

And then there was a knock at the door. Both of their hearts stopped, and resumed with an impossible speed. All Vegeta could hear was his heart pounding in his head.

Bulma had no clue what to do, she would be found out. Their sin would have them both killed, or at the very least just her. She looked to the prince for answers. His eyes wide and brow scrunched, he said nothing. She mouthed the words: What do I do? He shrugged in the same moment as he had an idea. Answer it, he replied while lowering himself to the ground, preparing to conceal himself beneath the bed.

She nodded, a determined look on her soft face. She cleared her throat, which she thought would conceal the noise of him sliding along the floor. It was successful. She made her way to the door and opened it, but only slightly.

It was a servant from the kitchen, Bulma did not know her name, but recognized her from breakfast. Her hair was long and dark as a moonless night. She had naturally dark lips that glistened likely due to regular treatment with animal fat. Bulma had heard of the fad of women using animal fat on their lips, but she refrained to maintain a manly appearance on her lips. The servant looked down on her, as she was much taller.

“Dinner, will begin shortly. Have you seen the prince? He did not answer my call at his door…” she remarked, a dark suspicion in her voice that Bulma immediately picked up on.

“No mam, thank you mam.” Bulma replied, wanting to close the door as soon as possible, and never open it again until she died of starvation.

“Please mind your seating at the table, boy.” the servant woman hissed, as she turned to walk away. Bulma noted the harsh remark, and said nothing, only closed the door. She pressed her back to the door, and her knees gave out underneath her. She slid down to the floor, landing quite hard. Ow. She groaned silently.

“She's gone,” Bulma beckoned the prince from his hiding spot. He crawled out, placing himself in front of her, also sitting on the floor.

“Close one,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Bulma however, had an entirely different attitude.

“What is this?” she demanded of the prince, not finding this kind of confrontation very funny in the least.

His grin vanished as he received the demand; though he had no idea how to respond. “I don't know,” he admitted truthfully.

Every ounce that was once lust and energy had completely changed to fear and depression in Bulma. Her eyes became dark and she stared at the ground. “I want to go home,” she said as her eyes shifted up at him. They began to fill with heavy, hot tears. She felt powerless now, playing with fire in a grease filled room. It was only a matter of time until someone realized she was a woman, even if she didn't pursue this perilous affair. Even if she would turn the prince to her side, he was unpredictable and until he was king he had no real power to pardon her.

He just stared at her. She couldn't leave him, he needed her. He wasn't safe until he knew his life was not in danger of the same assassin who poisoned Nappa. And he could only trust her. And now he wanted her, her body and her hand. He wanted to marry her, though the rational part of his brain told him that was just the lust talking. So he grabbed the ribbon on the floor and pressed it to her cheek, where her whale sized tears had fallen. She grabbed it from him and thanked him with her eyes.

He couldn't look at her when she was like this. He blushed and turned his head away with a scowl. The sickness that came with unsatisfied sexual desire began to hit him, along with the pains of hunger. He stood to his feet, smoothing his dishevelled hair to its original shape. Then he dusted off the floor dirt from his shirt and trousers. How unbecoming of him to literally stoop so low.

He reached out his hand, beckoning her to her feet.

She declined, symbolically using her hands to push herself to her feet. As she did so she averted her gaze from him, to the floor. She was embarrassed of her promiscuous behavior, and ashamed of her willingness to fall instantly in love with her enemy. She was utterly disgusted with herself, and she swore to never let it happen again. Then she opened the door and began to make her way to the dining hall.

Her rejection of his help to bring her to her feet felt harsh. Not two minutes ago he had her in his arms, inches from committing carnal sin. And suddenly, with the prospect of being found out on the horizon she froze to him. Her face had looked so hopelessly repulsed by himself, before she turned her back to him and ran off. What a pain it was to lose something he never even had. One thing was sure to him; he would never let that happen again.

…

Bulma had done well to place herself at a table very, very far from the prince. He should have told her the first time that she was disgracing herself by sitting in the late general's own chair. But no, he enjoyed seeing her embarrassed by the regent himself. Now she sat with low ranking, bachelor soldiers of no more than fifteen years. They stunk, like overly ripe gourds and unwashed toilets. It sickened her so badly, on top of the night’s heart pounding events; she found herself unable to eat. So she pushed her stew around in her bowl and listened halfheartedly to the conversation the soldier boys were having. It mostly consisted of nailing the farmer’s daughters, and how many men each had killed already. The number of maidenhoods and French lives the lot of boys had claimed was numerous, and the most flamboyant fish tale Bulma had ever heard. She struggled not to roll her eyes at their exuberant lies.

Finally, after what had seemed hours, someone began tapping their silverware to their glass. A toast was in order, and Bulma was glad to hear anything other than fornication and murder. Her eyes followed the noise and determined it to be coming from the regent. She found herself suddenly very interested in him, a strange acting fellow indeed, whom she was certain played a role in the general's downfall.

Bardock stood, confidence in his posture and a laid back smile on his face. He was dressed very nicely for the occasion, he even had a long red cape attached to his lapels with golden chains. He certainly looked the part of royalty. After gaining most everyone's attention, he began to speak.

“I have an announcement to make to the court,” he began in a low and rich voice. “Very soon our kingdom will have cause for a wonderful celebration. In a few short days we will know peace with France for the first time since the late King Vegeta ruled!”

His voice rang through the halls, and pierced Bulma in the heart. No. She felt part of herself suddenly sadden, the prospect of a treaty with France could very possibly mean death for many people. She had no doubt this treaty was Emperor Frieza’s trojan horse. She scanned the table where Bardock was for the prince, but she did not see him. In fact she did not see him anywhere in the great hall. Whatever. She scolded herself for even caring. At this point she'd rather be locked away because she knew after helping him he'd never let her go anyway. Then the regent continued to talk.

“In one month our kingdom’s young prince will be a prince no longer. He will come of age, and it is time to honor him with a most wonderful coronation! It will be the biggest celebration in the history of our kingdom, we will have ambassadors from all over the continent attend as he is sworn in as the rightful King Vegeta!” this triggered a roar from every single guest in the dining hall; save for one. In the loud commotion Bulma could very nearly not hear herself think. But she wondered; if Bardock would willingly hand over control to the prince, and name him king, what motive did he have to assassinate Nappa? It just didn't fit. Either this was a farce, and Bardock planned to hurt Vegeta in some way, or he had absolutely nothing to do with Nappa at all. Bulma just wished she had no part in any of this. She missed the stables and the manure. Mostly she missed her siblings. But he snuck back into her mind too, as she pictured things that she loved.

Just then Prince Vegeta entered the room from the northern doors. He was dressed from head to toe in a most fabulous uniform. His doublet and trousers were a black velvet, with stripes of yellow, white and blue. He, too, had a long red cloak that attached to his lapels with golden hooks; though his cloak had what seemed to be a fluffy lynx fur around his shoulders. On his head was a small crown, what Bulma assumed was not the king's crown but a lesser version of it. Still it sparkled gold with specks of ruby and sapphire gems encrusted all over. He had on white gloves and white riding boots. He was the stunning image of a most regal prince. And Bulma hated him for his indulgences. She decided to forego the meal all together, and return to her chambers for the rest of the night.

…

It had been two weeks since the announcement of the Prince’s coronation. The annoying blue haired soldier had been hanging around the kitchen, fraternizing with the younger girls there. Mai had no doubt the deviant was planning to deflower them. She waited for more proof of his sodomy, but he had shifted his interest to her girls. He no longer visited the prince, nor did the prince visit him. Mai had garnered a sort of hatred for the boy, who favored any sex. He would probably fornicate with animals too, the poor sick bastard. She feared for the kitchen maids, this irregular sinner may have diseases of the flesh, and she could not bare him transferring it to them. Something had to be done.

She decided to come clean to the regent about the event she had witnessed two weeks ago.

Very soon Bulma would know the cold hard feel of the stone floor of a cell. She would know the piss and rat dropping smell that infiltrated every bit of oxygen in the castle's prison. She would know the feel of lice in her hair and cockroaches in her cot. She would know the hunger of slowly starving to death. She would wish for that death as mercy. And she would receive it.

To be continued…

#tpthvegebulmayhem #week 3 #clandestine downfall #vegebul #Vegeta x Bulma #vegeta #bulma #fanfiction #fanfic #au #fairytale au #dragon ball #dragon ball z #dbz #dragon ball super

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therealpolyglot-blog · 6 years

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Why you should take days off language learning

Are you overdoing it? We hear over and over again how repetition is key, how we must be consistent, how if we stop learning we will forget it, etc.... and actually I agree, all of this is true! But we must know our limits. It is really important that you take days off and relax as well, and this applies to everything in your life. And I get that it can be hard, trust me, I know what being a workaholic feels like. I could need at least five more hours each day to complete my to-do list. But with the years and practice I’ve learned to chill and enjoy my free my time. I am going to tell you why and when you should take a break without feeling guilty about it. 1.To avoid a burnout. Take the time you need before you burn out and quit. One of the reasons why I learn multiple languages at the same time is because I need constant change in my life, I always need to learn something new. Studying the same language over and over again doesn’t have a great effect on me. So, I rather take breaks from an specific languages while I study others, and I realize that when I spend time apart a language, I start missing it. So, when I pick it up again I am more motivated and efficient. I tell myself all the time: I learn for fun and if it isn’t fun then I don’t do it, and what I mean by that is that I make my own rules, and if it stresses me, then I change the rules. 2. You don’t feel well emotionally. It is so incredibly normal to feel anxious or depressed, and there are times in your life where this feelings are too much to handle. If you don’t feel well, I wouldn’t recommend putting more pressure on yourself. When I feel sad or anxious I don’t like to be too hard on myself. My priority is to relax and feel comfortable in my emotions. I take deep breaths, I talk it out or I write down my feelings. But I will never force myself to study a language if I know it won’t make me happy at that specific moment.

Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash

3. You are too tired. Life is busy. School, work, family, relationships, Netflix's new hit tv show… you name it. Being alive takes time and energy. Having a healthy balance isn’t easy but it is really important. For example, I’m really tired on Mondays, normally, because I work every Sunday on my YouTube channel. I know that on that day I have more difficulties than on others, so I plan a very light day; and instead of a deep study I do fun stuff in my target language like watching shows, listening to music or reading magazines. If i’m too tired I won’t be able to think straight, so I give myself a day off, and I don’t feel guilty because I know that I need to rest. Also If I don’t sleep enough I get moody and I will wrinkle over time, and I really don’t want that. 4. You aren’t spending quality time with family and friends. Very often I will find myself avoiding a social event because honestly I’d so much rather stay at home learning vocabulary and practicing pronunciation. Which is ok. But, my family and friends are also important and just by spending time with them I let them know how much I care about them. So I might say no once and stay at home, but not all of the time. It is important to be present with the people you love. The subjunctive can honestly wait, your sweet grandma telling you her stories is so much more relevant. Get out of your room, give everything a break and be with the people that you love the most. 5. You are working harder, not smarter. If you are studying everyday for one hour but you haven’t got pass the very basics in a month, I would recommend you to review your learning process. A little story… Once, I started going to the gym - it was so long ago - and I had an instructor that told me: “If you train everyday for a month and you don’t see results, you’re doing it wrong”. At the beginning I thought, well that is BS, must things take more than a month. But then I really analized it and put it in practice in other aspects of my life, and I realized that it was true. It doesn’t matter how much you do it but how good you are at it, and after a month you should definitely see some improvement. I see it always with language learning: people who went to school and had 5 years of English lessons and couldn’t say “Hello, how are you?”, people who’s lived for years in a foreign country and never learned the language, people who study every day and after a month aren’t comfortable nor moving forward with the language. If you find your yourself working harder and not smarter, then take a break and review your process. Analize what is working and what isn’t, otherwise, it might give you stress, frustration, anxiety and eventually you will give up because it will appear to be “too difficult”. I have to say, I’m very guilty of doing this, but I’m trying to have quality study in shorts periods of time. It really makes the difference. Taking breaks doesn’t makes you a bad learner, it is healthy to find balance. I know I always say this, but language learning has to be fun to be effective. So make it an enjoyable process, not one filled with guilt and frustration and remember to take off a day or two, every now and then. You are human being not a machine. You can’t be perfect at all times, and that is totally fine. Just chill and enjoy. Mari

¡Tómate un descanso de los idiomas!

¿Estás estudiando demasiado? Todo el mundo nos dice que la repetición es la clave, que hay que tener constancia, que si dejamos de estudiar lo vamos a olvidar todo, etc… Y bueno la verdad tienen razón, pero lo que no te dicen es que debes conocer tus límites. Tomar días libres es tan importante como todo lo que mencione anteriormente, descansar te ayuda a mantener un equilibrio saludable en tu vida. Entiendo que a veces pueda ser difícil, a muchos de nosotros nos encanta estar ocupados todo el tiempo, yo soy una de las que cree que los días no les alcanza. Pero con el pasar de los años y mucha práctica, aprendí a relajarme y a disfrutar de mi tiempo libre. Así que este post es para decirte porqué y cuándo deberías tomarte un descanso y no sentirte culpable al respecto. 1. Antes de que pierdas la cabeza. Toma el tiempo que necesites antes que te sobresatures de información y te rindas. Una de las razones por las cuales estudio varios idiomas al mismo tiempo es porque necesito cambios constantes en mi vida, necesito estar siempre aprendiendo algo nuevo. Cuando paso mucho tiempo estudiando el mismo idioma, me aburro. Así que prefiero tomarme descansos de ciertos idiomas mientras estudio otros. He descubierto que cuando paso tiempo alejada de un idioma específico, lo empiezo a extrañar y cuando lo retomo estoy más motivada y soy mucho más eficiente. Siempre me digo a mi misma: Yo aprendo por diversión y si no es divertido no tiene sentido. Lo que quiero decir con esto es que yo pongo mis propias reglas y si dichas reglas me estresan, simplemente las cambio. 2. Si no te sientes bien emocionalmente. Es mucho más normal de lo que crees, el sentirte ansioso o deprimido, y es probable que en algunos momentos en tu vida estos sentimientos sean difíciles de manejar. Si no te sientes bien, yo no te recomendaría ponerte más presión de la que ya tienes. Cuando me siento triste o ansiosa, en lo personal, no me gusta forzarme demasiado. Mi prioridad es relajarme y sentirme cómoda con mis emociones. Respiro profundamente, hablo con alguien o escribo mis sentimientos. Pero nunca me presiono para estudiar un idioma si se que en ese momento no me hará feliz.

Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash

3. Si estás muy cansado. La vida está llena de cosas; los estudios, el trabajo, la familia, la nueva serie de Netflix… Todo aquello que consume nuestro tiempo y energía. Tener un balance de todas estas cosas no es fácil pero es sumamente importante. Por ejemplo; los lunes normalmente estoy agotada, porque los domingos en vez de descansar le dedico tiempo a mi canal de youtube. Por lo tanto, sé que los lunes tengo más dificultades para concentrarme que cualquier otro día y por eso intento planear un día más ligero y en lugar de estudiar algo pesado, escucho música, veo una serie o leo revistas. Si estoy muy cansada no voy a poder concentrarme, prefiero tomarme un tiempo libre. No me siento culpable de hacerlo porque sé que tengo que descansar. Además si no duermo lo suficiente me pongo de mal humor y con el tiempo me saldrán arrugas y realmente no quiero que eso suceda. 4. Si no estás pasando tiempo de calidad con tu familia y amigos. En muchas ocasiones he evitado ir a eventos sociales porque honestamente he preferido quedarme en casa aprendiendo vocabulario y practicando pronunciación. Lo cual está bien. Pero mis familiares y amigos también son importantes y sé que con tan solo pasar tiempo con ellos, los hago felices. Así que, de vez en cuando me quedaré en casa estudiando idiomas porque me gusta, pero no lo haré siempre. Es importante pasar tiempo de calidad con las personas que amas. Honestamente, el subjuntivo y el resto de tiempos gramaticales pueden esperar, las historias de tu abuelita son seguramente mucho más interesantes. Sal de tu cuarto, descansa de todo y pasa tiempo con tus seres queridos. 5. Si estudias mucho pero no avanzas. Si estudias todos los días por una hora y no has pasado de lo más básico en un mes, te recomiendo que revises tu proceso de aprendizaje... Te contaré una pequeña historia… Alguna vez en mi vida fuí al gimnasio -hace mucho tiempo- y tenía un instructor que me dijo: “Si entrenas todos los dias y despues de un mes no has visto resultados, es porque estás haciendo algo mal.” Al principio pensé que no era cierto porque muchas cosas te llevan más tiempo. Pero luego lo analice y lo puse en práctica en otros aspectos de mi vida. Me dí cuenta que es verdad, no importa qué tan seguido lo hagas sino que tan bueno seas, y definitivamente después de un mes de hacer algo tienes que ver algún tipo de resultado. En el aprendizaje de idiomas lo vemos todo el tiempo: gente que estudió inglés por cinco años en el colegio y no pueden decir “Hello, how are you?” , personas que han vivido años en un país y no han aprendido el idioma, personas que han estudiado un idioma todos los días por un mes y no se sienten cómodos con el idioma, ni están avanzando. Si te das cuenta que estás trabajando mucho pero no ves resultados, te recomiendo que te tomes un descanso y hagas un análisis. ¿Qué está funcionando? ¿Qué no está funcionado? Si continúas estudiando de la misma manera y sin avanzar, solo te vas a sentir más estresado, más ansioso, más frustrado y eventualmente te vas a rendir porque lo verás como algo “muy difícil” de lograr. Debo admitir que este es el área que más debo trabajar, siempre estudio mucho sin aprender. Pero ya lo reconocí y ahora estoy intentando tener mejor calidad de estudio en periodos cortos de tiempo. Realmente hace la diferencia. Tomar un descanso no es signo de que estés fallando, es signo de que estás buscando un equilibrio saludable en tu vida. Sé que siempre lo digo, pero recuerda que aprender un idioma tiene que ser un proceso divertido para que sea efectivo. Así que disfrútalo y no lo conviertas en una actividad llena de culpa y frustración. Recuerda tomarte uno o dos días cada vez que sea necesario. Eres humano/a, no una máquina y no vas a lograr hacer todo a la perfección y eso está bien. Relájate y disfruta. Mari

Warum man sich ein paar Tage vom Sprachenlernen frei nehmen sollte

Machst du zu viel? Wir hören immer wieder, dass Wiederholung das A und O ist. Dass wir konsequent sein müssen, dass wir es vergessen werden, wenn wir aufhören, etc … und ich stimme dem tatsächlich zu, all dies ist wahr! Aber wir sollten unsere Grenzen kennen. Es ist sehr wichtig, dass du dir ein paar Tage frei nimmst und dich auch entspannst, und dies gilt auch für alles andere in deinem Leben. Und ich verstehe, dass es hart sein kann, glaube mir, ich weiß wie es ist ein Workaholic zu sein. Ich bräuchte mindestens 5 Stunden mehr jeden Tag, um meine To-Do Liste zu beenden. Aber mit den Jahren und mit Übung habe ich gelernt zu entspannen und meine Freizeit zu genießen. Ich werde dir nun erzählen, warum und wann du eine Pause machen solltest ohne dich dabei schuldig zu fühlen. 1. Um ein Burnout zu verhindern. Nimm dir die Zeit, die du brauchst bevor du dich kaputt machst und aufgibst. Einer der Gründe wieso ich mehrere Sprachen gleichzeitig lernen, ist der, dass ich dauernd Veränderung in meinem Leben brauche, denn ich muss immer was neues lernen. Immer wieder die gleiche Sprache zu lernen, hat keine große Auswirkung auf mich. Also mache ich lieber Pausen von bestimmten Sprachen während ich andere lernen, und dann realisiere ich, dass, wenn ich eine Auszeit von einer Sprache nehme, ich sie vermisse. Wenn ich sie dann wieder aufgreife, bin ich motivierter und effizienter. Ich sage mir die ganze Zeit: Ich lerne für den Spaß und wenn es keinen Spaß mehr macht, dann sollte ich es nicht tun. Was ich damit meine ist, dass ich meine eigenen Regel mache und wenn es mich stresst, dann ändere ich die Regeln. 2. Du fühlst dich emotional nicht gut. Es ist so unglaublich normal sich ängstlich oder depressiv zu fühlen und es gibt Zeiten in deinem Leben, wenn diese Gefühle einfach zu viel für dich sind. Wenn es dir nicht gut geht, würde ich dir nicht raten, noch mehr Druck auf dich selbst auszuüben. Wenn ich mich traurig oder ängstlich fühle, bin ich nicht gerne hart gegenüber mir selber. Meine Priorität ist es zu entspannen und mich mit meinen Gefühlen wohlzufühlen. Ich nehme tiefe Atemzüge, ich rede darüber oder ich schreibe meine Gefühle auf. Aber ich werde mich nie dazu zwingen, eine Sprache zu lernen, wenn ich weiß, dass es mich nicht glücklich macht in diesem bestimmten Moment.

Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash

3. Du bist zu müde. Das Leben ist ausgelastet. Schule, Arbeit, Familie, Beziehungen, die neue Netflix Hit Show … du benennst es. Um zu leben braucht es Zeit und Energie. Eine gesunde Balance zu haben, ist nicht einfach, aber sehr wichtig. Zum Beispiel, ich bin sehr müde an Montagen, normalerweise, weil ich sonntags an meinem YouTube Kanal arbeite. Ich weiß, dass ich an diesem Tag mehr Schwierigkeiten habe als an anderen, also plane ich einen “leichten” Tag; und statt viel zu lernen, mache ich spaßige Sachen in meiner Zielsprache, wie zB. Serien anschauen, Musik hören oder Zeitschriften lesen. Wenn ich zu müde bin, kann ich nicht klar denken, also gebe ich mir einen Tag frei und fühle mich deswegen auch nicht schuldig, denn ich weiß, dass ich mich ausruhen muss. Zudem, wenn ich nicht genügend schlafe, werde ich launisch und dadurch werde ich schneller Falten bekommen, und das möchte ich wirklich nicht. 4. Du verbringst keine wertvolle Zeit mit deiner Familie und deinen Freunden. Sehr oft erwische ich mich dabei ein soziales Event zu vermeiden, weil ich, um ehrlich zu sein, viel lieber zuhause bleiben würde, um Vokabeln zu lernen und meine Aussprache zu verbessern. Was OK ist. Aber, meine Familie und meine Freunde sind auch wichtig und wenn ich mit ihnen Zeit verbringe, kann ich ihnen zeigen, wie viel sie mir bedeuten. Also sage ich ab und zu nein und bleibe zuhause, doch nicht jedes Mal. Es ist wichtig bei den Menschen zu sein, die man liebt. Der Subjunktiv kann wirklich warten, denn deine süße Großmutter, die dir ihre Geschichten erzählt, ist viel wichtiger. Geh aus deinem Zimmer, pausiere alles und verbringe Zeit mit den Menschen, die du am meisten liebst. 5. Du arbeitest härter, nicht schlauer. Wenn du jeden Tage eine Stunde lernst , aber noch nicht über die Grundlagen hinaus gekommen bist in einem Monat, würde ich dir raten deinen Lernprozess zu überdenken. Eine kleine Geschichte … Einst, habe ich begonnen ins Fitnessstudio zu gehen - es ist noch gar nicht so lange her - und ich hatte einen Trainer, der mir gesagt hat: “Wenn du einen Monat lang jeden Tag trainierst und keine Resultate siehst, dann machst du es falsch”. Am Anfang dachte ich, nun ja das ist Schwachsinn, solche Sachen müssen länger als ein Monat dauern. Aber dann analysierte ich es wirklich und wand es auf andere Aspekte meines Lebens an, und realisierte, dass es wahr ist. Es hat nichts damit zu tun, wie oft du es machst, aber wie gut du bei etwas bist, und nach einem Monat solltest du definitiv etwas Verbesserung sehen. Ich sehe dies immer beim Sprachenlernen: Leute, die zur Schule gingen und 5 Jahre Englisch gelernt haben und nicht einmal “Hello, how are you?” sagen konnten; Leute, die für 5 Jahre in einem fremden Land gelebt haben und nie die Sprache gelernt haben; Leute, die jeden Tag lernen und sich nach einem Monat weder wohlfühlen noch vorwärts kommen in der Sprache. Wenn du dich dabei erwischst, härter zu arbeiten, aber nicht schlauer, dann mache eine Pause und überdenke deinen Prozess. Analysiere was gut funktioniert und was nicht, ansonsten könnte es dir Stress, Frustration oder Angst bereiten und letztendlich gibst du auf, weil es dir “zu schwer” vorkommt. Ich muss sagen, ich mache das selbst, aber ich versuche in kurzen Zeitspannen qualitativ zu lernen. Es macht wirklich einen Unterschied. Sich Pausen zu gönnen, macht dich zu keinem schlechten Lerner, denn es ist gesund eine Balance zu finden. Ich weiß, ich sage das immer, aber Sprachen lernen muss Spaß machen, um effektiv zu sein. Also schaffe dir einen angenehmen Prozess, nicht einen, der voller Schuld und Frustration ist, und vergiss nicht ab und zu einen oder auch zwei Tage frei zu nehmen. Du bist ein Mensch und keine Maschine. Du kannst nicht immer perfekt sein und das ist gut so. Entspann dich einfach und genieße es. Mari

#language learning #take breaks #language #polyglot #language blog #langblr

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tpthvegebulevents · 6 years

Text

MAYHEM 2018 - WEEK 3 - [ANON E] “CLANDESTINE DOWNFALL”

Title: Clandestine Downfall

Rating: T

Genre: Cloak and Dagger, Fantasy, Fairytale AU, Horror, Dark Fiction, Mystery

TW: Violence, conspiracy for murder, assassination, injury description, poisoning, vomiting, death, graphic depiction of an autopsy, light smut, homophobic ideology

Reference: Excerpt from Richard III by William Shakespeare

Additional Requirements fulfilled: 1 and 2

Chapter 4: The Weeping Wounds

(Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7)