"Vegeta!" Scowling, the reigning prince of an almost extinct race of irate space monkeys snorted at the summons, brow furrowing even further as he dug into the package before him on the food littered table. Delicately seizing the object of his confectionary craving, the Saiyan no Ouji pulled the stout crystal glass toward him and repeated the motions taught to him with chibi conviction by the only thing he considered worth his time nowadays. His daughter.

Twist…Lick…Dip…

Retrieving the soggy chocolate circle from its milky swim, Vegeta popped it into his mouth, settling back into the chair and lacing his fingers behind his head as the rich, satiating mass dissolved delightfully on his tongue. Closing lethargic ebony to the midafternoon sun that shone glittering rays on the floor at his feet, the small Saiyan chewed the gooey glob with relish. Few things were as satisfying as good food. True, fighting and fucking were top and prized priorities, but there was something so simply gratifying about quality cuisine…

And it's not like they'd just had piles of boxes marked 'Hershey's' in stock on Frieza's ship. Yeah, right behind the frozen pizzas and outdated TV guides. Whatever.

"Dammit, Vegeta!" Damn. His ever popular 'ignore them until they leave you or kill you' method didn't seem to stand up to the onna's unchallengeable 'there is nothing more annoying then the way I say your name' technique. Thwarted by those fucking humans yet again. Gritting his teeth, the prince in calling cracked open an uninterested eye. This has better be good. The woman knew better than to disturb him between the hours of 6 am and midnight.

There was always the six-hour allotment for his dick. But never in the daylight. And that wasn't a mistake.

"Fucking blue hair…" Straightening in his chair, dragging it closer to the table with the hooking of his feet in the legs, the Ouji reached for something to make the persistently growing chatter more tolerable. That is to say, he never destroyed with his mouth full. He was a prince after all. There were manners to consider. It was more polite to chew, swallow, and then wreak destruction. He didn't know how many good meals had gone to shit because he'd forgotten that simple rule of etiquette…

"Vegeta?" The heiress of Capsule Corporation poked her brilliant blue head around the corner of the kitchen door, frowning in irritation as she spotted the spiky haired bane of her entire adult existence. It wasn't bad enough she had to deal with the company--running a monopoly was so taxing--but to have a middle aged brat throwing tantrums in her home at every given turn was more than exhausting. That and breaking the toaster. What was so friggin hard about pushing down a button?

One more Black & Decker and she was going to shrink his gravity chamber to the size of breadbox. Oh, he'd still fit, but his ego would be forced to watch from the window, the shrimp…

"Where the hell have you been?" Flipping back a length of recently curled cobalt, the woman fought to fit the gold post into her ear, wincing as she missed completely and punctured the fleshy lobe. Glaring hatefully at the relaxed form as he sneered derisively before parting the two chocolate discs with a sharp snap of his wrist, tantalizing tongue removing the sweet cream filling in one long, slow lick…

Sexy heathen mother fucker. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she shifted uncomfortably as the familiar tingle between her legs brought an undesired heat to her chest. Great, she was not going to change her underwear again before she left; she was already late. Lips tightening in a fine line of Briefs determination, Bulma slid the backing onto her earring.

"I have to go." Vegeta's brow arched as he joined the unglued halves, provoking sable lifting condescendingly from their view of the crumbly cookie in his hand.

"Hn. Baka na. The bathroom's down the hall." Huffing her agitation, she brought both hands firmly fisted to her waist.

"Trust the freeloader to tell me where the rooms in my house are." Clashing, cerulean challenged obsidian to a dual of glares and grunts of irritation.

"Bitch."

"Bastard."

"Hn." Wrinkling her nose, the taller of the two broke the staring contest, more intent on the battle she was suiting up for than the utterly hopeless contest of wills before her. The man was impossible. Let him have his petty glories. It's not like he was worth anything more than a good lay anyway.

"Whatever, Vegeta," she waved her hand dismissively, gaudy gold jingling down her wrist as she moved from the doorway to gather her coat from the rack. "I know this is just going to stun your ego," rolling her eyes again, the woman slid the designer wear over one arm, "but I have better things to do with my time than argue with you."

Dunking the chocolate chunk into the thick white of his glass, the prince snorted. "You wish you did."

Glaring hotly in his direction, Bulma jerked the material over her shoulders, huffing as she pocketed the keys. "You infuriating little shit! You're good for nothing---"

"But getting you off." Sputtering her frustration, crimson seeped down her collar, heels clicking angrily as she turned.

"At least I last more than two minutes!" Narrowing piercing obsidian, leaning forward in his seat, the Ouji smirked.

"Green doesn't become you, onna. It clashes with your hair." The woman renown for her brilliance, her wit, her work, could only stand there, pretty in pink as the father of her children gave her the look that had both enchanted and exasperated her from the very moment they had met. Everyday was like a Kami-damn sparring match! Just once she'd like to walk through the kitchen without dodging the insults he constantly threw her way. She used to think it meant he loved her. Years had taught her the annoying truth. He did it because he was bored.

Settling back into his chair, the victorious grin sank deeper into its confident position. Crossing his ankles on the chair across from him, the Saiyan arched an ebony brow and waited for the next round. A useless alternative to a real fight, but it kept the blood flowing…

"Like I said," giving the man her back, Bulma buttoned her blazer with curt, irritated motions. "I have to leave." Leaning around the jutting seat that propped his royal pain the ass' absurdly small feet, she lifted her cell phone from the charger, checking it once with a high-pitched beep that had him grimacing before parting her purse and dropping it inside.

"You," determined cerulean gave no room for argument, "will go pick up our daughter from school."

Completely disregarding her announcement, the Saiyan prince removed his prize, pleased to see it saturated to his specifications. "The girl is quite capable of flying."

"If I had wanted a bird, Vegeta, I would fucked one." Shaking her head, sapphire curls framing her face, Bulma held up one hand, almost sorry for her impulsive epithet. "Not a word, dammit. Not one word."

Vegeta licked his fingers, savouring the morsel as it perished in his mouth. Grunting, cocking an onyx eye upward, he pushed back the package and relaxed again, folding both arms decidedly over his chest.

"The boy can't do it why?"

"Is it so hard for you to do this one thing? Are you that incapable of getting your lazy alien ass off my furniture and picking up your daughter?" Her vexation almost made him chuckle. Tightening his lips so not to smile, the small Saiyan titled his head condescendingly. That was beside the point. The onna knew his shows came on at 2:30…

"Oh, don't you dare give me that look, you--you primate! You mutation of scientific theory! Get your furry ass off the chair and--"

"My ass is not furry." Glancing over his shoulder, the man shook his head with mock chastization. "How they call you a genius I will never understand…"

"I'm going to kill you." Bowing her head, soft curves caressing cheeks amplified scarlet in the golden afternoon haze, one well-manicured hand pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm going to put rat poison in your food and watch you eat every bite, I swear it."

He had her now. Grinning in cheshire triumph, the Saiyan no Ouji ran slender fingers through upswept sable to intertwine at his nape.

"Then I guess you'd better get that vibrator fixed, ne?"

Trunks winced as his mother's shrill voice echoed through the solid foundation of Capsule Corporation, blowing the lavender strands that tickled his nose from his face. Rolling pale blues toward the ceiling, the teen flipped the page in his comic book, fingers pausing to scratch absently along his hairline as his best friend arched a brow and looked from him to the door downstairs before sipping loudly from his plastic cup.

"Your mom tell your dad he has to pick up Bra?"

"Uh huh." A crinkling of paper as another slick page was turned.

"Thought so." Quiet…then the sharp crash of a wooden chair hitting the floor, the crystallization of a glass as it connected with hard tile, and the heavy bang of the backdoor. Seconds later it was accompanied by another, the curses of an unearthly language drifting through the open window as the older boy's father revved the jet car with a muttered wish for his female counterpart to meet a particularly heinous demise at the hands of her hairdresser before deliberately abusing the engine as he turned the wheel sharply and sped toward his daughter's school.

"That sucks you can't drive, dude."

"Yup." Goten kicked his feet back and forth thoughtfully before stuffing another Dorito into his mouth, wiping the crumbly orange signature on the faded denim of his thigh.

"Guess we shouldn't take your mother's car drag racing anymore, ne?"

"Hn." Trunks glanced absently to the window, sparing a moment for the unfortunate loss of his license. "I guess not."