My repertoire as of late has consisted of more serious stuff, and so I decided I needed to throw a little humor in. Basically, the question of the day is this: Why can't women take a good-hearted joke from men? I mean, I've seen it repeatedly through my life. Whereas Eighteen is based off of a variety of people, Marron in this fic is actually based on my four-year-old niece, who is too smart for her own good.

Anyways, my dearest regards go out to Krillin and Dende. Please send them your well wishes, and I hope you enjoy this little anecdote.

Krillin shook his head in hope that Dende was faring off better than he was at the moment. At the moment, he was sitting alone on a king-sized mattress in a hotel room, his finger itching as he looked longingly towards the telephone resting only a foot away from him. He tugged at this lower lip nervously with his teeth and shut his eyes in disbelief of just how angry Eighteen was at him. It had only taken one, little joke about not letting the android get close to the ocean lest her cybernetics short-circuit, and within five seconds, the tall, defensive blond had stalked out the door and informed him to never contact her again.

After five years of marriage, a poor fellow would have thought it to be safe to harmlessly tease her about her robotic state. But it seemed that the further along they came, the more she tried to remove herself from her dark past. In a strange way, she was trying to amend her wrongdoings by letting go of her history as a killing machine all together, though Krillin could only suppose that she was a woman. With all of his experience with them, starting with Launch, he'd learned to accept their contradictory emotions.

He sighed before leaning back on the fluffy, white pillow. It was their anniversary, and all Eighteen had wanted was to have a little escape from the stresses of living in the Kame House. And so where did she want to go? Of course, she had booked their trip to another beach, something that Krillin thought to be pointless when he pointed out that they already lived on a beach. But no matter how tactfully he pointed out this oddity, he always found her fist ramming into his bald head.

And so the two had departed, and she had firmly told him that she wanted them to act like normal people, considering how deprived of all of the norms of society she had become after the unmentionable incident of Dr. Gero converting her into a machine. But how were a pair of Z Warriors supposed to be normal? They had just taken down a blubbery, pink demon the year before that had been resurrected by a shriveled, green wizard. And with their extended family as insane as it was, Krillin found it impossible to detach himself of the life he had begun building when he had trained under Master Roshi at thirteen years of age.

Yet, because it made sense to his wife, it had to make sense to him.

Krillin's black hair sank into the pillow, and he released a defeated huff of breath. It had all been going so well. They hadn't used ki or flying or anything out of the ordinary at all to Eighteen's satisfaction, but with one slip about how she might electrocute the rest of the beachgoers should she step into the highly ionized contents of the ocean, she had gone out the door. And to Krillin's great chagrin, she had left in only her bikini and a towel at her waist.

If a fellow tried hitting on her while she was off releasing her stress, Krillin would certainly be sorry with the hospital bill that would land on their doorstep. Though with all of the prize money Eighteen had stolen from Hercule in that World Martial Arts Tournament, they would have plenty to scrape by. But he felt sorry for any man who got on to the android's wrong side, himself included.

Women were difficult, though he hoped that Dende was faring off better with his daughter. They had needed somebody to take care of the four-year-old, and it had been a finicky process choosing just who would be a suitable babysitter. Whenever Krillin had suggested a residence during their plotting of the trip, Eighteen countered it with a ready argument and a fist of steel. When Master Roshi had offered to keep the four-year-old at the Kame House, all he received had been a leer from the young mother and a ki blast generating in her palm, ready to fling it at the pervert's head for even pretending that he knew the first thing about taking care of children.

And so it had been Krillin to come up with ideas, prepared to block any attack his dear wife might have flung at him with the supposed stupidity of his suggestions. First, Goku and Chi-Chi's names had rolled off of his tongue, but Eighteen had insisted that the family was unstable, what with the father always being absent and the mother possessing a hot nerve. Gohan's name was brought up, considering he and Videl had just gotten married, though Eighteen considered herself to be too considerate to inconvenience the young couple. Then had come the Briefs, though that was quickly nixed with Vegeta corrupting children right and left with his wicked ways. As for Yamcha, he was apparently off in the desert, and Tien and Chiaotzu were treated with an incredulity that seared through Krillin's small body.

It seemed as though every idea of his was ridiculous in the android's eyes, or at least until he finally brought up Dende and Mr. Popo. He was surprised after allowing this to slip from his tentative mouth that Eighteen's head perked up, and a sly smirk had spread across her face as though her husband had finally done something right for once.

So he had done something right, but now, it seemed as though Eighteen had forgotten that he was capable of doing such a thing. This hole he had dug himself into felt so deep that he wanted to curl up into a ball and shudder, forced under her relentless gaze with the power of a laser.

He most certainly hoped that Dende was doing fine with his daughter now. Marron couldn't have been any worse than Eighteen, though it seemed that more often of the late, the girl had been picking up some of her mother's worst traits, one including her bossiness. But, for the poor Namekian's sake, he hoped that Marron wasn't developing the same sensitivity towards mispoken words that her mother possessed.

If so, he had signed the Guardian of Earth up for a joy ride to HFIL.

Marron placed each dainty, pink shoe before the other as she tried amusing herself on Kami's Lookout, her chubby arm's held out on either side to provide her balance. She kept her large eyes focused on the ground before her lest she trip over her own feet, but every time she came upon a new tile, she would stumble slightly. At the urging of her father, she had decided to stay away from the ledge, though there was no incentive for her to even break that simple rule: she hated heights. When her father had brought her up here to this place that must have been the highest place in the world, she had kept her eyes firmly shut with her lips drawn into a stubborn pout.

There was not much that fazed her aside from heights, even when she would fall down on occasion and land on the hem of the pink dress she was wearing. Her mother called her stubborn, but whenever the android wasn't around, her father had always joked that she was just durable. 'Compatible with the steam wash' he'd quipped once, and though Marron herself had never understood just what was so funny about that, the strange Master Roshi got a chuckle.

Her sloppily done pigtails had begun to fall out even this early in the day, as the green alien who'd been forced to put her hair up that day had done it rather inexpertly. Marron supposed that it had been nice of the alien to have done it for her, though she still wasn't satisfied with the job. And so when one of her bright blue hairbands finally fell out, Marron stopped with this game of imaginary tightrope-walking, scooped the fallen hairband up from the ground, and ran towards the green alien.

Dende's face had shown different levels of discomfort throughout the morning. Though he enjoyed a change in his day-to-day life as Guardian of Earth, he had no idea of what to do with a four-year-old, and this was one area that Mr. Popo also unfortunately lacked expertise. He had complied to styling her hair again, cringing at the strange feel of hair, and then had simply sent her off. But he knew that he couldn't simply ignore her the whole day, as Eighteen had made it plain that, should the little girl feel neglected, the Namekian would pay heartily in blood and tears.

He had glanced at her occasionally to ensure she was preoccupied, and relief had swept over him whenever she seemed to be. But his heart seized when he sensed her ki heading towards his, and when he turned his head, she surely enough was skipping towards him in her innocent way.

His grip around his staff tightened as the girl stopped before him with half of her hair down, holding a hairband in her pudgy hand. She blinked several times and observed the fear clearly etched on his facial features before asking, "Will you put my hair up for me again? It fell out while I was playing - you didn't do a very good job."

Her high-pitched voice grated his sensitive ear drums, though he obliged. "O-okay," he stammered before taking the hairband from the little girl and taking the lock of hair in his hand again. He couldn't help but flinch with the odd texture, though that didn't stop him from fulfilling this small request. In fact, when she stepped back afterwards and pulled at her pigtail to make sure he had done a suitable job, he couldn't help but notice just how much he had improved.

"Thanks!" she squeaked again, gaining another cringe from the Namekian. Then, without any hesitation in her voice, she asked, "Do you want to come play with me? I'm really lonely. There isn't anything to really do up here."

This was a matter in which Dende believed himself to have very little real choice. Krillin had warned him about this passive way of assuaging somebody into getting them to do something, even if they went the more direct route of asking up front. And there was the matter of Eighteen that he would have to deal with if Marron complained about her stay later on. The android did frighten the Namekian - he was surprised that he hadn't passed out when she had fiercely demanded he take care of her little girl in that chilling tone of hers.

"Sure, I'll play with you," he said, managing a small smile as he looked down with pity at the small girl. She did look rather innocent, and after all, she was only four-years-old. He could surely outsmart her if he needed to.

But the Namekian hadn't taken two factors into account when assessing this matter, allowing her to pull him by the tips of his long fingers and closer to the center of the Lookout. First of all, she was a girl. Even at a young age, she possessed a power of manipulation with which she had sturdily wrapped her own father around her own, stubby pinky finger. And secondly, her mother was Eighteen. With the emblem of feminist values living in her household and molding her everyday life, it was difficult for the young girl to not think of herself as far superior to males.

Though he didn't realize it, his only safety was in listening to every command she gave.

The two made their ways to the palace entrance, and Marron released his fingers to skip up the steps that put her at a closer height to the lanky Namekian. Then, with her hands on her hips, she asked, "What do you like to play?"

Dende only shrugged, having not played a game in years. "I don't know," he said quite lamely, and Marron cocked her head at this response.

"Do you have any chalk? We could play hop-scotch if you do!" she suggested, though she immediately hung her head in disappointment as the Guardian of Earth shook his head. She twisted her large mouth into a pout to the side of her face before brightening up again, enthusiastically hopping up and down in that spot while exclaiming, "I know! We could play with dolls! Do you have any dolls? I only brought one."

Again, she was met with a solemn shake of the head and guttural rejection, ignoring the dismay with which Dende regarded this idea. He had a vague idea of what dolls were, though he had a hunch that they weren't something he particularly wanted to play with. But she didn't seem to take this hint as she continued, "That's okay, because we can share! Her name's Susan and she loves tea parties, and she's got black hair like my daddy, and she likes being dressed up, and she loves tea parties, and she can't stand boys, and she..."

But she cut herself off at this, and before she could even fetch the doll, Dende noticed a change in her stance. She placed her fists on her hips and, with her noseless visage wrinkled up in distaste, spat defensively as though the idea had just occurred to her, "Wait! Are you sure you're a girl? Boys can't play with dolls!"

The Guardian of Earth chuckled sheepishly at this and explained, "Well, you see, I'm not really a boy or a girl." At this, Marron's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Where I come from, we don't have boys and girls. There's only one type of person." He illustrated this point by holding his index finger up.

It took Marron a few moments to wrap her head around such a foreign idea, and Dende could only await her judgment as he observed her contemplative expression. However, he was caught off-guard as she once against furrowed her eyebrows and argued, "But that's impossible! You have to be a boy or a girl! Mommy and Daddy said that there has to be both a mommy and a daddy, or there can't be babies!"

As awkward as this conversation had the potential to be, Dende maintained a soft smile. "You see, in my species, there's not a mommy or a daddy! There's just one thing, and it's called a Namekian, though we prefer to think of ourselves as boys."

"But if you're not a boy, then why do you want to be called boys?" she asked, and she folded her arms once more against her chest in a defensive manner. She couldn't think of why anybody would want to be a boy, not for their life. From what she had witnessed through her four short years of life, women were way better, and stronger, than men.

Dende winced at this inquiry, not having an answer prepared for this one. His smug grin was wiped off of his face as he attempted to explain, "Well... I don't know." His answer came lamely, and he knew that the girl could sense the insecurity in it.

"Girls are better," she huffed, turning her face away cheekily. "If you don't think so, then you can leave. And I'll be sure to tell my mommy what you said."

Utter disbelief crossed his face as he stared at the confident, young girl who had just dismissed him from his own home. "B-but..." And he was at a loss for words. How was he supposed to explain that as ridiculous as it seemed to her that there was only one gender where he came from, it had seemed more ridiculous to him that humans and Saiyans were made up of two? But if he didn't back her opinions, she would report her findings to her android mother.

And Dende immediately realized that he was fighting an uphill battle.

She remained standing in that position for a minute longer while Dende considered his options. He could argue with a four-year-old in defense of his species, probably pushing her to tears with frustration and making him look very bad over all. Or he could do the less absurd thing and simply agree with her. Certainly, he didn't believe that girls were better, though it was better than facing a pummeling session from a certain blond android.

"Okay, okay, I agree that girls are better," he finally said, seeing the surprise light up her eyes. He waved his hands as a sign of peace in hopes that this would calm her sudden flare of temper.

But to his chagrin, the smile that blossomed on her face proved as sweet as the venom in her words. "Okay, then, if you think that girls are better, then you'll be a girl. Not a boy. And you'll play dolls with me."

It was difficult for the Guardian of Earth to comprehend that he had just fallen into a four-year-old's ploy, but the moment he did, he felt his right temple twitch. A headache was already beginning to throb in his brain, and he couldn't help but wish that he could just drop her off at the Kame House. This girl was too smart to be handled. It must have come from her mother's side.

He sighed with defeat, knowing that either way, he was a loser. It was either that he succumb to a little girl's wishes or he get beaten up by her mother. This just proved that women weren't simply difficult; they were impossible. He immediately pitied Krillin and any other man who decided he could put up with a woman, as this seemed like a greater task in all the world than presiding over the world itself. And it never helped when the woman in question was a highly-defensive mass murderer with an eye for style. And it certainly didn't help that she was an android, too.

Of course, this small experience with Marron was enough to convince him that a woman didn't have to be a robot to be evil. He only nodded with defeat, extending his hand for Marron to take once again before skipping into the palace to retrieve her doll with him. He couldn't help but shake his head as she repeated, "Her name's Susan and she loves tea parties..."

This was far worse than HFIL.