Language Barrier
by scoutergreen

Epilogue

Propped up by several of Bulma's huge goose feather pillows and completely absorbed in a chapter of Bonilla's book on cognitive processing and language learning, Vegeta followed the neat lines of text with his finger and occasionally paused to consider the academic's ideas. What the Saiyan knew about the subject of cognitive psychology amounted to zero, of course, but he still found the book quite fascinating. He tried to read a chapter every evening and even made a few notes in the margins.

"Hey, Mr. Smarty-Pants, what'cha reading about tonight?" Bulma emerged from her en-suite washroom, damp hair freshly washed and combed out, and dressed down in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top.

"Very funny. This text on language re-inforcement and social conditioning is fascinating. I do see he references other authors, somebody named "Skinner" and "Vi-got-sky"..."

"That's Vygotsky..."

Vegeta traced the line of text and realized she was correct. The written form of English was so very strange. "Huh... my point is, I do not know these other authors he references, and I'm only going to get so much out of human academia, which doesn't really interest me anyway. Anyway, I'm interested by the idea of the social re-inforcement of language, but I also realize now mood and tone of voice implicate a great deal in what you say here. Sometimes you and the others were talking about me without directly mentioning my name a lot... especially the Scarface."

Bulma's blood ran cold for a split second. Just what had he picked up on? Although Bulma never considered Vegeta a stupid man, she also hadn't fully realized just how intelligent he was: he'd practically picked up the ability to read and write in English, dedicating ninety minutes each morning, usually around ten thirty, once he'd warmed up his body and was in the mood for a snack. The Saiyan had requested a typical language program used in schools and universities so as to develop literary skills the same way humans did. Although Vegeta didn't really enjoy sitting down and learning something through a series of lessons, he was willing to try it, just to see how quickly he could become literate.

It didn't take very long at all. Within a month, Vegeta was capable of writing short notes (his penmanship was quite neat, although he had difficulty with punctuation and spacing) and could read text. He didn't take up reading as a major pastime, but he did occasionally skim through online encyclopedia entries on Bulma's tablet, looking up things such as "human hair growth" (the woman's frequently changing hairstyle left him very disturbed) and different martial art styles practised by humans.

Unsure if she wanted to know the truth, Bulma quietly asked the Saiyan about how he knew about when he was being talked about.

"Because you lower your voices and the rhythm of your words change. Cadence or some shit. The bald one would develop a... uh... fuck, what did they call it... it was like a vibration. His throat tightened right up. You think I haven't heard that kind of sound coming out of a voice box before? It's as though people decided I was a total fucking idiot all of a sudden, and I didn't like that," finally looking up from the book and his icy eyes locking on Bulma's, "because I'm way fucking smarter than you give me credit for. I think the only time there wasn't some hush-hush discussion about me was at Kakarot's house, but even then..."

Heh, the one time he didn't pick up on us talking about him was when he was at his most self-absorbed during this whole fiasco... very telling indeed...

"I don't doubt that whatsoever," Bulma eased herself onto the bed and scoffed at the number of pillows Vegeta used to prop himself up, "are you planning on sleeping here or something?"

"Mm, a good suggestion. Your sheets are fresh and mine are three days old..."

"Oh my Goddddd," Bulma reached for her cigarette case and was quick to light up a final smoke for the day, "you are just too much. But I'm happy you wanna spend the night here..."

The Saiyan shut the book and set it on the floor (it was where Bulma left plenty of other books anyway) before pulling off his top. "Save the cigarette, woman," he pulled it out of her fingers and stubbed it into the ashtray on her bedside table, straddling her in the process, "you can smoke after I'm done with you..."

Bulma giggled, kissed Vegeta's bare chest, and started to pull his shorts down. Every once in a while, they really did seem to speak the same language.

THE END