This chapter was fun to write… Once I found the time. I was allowed to massacre all the French lessons I've ever taken on PURPOSE.

Well, sorry for the delay. Hope you enjoy!

Goku leaned against a tree with grass once again stuck in his ears. Despite the makeshift earplugs, he could still hear the shouts that strongly resembled a tornado in sound.

A couple minutes back, Vegeta had finally lost his temper and in his rage attempted to blast Bulma to bits. In rescuing her Goku had by accidently sent the huge ki beam cureening into where the food had been placed. Had being the word. Sighing, he looked at the charred remains of the cooked fish he had worked so hard to create.

Now he had two angry, grumpy and hungry guests to deal with.

Those shouts of course were coming from the newly consecrated 'Least Likely Couple in the Universe'. Already, Goku had heard about twenty of Vegeta's famous 'I am the prince of saiyans and I have worked so hard than that baka Kakarot, so everyone should obey me' speeches and many words out of Bulma that Goku thought you could only hear on TV.

Kami, if you get me out of this I'll… I'll… Goku wasn't sure what sort of thing the namek wanted; he didn't exactly have a Christmas wish list. …I'll bring you your groceries for a week.

Despite the insanity of that hope, he looked carefully over to where the to-be couple were residing.

Perhaps Trunks was wrong about Vegeta being his father. Maybe some other saiyan came to Earth and that guy was his father. At that moment it felt a lot more possible than the future Goku had been told of. Something he might have even believed it if weren't for the fact that Trunks resembled his father incredibly.

"I am the prince of saiyans! First and last of my bloodline! Through every second of my life I have strived for the smallest of while you have just been handed them! And you think I should listen? You're soft, woman. Soft just like Kakarot!" shouted Vegeta, on his twenty-first self pity speech.

Soft like Kakarot? Goku thought, feeling exasperated. Every conversation he has somehow comes back to me. It's as if I am to blame for everything that goes wrong in his life. I mean, I didn't have Frieza destroy Planet Vegeta. I didn't force him to stay on Earth. And if he is so ticked off with me being stronger than him, he could try a different training method.

At this point, the prince marched over to where he was standing. "Kakarot, I wish to eat now," he demanded.

Goku felt his mouth go dry. "Uh Vegeta, remember when you tried to kill Bulma a couple minutes ago?"

He received a grunt in reply.

"Well, remember how I knocked the ki blast aside?"

"Get to the point, Kakarot."

"When I hit it… it sort of went straight to where all our food was."

There was a pause, then Vegeta shook his head and said: "You should have let me kill the woman."

Back at Roshi's island the gang stood in front of the television. Not sure whether to burst out laughing or to look on seriously, they ended up with rather weird expressions plastered on their faces, half between a grimace and a smile.

In the recesses of Yamcha's mind, an unsettling idea occurred to him and shifting his weight from one foot to another he glanced over at the witch. "Uh Baba, is this the first you've spied on someone?"

Baba stared back at and even through her bandages the two posy-coloured spots that suffused her cheeks were evident. Maybe she had more in common with her brother than he had thought and he and the other exchanged disturbed looks.

" Actually, I really don't want to know," Yamcha said quickly. If that were true he would never be able to change his clothes again.

Bulma covered his nose, trying to block out charred smell of what once was Goku's cooking. Her best friend was now getting a verbal beating from His Vegetable-Headness and seemed all too distressed. Poor guy. All that work for nothing. Still, she couldn't say that she regretted it too much that the food had met an untimely end. Though it actually had tasted pretty good, Bulma was highly suspicious of anything made by Son Goku. Already she could picture waking up with her stomach on fire from the little piece she had already eaten.

Feeling a little more cautious, she went to try and save the earth-reared saiyan from Vegeta's wrath. Despite the fact that she was used to Vegeta threatening to kill or maim her (which he did on a daily basis) and at times throwing small ki balls at her, this was the first time he done anything of the sort with Goku around. He was willing to do this sort in front of his rival it could mean that he could be serious.

For all the bravery she had shown in the past, Bulma Briefs didn't fancy the idea of dying because such an arrogant, self-serving, pea-brained… Get a hold of yourself, girl. Stay calm. Stay calm. Maybe she was overreacting.

"Vegeta," she said not angrily but firmly. Maybe she was being too hard on him.

"LEAVE ME ALONE, WOMAN!" Or maybe not.

Without thinking she bellowed back: "IT'S BULMA!"

A heavy sigh came from Goku. "Guys please. If we can try to get along…"

"Why should I? He just finished wrecking all that food!"

"Then we could go out."

To her it felt like an icy chill had gone done the back of her neck and her danger sense started tingling. A simple equation popped into her head.

TWO SAIYANS + NORMAL PEOPLE + FOOD = DANGER

Unfortunately for Bulma, her mouth had a tendency move before her brain (a habit she had picked up from her mother). "Okay, that sounds like a good idea," and blinking she realised what she had uttered.

"Great, I know a place in town where we can go. The guy who runs it said I could eat there for free."

I wonder if that guy knew what he was getting into when he said that?

Pires du Snubé neatly placed a pure white towel over his left arm, then tightening his bow tie, glided from the kitchen into the main part of his restaurant. His feet moving lightly over the newly carpeted floor, he nodded and smiled at various customers occasionally making helpful suggestions for what meals to choose (which, for some unexplainable reason, were always the most expensive things on the menu).

"'Scuse me, sir. I was wondering if you could give my brothers this place's kid menu," said a teenage girl, smiling up at him and indicated to the two little boys she was sharing the table with.

"Doo iee look like un waiter?" Pires asked, with a thick French accent.

"Uhmm, maybe a little bit like one," she answered carefully, hearing the warning in his tone. "The towel sort makes you~"

"Well I am not! I am the owner of this place and I deserve respect," he growled, his accent completely gone. He wasn't actually French. His name wasn't even Pires du Snubé. It was Peter Denis Snub, but he had always figured that if he seemed French he would get more business. Sadly, he had to still to deal with brats like this.

"Sorry," said the girl.

"Sorry est not goodé enough! Iee suggesté if tu want to 'ave un kids menu go to the restaurante across la rue!"

"Some people," she grumbled, her turquoise eyes flashing at Pires and grabbing her brothers' hands she dragged them out the door. Unknown to her, if she had been one second slower she would have banged into a grumpy Prince Vegeta and become a pile of ashes.

"Human females," muttered Vegeta under his breath and sent a glare at the girl who had rushed by him. He noticed the poor males who were trying to keep up with her so not to fall on their faces.

In truth he was unsure why he had even come here. If he wanted food he could go hunting, he didn't have to cook the meat. On Planet Vegeta cooked meat was rarity usually restricted to aliens, and a saiyan's stomach did not react badly to it like a human's did. It wasn't that they hated cooked food but the fact that when it came to waiting to eat they didn't have much patience if any. How Kakarot had done it with those fish baffled Vegeta.

If he wanted company, which at the moment seemed highly unlikely, there was always the other earthling fighters. They, unlike the woman, were affected if he threatened to kill them. So if he wanted quiet, he'd get it.

Taking a moment to think, Vegeta realised he had to give her some credit. Most people were terrified of him with the exception of Kakarot and possibly Piccolo. They had good reason to be. Yet the woman was rarely scared when he was around. She had to know how strong he was. More to point, she knew this and still she argued with him.

Reluctantly, he felt a trace of admiration. She was suicidally brave. He had to give her that.

"Bonjer, Monsieurs and Madame welcome to Noirriture Palace. I am your host Pires du Snubé." Vegeta looked at the skinny man in front of him. He strongly resembled a toothpick and Vegeta doubted that he had trained a day in his life. The dark moustache, which the man kept on twirling with one hand, seemed more like two leeches attached to his upper lip. And what was with that weird talking?

"Hi, I am Son Goku. I met you about ten years back. You said at the time that I could eat free at your restaurant."

"Eat free at my restaurant?" said du Snubé and pressed his lips. "Well, Mr. Son… Mr. Son… MR. SON? You mean you're the Son Goku from the World Tournament ten years back?"

"Yeah, that's when me met."

"Well come in… er… I mean comé in à mon restaurante." Quickly, Pires all but ran over the nearest table and shoved its angry and rather annoyed occupants, an elderly couple, out of their seats. "Sit down here."

"But what about those other people?" said Goku.

"They were just leaving."

"No, we weren't!" said the old woman.

"Very funny, Madame McTarger," interrupted Pires giving her an especially hard shove.

Promptly pushed her and her husband out the door and rushed the human and two saiyans into the newly acquired seats.

Du Snubé gave a smile that reminded Vegeta of when Frieza saw something he had something unpleasant in mind.

Yamcha frowned as du Snubé ran away from his customers, dashed into the kitchens and grabbed the phone hanging on the wall. "What's Mr. Snobo up to?" he muttered, but in truth he knew all too well of what was to come.

During, and well after his career as a professional baseball player, this sort of thing had happened to him. It was never pleasant. And because of them, many people believed he was a pimp, had twenty wives, and was the secret heir to Earth's throne. For crying out loud, the king was different species, but for some reason that didn't matter to those who believed it.

"Snobo is calling the tabloids."