Post by Lil Lemmy on Aug 6, 2005 13:13:22 GMT -5
A post from the DaizEX General Discussion Forum to explain things:
Interesting note, though, I've also dipped into serious fanfiction now and then too. There was a mid-length story I wrote concerning Vegeta . . . I'd post a few paragraphs here, but I choose to respect EX's wishes . . . that explored the seven year gap between Cell and Buu, and what "happened" (that would be the fan-fiction part) to change him from the cold warrior he was to what we see when he sacrifices himself during the Buu saga. Fun family stuff, you know.
I just recently completed that fan-fiction, but when I started to sift through the rough drafts to see if I'd missed any of the important ideas I wanted to layer into the story, I found two different prologues.
Anybody care to give their opinions on which would better suit the theme? One is short and one is long, and since I don't know which one I'll use, neither of them have been obsessively spell-checked.
PROLOGUE 1:
THERE WOULD BE NO WAY that the sleeping body who lay quietly beneath the spiky-headed shadow of the Saiyan prince could understand his own unique situation . . . and ignorance truly is bliss. The luxury of true innocence is given to a child and not his parents, after all; there would be no reason that little Trunks should wonder why he has a mother and a father. It was enough for him that he did.
Vegeta stood in complete silence, borrowing almost a statuesqe manner as he did so, and then at last his senses registered with him, causing him to look around. He had forgotten how darkened and quiet the night had become since he'd wandered here to come looking for the boy; it had been dusk then. The constant rush of passing cars just outside had become only an occasional nuisance since then, with the street istelf lit aglow with the streetlamps to guide them all home. The hour had grown late.
His eyes turned away from the couch where his son lay asleep and toward the corridor that led away and into the next room, which as he turned fully to leave now poured light onto his hard face and that brow that seemed perpetually bent in frustration . . . which was an effective mask, to say the least. There was never really any way for a person to read Vegeta's mind unless it was read to them by the man himself, but at the same time there was rarely any person worthy enough that Vegeta would care to do so.
Vegeta afforded his son a final glance as he began to walk off. "Well, good night."
And as he walked away, a slight growl issued from within and cause his upper lip to rise and reveal the frustration clenched between his teeth.
Perhaps it was just impossible for a man whose hands were so awash with blood to fathom that he could create life rather than bring its unending destruction. How could it have happened that someone with a heart so coldly frozen that his only consciousness had been of himself and his legacy, could have brought forth . . . of all things . . . someone to carry it into the future?
What had Vegeta done?
And then there's PROLOGUE 2:
FROM SOMEWHERE DEEP WITHIN a growl of resentment arose from Vegeta, who now stood battered and bloody in the shadow of death.
The shadow of death, indeed. How could this be? The most powerful threat to all of creation, with a reputation for incomparable destruction and genocide; had he *always* borne a look so pink and cheery that it belied the horrors the Supreme Kai had described in such frightening detail? Certainly it would have suited Vegeta better had Majin Buu's appearance reflected the ugliness and raw barbarity of a black heart, if he had resembled in the slightest the unholy monster he was reputed to be. The reality that stood before him instead was an insult. This amorphous pink blob was he who would topple the Prince of all Saiyans?
"Damn it all," came an angry mutter. Goku had been right after all. The horrific aura coming off of Majin Buu was so large and terrible that the absolute end of everything was plainly foretold within its signal, the raw power of which overwhelmed the senses of those capable of perceiving it . . . particularly, the acute senses of a Saiyan could read the underlying message of Buu's ki: that there was no escape.
A gloved hand came across Vegeta's mouth to wipe some of the blood away, and from behind it Vegeta's icy gaze glared an ominous wish of death. More than anything, he wanted this creature to die and become just another chapter in the long saga of his life as the Prince of all Saiyans, but envisioning the destruction of Majin Buu had become more and more difficult with every unsuccessful attack. Vegeta had tried everything he could think of to keep it from coming to this, but as it was the bejeweled clarity in his eyes revealed that only a single option remained if he wanted to win this. He could hold nothing back.
Buu's head tipped off to one side as he watched Vegeta, who had become a fascination. The prince had given no clues as to what the next move would be and who would be the one to make it . . . and so gored and bruised was Vegeta that the very question of whether he was even *capable* of making a next move could have tempted contemplation from even the most ferocious and battle-loving of his long-dead brethren.
But even as the blood of a good beating baked onto his aching flesh, there was just as definite a sign that Vegeta wasn't finished and had in fact just begun. His stance was not ailing and weak but completely confident; tall and proud with no sign of fatigue, his brow bent angrily under the weight of frustration and both fists clenched tightly over the victory he craved . . . it was a poignant echo of that Saiyan warrior who had once lived only for the next day's battle.
The focus in Vegeta's stare remained affixed to the pudgy pink demon, yet the greenish Super Saiyan hue masked something he kept to himself that was even more important . . . and with a twitch of recognition, the word was given. The moment he had been waiting for at last registered with his senses, causing his lips to rise with a smile of relief.
"Good," affirmed an inward voice. "Piccolo has gotten far enough away." And it was true; the life force of his Namekian ally had become increasingly distant and faint as it rushed headlong into the horizon, and along with it the risk that a titanic clash between Saiyan and Majin would cause accidental harm to young Trunks and the son of Kakarroto.
All of this was lost on Majin Buu. The unbelievable power he had been infused with was guided viciously by a single-minded craving for destruction that made it impossible for him to even consider the deeper issues of the battle . . . a battle he was intent on resuming. And with a huff of resolution, the monster ballooned quickly into a pink ball of air and then cut loose with a vapor whose teakettle whistle raised his already incredible ki to an even higher level. Buu was losing his patience.
And this, Vegeta realized, was where the line was drawn between him and Buu. Definitely, there had been a side to him, perhaps an inkling of which still lingered, that was very much like this mighty enemy, who would plow down anyone who stood in his way. It had never really mattered to him what race of people challenged him or how many, how strong or how weak; the Vegeta of old had buried them all in his long quest to find his place and the unequivocal respect of all the universe, and whether he would see Heaven or Hell at journey's end concerned him even less. But that's where the similarities were ended; while Buu was without reason or purpose, Vegeta was very much the polar opposite . . . there just wasn't any way for Buu to understand the motives of ruthless Saiyan pride or the burning desire to put to rest the question of who was the strongest; demons that had dogged Vegeta from the day he'd first drawn breath and followed him through battle after battle.
Nor was there a way for Buu to wrap his mind around even simpler instincts . . . the instinct to protect a loved one, and the sacrifices love demands a man make, Saiyan or not . . .
These were new, far more frightening demons that had been set loose from the Pandora's Box in Vegeta's head, things that the Vegeta of the past would never have allowed for . . . and for every bit of the seven long years since the Cell Games, it had pissed him off to no end that he could love or care. It had been a sincere hope that Babidi's magic would chase away these silly notions that had nested themselves firmly within his troubled mind . . . but even while under the wizard's enchantment, the truth Vegeta had denied himself for so long had not died or even diminished; it was instead magnified to the point where it had become as imposing and strong-willed as the spiky-headed Saiyan himself.
He had changed . . .
VEGETA'S ATONEMENT: The Untold Saga
Interesting note, though, I've also dipped into serious fanfiction now and then too. There was a mid-length story I wrote concerning Vegeta . . . I'd post a few paragraphs here, but I choose to respect EX's wishes . . . that explored the seven year gap between Cell and Buu, and what "happened" (that would be the fan-fiction part) to change him from the cold warrior he was to what we see when he sacrifices himself during the Buu saga. Fun family stuff, you know.
I just recently completed that fan-fiction, but when I started to sift through the rough drafts to see if I'd missed any of the important ideas I wanted to layer into the story, I found two different prologues.
Anybody care to give their opinions on which would better suit the theme? One is short and one is long, and since I don't know which one I'll use, neither of them have been obsessively spell-checked.
PROLOGUE 1:
THERE WOULD BE NO WAY that the sleeping body who lay quietly beneath the spiky-headed shadow of the Saiyan prince could understand his own unique situation . . . and ignorance truly is bliss. The luxury of true innocence is given to a child and not his parents, after all; there would be no reason that little Trunks should wonder why he has a mother and a father. It was enough for him that he did.
Vegeta stood in complete silence, borrowing almost a statuesqe manner as he did so, and then at last his senses registered with him, causing him to look around. He had forgotten how darkened and quiet the night had become since he'd wandered here to come looking for the boy; it had been dusk then. The constant rush of passing cars just outside had become only an occasional nuisance since then, with the street istelf lit aglow with the streetlamps to guide them all home. The hour had grown late.
His eyes turned away from the couch where his son lay asleep and toward the corridor that led away and into the next room, which as he turned fully to leave now poured light onto his hard face and that brow that seemed perpetually bent in frustration . . . which was an effective mask, to say the least. There was never really any way for a person to read Vegeta's mind unless it was read to them by the man himself, but at the same time there was rarely any person worthy enough that Vegeta would care to do so.
Vegeta afforded his son a final glance as he began to walk off. "Well, good night."
And as he walked away, a slight growl issued from within and cause his upper lip to rise and reveal the frustration clenched between his teeth.
Perhaps it was just impossible for a man whose hands were so awash with blood to fathom that he could create life rather than bring its unending destruction. How could it have happened that someone with a heart so coldly frozen that his only consciousness had been of himself and his legacy, could have brought forth . . . of all things . . . someone to carry it into the future?
What had Vegeta done?
And then there's PROLOGUE 2:
FROM SOMEWHERE DEEP WITHIN a growl of resentment arose from Vegeta, who now stood battered and bloody in the shadow of death.
The shadow of death, indeed. How could this be? The most powerful threat to all of creation, with a reputation for incomparable destruction and genocide; had he *always* borne a look so pink and cheery that it belied the horrors the Supreme Kai had described in such frightening detail? Certainly it would have suited Vegeta better had Majin Buu's appearance reflected the ugliness and raw barbarity of a black heart, if he had resembled in the slightest the unholy monster he was reputed to be. The reality that stood before him instead was an insult. This amorphous pink blob was he who would topple the Prince of all Saiyans?
"Damn it all," came an angry mutter. Goku had been right after all. The horrific aura coming off of Majin Buu was so large and terrible that the absolute end of everything was plainly foretold within its signal, the raw power of which overwhelmed the senses of those capable of perceiving it . . . particularly, the acute senses of a Saiyan could read the underlying message of Buu's ki: that there was no escape.
A gloved hand came across Vegeta's mouth to wipe some of the blood away, and from behind it Vegeta's icy gaze glared an ominous wish of death. More than anything, he wanted this creature to die and become just another chapter in the long saga of his life as the Prince of all Saiyans, but envisioning the destruction of Majin Buu had become more and more difficult with every unsuccessful attack. Vegeta had tried everything he could think of to keep it from coming to this, but as it was the bejeweled clarity in his eyes revealed that only a single option remained if he wanted to win this. He could hold nothing back.
Buu's head tipped off to one side as he watched Vegeta, who had become a fascination. The prince had given no clues as to what the next move would be and who would be the one to make it . . . and so gored and bruised was Vegeta that the very question of whether he was even *capable* of making a next move could have tempted contemplation from even the most ferocious and battle-loving of his long-dead brethren.
But even as the blood of a good beating baked onto his aching flesh, there was just as definite a sign that Vegeta wasn't finished and had in fact just begun. His stance was not ailing and weak but completely confident; tall and proud with no sign of fatigue, his brow bent angrily under the weight of frustration and both fists clenched tightly over the victory he craved . . . it was a poignant echo of that Saiyan warrior who had once lived only for the next day's battle.
The focus in Vegeta's stare remained affixed to the pudgy pink demon, yet the greenish Super Saiyan hue masked something he kept to himself that was even more important . . . and with a twitch of recognition, the word was given. The moment he had been waiting for at last registered with his senses, causing his lips to rise with a smile of relief.
"Good," affirmed an inward voice. "Piccolo has gotten far enough away." And it was true; the life force of his Namekian ally had become increasingly distant and faint as it rushed headlong into the horizon, and along with it the risk that a titanic clash between Saiyan and Majin would cause accidental harm to young Trunks and the son of Kakarroto.
All of this was lost on Majin Buu. The unbelievable power he had been infused with was guided viciously by a single-minded craving for destruction that made it impossible for him to even consider the deeper issues of the battle . . . a battle he was intent on resuming. And with a huff of resolution, the monster ballooned quickly into a pink ball of air and then cut loose with a vapor whose teakettle whistle raised his already incredible ki to an even higher level. Buu was losing his patience.
And this, Vegeta realized, was where the line was drawn between him and Buu. Definitely, there had been a side to him, perhaps an inkling of which still lingered, that was very much like this mighty enemy, who would plow down anyone who stood in his way. It had never really mattered to him what race of people challenged him or how many, how strong or how weak; the Vegeta of old had buried them all in his long quest to find his place and the unequivocal respect of all the universe, and whether he would see Heaven or Hell at journey's end concerned him even less. But that's where the similarities were ended; while Buu was without reason or purpose, Vegeta was very much the polar opposite . . . there just wasn't any way for Buu to understand the motives of ruthless Saiyan pride or the burning desire to put to rest the question of who was the strongest; demons that had dogged Vegeta from the day he'd first drawn breath and followed him through battle after battle.
Nor was there a way for Buu to wrap his mind around even simpler instincts . . . the instinct to protect a loved one, and the sacrifices love demands a man make, Saiyan or not . . .
These were new, far more frightening demons that had been set loose from the Pandora's Box in Vegeta's head, things that the Vegeta of the past would never have allowed for . . . and for every bit of the seven long years since the Cell Games, it had pissed him off to no end that he could love or care. It had been a sincere hope that Babidi's magic would chase away these silly notions that had nested themselves firmly within his troubled mind . . . but even while under the wizard's enchantment, the truth Vegeta had denied himself for so long had not died or even diminished; it was instead magnified to the point where it had become as imposing and strong-willed as the spiky-headed Saiyan himself.
He had changed . . .
VEGETA'S ATONEMENT: The Untold Saga