Chapter Text
Vegeta landed on the window sill, pulling up the nailing pin. The smooth metal knob slipped from his sweaty fingers. He cursed, twisting the pin between them. After three failed attempts, he unlocked the window and entered his room, leaving the window ajar.
Today's blazing heat coiled around the body, scorching the skin. The still and dry air burned the lungs and throat like liquid fire. Vegeta wiped his wet forehead and took off his black sneakers. He needed a cold drink and a shower.
"Feels like home, eh?" He chuckled, shrugging off his backpack. Eshalo bounced out of the bathroom, meowing and rubbing against his legs.
Vegeta cracked a smile, caressing her sleek, black fur. "Honk, honk. Did you sleep in the sink again?"
Eshalo squeaked, hopping on his knees. Vegeta sagged against the wall, pinching his nose bridge.
"Maran will stop by today." He mumbled to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Eshalo loafed on his knees, staring at him with her round, yellow eyes. Vegeta sighed, massaging his aching temples. He managed to recover from the scepter disease but still suffered from vertigo, chesty cough, and decreased appetite. His muscles were tense and sore, so each move he made was slow and cramped.
The SCEAP-20 outbreak caused the death of thousands of Earthlings and dozens of Saiyan people. The typical indication of the disease was chest pain, high body temperature, and weakness. The Saiyan community was struck by a gruesome symptom of rapid ki sap to fatal levels. As someone noticed, "The marhana artists are going to be bloody rich after the pandemic ."
Vegeta picked Eshalo under her belly and put her on the floor despite her protesting meows. He had less than two hours to shower, snack, and doze off. Maran was a punctual lady who would make it on time, no matter what. He yanked down his jeans and shook off his red button-down shirt, dashing them to the laundry basket.
He stepped into the shower, turning the water dial. Lukewarm water rivulets trickled down his dry and heated skin, relieving his stiff and sore muscles. Vegeta rested his forehead against the cold and wet tiles, losing up and closing his eyes. The faint aroma of spiced shower gel soothed his warped mind.
After the shower, Vegeta strode to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, inspecting its content - a jug of homemade turmeric-ginger tea, a couple of eggs, and a jar with peanut butter. Okay, it's time to stock up. Vegeta grabbed the jug and closed the fridge. Maybe there is something in the pantry? Oh, a protein bar. Will do.
He poured the tea into the glass, chewing the protein bar idly. He has to take a look at Nion's old recipe book. She was a matchless cook, but her handwriting was a puzzle by itself. Vegeta thought about rewriting the recipes or typing them down. After decipherment, of course.
Vegeta bit his finger, trying not to howl. He couldn't get the image of his late kin mother out of his mind, reliving that dreadful moment over and over again.
"Mother?"
Vegeta stood in his mother's bedroom doorway, staring at her bed. Nion lay motionless. Her eyes closed, and from what he could judge, she wasn't breathing. Her pale lips were slightly open, and dark circles had formed under her eyes.
Vegeta dropped the keys on the floor, rushing to his mother. He tugged the sleeve of her shirt, trying to trace the pulse with his shaking hands. Her hand was so cold, so stiff. He sensed that she had passed away, but he didn't want to believe it. Nion was a physician at Black Star hospital, and it was a matter of time before the scepter disease hit her. And now, it took her away.
Vegeta struggled to back up on his unstable feet. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, calling 911. Shattered thoughts ran through his feverish mind. He had to go to Semphire temple on WST 9678 street and order a funeral pyre. He had to find a marhana artist. He had to clean and disinfect her apartment. Ama'h, there is so much to do.
When the police and the ambulance arrived, Vegeta tried to stay calm and collected. He answered the paramedic's questions in a monotone voice while gazing at his mother's lifeless body. Maran came as soon as possible, barely containing her rage and tears. Vegeta never saw her like this before. After everyone left, Vegeta and Maran started to clean up their late mother's apartment, collecting her belongings and packing them into black trash bags.
The memories of the funeral swirled into foggy and obscure pictures. Vegeta remembered the pyre ashes' sharp odor, the orange and red flames illuminating the night skies, and the faint scent of burning hair. He and Maran stared blankly at the pyre, saying farewell to the woman who put her life to raise and protect them. Two days later, he fell ill.
Vegeta swallowed the remains of his tea, tossing the crumpled package into the trash. He shuffled to the bedroom and slumped against the mattress, allowing himself to unwind.
His mobile rang next to his ear, making him jolt upward. Vegeta grabbed the phone, glaring at its screen. Maran. He answered the call, "Yes?"
"Hey there." Maran's deep, soothing voice flowed from the phone. "Can you open the door, please? My hands are busy."
"Hold on for a second." Vegeta's voice was raspy after sleep. "I'll put some clothes on and come over. My beauty sleep took longer than expected."
"All good." Maran sighed. "I brought some food. You must be hungry and have nothing edible in your fridge, am I right?"
Vegeta stumbled in his sweatpants. "How did you?.." Pulling the pants up, he placed his mobile between a shoulder and an ear. "Witchcraft?" Maran chuckled, "Call it a woman's intuition."
Vegeta grumbled, pulling his tank top over his head, "I'm coming."
He got off the phone, tossing it on the bed.
Vegeta dawdled to the door, opening it. Eshalo frisked behind him, chirping with excitement.
Vegeta observed the bags crowded next to his sister's legs, "Need a hand?"
Maran slid through the doorway, carrying plastic bags from the supermarket, "Yes. It will be nice."
She placed them on the floor, puffing away a strand of her hair. Vegeta dragged the rest of the bags inside, closing the door, "You know you could call me beforehand, right? You raided the store."
"Considering your appetite? I did." Maran smirked, heading to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water, finishing it in a couple of gulps. Eshalo came to her, purring and nuzzling against her legs. Maran smiled, picking her up and scratching between her ears.
Maran was a slim, elfin woman in her early thirties. Despite the hot weather, she wore a knee-length black dress and black flats. Big, round sunglasses stuck up in her messy auburn locks. Two thin scars crossed her right eye, going down her cheek. Her eyeliner smudged a bit, but it didn't bother her much.
She kicked off her shoes, tossing her bangs aside, "They completed the piece?"
"He. Yes. " Vegeta unpacked the bags, placing the groceries into the fridge and pantry. "I must admit he did a smart job."
He collected the bags, tucking them into the disposal. "The recommendations matched my expectations."
Maran nodded, staring blankly at the wall. She scratched between Eshalo's ears, slightly rocking in place. After a short pause, she asked with a cracking voice, "Can I see it?"
"Before the shaihab repast?" Vegeta glanced at her, raising his eyebrow. Maran sniffed, clearing her throat, "You are right. My apologies."
She took a deep breath, putting Eshalo down. "Did you find our mother's cookbook? She had some simple recipes up there."
"Depends on what you call simple ." Vegeta shrugged, spreading his hands. "If you are talking about the khida, then yes ."
Maran shook her head, chuckling, "You lazy bum. It is a simple recipe! And I think we got the ingredients for this one."
Vegeta rolled his eyes, walking to his room, "I'll bring the cookbook. Let's deliberate about the menu later."
When the food was ready, Vegeta and Maran moved the furniture away to make space to put the rug on. When Vegeta unrolled it, Eshalo hopped over it, stretching and clawing the rough kadda fabric.
Maran scowled at her, carrying the stewpot, "Shoo, shoo! Not now, Eshalo."
Vegeta shook his head, getting up, "Foolish cat. You have to take part in any activity, ain't you?"
"Maybe she wants to join the repast." Maran placed the stewpot, trying not to spill the gravy. "She is a family, too."
Vegeta crawled from the mat, snickering, "Eshalo can join it, but having cat food."
Eshalo rolled on her back, folding her paws. Vegeta propped his hands on his hips, "You little beggar. You'll get food, but yours! Now, get the hell out of the rug."
Eshalo let a short "mew!" and gaited away.
Maran nestled on the rug, crossing her legs. The customary shaihab meals were served in front of her. According to tradition, the fares were modest and effortless. Maran stared blankly at the plates, trying to distract herself from grim thoughts.
Vegeta entered the room, holding a gray box. He rested the box on the chair next to the rug, trying not to drop it. Maran grasped the hem of her dress, giving him a desperate look. Vegeta bit his lower lip, pressing the button behind it. Maran gazed at the box, and tears shimmered in her eyes.
Inside the box was a sculpture of her mother's face. Dark-blue strands of artificial hair framed her waxy face cascading down her neck. Her vacant stare pierced into Maran's anguished soul. Maran admitted to herself that Vegeta was right about the sculpture's quality. Nion's sharp yet, fragile features got precisely captured by the artisan who worked on the relic.
Maran released her grip, and two large tears trailed down her cheeks. Her shoulders quivered, and short cries slipped through her clenched teeth. Vegeta approached her, placing his hand on her shoulder, "I told you not to hold on until reaching boiling point."
"You are doing the same." Maran hiccuped, pulling a napkin from the pile. "However, the marhana artist created a masterpiece."
She blotted her eyes, curling her lower lip. Grayish trails of tears and mascara stained her tanned cheeks. Vegeta glanced at her, squeezing her shoulder, "We both do. Have some water, and grab a pillow if you need to kick something later."
Maran plastered a smile, balling the used napkin, "Smartass."
Vegeta knelt beside Maran, letting go of her shoulder, "Let's dedicate this meal to our mother's memory. Do you want me to dim the box?"
Maran shook her head, gazing at it, "She enjoyed watching us eat. Mother always got us the best food she could find, even in hard times." Vegeta slumped his shoulders, nodding slowly. Eshalo returned to the mat, snuggling next to Vegeta's legs.
Despite the hunger, Vegeta couldn't eat. His throat spasmed, and he had to shovel the food down. Maran barely touched the meal, running her fingers through Eshalo's thick fur on her back and tail. Occasionally, she glanced at the box with Nion's portrait.
Vegeta noticed this and placed the fork on the plate, "Do you want to take it?"
Maran shuddered and lowered her gaze, "If this is okay. You were the one who arranged the burial and the artist's rituals."
"It is." Vegeta examined his toes. "I don't have a proper place to store it. Do you? A cold and ventilated one."
Maran's eyes brightened, "Yes, I do. There is a nook next to my bookshelves in my workroom. It can fit."
"Mondo, cool." Vegeta relaxed his shoulders. " I'll visit her from time to time in your place."
He dug his eyes into the box. "Do you hear it, mother? I'll stop by."
Maran playfully poked his side, "Hey, when did you become that soft?"
Vegeta gave her a deadpan glance, "You didn't see it. Deal?"
A weak smile touched Maran's lips, "Deal."