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Bulma had grown accustomed to Goku and his little tight-packed group to be missing every now and then.
Returning in tatters, precise stricken bruises and cuts, twisted ribs and now? currently torturing the Capsule Corp staff for more servings of food every minute.
(Save for Piccolo, who is sipping bottled water unassumingly in the corner of a seat, squeezed with Gohan and Trunks inhaling platter after the next.)
It's a strange, clashing feeling you get once the aftermath comes by. Of course this is something she needs to get used to, she's standing in front of a green alien right now virtually.
No–scratch that.
She's standing near three.
A pair of them are hybrids of a long extinct warrior race that used to decimate planets and civilisations in a worldwide galactic colony for both profit and sport, and one of them—another history of her-son but also not really her-son?—was sent from another timeline in the future by absurdly enough, herself, to go save this current one.
Ignoring the fact that Trunks’ idle existence here is enough to send the entire history and field of current and past physicists into mass–induced aneurysms for seven days and seven nights until thousands of highly acclaimed academic works on the concept are either corrected to be up-to-date with new information gathered or simply forever omitted. A complete revolution.
In comparison to a lot of people, Bulma could handle a lot of inane—almost fantastical—things.
That doesn't mean she doesn't get to ask any questions however.
“What's so special about a supposed “Legendary Super Saiyan„ again?” She repeats, giving a look to both a hesitant Gohan and Trunks “Aren't you all just about Super Saiyans now? It's quite an old-played trick.”
If Vegeta had heard what she had said—if he was possibly in the room or had overheard walking by—he'd have huffed straight to her about how such a race of weak Earthlings couldn't understand true power even if the entire population had been slapped with it every morning, noon and night before flying off, she notes wryly.
“This one was different.” Piccolo responds.
“How so?”
It took him a minute to actually describe what exactly was different until he finally decided on something.
“He was green.”
A tangible silence took over, I didn't know whether to smack him or dig deeper. Sure, Super Saiyan hair could turn into an electric glowing yellow, but green?
“..He was green? How does that explain anything? You're green.”
Piccolo grumbles, not interested in telling more by turning around until Trunks adds on. That's my boy!
“As far as we know apparently the whole thing started as a personal vendetta against Vegeta's father by a Saiyan named ‘Paragus’. His child, Broly, was also–” Trunks stopped himself, stuck on the same thing as Piccolo, on how to describe it.
“Really strong.”
I was starting to contemplate throwing something at somebody. What measure exactly? Goku is strong. Vegeta is strong. Even goddamn Yajirobe was strong! A little detail here everybody!