6I found it odd, that I would follow up on my Yamcha fic. It was intended to be a one-shot. Never wanted to go further than I did. But for some reason, for some enormous, agonizing reason… I felt I needed to do more.
Now keep in mind, I have no real sympathy for Yamcha as some do. Much of what has happened to him has been a result of his own behavior, his own choices, and that's part of the lesson he brings to the table in this series; owning up to your mistakes and shortcomings and moving on rather than living in the past. Suffice it to say… I do this because I have an appreciation for that. I love how each character, no matter the role, brings with them a life lesson, and while subtle, it's there for all to see. Perhaps that's the best way to get it across, too; not overt and preachy, no self-righteous self-aggrandizing characters who force-feed you your lesson like you have the mental capacity of a five year old (while wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and repeating an annoying catchphrase nonstop) but I digress.
And yes, I just had to do that. Flame away and read on.
It had been a while since Yamcha had found himself in this part of the proverbial town. Long ago he frequented places like this, enjoying the fear in the faces of locals as he heard them whisper about the Bandit of Legend who stalked the deserts. He'd fed on that fear as a twisted sort of respect, an ego feed he desperately needed.
Even after meeting Goku, after meeting… her… he'd still sometimes slip off. The ego feed was a powerful narcotic, not easy to slip away from. Then came the much heralded "Tenkaichi Budokai", the ultimate Martial Arts Tournament, no holds barred straight up combat to see who was truly the greatest warrior in the world. Of course he had to enter, had to test his legendary status against the best of the best. He was never one to turn a challenge down. Besides, he figured on an easy winWeren't many warriors on Earth who could call themselves a living Legend before even reaching adulthood, were there?
Then the humiliating loss had come. And back to the Taverns he sank, complete with their stink, their obnoxious patrons, their terrible alcohol… but there was at least the ego feed. Or so he thought. Losing in the first round of an internationally televised event to an old man had trumped whatever fear the locals had had for him. And so, dejected, he left the place behind, floating about only to the most isolated of locales hoping perhaps his legend had still outlived the Tournament in places where they may not have seen.
He did, that is, until Bulma had offered to take him in. Her family welcomed him, treated him as a person, and the girl herself had shown she cared for him deeply. Made him feel he'd had worth just because he was.. him. Not some legendary criminal, not because of fear, but because he was Yamcha. Other friends soon followed, as well as tutelage under the legendary Master Roshi, and even despite his second loss (and the broken bone that came with it), he'd held his head high. There was no shame to be felt among his friends, and he knew it.
Yamcha traced a finger along the bar, snorting as he examined the dirt caked onto his finger. 'Of course, my luck WOULD have me face Kami himself the next time around, wouldn't it?' He wiped his finger off on his sweat pants. 'Seems I just got all the bad luck. Not my damn fault I keep losing… not like I was given a fair shot.' The coming rush of air caused him to instinctively pull his finger back just in time to avoid getting his finger smashed by a bottle.
"Look, buddy," the bartender leaned over to speak above the throngs of drunken laughter filling the room, his rather generous middle covering half the distance of the bar between him and Yamcha. "Far be it from me to discourage a sale, but… y'do realize this is number 12, right? I mean, ya might wanna cut back a hair. This ain't exactly just beer, pal."
Yamcha roughly snatched the bottle off the bar and murmured under his breath. "Why don't you go comb out your giant mustache thing and leave me be, eh?" He giggled drunkenly at his own joke before taking a large gulp, smirking as he heard the bartender mutter something about him being an ass and hoping he caught something from one of the whores. 'As if I'd need 'em, old man.' He took another large gulp from the bottle, spilling as much as actually made it into his mouth.
He finally came up for air and whipped the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth and frowned. He wasn't really sure why he'd come back to this place after years away from it. He'd done so well a year or so ago. He'd managed to get over Bulma, for the most part, he'd worked his butt off to progress for the Androids. He shuddered. 'But then… nothing. I was so useless. Merely had a hand driven through me after I'd been drained of all my energy… and even that wasn't enough to give them a decent power boost before they just tossed me aside like an old toy.' He dangled the bottle from the ends of his fingers and watched it sway lightly. 'And now, here I sit, drowning my pain in cheap booze in a place I thought I'd left behind… full circle.'
He set the near-empty bottle down and was just about to order another when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Easy now, Yamcha," Came a familiar, slightly raspy voice. "Seems you've gone over the limit as it is."
Yamcha grinned and spun around on his stool. "Heeeeey, if it isn't old Three-eyes! What brings you to the old neighborhood?" He looked over Tien's attire; traveller's robes and a hood covering his most prominent feature. "Based on the threads, I'm guessing this isn't a social call… ah hell, where are my manners?" He held up the mostly empty bottle. "Drink? It's on me."
Tien wrinkled his nose slightly. "Sure smells like it. I'll pass." He turned away and called over his shoulder. "Hey! Found him, he's over here."
"Ah, great. One sec." Yamcha heard rather than saw the other as he tried to press his way through the cluttered bar. "Ouch… sorry… excuse me… my bad.. HEY! Don't get grabby pal. I do NOT swing that way…" Yamcha could help but laugh as a disheveled Krillin finally made his way to the stool next to him, shirt only half tucked and panting. "Damn drunks, I swear…" he looked over and cocked an eyebrow at Yamcha, currently grinning like a madman. "Glad you're enjoying yourself. But in all seriousness… what are you doing back here? I thought you were done with this."
Yamcha felt himself bristle a bit. "I'm here cuz I can be." He slammed the bottle down on the bar and clutched it defensively. "I'm sorry, didn't realize a grown man needed to ask permission from his so-called friends before having a good time."
Tien snorted. "Yeah, sure. Cheap liquor and cheaper prostitutes, drinking by yourself, looks like you're having all kinds of fun." Yamcha lowered his head. "Bundles…" he murmured. "Why do we even bother, man?"
Tien and Krillin both cocked their heads slightly. "What are you talking about?" Tien asked.
"The training. The fighting. The endless quest to try to become... better. Why do we even bother? We can't keep up with people like those Saiyans. We can't even put a DENT in the kind of power they have anymore." He swept his arm wide. "We push ourselves, we gain all this power, enough that we'd be gods among men and yet..." He slapped his palm down onto the bar. "Yet we get swatted aside like ants by these people every single time. So what's the use?"
Tien shrugged. "Well Yamcha, I can't speak for you, but I do it because my life requires discipline. I'm not exactly in this for superpowers; I'm in it because it's the only life I know. There's no other path for me."
Yamcha snorted. "Like Sisyphus constantly pushing a damn rock up a mountian... just a waste of time." He narrowed his eyes and looked over at Krillin. "And what about you, short stuff? What's your excuse for constantly banging your head against the wall?"
"Um... anyways... we should head back now. Everybody was worried about you, man." Krillin rested an elbow on the bar. "You just kinda dropped off the map, didn't tell anyone where you'd be. Bulma asked us to look for you, said you might be here…" he jumped when Yamcha suddenly gripped the bottle and smashed it on the floor.
Bulma. Just hearing that name made something in him snap… something building for a long time. Rational thought left him behind and one desire took over.
He wanted to hurt.
"Gee Krillin, that's real sweet of you to offer to help her," he growled. "Kinda pathetic though, really. I figured you'd be done trying to chase HER skirt by now." He looked over into his friend's face and saw pain. He smirked. "What's wrong, your little robot girlfriend reject you too?"
He felt a sharp jerk at the back of his shirt and found himself pulled to his feet and turned to face a very angry Tien. "What the hell's your problem? People are worried about you and you repay them by trying to hurt them?" He peeked over at Krillin who sat there, staring at the floor, rigid and silent. "That was uncalled for and you know it." He started to pull Yamcha toward the door. "I'm taking you back, you're too drunk for your own good right now.
Yamcha struggled and tried to break the hold of the taller man's hold, flailing his arms wildly. "Get your damn hands off me, let me go!" He swung an arm at Tien's head and missed, but caught the hem of his hood instead, whipping it off and exposing the unmissable Third Eye. Yamcha grinned and called out to the bar. "Hey! Everybody! Check out the three-eyed freak!" A collective gasp was heard as patrons saw the eye, unmoving in the man's forehead as Tien began to quake with a barely controlled anger. Yamcha smirked. "Go ahead, Tien… make it blink."
Tien's fist began to shake with a brealy controlled rage. "Yamcha, I'll warn you now. If you press this any further... you will deal with the full consequence of your choice. Are we clea-" He was cut off as a fist connected with the side of his face, forcing him to take a step back. Eyes wide with anger he looked back at Yamcha's sneering face, quite content with what he had done.
Without word, Tien grabbed a fistfull of Yamcha's hair and flung him headlong into the wall. Yamcha felt the impact only a little as he felt the wood give way and explode into a shower of splinters, the cool night air hitting him as he flew through the air. He used what little awareness he could muster to flip himself and ungraciously attempt to land on his feet before falling flat on his rear.
Shaking the plinters of wood out of his hair, he looked up to see Tien emerge from the newly-formed hole in the wall as the bar patrons screamed and scrambled out of his way. The tall man whipped his cloak off and cast it aside. Before it even cleared his vision, a foot impacted the side of his face, staggering him as he lost his balance and fell.
He picked himself up off the ground and glared at Yamcha, who was now in a wobbly form of his preferred fighting stance. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me." Tien smirked wickedly. "You're seriously gonna push this one?"
Yamcha merely beckoned him toward him. This had to happen, he told himself. Had to. "C'mon, Tien," he slurred out, "prove t'me that all that wasted time was really time well-spent. Lesse you prove you're not useless like the rest of us, eh?"
Tien glared at him as he raised his hand to chest level. "Y'know, I've taken WAY too much of your crap over the years. Always with the jokes, the insults, the quitter talk... and now I think it's about time I shut you up." He extended the index finger on his right hand and a familiar yellow energy sparked to life at the end of it. "Once and for all."
Well folks, that's it for now. Wanted to do this all in one, but the fight scene is giving me some trouble, so I'm splitting it in two. And yes, the other stories are being worked on as well.
Hope you enjoyed. See ya!
