Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

Captain Yamucha sat in his quarters, the fine desk before him, and an open box settled in the center of the broad surface. He reached a rough, bare hand over to search through the shallow bottom of the box. As he found what he wanted, a bulbous, quarter-sized piece of chocolate, he brought it to his lips. He popped it into his mouth eagerly, tilting his head back slightly as the luxurious candy with the caramel center melted over his tongue.

He was enjoying that moment of intense, chocolate-induced bliss when a loud, brash knock came at the door. He swallowed the candy roughly and sat up abruptly. He quickly threw open a drawer and tossed the haphazardly capped box into its depths. He slammed the drawer shut with his foot, looking up expectantly at the door when it opened at about the exact same moment.

“Captain, it is time for the ceremony to start,” announced the young soldier at the door.

“All right. Thank you,” he answered, nodding curtly. As soon as the soldier disappeared back into the hallway, he stood up, straightening his Trunkset. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes immediately focused on a smear of dark brown chocolate across his lips. Alarmed that it had been in plain view of the officer that had just called to him, he brought his blue sleeve across his lips. It was gone. He sighed slightly, hoping that the officer had not noticed the blemish; how inappropriate for a future commodore as himself to be indulging in something as childish as chocolate, no matter how exotic or heavenly the treat was.

He gave himself a last once over in the mirror, straightening his hat and the hair tied behind his head. He nodded once, then stepped briskly out the door into the darkened stone hallway. His slick boots clicked importantly on the smooth silver rocks beneath his feet. Soon, he reached where the sunlight from the entrance stretched. He looked out into the courtyard.

***

Mister Smith swaggered along the dock, his hair crisped and frazzled from the salty sea air. He rather liked it this way, thinking it gave him a more rugged look, but his mind was not on his appearance or attracting anyone worthy of mating. He was looking for a ship.

He spotted a gorgeous ship of dark wood, made to house a crew of hundreds, probably taking that many to run correctly. He gave a crooked little grin, wandering down the slope.

Ahead of him, a tiny little uniformed man with a shorn head and six dots arranged in two rows on his forehead stood with a tall woman of eternal youth. She was dressed in a brightly colored salmon pink dress with white lace that hung off her shoulders and clung to her trim waist. She flipped her blonde hair back, glowering at the man that Smith could easily recognize as her husband by the way she spoke to him.

“When will your replacement get here?” she demanded, face contorting past annoyance into anger.

“Be patient, Juuhachi,” the husband answered meekly, with a nod. He gripped his bayonet in two hands, looking up towards the significantly higher woman. “He’s obviously running a few minutes la–”

“–He’s probably at the ceremony with his wife, like WE should be!”

Just off to the side, Smith stood straight, hands at his sides. He looked between each person as they argued, then turned, starting to head up the boarding ramp to the ship. He was still studying it — what a fine ship it was; what a fine —

“Hey!” The stout man rushed up the ramp, pointing his bayonet at Smith, jabbing it towards him, “This dock is off limits to civillians!”

Smith raised both hands, tilting his head and giving his suave smile. “I’m terribly sorry then; I didn’t know.” As the bayonet lowered, his hands did too. “If I see one, I’ll let them know.”

He attempted to step up the ramp, leather boots clicking again. He nearly avoided the business end of the bayonet in his stomach, lurching to the side.

“I said, no civillians!”

Smith was thinking quick, happening to glance back at the wife, who was staring towards the fort longingly, occasionally casting increasingly infuriated glares towards her husband. He looked back at the man, “It appears that there’s a high-toned and fancy-to-do up at the fort. How is it that an outstanding gentleman and his lady as yourselves are stuck down here?”

The soldier lowered his gun thoughtfully, his head tilted and his eyebrow quirked. “…Well, someone has to make sure this dock stays off limits to civillians!”

“It’s a fine goal to be sure…” Now, he was really pulling things out of thin air. He pointed towards a docked ship in the distance. “But that ship right there seems to make this one seem quite superfluous, really.”

“Well, yes, but nothing can match the Interceptor’s speed.”

“Oh! But I’ve heard of one, supposed to be very fast — nigh! — uncatchable: The Black Pearl.” His own voice took on a darker tone, the name obviously ominious by the look in the soldier’s eyes.

The wife snorted abruptly, “There’s no such thing as the Black Pearl.”

The soldier’s eyes widened and he quickly turned to the woman, “It is real!”

“No, no it’s not.” She turned to him, her arms folding across her busoms, hips tilting slightly to the side.

“Yes it is!” the soldier insisted, his own eyes narrowed, non-existant eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, well, you’ve seen it then?” she spat.

“Yes.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have!”

Smith watched the two argue again for a few moments. They were amusing, quite the characters. He would liked to have watch them more, but he had business to attend to. He strode proudly up the ramp, hopping down onto the thick, sturdy deck of the ship.

“So, what you’re saying is that you’ve seen a ship with black sails that’s crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out? There’s no other ship around with black sails. Is that what you’re saying!”

The soldier thought for a moment, nodding as he answered, “No.”

The wife folded her arms, turning away from her husband again. She stomped down the ramp, going to sit back down on an overturned barrel. Her husband pouted, then turned back to where Smith had been. His eyes widened when he saw that he was not next to him, rather standing at the wheel of the ship, running his fingers lovingly over the curve and the handles.

“Hey! You! You don’t have permission to be on board!”

With the bayonet pointed at his head and the sudden arrival of the persistent soldier, Smith was forced to back up, pulling his hands up and back in a defensive position. “I’m sorry; it’s just that it’s such a pretty boat — ship!”

The soldier twitched slightly, the gun shifting in his small hands. He pushed it up higher, prodding towards Smith. “What’s your name?”

“Smith! Or Smithy, if you like.”

“What’s your purpose in Port Satan, Mister Smith? And no lies!”

“Oh, well then, I confess.” He lowered his hands, shrugging nonchalantly, “It’s my intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Porunga, then raid, pillage, plunder, and pilfer my weasely black guts out.” By the time he was finished, his arms were draped over the wheel, hugging the the wood slightly.

The soldier stared at him for a long moment. “…If you were telling me the truth, you wouldn’t have told me that!”

“Unless, of course, I knew you wouldn’t believe the truth even if I told it to you.”

***

Directly across from Yamucha, stood Governor Satan, and between them were two rows of disciplined officers brandishing bayonettes in strict formation. The soldiers raised the bayonettes, crossing them high above where Captain Yamucha’s head would be.

The captain saw Satan nod his head very slightly and he began his long walk across the yard, crossing over the shadows of the high bayonettes. He smiled to himself as he crossed the halfway point. Now he could see Miss Videl Satan herself, standing beside her father in a stunningly beautiful forest green dress. Oh! What joy! Her glimmering sapphire eyes were cast in his direction.

Videl stood beside her father, Captain Yamucha before her; he was now only twenty feet away. Her eyes were in his direction, certainly, but it was the large chocolate cake behind him she was eyeing. The baker stood with his creation on the far side of the courtyard, and it would be a long several minutes of this painfully boring ceremony before she could go to it.

After recieving his sword and taking a quick oath, Captain Yamucha had become a Commodore. Once free from the formal portion of the ceremony, he looked around the festivities quickly for Videl, slipping the sword shieth onto his belt. He saw her on the exact opposite side from where he stood, before the cake. He made sure the sword was securely in place before he crossed the yard once again. He stood behind Videl, straightened his body, and then began to speak. “Miss Satan… may I have a few words with you?”

Videl had just moved the fork full of the delicious chocolate cake to her lips when she heard the Commodore’s voice behind her. She groaned slightly, putting the fork down on the plate beside it. She turned to face him, bowing her head politely, “Certainly, Commodore.”

She followed his blue coattails out to the edge of the courtyard, beyond the stone arches, where the gate was the only thing between them and the sudden drop into the sea below. He had been talking to her the whole way there, but the chocolate cake on the plate was commanding most of her attention. To please him, she nodded and answered, “Yes,” or, “Of course,” every so often.

When Yamucha began to talk about his accomplishments, Videl vaguely heard him as they stood at the low stone wall. She had begun to eat the cake eagerly, wolfing down as much as she could fit onto the fork into her mouth.

“Of all the fine things I have… I don’t yet have a marriage to a fine woman, and you, Miss Satan, have grown into a fine woman…”

Videl gasped softly, a large almost-fistfull of cake caught in her throat. She tried to swallow roughly, unable to get the piece down. She raised her delicate hand, grabbing at her throat as she gasped a second time.

“I… I can’t breathe!” she managed.

“Yes, well,” Yamucha said with a becoming blush and a sheepish smile, having turned away just seconds before, “I’m a bit nervous myself.”

Videl grasped at the rock formation in front of her, her head swimming at lack of air. The china plate, and all the remaining chocolate cake, fell from her hand, shattering on the rock wall as she tumbled head-over-heels down the cliff wall.

***

“…And then they made me chief.” Smith finished his story with a quick nod, leaning back against the side of the ship. He had pushed himself up so he was sitting on the railing, hands gripping it tightly, legs swaying slightly, contentedly.

Directly behind him, there was a loud splash and a spray of water that he nearly felt from on the boat. He heard Yamucha screaming, “Videl! Videl!” He looked up at the ship, his head swaying momentarily, and watched the nicely-dressed Commadore try to throw himself from the cliff, but one of his men held him back, pointing out the rocks below.

Smith swivelled his head back towards the soldier, whom he had finally achieved first name basis with. “Will you be saving her then, Krillin?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head, “I can’t swim.”

Smith snorted, turning around and stripping out of his belts, vests, and his beloved hat. “Pride of the King’s Navy you are.” He thrust the effects into Krillin’s shaking hands as he pulled himself up onto the railing. “Do NOT lose those!” he ordered before diving off into the water.

Videl limply sank further into the water, the bushy backside of the gown gathering water and holding it in until it became a rock, dead weight. The cake lodged in her throat had been jolted out by the water, and was now swaying in pieces on the current. The star-shaped gem around her neck pulsed abruptly, sending a shockwave through the water.

The wave hit Smith, sending him back momentarily. He quickly shook off the shock, swimming down deeper towards the woman. He reached her, his arms slinging around her waist as he reached up, undoing the laced bodice, stripping the dark green dress from her body.

Immediately the dress sank and the woman was infinitely lighter. Smith kicked up towards the surface, holding the woman at his side. He pushed her head up, his arm moving around her neck as he dragged her towards the dock.

Upon reaching the dock, several new soldier’s hands were down. They quickly snatched up Videl’s body, not one remaining to help Smith up. He grumbled, reaching up onto the dock and pulling his own drenched body out of the water. He looked towards the group around Videl, most of whom were gasping out, “She’s not breathing!”

He scowled, walking forward and shoving some of the group aside. He snatched his knife from the pile in Krillin’s arms, stooping and cutting open the corset digging into Videl’s waist. He snagged it, thrusting it into another soldier’s arms.

Videl gasped roughly, her back arching as the corset fell away, water sputtering absently from her mouth. She turned on her side, the gem around her neck falling from her collar. Smith’s eyes widened, and he hissed lowly to her, “Where did you get that!”

Videl’s eyes had turned up to Smith, but she didn’t have time to answer before Smith was forced onto his feet by another jabbing blade. He sighed and grunted to Yamucha’s order of, “On your feet.”

She heard her father’s voice, “Videl! Videl, oh my dear, are you all right?” Satan knelt, his arms going around her to help her up.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine…” Videl whispered, waving her hand.

Yamucha’s eyes darted about, and he glowered at the soldier holding Videl’s cut corset. The soldier pointed quickly to Smith. And the commodore’s eyes narrowed as he demanded, “Shoot him!”

Videl jumped, rushing towards Yamucha. “Wait! Do you really intend to kill my rescuer!”

Yamucha raised his eyebrows at Videl, then he looked back at Smith’s sickeningly sweet smile. He smirked slightly, raising his hand. “I believe thanks is in order then.”

His fingers curled around Smith’s wrist as he too raised it, then quickly clenched as his other hand snapped forward and yanked the baggy, still-dripping wet sleeve up to show a dark P-shaped scar on the underside of his wrist. “Well, well, had a run in with the East India Trading Company, didn’t we, Pirate?”

Satan’s eyes darkened as he took Videl’s arm. “Hang him.”

Yamucha grinned, looking around. “Keep your guns on him, men! You, fetch some irons!” He turned his attention back to the pirate, pushing his sleeve higher up to reveal a blue-inked tattoo on his forearm of a sparrow in flight. “Now… we have Trunks Sparrow here?”

“Captain Trunks Sparrow, if you please,” Trunks added, almost as an afterthought, then quickly tacked on a, “Sir,” at the daggered gaze from Yamucha.

“Well, I don’t see your ship… Captain.”

“I’m in the market as it were.” Trunks moved his hand to scratch at his neck, then stopped to avoid a stab from Yamucha’s sword.

“He said he’d come to commandeer one!” Krillin offered. Yamucha looked towards him, and Krillin held out the items Trunks had given him to hold. Trunks pouted, watching Yamucha go through the items, carelessly tossing his hat aside.

“Let’s see here…” Yamucha pulled out a pistol, checking the barrel, “No additional shots, nor powder…” He took out a round flat object with a green face. The directions were painted on it, as if it were a compass, but there were no hands to point north, or in any direction what-so-ever. “A compass that doesn’t work…” He found his way to Trunks’ sword shieth, pulling out the silver blade, “And I half expected it to be made out of wood.”

Trunks went along as a soldier dragged him back up to a higher dock, and trapped his wrists in handcuffs with a long chain between them. He rolled his eyes absently, being turned towards Yamucha again, who approached him, shaking the hilt of his new sword in his face, “You are undoubtedly the worst pirate I’ve ever heard of.”

“But,” Trunks insisted, raising a shackled hand and pointer finger, “You have heard of me.”

Videl leaned forward, out of her father’s grasp. “Commodore, I really must protest. Pirate or not, this man saved my life!”

Yamucha turned a cold shoulder. “One good deed is not enough to redeem a man from a lifetime of wickedness.”

Trunks stuck out his tongue momentarily in distaste, “Though it seems enough to condemn him.”

Yamucha twitched towards him, his hands flexing. “Indeed.”

As the soldier moved away from the chained Trunks, the pirate rolled his shoulders, growling, “Finally!” He threw his hands up, wrapping the chains around Videl’s neck and yanking her close. The men around him all raised their guns, but stopped when Satan screamed, “No! Don’t shoot!”

Trunks grinned darkly, every one of his teeth showing through his lips. He laughed, the chains right up against Videl’s neck. “Oh, I knew you’d warm up to me,” he purred. He looked past her, at Yamucha, “Now, Commodore Yamucha, my effects, please… And my hat!”

He was breathing steadily into Videl’s ear as Yamucha gathered up said effects from Krillin’s arms and one of his other men snatched up the hat that had been carelessly tossed aside. Videl shivered, her eyes narrowing. She took the effects into her arms, then was roughly turned around.

“If you’d be so kind, Videl. Videl, isn’t it?” Trunks said with a grin, holding the chains taut at the back of Videl’s head.

“It’s Miss Satan to you, you dispicable pirate,” she snapped. She strapped on the vest and the belt around Trunks’ waist. She slammed the hat down on Trunks’ head, glowering at him.

“Sticks and stones, Love. I saved your life,” he tilted his forehead against Videl’s, striking blue eyes staring down Videl’s own, “You saved my life. We’re square.”

Trunks’ broad hands grasped Videl’s shoulders, whipping her back around. He looked over her shoulder, smirking at the soldiers. He called, “Gentlemen!” His fingers ran along Videl’s jawline, “M’lady. You will always remember this day as the day you almost Captain Trunks Sparrow!”

He flung his hands up, shoving Videl forward as he took off towards the edge of the raised dock. He heard the commodore screaming after him, the clicks of the guns, and he grinned. The mast of a boat was out before him, and upon reaching the edge, he lunged for it. The chains slung around the pole perpendicular to the mast. He swung around rapidly, helpless as his body swayed. Bullets rocketed past him, just barely passing him, some piercing his already torn and battered clothing.

Trunks flung his body up onto another pole, taking a moment longer to free his hands, then he draped the chain back over a rope overhead. He jumped, the chains sliding down the rope easily.

Yamucha shouted, “On his heels! He has a dawn appointment with the gallows; I would hate for him to miss it!” He brought up his own gun, rushing with his soldiers into the town down a main road.

Trunks had long since dropped onto ground near the town, rushing into it. He ducked among stores and abandonded carts, watching the streets swarm with soldiers, all bloodthirsty for him. He sighed darkly, sulking in the shadows before he noticed a nearby door. He looked between the nearest soldier and it, then decided to take the risk. He moved to the door, quickly slipping inside the building.

He found himself staring into blacksmith’s shop, hammers, irons, and pokeys scattered on a work bench beside a large anvil and fireplace, a sleeping man in the corner with a bottle of booze trailing from his hand, and a half sleeping she-donkey in the stall filled with straw in the corner.

He crept up to the sleeping man, circling his plump body before leaning into his face. He bobbed his head back and forth before pulling away. He took a step back, then jumped right back, screaming, “WHOA!”

The man still didn’t stir; Trunks was plenty happy with the results.

He ran his hand back through his hair, careful to grab his hat with two fingers. He set down the hat on the anvil, reaching back for a hammer. He put his chain up on the anvil and began wailing at it with the hammer. When that didn’t help, he looked around with an exasperated sigh.

Now what…

He eyed the large machine in the middle of the room, with a halter attached to it that seemed the right size for a donkey… which just happened to be sleeping in the corner.

A few minutes later, the donkey was hooked up to the machine, looking up at Trunks with a glazed stare. Trunks took a step back, grabbing one of the red-hot swords from the fireplace. He prodded it into the donkey’s backside, flinching at the screech it emitted, then smirking as it took off. He raised his hands, draping the chain before one of the sprockets of the large cog. It ran over the chain, snapping it.

He brought both hands down individually and grinned brightly. His celebration had barely begun when he heard the door open. He rushed to find a place to hide.

***

Gohan wandered around the marketplace, gathering up the supplies he and his boss would need. Food, donkey feed… He hoisted the large feed bag over his shoulder, grunting slightly. Behind him, he heard the flirtatious giggles of several females, all admiring his lengthy hair, his broad shoulders, muscled body… But those didn’t register at all.

He only nodded to the ladies, as they were standing directly behind him as he turned around. He stepped past them, heading towards the workshop again. Soldiers rushed past him and around him, ducking in and out of alleyways, all shouting for the pirate. He took a quick glance around, then turned back to the shop.

Upon arriving, he opened the door. He saw the machine moving, his eyes snapping open.

He dropped the feedbag, rushing over and grabbing the halter. His hand flew out, running across the donkey’s muzzle, soothing her with soft coos. “Shh, shh, Chichi… It’s all right.”

Gohan let out a soft breath, looking around the shop. He had left the donkey in her stall; so how did she get there?

His dark eyes landed on his boss. “Where I left you…” And his eyes scanned across the room, past the fireplace and stopping on the anvil. He eyed the hammer, “…Not where I left you.” He walked over to the anvil, his hand reaching out to touch the hat that rest just above the hammer.

Just as his fingers brushed the brim, a sword flashed in the sun and firelight. He jumped back, his eyes flying up as a hand from a dark man that had been previously hidden took the hat, perching it on his head.

Gohan’s eyes roamed over the man, every little detail catching his eyes; lavender wavy hair that framed the face, blue eyes outlined in black and lain against tanned skin, the shirt, offwhite, dirty and full of holes covered by a gray-blue overshirt, the weighted vest, stiff with belts that draped down from his shoulder to his hip, holding a swordshieth, the belt across his waist, holding a small pistol, and what looked to be a green-and-white compass against a red-and-white striped fabric belt that draped across to his knees, clothed in dark black pants and high, heavy, black leather boots. There was a ‘P’ on his wrist, where his sleeve had been ripped open.

Pirate.

“You’re the one they’re looking for!” he gasped.

Trunks took a slight bow, tilting his head at Gohan, in turn studying him. “You seem somewhat familiar… Have I threatened you before?” It was the eyes that were catching him, the eyes that matched the hair, both deep, dark colors that could probably crush light if it was unlucky enough to fall into them.

Gohan sneered at Trunks, “I make a habit of avoiding familarity with pirates.”

Trunks raised his sword, pointing it in the air and giving him a carefree smile. “Well then! It would be a shame to put a blemish on your spotless record!” He started to walk around Gohan, “If you’ll excuse me now…”

Gohan grabbed a sword he had left leaning against the table and swiped it at Trunks. Trunks quirked an eyebrow at Gohan, raising his sword and sliding it along the other’s clean blade. “Do you think this wise, Boy,” he crooned softly, voice holding a hint of concern, “Crossing blades with a pirate.”

“I cannot let you leave.”

Trunks pushed into Gohan’s sword with a growl, heading for the young man’s chest. Gohan brought his sword back up, pushing back. At the same time they both jumped back and began to clash their swords, all moves from the pirate being matched perfectly by the young man.

“You know, you’re quite good!” Trunks praised with a grin, his eyes bright. He had been a long time since he’d been up against someone as good. “How’s your footwork? If I step here…” He took a quick step and Gohan took a quick one in return, clashing their swords again. A few more steps, and the front door was at Trunks’ back. He grinned at Gohan, clashing swords again. He took another step back, then sheathed his sword. “Thank you for the fight, Love.” He raised his hand and turned about, giving it a flick of the wrist, “Ta!”

Gohan’s face contored in fury. He flung the sword forward, the blade burying itself deep between the wooden shaft lock and the door, pinning it shut. Said lock happened to be directly by Trunks’ head, and he turned abruptly to look at it.

“Oh, what a very nice trick.” He reached up, expecting to pull the sword easily from the door, but to his surprise, it was stuck. He grabbed the handle with both hands, tugging violently at it. He even put his foot up on the door, flinging his body weight against it. After a long struggle, he dropped his hands, turning to Gohan with a huff, “Very smart, Boy.”

He looked beyond Gohan, seeing a backdoor. He turned his eyes back to the young man, glowering at him, “But now, you have no weapon, and you’re between me and my only escape.” He stepped towards Gohan, holding up his own sword.

Gohan twitched, his hand flying out towards the fireplace beside him. He snagged a sword with a searing tip from within the embers, waving it at Trunks with a dark smirk. Trunks’ eyes widened and he quickly brought his sword up across his chest defensively as Gohan rushed him. He parried each blow to the best of his abilities, sparks flying, and he winced at them. He found his way back to the machine, jumping up onto one of the gears. Gohan’s sword swiped at him, clanging through a curtain of swords that hung just to the side of Trunks.

“Who makes all these!” Trunks growled in disbelief, ducking beneath another swipe.

“I do! And I practice with them,” Gohan grunted, throwing his weight forward into the sword, just to have it blocked again, “For three hours a day!”

Trunks swung back, hopping back off the machine. He and Gohan danced about the room, sparks still flying from their crossing swords, and both were panting slightly from the exertion.

“You’ve got to get yourself a girl, Mate!” Trunks lunged forward, pushing Gohan up against a support beam, swords crossed at the chest. He leaned into his face, smirking darkly, “Or… maybe you’ve found a girl and you practice because you are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet…” He looked down, at his knee which was dangerously close to Gohan’s crotch. He pouted, obviously disappointed, “You’re not a eunuch, are you?”

Gohan growled, shoving against Trunks’ weight. “I practice three hours a day so that when I meet a pirate, I can KILL them!” He couldn’t lift him.

Trunks smirked, his nose pressed against Gohan’s as he purred, “You know, pirates aren’t all that bad.” He leaned in, capturing Gohan’s lips in his own, his tongue running along the other’s, trying to force his way in. Gohan sputtered roughly, his eyes huge, shoving at Trunks and just barely managing to knock him off.

“You KISSED me!” Gohan screeched, jumping at Trunks again. Trunks defended from each blow of Gohan’s sword, smirking and obviously proud of himself.

“I bet it was the best kiss you’d ever had, hm, Love?” Trunks purred again, backing up onto an inclined cart.

“It was my only kiss!” Gohan thrust his sword through the chains on one of Trunks’ wrists, hoisting him into the air as he dug the sword deep into a rafter above his head, catching Trunks off his feet.

Trunks scowled, tugging at the sword. He swung his body slightly, kicking Gohan square in the chest and knocking him onto his back off the cart. He struggled roughly with his bind, tugging at it.

Gohan had quickly pushed himself to his feet, snagging another sword from the machine in the middle. He had just stepped onto the platform when Trunks managed to free himself from the bind, falling down heavily onto the cart. He launched Gohan into the air, who just managed to grab one of the rafters and yank himself up.

Gohan stared down at the pirate, growling darkly. He swiped forward, cutting loose a large hanging bag of sand. It dropped down onto the cart, launching Trunks in turn into the rafters. Gohan quickly jumped to the next rafter as Trunks scrambled to get up and regain his bearings.

Once up, Trunks and Gohan leapt along the rafters, swords still flashing, clanking loudly against each other. They nearly reached the edge of the building before Gohan dropped back down to the ground.

Trunks leapt back instead, landing on the ground closer to the cart. He stooped backwards momentarily, snagging a handful of sand from the bag that had burst on impact. Gohan rushed him again, and he flung the hand in his face. Gohan yelped slightly, jumping back and covering his face. The sword dropped from his hand.

“You cheated!” Gohan spat, opening his eyes again quickly. He found the muzzle of a gun pointing him directly between the eyes.

“Pirate!” Trunks shouted, motioning to himself with his free hand. Just behind him, he heard several men struggling to break down the door. “Look, Kid, move!”

Gohan backed up slowly, shaking his head abruptly. “No.”

Trunks sighed roughly, his eyes rolling, “PLEASE move.” He stepped after Gohan.

“No! I cannot just step aside and let you escape!”

Trunks pulled back the hammer of the gun, listening to the click of the bullet in the chamber. He hissed at him, “This shot is NOT meant for you.”

The donkey let out a loud, high-pitched squeal, throwing her front hooves up and slamming them into Trunks’ back. Trunks tumbled to the floor, his head striking it roughly and the gun falling from his limp hand.

In the corner, the man awoke with a start. He jumped to his feet, the bottle in his hand shattering against the arm of the chair as his hand swung. Just then, the soldiers broke in, Commodore Yamucha among them. He stepped in, surveying the scene. He turned to the old man upon seeing the shattered bottle in his hand, “Excellent work, Yajirobe. You’ve assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive.”

Yajirobe shrugged and slurred, “Just doing my civic duty, Sir.”

Gohan groaned absently to himself, looking towards Yamucha with a pained expression.

Yamucha was staring down at Trunks’ unconscious body, a smile set deep into his face. “Well, I trust you will always remember this as the day that Captain Trunks Sparrow almost escaped.”

He turned to his men, waving his hand, “Take him away!”