“It's too tight,” Trunks complained, pulling at the overtly laced collar.
“You have no one to blame but yourself for that. Weren't you the one that allowed that Frou-frou, prissy designer to make all of the ceremonial clothes?”
Trunks glared at Goten. “Don't remind me. And why does yours look more comfortable than mine?”
Goten shrugged. “The costs of being lower on the totem pole?”
Trunks failed to hide his laugh. He coughed, and stared forward.
“Okay. Here we go.”
The two walked out from the curtained balcony to thunderous applause from the crowd below. Trunks placed an arm around Goten's shoulders, and they both put a hand up in recognition of the gathering. The young men smiled as the crowd continued to cheer.
“It's been two months since the Cultural Dinner, and again you have us all dolled up and waving like idiots,” Goten was talking through his teeth as he maintained his smile.
“The bi-monthly festivals keep the public interested. And I'm sure you'll find something to amuse yourself with.” Trunks countered, nodding in acknowledgment to the three Chikyuu councilmen that bowed nearest the balcony.
Yamucha burst through the curtains, the medallions from his festival garment jingling.
“It's a frag-storm down there. Not one but two Rikau-seijin diplomats are waiting for your brief audience,” he said to Trunks. He looked at Goten. “With Trunks indisposed this early, your Lady Niece will need someone to escort her to the dais.”
Goten groaned, rolling his eyes. “Do I have to?”
Trunks slapped his friend on the back. “I'll leave it to you. And please, Goten, be civil this time.”
Trunks slipped away before Goten could respond. Down the stair and into the main hall, he watched the crowd part in front of him. Seeing someone out of the corner of his eye, he detoured by the table fifth from the balcony and throne seating.
“Krillin!” Trunks' tone was jovial. “You've successfully hid away from me these last few months.”
Krillin, sitting across from his wife and daughter, gave Trunks a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “The Cultural and Informational Dinner was such a success, Trunks, that I aimed to keep a low profile afterwards.”
“Ridiculous. You're our Foreign Affairs Minister, and our chief diplomat. We need you.” Trunks lowered his voice, spotting the cane perched on the older man's side. “...How are you feeling lately?”
“Good. As good as yesterday.” Krillin answered, giving Trunks a reassuring pat on the arm.
Trunks smiled his brightest yet, and bowed respectfully at Juuhachigou and Marron. He took the younger of the ladies by the hand.
“You just get prettier every time I see you, Lady Marron.” He kissed the upside of her palm.
“Thank you, Trunks.” Marron said shyly, not seeing but feeling the cold stare her mother was giving him.
“Lady Juuhachigou, I hope you are not convincing your husband to abandon his duties,” Trunks looked back at Krillin, whose face still kept a careful expression. “I'm beginning to think I don't pay him enough.”
Trunks gave the table one last charming bow, and left. And with him left the family's pretenses of content.
“And you just sat there, and let him say everything.” Juuhachigou's voice was on the razor-thin edge between a hiss and a curse.
“We are at a festival,” Krillin warned her, looking around to assure himself that the din of the crowd was such that their conversation wouldn't be heard. “...And you act as if I have a choice.”
Hana adjusted Bra's gown for the fourth time, and as Hana bowed and retreated Bra began to speak. “It's about time. I thought I would never be able to sit down--” She turned. “Oh no. They sent you.”
Goten took her hand, and they turned in unison.
“Trunks is in conference with half of the Rikau delegation right now,” he said, his voice bland. “As Officiator of the Festival, it is my responsibility to step in for your brother.”
“If it was that much of a pain, I could have seated myself.” Bra snapped.
“You, The Beloved Daughter of the Throne, seating yourself? This is a festival. The crowd would have a coronary if you did that.”
“Very well then,” They were halfway across the banquet hall at the moment. “When it comes to Trunks doling out chores, I guess there is no accounting for IQ level.”
Goten exhaled roughly, muttering, “Is there anything that can get me through this evening?” His eyes claimed a group of young women who returned his glance with open interest. “Okay, possibly there is...”
Bra followed the direction of his eyes, then made a noise of disgust. “Pig...”
The two crossed paths with Pan—with Yamucha as her escort—and stood in front of their respective ivory-carved thrones. The room hushed in deference as the three Divine Children sat, one by one. And together, the audience bowed deeply, women holding sequined gowns in curtsy and men placing one hand in front of themselves and one behind. After being acknowledged, everyone resumed drinking, dancing, and mingling. Bra scanned the crowd, anxious.
“And how are you doing today, Holy Daughter?”
She looked up. Yamucha leaned against Trunks' empty seat.
“From one side-show to another,” she commented dryly, turning her eyes back to the hall.
“Looking for Gohan?” Yamucha ignored her usual insults.
Bra's attention snapped back to him. “Where is he?”
“He won't be coming tonight,” Yamucha cast his eyes to the front tables for a moment. “He did a favor for me, took care of some last-minute research. And you know he doesn't like these things very much anyway.”
“I know that,” Bra replied. Too quickly. Yamucha looked back down at her. Nervous, Bra turned away.
A few seconds passed, and she glanced back to find Yamucha still staring.
“Oh, come on. What is it now?” She asked, voice brimming on annoyance.
“...Nothing,” Yamucha struggled to keep his voice neutral. “You...you look so much like her.”
The flint in Bra's eyes softened minutely at his words.
Goten looked over at his only companion on his family's side of the dais. “You having fun?”
Pan met his glance with a tiny smile. “As much fun as can be had...at these sort of things.”
“Yeah,” Goten slumped in his chair, stretching out his left leg. “Makes you wish for the old days a little bit. You know, when we could just fly around...do whatever we want.”
“Times have changed, I guess,” Pan mused. She played with the Farolian silk of her gown. “We did those things between spouts of us saving the world. Now there's really nothing to save.”
Pan was silent, her brow furrowing as she turned back to her uncle. He eyed her in mild shock.
“That—That wasn't what I...That came out wrong. Sorry,” she tripped through her words. “I meant since Chikyuu isn't really under any real threat anymore...and since Trunks negotiated intergalactic peace, we don't have to worry about rushing out and saving people all the time.”
“No more training for the next big baddie streaking his way towards Chikyuu-sei. No more always being ready. Can't say that it makes me unhappy,” said Goten.
“But after doing it all for so long, what are we supposed to do?” Pan murmured.
“Enjoy life! Revel in it. Roll around in it.” Goten spread out his hand. An attendant mechanically handed him a glass of wine, which Goten looked at, puzzled, before accepting and putting it to his lips.
“...You mean 'this life', Uncle?” Pan turned to him, and those dark Son family eyes met one another for a rare moment.
“Yes,” Goten said finally. “Look little one...sometimes, it's better to be loved for what you are not...than feared for something you are.”
And, after a short pause, he reached over and tweaked his niece's nose like she was eight again. He was smiling his father's smile.
“Don't worry. Everything works itself out. In time,” he whispered.
