Longing opens all doors - a DBZ fan fiction
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“Another one!” Lunch waved her glass invitingly.
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The bartender gave her a wry look. "Little lady, you've already had three doubles. You can't take any more without falling off your chair."
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"Wait a minute," Lunch rose somewhat heavily from the stool and grabbed the bartender by the collar. "I am deciding when you ... I mean when I have had enough. Veschtanden ?!"
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“Eh!” The bartender turned his head to avoid her flag. With a jerk he freed himself from her grip and slammed an empty glass in front of her. "First you pay the bill for the other drinks, then we'll see."
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The defensive blonde in front of him looked first at the empty glass, then at his demanding hand. "Alright ... alright!" She mumbled, fiddling with her belt. Too bad she'd had to leave her gun outside at the entrance. The bag with their last prey had become quite light again.With an effort she untied the knot and fished out a few coins. “Is that enough?” She dropped the coins on the counter.
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The bartender paused. Those were collector's coins, plus the silver royal edition. He looked at the blonde woman. Wasn't everyone talking about a robbery two weeks ago? A blonde woman allegedly attacked the money transport all by herself and killed the six guards without seriously injuring any of them. The special issue of the silver king edition was part of the big collectors' fair at the time and was also missed. Actually he couldn't have imagined that a single woman would be so cunning, but there was the thief, an arm's length in front of him and unarmed. His hand closed on the valuable special coins. "But of course that's enough. I'll even give you a triple for that."
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Lunch's instincts had been sharpened by her long career in crime, but drowned in the whiskey, they didn't sound the alarm when the bartender poured the glass more than generously with an especially friendly smile.<br />
The calendar that hung next to the large mirror seemed to laugh at her. The thirteenth of June, once again. Lunch sighed and downed the hard drink without blinking an eyelid. "Woah!" She exclaimed. “Is that pure fire, an extra brand, boss?” The bartender's face began to blur in front of her eyes. "Yes, this is only for very special customers," she heard him say. "It was a little too much ..." she slurred, fell off the stool and fell asleep on the spot.
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"It's the mix that counts," grinned the bartender and picked up the phone. "Hello, police ...?"
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When Lunch came to, hours later, her skull felt like elephants had danced rumba on it. "Ohhh ..." Even the faint whimper of her own voice cut her marrow and bone. Her tongue was thick and furry, as if someone had rolled it in sawdust, and when she carefully opened her eyes, the merciless light from the bare bulb pricked like a thousand needles.Sleep, she absolutely had to sleep ... and again she sank into soothing blackness.
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"Slept enough, you blond beast!"
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Splash! Lunch was suddenly wide awake and wiped the cold water from her eyes.
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"What's that, damn it? You don't wake a lady like that!"
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"I just thought you might want your breakfast."
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She didn't know this voice and it was much too arrogant for her taste. Though her head still hurt like hell, she forced herself to look around with her eyes wide open. Concrete walls, long iron bars, a wooden table, a rickety chair, even more long iron bars, a cot ... All of a sudden the cat was extinguished. Lunch pressed its back to the hard concrete, straight as a candle, and swallowed. "Where ... how?" She croaked hoarsely.
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A key was put in the lock and turned with a squeak. The gate creaked open and two guards entered. One carried a tray, the other had his gun pointed at Lunch.<br />
"You are here in the prison in the eastern capital. We found the unique silver coins from the robbery two weeks ago. They are freshly minted and only have your fingerprints on them. There is no point in denying you Sentenced to 30 years in prison. "
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At lunch the jaw dropped. "Three ... thirty years? And that for the ragged toads who weren't enough for two weeks? You must be peeping! I ask to speak to the judge, a lawyer and I want my gun back!"
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"Hahaha ..." the two guards laughed out loud. "You may be funny. As if someone were handing a gun to a dangerous criminal like you. Eat first, tomorrow you will be transferred to the women's prison."
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Lunch felt like telling them what to do with the meal, but her stomach growled noticeably and so she got up from the cot and walked slowly to the chair, only to fall on it with a growl.Breakfast turned out to be not that bad at all. After all, they apparently didn't intend to starve her to death. Lunch picked up the spoon and scooped up the porridge. She also left nothing of the fried egg with toast and the beans in tomante sauce. She welcomed the pot of coffee and at her request the second guard even brought her a carafe of water, which she poured into herself. "The toilet is over there. We are a very modern prison, so each cell has its own," said the younger guard proudly as he cleared the empty tray. Lunch only nodded briefly and then crept back onto the cot. Curled up, she stared at the bars, wondering if this was really the end of it this time. And if so, would it even matter? The robberies, the thieves' tours had been stale for years. So it was yesterday again, the thirteenth of June. Another year more, she was a year older again, and so was he.Sighing, Lunch stretched out, folded her hands under her head, and stared at the ceiling. Ten years. It had been ten years since he accidentally ran into her again. Or rather, her other half, the housemaid's lunch. Nevertheless, unlike the other lunch, who could never remember the crimes of the blonde half, thank God she had all the memories of the blue-haired half. It hadn't always been like that, but it has been happening lately. He had looked good, bald as always, in the usual monk's robe. Strong, still the concentrated strength in person and hardly older than when he turned away from her and simply left her sitting. Although she had never felt really rejected, he hadn't even shown the slightest bit of affection during the time they had lived together. Polite tolerance, yes, that's the best way to describe his demeanor.Lunch sighed even deeper. And there he was finally standing in front of her again after Mr. Satan had just been crowned champion again. She had just driven to the world championships, had stolen the money for the extremely expensive ticket, in the dare hope he would be there too. She had been amazed that this pink loaf called Boo had made every opponent look old, but after the lax blow of Satan it fell over like a sack of flour. Smelled like damn cheating, but she couldn't care less. After the awards ceremony, she plowed through the crowd with her elbows, constantly on the lookout for a clown's face and a bald monk, and just when she saw them both far in front of her, the wind had to blow a few annoying pollen grains into her face ... and her pale half took over. That she had even gotten close to him afterwards could be considered a small miracle, since the tame lunch was far too soft to pursue her goal consistently.Well, at least he must have heard her call, because he had turned and waved to her.
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The tame lunch, whose heart didn’t beat for him, had simply smiled at him in a friendly manner and asked how he was. A few meaningless words, a few empty phrases. Then they parted ways again. When the next change came, he and Chaozu were of course long gone.
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Ten years. What if she saw him now, could he recognize her again? Too much sun, too much stress and too many hard drinks. The silver hair could still be hidden well in the blond mane, but the blue-haired Lunch had seriously tried to pull it out the last time because it stood out from the blue curls. Her face too, Lunch's hands felt over her cheeks, corners of her mouth and temples, her face too had lost its youthful smoothness. Crow's feet in the corners of her eyes, wrinkles in the corners of her mouth, she would have better invested the money in cosmetic surgery.Had the ten years passed him by again without leaving any major marks? Probably. Life could be so unfair it was desperate. She, the well-known thief Lunch, was now sitting behind bars. Actually, she could now fall back on the oldest trick and switch to the good lunch, but ... somehow she didn't feel the slightest desire to make her way through world history on her own again. Instead of dying miserably in a backyard, she would go to the dogs behind bars. Who cared? Definitely not him ...
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So it happened that the next day a tame, blonde lunch climbed into the prison transport. Handcuffs and chains on the legs made every movement laborious. She didn't grumble when the guard who was accompanying her pushed her into the back of the car and slammed her hard on the bench. The door was locked, the driver got in, started the engine and accelerated.
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The road was bumpy and the driver seemed to be in a pretty hurry.Lunch was shaken up quite a bit. The guard kept a keen eye on her for the first two hours, but when he noticed how resigned the blond heap of misery was crouching on the hard bench, his vigilance slackened significantly. In the past, Lunch would have taken advantage of that, kicked him, lost consciousness, took the keys from him and freed himself, forced the driver to stop with his ratchet, then chained him to the nearest tree with her shackles (of course not without him like the security guard to relieve your valuables). Yes, that's how she used to be. Maybe that had put him off. If her soft half had harbored the same feelings for him, then, yes, then perhaps he would