Post by Krillin on Oct 9, 2010 3:18:19 GMT -5
Yep, it was settled; he was getting out of this place before he forgot who he was. He patted the bluish green guy who sat at his side on the shoulder. "Thanks a lot, pal."
The figure saluted. "Happy to help ya."
Krillin paced away, a sense of urgency filling his gut. Just how long would it take before his memory started to go? Gohan Senior was apparently even starting to forget Goku, and Krillin assumed that those would have been powerful memories of the old man's. So it seemed like a good twenty years before he might start losing the important stuff.
Though if he could avoid losing even the unimportant stuff, that sure would be great too.
The only problem was how to get out. The door that the office demon had used to guide him here had vanished completely after its use, leaving to Krillin to wonder just how he could get it back. But what if the dead couldn't open the door for themselves? What if they would only work for various employees of Otherworld? Too many things unknown, too many things to figure out. He had to get on the move as soon as possible.
Krillin's life had not been the greatest, but he felt that he deserved to have his Judgement and be able to keep his memories.
As far as he figured, one way was as good as any other. He gathered himself to fly . . . But then he stopped himself, feeling a pang of guilt swell inside him.
He couldn't just leave Gohan Senior here. The old man was starting to lose the memories that Krillin was sure he held the most dear. It didn't seem right to let someone suffer like that, especially not someone in Goku's family. Goku had given so much to him . . . So how could he not help out his family when he actually got a chance? He remembered Goku's reaction when he had finally discovered that Baba's fifth fighter was his grandfather; the little Saiyan had run up to the man, crying, and hugged him. Goku was not a touchy person, and seeing him cry was the ultimate rarity.
So one way was not as good as another, after all. At least not yet. He had to find Gohan Senior first, and bring him back, too. It was only right.
Finding the old man should not have been very difficult, but it turned out to be. Even though Gohan Senior was one of the few souls around here with a body, he seemed to hide himself very well. Once again, Krillin missed his slight sensing abilities. He had never realized how difficult it was to track people down without being able to rely on it.
But he found him at last, perched on top of a single yellow cloud that extended oddly from one of the many surface clouds; for a second, it almost reminded him of nimbus. The old man was looking in the direction opposite to Krillin's, and did not seem to notice his approach. Carefully, so as not to startle him, Krillin spoke, "Hey, Gohan."
Gohan Senior gave a yelp and tumbled off the cloud, and Krillin sighed at himself. So much for not startling him.
With wounded dignity, Gohan Senior climbed to his feet, brushing cloud dust off of his clothing. "Don't scare me like that, son! If I weren't dead already, I probably would have had a heart attack!"
Krillin had the good grace to lower his head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya like that, but I need to talk to you about something."
Gohan Senior readjusted his tight fitting hat. "Do you? This from the lad who was running away a few days ago in an effort to avoid talking to me."
Krillin checked a sigh. He had no more time for apologies; explanations took precedence. "You know what this place does to you?"
Gohan Senior looked at him for a second, puzzled. His brow wrinkled in confusion as thoughts cycled through this head. "You mean about the whole forgetting things thing? Yes, I know about it."
"Uh . . ." Krillin blinked. Despite his earlier words, he was surprised that he actually knew the answer. "Just when did you . . ."
"Oh, a while ago, I suppose." Gohan Senior's voice sounded resigned. "I think most here do figure it out eventually, but then they forget that they did. Kind of ironic when you think about it."
Actually, that was pretty ironic, Krillin reflected, wondering if just perhaps they were in the Ironic Punishment division of the afterlife and nobody had bothered to tell them. Krillin shook his head; he was mixing himself up too much.
"Well, don't you want to do anything about it?" he asked. "I know I would rather remember my life."
Gohan Senior shrugged, turning his glance to the side. "Maybe it never occurred to anyone to leave. I can't say for sure. I don't know too many people around here all that well." He then turned back to Krillin, one eyebrow raised questioningly. "I suppose that it has occurred to you, then."
"Well of course it has. Who would want to stay here? Come on, let's go."
Gohan Senior shook his head, looking sad. "I don't know, son. I've lost an awful lot as it is. It's probably not even really worth it anymore."
Krillin could not believe what he was hearing. In life, this man had been a legendary martial artist, and one did not gain a distinction like that by giving in to things easily. Gohan Senior could not have always been like this; it had to have been the room that had done it to him somehow, taken away his will to fight. But he had to help him get it back.
"What do you mean you don't think that it would be worth it?
Do you really want to forget Goku?"
The old man blinked, titled his head. "Who?"
That settled it; the old man was coming with him whether he wanted to or not. With a speed that could not be seen by average human eyes – not even eyes that had belonged to a once legendary martial artist – Krillin took Gohan Senior's back and chopped him lightly at the base of the skull; quietly, he hoped that people could still be knocked unconscious in the afterlife.
Much to his relief, it was possible. The old man's stocky frame sagged forward, and Krillin caught it easily in his arms. Not so easy was hoisting it over his shoulder; the weight didn't bother him, but Gohan Senior was a few inches taller than he was, so carrying him was awkward.
"Okay," he stated to nobody in particular. "Phase one is down. Now it's time to blow this joint."
- -
He could not remember the last time that he had dreamed, for the dead did not dream. Or maybe they did, but it was only rarely. Only being dead for twenty-odd years – minus a brief resurrection in that time – he had never really gotten the hang of being dead. So maybe dreams were possible. In fact, he was sure of it. Since he was sure that he was dreaming right now.
He barely recognized the place – a small dwelling in the forest, sloped roof, symbols painted in red by the door. It was nestled in a little clearing in the woods, near the base of a great, if not entirely impressive mountain. But the mountain was not really that important.
In the field on the outside of the house, a little boy stood. A little boy with hair that looked as though some random animal had decided to make its home on his head, bright black eyes, a cheery smile . . . and a tail.
Seeing the tail triggered an alarm within him somewhere, though he was not sure why.
The little boy was happily playing in the yard, performing some rather advanced-looking martial arts techniques – before he could stop it, he felt a sensation of pride welling through him at the boy's actions. But the boy did not use his hands much, despite the intricate routines that he was performing. For a moment, this was mysterious, but then the reason was revealed.
The boy sat down, wiping sweat off his brow – or imaginary sweat, for it did not seem that the boy had tired in any way – and sat down with his legs folded over each other. And then he opened his hand, revealing a small orange sphere, almost too large to fit in his palm. And in this sphere, four red stars floated, not seeming to be anchored anywhere inside the ball, nor painted on the surface as some sort of decoration. The boy smiled at this ball – a wider grin he had never seen – and playfully tossed it up in the air, repeatedly catching it. It seemed to be the most fascinating object in all the world to him.
"You have to be careful with that, Goku." He heard a voice, and was almost startled to realize that it was his own. Almost. But it made sense in the context of the dream.
The boy looked at him plaintively. "Aw, Grampa," he whined. "I'm not gonna break it. I was jus' playin' with it."
He walked toward the boy, hand held out. "Goku you know that this is not a toy. If you can't hold onto it without throwing it around all the time, then I'm not going to let you have it."
"No, Grampa, I'll be good," the boy – Goku, an oddly familiar name – scooted back, clutching the little orange ball as if it were the most important thing in his life. "I won't throw it around no more. I promise. Jus' lemme keep it, please?"
It was difficult to resist a look like that: lower lip pursed, eyebrows drawn upward and together. Despite the odd hairdo, the boy was almost heinously cute. A look like that would have melted a rock.
But he was a little tougher than a rock. "Give me the ball, Goku. If you're good and do all your chores for the next week, I'll let you have it again."
Goku looked like he was about to pout, but he handed over the ball anyway. "Okay, Grampa. I'll be good; you'll see."
A brief flicker of motion caught his corner of vision, and he glanced up in its direction. Goku seemed to have noticed this, too.
"Wow!" the boy chirped. "Grampa, what was that? I gotta go see!" All traces of sadness gone, Goku charged across the clearing and shinnied up the tree like a monkey. He leapt from branch to branch, and the boy's giggling was audible long after he passed out of sight . . .
- -
Krillin breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Gohan Senior stir on his back; carrying the man had been getting pretty tiring. He stopped in mid flight, landing on a cloud, and laid the old man down in front of him.
Gohan Senior put a hand to his forehead then slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked around dazedly before his gaze landed on Krillin. "I take it that we're not in the Relegation Room, anymore," he said simply.
"Darned if I knew," Krillin muttered, half to himself. This whole place looked the same to him, so whether they had gotten out of it or not was really open for debate. Or it would have been open for debate if there were anyone around with the ability to argue either point. "Your guess would be as good as mine."
It was as unpromising a day as any that he'd had in life, Krillin reflected. No clear direction, no way of knowing whether success or failure was the reward for one's actions. He'd had quite a few failures in his life, and precious few successes.
Here was hoping for one of the latter. Just for a change of general pace, of course.
"You know, I do recall saying that I did not want to come here," Gohan Senior said irritably, drawing Krillin's attention once more.
"Do you always treat your elders with such disrespect?"
"Look . . . It's just important for you to get outta there, okay. I'm just trying to help."
Gohan Senior sighed. "Well, it isn't as if I have much of a choice right now, is it? I suppose that I will have to accompany you for the rest of your journey."
Krillin held back a sigh of relief. He had been half afraid that he would have to spend all of his time merely arguing with this man, or failing that, having to knock him out repeatedly and carry him around all the time. This was much easier.
"So," Gohan Senior began. "Which way now?"
Dainin looked around, his expression filled with annoyance. Now where was that door to the blasted Relegation Room? He could never find that place, despite over seven hundred years of working for the Afterlife Administrations Bureau. Silently, he cursed Yamai for getting sick; it was the other demon's job to do this round, not his.
Sometimes, he got the feeling that Yamai did it just to mess with his nerves. That, or he was just trying to get out of a terrible job.
Ah. There it was. Right ahead of him, a giant red door that seemed to mock his previous inability to find it. He could almost hear the stupid thing shouting at him: "Hey, I'm over here you little blue idiot!" Yes, indeed, he would get Yamai for this.
Pulling open the door, he was greeted with the average Otherworld sight of yellow clouds and the zooming white wisps that were people's souls. He wished that he could go back to his old job; the scenery was much more interesting down there.
"All halt!" Dainin called, voice echoing clear and loud over the clouded expanse. Instantly reacting to the order, movement stopped. Or it did save for two wisps that ignored his presence entirely and continued to giggle and hop over each other. Dainin cleared his throat, and tried again. "I said, all halt!"
The two previously disobedient wisps stopped immediately, standing straight at attention, yet looking despondent. Or as despondent as they could without faces.
"Nothing to worry about, folks, just the routine rounds here. So if you'll all just co-operate . . ."
There was muttered confusion among the wisps, and the few souls here that still possessed bodies. With a sigh of exasperation, Dainin took off his horn-rimmed glasses, and rubbed between his eyes where he could feel a headache forming. This was why he hated this place so much. The residents always forgot him. Or at least most of them did. It wasn't really their fault, considering that the room erased their memories, but it was hard not to be annoyed by this. Yes indeed, how he missed his old job.
Word Count: 2516
The figure saluted. "Happy to help ya."
Krillin paced away, a sense of urgency filling his gut. Just how long would it take before his memory started to go? Gohan Senior was apparently even starting to forget Goku, and Krillin assumed that those would have been powerful memories of the old man's. So it seemed like a good twenty years before he might start losing the important stuff.
Though if he could avoid losing even the unimportant stuff, that sure would be great too.
The only problem was how to get out. The door that the office demon had used to guide him here had vanished completely after its use, leaving to Krillin to wonder just how he could get it back. But what if the dead couldn't open the door for themselves? What if they would only work for various employees of Otherworld? Too many things unknown, too many things to figure out. He had to get on the move as soon as possible.
Krillin's life had not been the greatest, but he felt that he deserved to have his Judgement and be able to keep his memories.
As far as he figured, one way was as good as any other. He gathered himself to fly . . . But then he stopped himself, feeling a pang of guilt swell inside him.
He couldn't just leave Gohan Senior here. The old man was starting to lose the memories that Krillin was sure he held the most dear. It didn't seem right to let someone suffer like that, especially not someone in Goku's family. Goku had given so much to him . . . So how could he not help out his family when he actually got a chance? He remembered Goku's reaction when he had finally discovered that Baba's fifth fighter was his grandfather; the little Saiyan had run up to the man, crying, and hugged him. Goku was not a touchy person, and seeing him cry was the ultimate rarity.
So one way was not as good as another, after all. At least not yet. He had to find Gohan Senior first, and bring him back, too. It was only right.
Finding the old man should not have been very difficult, but it turned out to be. Even though Gohan Senior was one of the few souls around here with a body, he seemed to hide himself very well. Once again, Krillin missed his slight sensing abilities. He had never realized how difficult it was to track people down without being able to rely on it.
But he found him at last, perched on top of a single yellow cloud that extended oddly from one of the many surface clouds; for a second, it almost reminded him of nimbus. The old man was looking in the direction opposite to Krillin's, and did not seem to notice his approach. Carefully, so as not to startle him, Krillin spoke, "Hey, Gohan."
Gohan Senior gave a yelp and tumbled off the cloud, and Krillin sighed at himself. So much for not startling him.
With wounded dignity, Gohan Senior climbed to his feet, brushing cloud dust off of his clothing. "Don't scare me like that, son! If I weren't dead already, I probably would have had a heart attack!"
Krillin had the good grace to lower his head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya like that, but I need to talk to you about something."
Gohan Senior readjusted his tight fitting hat. "Do you? This from the lad who was running away a few days ago in an effort to avoid talking to me."
Krillin checked a sigh. He had no more time for apologies; explanations took precedence. "You know what this place does to you?"
Gohan Senior looked at him for a second, puzzled. His brow wrinkled in confusion as thoughts cycled through this head. "You mean about the whole forgetting things thing? Yes, I know about it."
"Uh . . ." Krillin blinked. Despite his earlier words, he was surprised that he actually knew the answer. "Just when did you . . ."
"Oh, a while ago, I suppose." Gohan Senior's voice sounded resigned. "I think most here do figure it out eventually, but then they forget that they did. Kind of ironic when you think about it."
Actually, that was pretty ironic, Krillin reflected, wondering if just perhaps they were in the Ironic Punishment division of the afterlife and nobody had bothered to tell them. Krillin shook his head; he was mixing himself up too much.
"Well, don't you want to do anything about it?" he asked. "I know I would rather remember my life."
Gohan Senior shrugged, turning his glance to the side. "Maybe it never occurred to anyone to leave. I can't say for sure. I don't know too many people around here all that well." He then turned back to Krillin, one eyebrow raised questioningly. "I suppose that it has occurred to you, then."
"Well of course it has. Who would want to stay here? Come on, let's go."
Gohan Senior shook his head, looking sad. "I don't know, son. I've lost an awful lot as it is. It's probably not even really worth it anymore."
Krillin could not believe what he was hearing. In life, this man had been a legendary martial artist, and one did not gain a distinction like that by giving in to things easily. Gohan Senior could not have always been like this; it had to have been the room that had done it to him somehow, taken away his will to fight. But he had to help him get it back.
"What do you mean you don't think that it would be worth it?
Do you really want to forget Goku?"
The old man blinked, titled his head. "Who?"
That settled it; the old man was coming with him whether he wanted to or not. With a speed that could not be seen by average human eyes – not even eyes that had belonged to a once legendary martial artist – Krillin took Gohan Senior's back and chopped him lightly at the base of the skull; quietly, he hoped that people could still be knocked unconscious in the afterlife.
Much to his relief, it was possible. The old man's stocky frame sagged forward, and Krillin caught it easily in his arms. Not so easy was hoisting it over his shoulder; the weight didn't bother him, but Gohan Senior was a few inches taller than he was, so carrying him was awkward.
"Okay," he stated to nobody in particular. "Phase one is down. Now it's time to blow this joint."
- -
He could not remember the last time that he had dreamed, for the dead did not dream. Or maybe they did, but it was only rarely. Only being dead for twenty-odd years – minus a brief resurrection in that time – he had never really gotten the hang of being dead. So maybe dreams were possible. In fact, he was sure of it. Since he was sure that he was dreaming right now.
He barely recognized the place – a small dwelling in the forest, sloped roof, symbols painted in red by the door. It was nestled in a little clearing in the woods, near the base of a great, if not entirely impressive mountain. But the mountain was not really that important.
In the field on the outside of the house, a little boy stood. A little boy with hair that looked as though some random animal had decided to make its home on his head, bright black eyes, a cheery smile . . . and a tail.
Seeing the tail triggered an alarm within him somewhere, though he was not sure why.
The little boy was happily playing in the yard, performing some rather advanced-looking martial arts techniques – before he could stop it, he felt a sensation of pride welling through him at the boy's actions. But the boy did not use his hands much, despite the intricate routines that he was performing. For a moment, this was mysterious, but then the reason was revealed.
The boy sat down, wiping sweat off his brow – or imaginary sweat, for it did not seem that the boy had tired in any way – and sat down with his legs folded over each other. And then he opened his hand, revealing a small orange sphere, almost too large to fit in his palm. And in this sphere, four red stars floated, not seeming to be anchored anywhere inside the ball, nor painted on the surface as some sort of decoration. The boy smiled at this ball – a wider grin he had never seen – and playfully tossed it up in the air, repeatedly catching it. It seemed to be the most fascinating object in all the world to him.
"You have to be careful with that, Goku." He heard a voice, and was almost startled to realize that it was his own. Almost. But it made sense in the context of the dream.
The boy looked at him plaintively. "Aw, Grampa," he whined. "I'm not gonna break it. I was jus' playin' with it."
He walked toward the boy, hand held out. "Goku you know that this is not a toy. If you can't hold onto it without throwing it around all the time, then I'm not going to let you have it."
"No, Grampa, I'll be good," the boy – Goku, an oddly familiar name – scooted back, clutching the little orange ball as if it were the most important thing in his life. "I won't throw it around no more. I promise. Jus' lemme keep it, please?"
It was difficult to resist a look like that: lower lip pursed, eyebrows drawn upward and together. Despite the odd hairdo, the boy was almost heinously cute. A look like that would have melted a rock.
But he was a little tougher than a rock. "Give me the ball, Goku. If you're good and do all your chores for the next week, I'll let you have it again."
Goku looked like he was about to pout, but he handed over the ball anyway. "Okay, Grampa. I'll be good; you'll see."
A brief flicker of motion caught his corner of vision, and he glanced up in its direction. Goku seemed to have noticed this, too.
"Wow!" the boy chirped. "Grampa, what was that? I gotta go see!" All traces of sadness gone, Goku charged across the clearing and shinnied up the tree like a monkey. He leapt from branch to branch, and the boy's giggling was audible long after he passed out of sight . . .
- -
Krillin breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Gohan Senior stir on his back; carrying the man had been getting pretty tiring. He stopped in mid flight, landing on a cloud, and laid the old man down in front of him.
Gohan Senior put a hand to his forehead then slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked around dazedly before his gaze landed on Krillin. "I take it that we're not in the Relegation Room, anymore," he said simply.
"Darned if I knew," Krillin muttered, half to himself. This whole place looked the same to him, so whether they had gotten out of it or not was really open for debate. Or it would have been open for debate if there were anyone around with the ability to argue either point. "Your guess would be as good as mine."
It was as unpromising a day as any that he'd had in life, Krillin reflected. No clear direction, no way of knowing whether success or failure was the reward for one's actions. He'd had quite a few failures in his life, and precious few successes.
Here was hoping for one of the latter. Just for a change of general pace, of course.
"You know, I do recall saying that I did not want to come here," Gohan Senior said irritably, drawing Krillin's attention once more.
"Do you always treat your elders with such disrespect?"
"Look . . . It's just important for you to get outta there, okay. I'm just trying to help."
Gohan Senior sighed. "Well, it isn't as if I have much of a choice right now, is it? I suppose that I will have to accompany you for the rest of your journey."
Krillin held back a sigh of relief. He had been half afraid that he would have to spend all of his time merely arguing with this man, or failing that, having to knock him out repeatedly and carry him around all the time. This was much easier.
"So," Gohan Senior began. "Which way now?"
Dainin looked around, his expression filled with annoyance. Now where was that door to the blasted Relegation Room? He could never find that place, despite over seven hundred years of working for the Afterlife Administrations Bureau. Silently, he cursed Yamai for getting sick; it was the other demon's job to do this round, not his.
Sometimes, he got the feeling that Yamai did it just to mess with his nerves. That, or he was just trying to get out of a terrible job.
Ah. There it was. Right ahead of him, a giant red door that seemed to mock his previous inability to find it. He could almost hear the stupid thing shouting at him: "Hey, I'm over here you little blue idiot!" Yes, indeed, he would get Yamai for this.
Pulling open the door, he was greeted with the average Otherworld sight of yellow clouds and the zooming white wisps that were people's souls. He wished that he could go back to his old job; the scenery was much more interesting down there.
"All halt!" Dainin called, voice echoing clear and loud over the clouded expanse. Instantly reacting to the order, movement stopped. Or it did save for two wisps that ignored his presence entirely and continued to giggle and hop over each other. Dainin cleared his throat, and tried again. "I said, all halt!"
The two previously disobedient wisps stopped immediately, standing straight at attention, yet looking despondent. Or as despondent as they could without faces.
"Nothing to worry about, folks, just the routine rounds here. So if you'll all just co-operate . . ."
There was muttered confusion among the wisps, and the few souls here that still possessed bodies. With a sigh of exasperation, Dainin took off his horn-rimmed glasses, and rubbed between his eyes where he could feel a headache forming. This was why he hated this place so much. The residents always forgot him. Or at least most of them did. It wasn't really their fault, considering that the room erased their memories, but it was hard not to be annoyed by this. Yes indeed, how he missed his old job.
Word Count: 2516