Bura-sama
Monday.12.7.01
Sunday.1.6.02

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Warnings:  This is a Bra/Goten fic.  I stereotype Gypsy culture and carnival life. This is AU and mentions suicide, physical abuse, and death. 

Future Dreams

Unus

        I suppose at one time the fabric had been new.  I'd heard from some of the other girls at the carnival that the original owner had paid a hefty sum for it, although it's hard to imagine that now.  The other girls told me that the skirts had once been a rich red silk, that they didn't always have rips and tears, and an odd mud color that didn't wash out no matter how hard I tried.  They told me that the original owner was fair and lovely and told such fortunes that people from all over the world came to hear her predictions.  They told me the original owner was shot to death when her husband caught her in bed with another man.  I don't think her predictions were that useful.

        My name is Bra, and I work as "the old gypsy woman" at Specsim's Carnival and Amusement Show.  I dress up in these flashy clothes and sparkling metal jewelry that people believe is gold, and I go out and squeeze money out of poor old women and little kids.  They don't have to pay me... I just need a little coin for me poor dying mother...  Tonight was a night like most of them.  I was wearing a "gown" of flashy blues and yellows, twirling my skirt for all of the tourists to see.  I never strayed far from my little tent.  I always had to keep an eye open for potential suckers -- er, customers.  I heard them before I saw them, the indulgent ring of gullible people.

        I turned to the right, and plastered on my mysterious-inviting smile.  There were six of them.  A middle-aged man with spiky black hair, an older woman holding onto his arm, a younger girl with black hair about my age, a woman with black hair tied in a ponytail, and then two young men with short spiky hair.  I smiled and looked to the older one with the indulgent laugh.  Summoning up my Russian-French accent, I swayed my hips and walked back to the stand.  I waited for them to pass.  Snagging my hand on the girl's shirt sleeve, I introduced myself.

        "I zam Bura, zixth daughta oz za zixth moon."  The entire group was watching me.  I did a polished little bow, allowing some of my long blue hair to fall across my shoulders.  "I tell you ya fortune, za?"

        The group was giving me an odd look.  Then the girl jumped up and down, "That is so cool!"

        I smirked my little smirk, and led the girl inside my tent, the others in the group watching skeptically.  "Za.  What iz ya name?"

        "Pan!"  She sat down across from me and gawked at my crystal ball.

        "Put ya handz on za table."  She did so, her palms up.  She'd done this before.  I reached out and placed my index and middle finger on her palms.  A little flow of energy raced down my arms, making her flinch.  "Pan.  O spirits who command za past and future:  zend me a zign and reveal ha light!"  Okay, so maybe I was putting on the accent a little deep.

        ...She likes adventure movies...  The little voice drifted into my mind.  I repressed a smile and concentrated.  ...Her favorite color is red, and she's always up for a good fight...

        My eyes snapped open and bored into hers.  "You like to fight, and ya bezt color iz red."

        She gaped at me for a few moments, and the looked over to the older woman.  "Grandma... how...?"

        Her grandmother raised her eyes appreciatively, "You're good."  Pan got up and let the older woman sit down.  She laid her hands, palms up, on the table and waited.  I lightly pressed my middle and index fingers against her palms and felt that light charge snap between them.

        The two men are her sons.  The old guy is her husband.  He dies all the time.  When he's not dying or practicing his fighting, he's eating...  She enjoys cooking his meals and taking care of him...  She never told him about the baby she lost...

        I cleared my throat and stared into her eyes.  "Ya iz a little houzwife.  Ya iz very zad when ya man leazes ya.  Ya carry guilt from untold zecret --"

        She jerked her hands away and pushed herself from the table.  She was shaking.  I was victorious.  "Next?"  The old guy sat down and I touched his palms.

        ... He loves to fight, it's in his blood.  He's not from around here, you could say...  He helped kill his brother, and was once turned into a small child...

        "Ya too love ta fight.  Ya not from around here, 'n' ya killed ya brother."  I said with a shake of my head.  "Za."  I threw in when he made no acknowledgement.

        He nodded slightly and the older of the other two men sat down.  "Gohan," he said conversationally, and I realized that I had forgotten to ask the others for their names.

        ...This one had to grow up much too fast.  He's only had sex with one girl...  He worries that the girl isn't his, he wishes he kept up with his fighting, and not became a wuss like his mother told him to...

        "Ya wish ya still fight really a lot."  I shivered at my bad grammar.  Mama taught me better than that.  "Ya as child waz hard.  Ya fight a lot."

        He nodded and his wife sat down.  She told me her name was Videl, and I touched her hands.  She flinched.

        ...She wonders if she married too soon...  She wouldn't have married at all, but she thought she was pregnant...  She thinks her father is a con artist, and her daughter is a spoiled brat...  She loves her husband, but is intimidated by his family...

        "You really love ya man.  Ya wonder if ya have no life.  Ya think ya daughter is too wild."  I smirked my father's smirk.  She was too easy read.

        The last man sat down at my table and held out his hands on the table.  "Name?"

        "Goten."  I lightly pressed my middle and index fingers against his palms.

        I was drowning.  I could see colors everywhere.  Red dripped out of the sky, blue swirled beneath my feet.  The sky was a rich purple color, and the wind was an orange mist.  It was silent.  Everything was silent.  The tickling presence of heat pricked my back, and I turned around to see everything in flames.  All of the colors were black.  He was standing in the middle of the fire, this man I was reading for a fortune.  His face was contorted in pain, and he was coughing up blood.  I could feel the heat consuming my body, and he was blurred away in the flames.  Suddenly, noise erupted in the room, and I couldn't take it anymore.  I started screaming, and the noise level increased to drown out my screams...

        "Hey lady, are you okay?!"  I snapped back into reality to realize that I was screaming at the top of my lungs and gripping the man's hands until they were blue.  I immediately let go and the colors stopped swirling in my mind.  I felt nauseous.  Everyone in the carnival was staring at me.  My face grew red with embarrassment.   The man still sat in the chair, just gaping at me.  That familiar voice came back to me.

        ...He thinks you're cute...  He also thinks that you are insane.  He's not the only one...

        "You're in danger."  The words were out before I realized it.  "There were colors and a fire."  He stood and backed away.  I jumped up, knocking my crystal ball down and not caring.  "Please believe me!"

        "Look, Miss, I don't know what you're trying to pull --"  The grandmother looked at me sharply.

        "I'm not trying to --"  I stopped when I felt strong fingers grab my arm.

        "Bra, I need to speak to you.  Now."  Great.  It was my manager, M. Specsim.  Low pay and bad work weren't enough when he was around.

        The group that I had just finished reading walked away uneasily.  I looked my manager in the eyes, "He's gonna die."

        He dragged me back to his office trailer and slapped me hard across the face.  My skin burned.  "Do you have any idea how many customers you just scared away with your little act?!"  I was sure he was going to tell me.  "You are being paid to preach it, not believe it!"  He picked me up, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.  He smacked me again, leaving a matching red mark on my other cheek.  He turned me around and pushed me up against the wall.  One, two, three slaps across the back with his leather belt.  Four, five, six strikes across my legs.  He turned me around again and hit me between the eyes.  I wanted to cry so badly.

        He moves in for another blow, but then someone grabbed his arm and held him back.  M. Specsim spun around and was met with the hard gaze of three angry eyes.  Tenshinhan.  The only one in this carnival who would stand up for me.  "Leave her alone."  It was said so coldly that the manager shivered.  He turned to look at me, "Are you all right?"  The tears started falling, despite how hard I fought them back.  I ran out of the office and down to the tent that proclaimed in block white letters 'Three Eyed Man and Talking Doll.'  I pushed back the fabric and collapsed to the ground, crying my eyes out.

        "Do you want to talk about it?"  I didn't have to look up to see who I was talking to.  I sat down and explained the whole story to him.  He listened the whole time, Chaozu was a dear friend.  He gave me a little hug, and I started to feel better.  "Bra, we promised your mother that we would take care of you.  If it's important that you talk to this Goten boy again, then we'll find him and talk to him."

        "We failed Trunks, but we won't fail you."  I looked up to see Tenshinhan standing in front of me.  He had blood on his hand, and I guessed it wasn't his own.

        I smiled slightly, I was going to track down this Goten, and try to -- get through to him, and make him listen.  I already had my brother's blood on my hands, I would not let someone else suffer, too.

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owari? not on your life.