Raditz and Nappa were darting anxious glances his way. Vegeta steadfastly ignored them to read the memo on his scouter display for the third time, just to be clear he understood it correctly.
They were being ordered to stand down.
It appeared that some intricate galactic politics were in play. A dispute between Frieza, his brother, Cooler, and a few other powerful galactic ‘allies’ (that term being used more generously than literally) had come to a head. Until the politics could be resolved (or war was declared), all of the Frieza Force was to halt activities and remain on standby at their current locations.
It was essentially a forced vacation. Most would have been thrilled.
But not Vegeta. Being told what to do never settled well with him even in the best of situations, and this was far from that. Being told he couldn’t travel, couldn’t kill, couldn’t essentially do whatever the fuck pleased him in the name of galactic expansion, was tantamount to being collared. Caged.
Or so it normally would have. Only, Vegeta was in what one could call a ‘good mood’, which was remarkable considering there was no blood on his hands, just the lingering scent of a blue sex doll’s juices still on his fingers, hidden under his gloves, and the peace that a good night’s sleep brought.
His men were waiting for the fallout, to see if Vegeta would blow something up, or tell them to ignore their orders and fly off to wipe out another unfortunate civilization.
“Try not to get in my way, or I’ll kill you,” Vegeta told them nonchalantly. He walked away, off to inquire about the nearest training facility. If he was going to be stuck here a while, he would need something to keep himself busy with. That was, until night came around and he could visit the woman in secrecy.
Raditz and Nappa shared a look, floored by his lack of reaction.