Trunks sighed; he was watching from the balcony while his mom “checked” if the time machine was in working order, comparing it against the one that’d brought Cell to this timeline, seeing if she could fine tune anything...
Never mind the fact that he’d kept it in a capsule any time he wasn’t using it.
“She’s just putting off saying goodbye, dear.”
So said grandma—but every time Trunks tried to help Bulma do... whatever she claimed to be doing, she’d tell him he should rest instead since he’d been fighting and gotten hurt dealing with Cell.
Again, never mind the fact that she knew Dende had seen to the hole in his chest and Trunks barely even had a scar to show for it.
Dad was still off somewhere on his own, reticent and quieter since the battle ended; Goku’s death had affected something, not that Dad would ever share exactly what that was.
Which left Trunks on the balcony, propped on his elbows against the banister. His leg bounced off his toes, the sun reflecting off all the glass in West City glared into his eyes, his hands were clammy and he just couldn’t—!
“Jarring, isn’t it?”
The question startled him and he whipped his head around; thankfully not violently, since he knew the androids were gone in this time and he’d sensed a modest ki signature. Most of the Briefs family friends were lingering around the building somewhere so they could see him off.
Roshi stood in the sliding glass doorway, regarding him from behind his sunglasses.
They... hadn’t interacted much. Trunks knew he existed, obviously, but he’d never come up all that often when master Gohan or his mom talked about their friends before the androids.
“What?” He asked, wiping his hands on his jeans again.
Roshi paced up beside him, puffing at a pipe. He didn’t say anything for such a stretch that Trunks almost wondered if he’d said anything to begin with.
He lazily blew out a perfect ring of smoke, then:
“Peace.”
Trunks stared.
Blood raced between his ears.
“Quite the stark contrast, hm?” Roshi wondered aloud, as if only speaking to Trunks tangentially. “These quiet times when there’s no mission, no monster to face.”
Trunks gripped the banister, clenching his other hand into a fist.
“I still...”
“Oh,” Roshi said, empathetic and not dismissive. “I know, I know. It never stays quiet; but by the same token, warriors are never always necessary. War does, at times, come to an end.”
Trunks swallowed.
“That’s a good thing!” He said, emphatic. Maybe a little too quickly, by the way Roshi looked at him. “It’s good... right?”
Roshi nodded.
“Of course. Just—take one word of advice from an old man.”
Trunks blinked.
“When your mission ends; when those days come that leave you feeling restless and ill-at-ease, be patient with yourself. Find those things that bring you joy. The itch at the back of your mind will abate eventually.”
Trunks’ throat went dry.
Roshi frowned at his pipe and tapped it against the banister, unloading its contents into one of the bushes below. He leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially.
“Don’t tell your mother.”
Then he walked away.
Trunks’ mouth moved uselessly without mustering a sound as the old hermit disappeared. Accounts of Roshi’s character had always been few and mixed in the future. Gohan had once tentatively, kind of uncertainly, named him a second grandfather in that he’d been his Dad’s master.
Trunks’ Mom in the future had been decidedly less complimentary.
Then again, given what Trunks now knew about Yamcha after meeting the man and interacting with him, maaaybe his Mom wasn’t always the most reliable source.
Trunks looked back down into the yard, where Bulma was extracting baby Trunks from the dilapidated time machine Cell arrived in.
Inktober: Day 1, I draw Gil but with long hair u - u 💕One of my classes has us looking @ a lot of art and I'm like, "Neat" 👀, insp. from "Flaming June" Frederic Leighton (1895)
I don't remember the prompts but I also do not care and will do what I want.
