mask

So hello. 

Written by nugget. 

Cumber, in the confines of...well nothing, had been eating rather slowly a giant apple the size of his head. HIs movements and demeanor outside of battle very...unsaiyan like , in that he took time with his food.

So that really was all there was to it, then.  Saiyans were just hardwired to fight.  It was so incredibly simple; he had to admit, he was a little disappointed.

How freeing it must be to live so unencumbered, though; to not feel as though you had to become stronger to ensure the safety of everyone you knew (and those that you didn’t know as well), to not be consumed each day by talk of justice and concern for all the wrongdoing you hadn’t managed to stop the previous day– it was unending, and there were not enough Pride Troopers to even begin to cover all that needed covering.

That thought gave him pause.  How very unlike him…  Was he burning out?  Toppo, Dyspo, and the others sometimes talked of taking vacations, and would disappear for a few weeks every now and again…  Perhaps he needed one.

“I envy your lack of obligation,” he admitted after a long moment.  “I have devoted every moment of my life to justice and the pursuit of strength since I was a young boy.  I have always needed to fight, to prove myself, to save my Universe…  To save my teammates who depend upon me…  The weight at times is staggering.”

 “The weight of those who follow you, is immense.” he speaks, knowing from experience that such a weight can be opressive at times. That by fulfilling the duty to continue that impressive performance, will others start to shine. He had no such responsibility to others and such his following fell to ruin. Not that he cared, he is not a god who would use the belief of others for strength. 

That was a lifestyle he knew well.  While he couldn’t pretend to comprehend the implications that the Saiyan was somehow immortal, he could certainly understand a lifetime of combat.

After all, he had lived it.  Minute after exhausting minute.

“Simply fight?  Without cause?”  The implications of that never sat well with him.  Jiren at least fought for something– justice, and the pursuit of strength.  But to just fight, with no clear goals or aims beyond combat itself…  That concept eluded him.

“Surely, you must fight for something…  The pursuit of justice, vengeance…  What drives you to seek combat?”

 “A saiyan needs not a reson to prove himself. That is installed in our very brains, our instincts. Its stupid, and it holds us as a race back. But with this universe fate dependent on strength, it is...useful.”  Sometimes he hates the instinct, but most times he just dwells in it. Never holding back from life. He hates it, but lives in it. 

 “No one asked you.”

And what the hell is a Kakarot?

 Also. 

That…  Hit closer to home than he would like to admit.  As far as Jiren knew, there weren’t any of his people left alive either.  He forced the thought from his mind before it had a chance to really take hold, opting to just continue the conversation instead.

“So, you plan to outlive them, then?”  The question was asked in a way that suggested that the notion might entertain him– might, because it was difficult to ever tell if something was entertaining Jiren the Gray.  “And then what will you do?”

 “There is no choice. I have evolved past the standard saiyan design.” in any case he is close to a god of destruction than anything, not bound by anything close to responsibilities, but barred by the humane thing within, the saiyan like horror had made himself cozy on this standard under developed planet. 

“Your race values food, then?”

It was an honest question.  Jiren knew precious little about Saiyans, short of what he had learned in combat.  He never would have guessed there was a food scarcity on the Saiyan planet in Universe 7– that would have been far more believable for Universe 6; their Saiyans were scrawny by comparison.

Something the other had said made him pause for a moment.  “Almost all dead?”  He studied the masked man for a moment.  “So not everyone of your race is as strong as those I’ve met, then.”

Something chewy and sticky looking is shoved through cumber mask, parting ways and showing that the mask was simply made from energy and more for aesthetic than anything. 

 A moment after. 

 “Saiyans are always hungry. It is...the trade off for increase muscle mass. The more we eat, or show to eat, the stronger we are thought of.”

He floats, gracefully and sits midair. 

He stared at the other for a long moment, studying both him and the box that seemed so precious to him.  The man’s ki bordered on overwhelming, but something about it didn’t feel right.

“I had no intention of taking it from you.”  He paused. “Is that meant to be food?  It does not look appetizing.”

 “If it does. That is, good.” He pauses, pausing a bit more. Ah, yes the warrior from another universe. A good fight, but something he tends to forget even if a moment when most of his rage ended up on the super saiyan god original. 

 “This. Is mine.” 

“…You look like an edgy try-hard.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you not want others to see your face or are you really an edgy try-hard?”

 “Why should that matter to you?” 

He says eventually, taking his long time in answering. Without a chance to fight, there was little to excite him or anything that could get his blood pumping.