Scene #1460: Vegeta's Big Day Out

Owner	Pose
Cell	It's getting late. The sun is still high in the sky, of course, but its arc has become most assuredly downwards as it sweeps towards the mountains in the distance. There's plenty of daylight left, though. Arguably, this works against Cell. The biomonster was at his best at night. When people couldn't see - when people let their minds wander and their imaginations kick in, and let their brains fill in the blank spots their eyes couldn't see with all sorts of horrid monstrosities - was when Cell was superior. He played on the cracks in the human mind. He exploited those subtle moments, when a thump outside the door might be the building settling, or it might be a great beast with eyes of flame and jaws of shadow ready to tear you limb from limb. Arguably, Cell was much worse. However, light is necessary today. It's important that they have plenty of time. As he waits outside the restauraunt, lazily checking his phone, Cell is already planning out his evening. His evening with Vegeta. There was no one in the world Cell hated more. It was simply impossible. He hated people professionally - he killed dangerous criminals and hunted dangerous enemies for money, and he delivered last messages and vendettas on behalf of very wealthy (Cell could never legitimately use the term /powerful/ to describe a /human/) individuals. So he was a professional at hatred. But where Vegeta was concerned it was an art form. The Saiyan was a challenge, a test, and a monster. Not only was Cell convinced of his own moral rightness to deal with the Saiyan Empire before it grew out of hand, he was delighted by the prospect, enthralled by the necessity, and addicted to his loathing. Hating Vegeta was so easy, but making Vegeta hate him? Making it personal? Making a nemesis? That was a craft. That required careful, by-hand work. It required fine tools, fine handiwork, plenty of time and effort. Tonight was just one of those moments of time and effort. Tonight was just... Just chipping. Chipping away at the marble of Vegeta's pride. Chipping away at the marble of the Saiyan King's arrogance. Chipping away at what he believed in. Chipping, chipping. Cell had time. He had all the time in the world. He and Vegeta were the two most immortal individuals on Earth-4555. He could afford to take it slow. As he checks his watch and stands there in his immaculate (and literally just-made) Armani tuxedo, he hums. It is like crickets chirping, or cicadas singing outside. It is beautiful, and off-putting, and a little bit terrifying. He is humming https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ad6EL-qTGl8 Never let it be said that a nightmare can't have a sense of humor.
Vegeta	Vegeta is, well, not exactly the dating type, particularly not when it comes to abominations. Cell wants a date? He'll play this game, play this game and find his -moment-. When he shows up, he's wearing an expensive looking black suit, black tie and all. It fits him perfectly, which suggests it was tailor made. And he's got a pair of simple black shades. When he walks up to the monster, his arms are crossed, nose raised in a disgust that only royalty can manage. "I'm going to tell you, because I refuse to stoop to the level of an insect..." he begins, the focus of his gaze obvious even with his eyes obscured. "I'm going to rip your arm off tonight. You won't know when, you won't know how, but I'm going to rip your arm off."
Cell	Cell's humming continues as Vegeta lands. The big horrible bug-monster looms over Vegeta - he's probably a good head taller than the famously-short Saiyan royal, though his relaxed posture is quite the opposite of Vegeta's. Cell is relaxed. He seems almost totally off-guard, though of course he isn't - being off his guard in front of Vegeta would be stupid and dangerous. Vegeta was, after all, angry. And while Cell was as close to immortal as immortal could be, he wasn't really in any sort of hurry to push it. Vegeta lands, and threatens him. Cell fights the urge to laugh, instead offering him a polite shrug. His sharp, buzzing voice takes on a slight tone. "Hello, Vegeta. That's a nice suit. Who does your tailoring? Do you have to get a new one every time you lose your temper?" Cell does not mean a new suit. The biomonster checks his watch. "Four on the dot. We're expected. I hope you like fine dining. I made sure it was only the best." "You're paying," he adds offhandedly as he turns and heads inside. The restauraunt is...one of those really expensive sorts of restauraunts. It's the kind of restauraunt that makes you wonder just how it stays in business, because there's almost no one there, there's almost no tables, and everything is so posh and upscale as to be frightening. The food is either really, fantastically good, or really, fantastically expensive at a place like this - a place full of glass and windows and expensive chairs and expensive rugs. Vaguely-Chinese (or whatever the common culture equal is in DBZ) objects hang from the walls, and the maitre d - the place has a maitre d, which is fancy enough on its own - is clad in a traditional robe of a high-ranking court servitor. He bows to them as they enter. "Mr. Vegeta and Guest?" He asks. "That's us," Cell confirms. THe maitre d takes a long look at Cell, shivers, and nods. "This way, sirs. And, erm," he shudders, giving Vegeta a look, "May I congratulate you on your...boldness, sir." He leads them into the restauraunt. "How, erm. How long have you two...?" "Oh," Cell cuts him off, "We knew it was special the moment we saw each other. He looks good enough to /eat/, after all." The maitre d can't help but get the subtext. Not that subtext. The actual subtext. Cell is terrifying.
Vegeta	"Do you get to choose a new color every time someone stomps you to death?" Vegeta asks as he begins to follow, lowering his arms as he doesn't bother to look around. Seventeen and Eighteen are on the roof, on standby. Not to ambush, but to watch for anything that looks even remotely Red Ribbonish. Besides, they could be used for an interesting bit of leverage later... "I'm more than willing to pay for this dinner of death, or at the very least, suffering." He shoots an intimidatingly corrective look at the maitre d. "-Prince- Vegeta." he states, firmly, with a vague willingness for violence in his tone. When the maitre d asks -that- question, his eyes are wide, then Cell and his double subtext. He obviously offers the most witty retort he's capable of in this situation. "I'm going to kill him." he explains to the confused worker.
Cell	"I don't know," Cell admits cheerily, "I was thinking I might try for yellow. Maybe a nice golden blonde tint to my shell." Because wouldn't that just be spit in Vegeta's cereal. "Oh, come on. You can do better than that. What about a /supper/ of suffering? An afternoon of awful? A meal of misery?" Cell taps the side of his head as they walk, his horrible hissing-cicada chuckle erupting from his mouth-parts. "You're falling short of my image of you, Vegeta. I expected a witty and regal king, not an angry midget bully." "We, we are excited to have you in our restauraunt, your highness," the man offers, because he is not stupid and he knows the name Vegeta, because ONCE UPON A TIME the Earth was taken over by Saiyans and he is old enough to remember it, "Excited beyond measure. I-it is surely an honor to treat you and your...erm..." Cell waves his hand and dismisses the man from having to come up with anything. The maitre d runs away as they sit at one of the very few tables. It's a window seat with a lovely view of the lake the city is built near; there are tons of boats on it, and it sparkles in the dying light. It's a sight worth seeing. Cell doesn't seem to care. He picks up a menu. "Can I ask you something, Little Prince?" He says once the menu is firmly in front of his face, "What makes you think you can kill me?" There's no mocking edge in his voice for once. It's just...curiousity. It's perhaps the most neutral Cell's voice has been the entire time. "Moreover, what makes you think you really want to?"
Vegeta	"My prey." Vegeta answers for the man, his eyebrow twitching with every insult and offensive statement. He wants to respond, he -could- respond, but most of his responses aren't exactly verbal, and it's more likely that innocent people will die in this situation before Cell does. He simply takes a seat across from the creature, then grabs the menu with both hands. He never removes his sunglasses, they offer a bit of a psychological buffer. "Hah! What a ridiculous question. You're nothing more than an abomination, an insect. You're nothing compared to me. The only reason you're still alive is because you're very good at hiding, and when you're not hiding, you're putting yourself into a situation where I have to break vows and kill innocent people in the process. I know that a simple concentrated shot to the chest won't kill you, I'd have to destroy half this entire area in the process." "I don't know what half this crap is. if you're so smart, -you- order." he slams the menu down and sits there with his arms crossed. "And I know very well that I want to kill you. You hurt Serori, the queen of my species, my -woman-. And even though I can't kill you right here, I'm definitely going to make you suffer."
Cell	It's highly likely that a lot of innocent people would die long before Cell did. The unfortunate waiter chosen for the evening comes over, and Cell orders in flawless local-Chinese-equated-language before he responds to Vegeta. He hands over the menus, picks up the napkin, and snaps it outwards to stuff it in his collar. He takes great pains to arrange it properly - not because it insults Vegeta (it probably does not), but because Cell simply refuses to eat like a savage. Even if he doesn't really eat. It's just one of those...those annoying ticks he picked up. They don't really annoy other people. They annoy him. Because it makes him think of himself as /people/. Because it makes him think of himself as a /human/. Cell is brimming with rage and anger at the mere thought - the only real difference between him and Vegeta is that he doesn't express it. That actually just serves to make him angrier. Cell sits in silence for a long moment. "That isn't why you want to kill me, Vegeta." "You're a Saiyan. You solve all your problems yourself. If your woman - /your/ woman, your Queen - got beaten, you'd want her to solve her problems herself." Cell shrugs. "It's the same with your silly empire. You don't really want to rule all the Saiyans. That's not what you do. You're not a ruler, Vegeta. You're a conqueror." Cell picks up his fork and taps it against the table. "You backstabbed Frieza and took over. And then you took over some more. And then, when Raditz beat you, you backed off. You gave up what meant the most to you because of a /fight/." Cell traces a line along the table with the fork, then jabs it firmly at Vegeta. His tail swings up over him, hanging in the air like a scorpion's. He points it at Vegeta to double up the emphasis. "You aren't a ruler. You get bored too easily." "No, Vegeta, I think your woman is an excuse. I think if you were a real Saiyan, you'd let her do it herself." Cell's mouthparts open thoughtfully, letting out a buzzing noise that likely equates to an 'ahhh'. "But you can't resist a challenge, can you?" "That's why you started. That's what you want. It's why you make noise, it's why you conquer, it's why you puff around with your chest thrown out in front of you, it's why you huff and howl at the moon like a great big monkey. Because you want to be noticed by something scary. You want to be scared. You want to be up against the wall, all alone in the dark, scared out of your wits so you can beat whatever scared you into the dust and feel better about yourself. Feel stronger. Bigger. Tougher." "Admit it, Vegeta. You're hoping I'll be something special." He holds up his hands. "You're hoping I'll be the next Frieza. Because if all I was good at was sneaking, skulking, and stabbing in the back, Vegeta, I wouldn't've made you my enemy so publically. I wouldn't've drawn your fire like a target. I wouldn't've shattered her arms and legs and tail and left her there under a mountain for you to find." "You're here because you want to /know/. You can't help it. You're a machine. You sense something that might be a threat to you, and it excites you. I excite you." "Because, sure, maybe I'm just a bug...but what if I'm not?" Cell leans back in his chair and fiddles with his fork. "That's my theory, anyhow."
Vegeta	"I don't intend to quit conquering, but we're doing things in a way that won't get our entire species terminated. I don't know how you can say I backstabbed Frieza, I got revenge for my people. And Raditz was so convinced that he could beat me and do a better job than me, I offered him the chance." Vegeta sits back in his chair, simply watching as the monster speaks, showing those little ticks of disgust with his -words-. But the actual horror of his body, it's as if he doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of disgust at the thing's ticks, with the way he's just so utterly non-responsive. "You believe I can't rule, but you're just some mix-breed trash, an abomination of species, something that couldn't possibly understand racial pride." He listens though, very carefully, allowing him to finish. Then he reaches up to take his sunglasses in one hand, then removes and sits them gently onto the table. "What if you really are strong, and it really wasn't just because you took Serori by surprise. There are lots of things I wonder about you, lots of reasons I want to fight you. And while, yes, you should be Serori's to deal with, there is the possibility that she -can't- deal with you. And I won't allow my woman to die simply because of pride. I would much rather kill you myself. The only question is if you'll be a challenge that I can -enjoy- killing, the rival that Kakarot could have been."
Cell	"Well, I'll admit to that," Cell agrees, fiddling with his fork thoughtfully, "I don't really understand racial pride. What do I have to be proud of?" Cell recognizes Vegeta's disgust plainly. He's doing his best to hide it - indeed, he's doing better than a /lot/ of people have - but he's seen it time and time again. It's always from the same sort of person - the sort of person who thinks they have the right to rule the world, whether through power, money, or blood. Normal people have the decency to be disgusted by him. Normal people have the decency to make it clear that they find him repulsive. He liked that, in a way. It was a friendly sort of repulsion, an honest admission. But many of those who were once disgusted by him saw his value once he worked for them. So he swallowed his pride, again and again. So he sucked down his hatred and his anger into that secret place where he could be disgusted by them, where he could convince himself that they were the disgusting ones and he was the hero who would save them, uplift them once and for all. They paid him well now. It had paid off. It would pay off more in the future. The waiter brings back their appetizers and a glass of wine. Cell ordered something impossibly fancy, something using high-end caviar or something, for himself. For Vegeta, he ordered a stack of bananas. Granted, they're fried, cooked, caramalized, and delicious. But the insult is pretty clear. "Kakarot," Cell rolls the name around, "Kakarot...Son Goku, wasn't it? Pity about him. I was supposed to kill him, you know." The waiter brings a fine red wine over in a chilled bucket, along with two glasses. Cell pours his wine into his glass, then jams his stinger into it and drinks. It's completely pointless, but he liked doing it. It was both unsettling and humanizing at the same time. He found it useful. "Gosh, Vegeta. What good is a queen you need to protect? How can you really say she's worthy of you if she can't even squash a bug?" Cell's right eye widens slightly in absence of eyebrows. "I mean...what if I had just..." He gestures at the glass. Slurp, slurp. "It can't be easy to date these days. You don't have much in the way of prospects who suit you anymore, I can't imagine." Cell rubs his nonexistant chin thoughtfully.
Vegeta	"Absolutely nothing, you're a disgusting monster and your life is an insult to existence." Vegeta thoughtfully answers, then he just stares, he stares at a -lot- of things. There are a lot of insults, threats, and offenses happening at once. His breathing is heavier. The glass disgusts him at first, then the mention of what he -could- have done to Serori... And the bananas, the goddamned bananas. The -bananas-. "ARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!" He holds his hand up, a fork flying from someone's hand in a different part of the restaurant. Then when he ends up in his, he -stabs- the fork down toward Cell's tail, trying to just jam the entire fork in, just above the stinger portion, aiming at green and black flesh. "You and your bananas can go to hell! My woman and what I need from my woman are -none- of your business! Now have these bananas taken away or I absolutely -refuse- to suffer your nonsense!" He's absolutely full of -rage-. It was oddly the bananas that set him off more than anything else.
Cell	Cell does not laugh. Vegeta stabs Cell in the tail, the fork driving in deep - deep enough to stab right through the stinger and shatter the wineglass on impact. The entire table shakes from the force. The fork shatters. It simply can't stand up to the two of them - neither to Vegeta's strength, nor the slightest bit of resistance from Cell. And it is only a slight bit - it's a good show - but there's enough resistance there to stop Vegeta from driving it all the way through the tail. As the fork shatters, Cell's hands snap outwards in all directions. He snags the fork's pieces out of the air at lightning speed - Vegeta might be able to track it, but anyone else watching only sees a blurr of green motion as the horrible monster collects the pieces of the fork before they can do anybody, or anything, any harm. He fights down his pain for that. Being stabbed in the tail hurt. Allowing Vegeta to stab him that deep hurt. Allowing Vegeta to stab him hurt. He closes his hands around the pieces of the fork and crushes them in his hands. They turn to powder in an instant. He releases them onto the table, letting them pile up as he gestures to the waiter. "The Prince is unhappy with his order," Cell informs him politely, "He'd like something else." "O-of course, sir. What would he-" "He says," Cell observes, his face perfectly straight, "That the bananas were horrible and could go to Hell. I think you may have overcooked them a bit." The waiter trembles. His raw terror is plain to see as he glances at Vegeta. He knew Vegeta's face, after all. "Bring Prince Vegeta something more suiting him. Maybe something from your freezer. Something cooler than grilled bananas. I'm thinking cold." He taps his nonexistant chin. "Honestly, I don't know what fits his palatte. It's been a while snce I've dined out. Pick something you think he'd like." "O-of course, sir," the waiter agrees, hurriedly collecting the bananas and racing off. Cell draws his tail out of the wineglass. The melted remains of the fork fall from the tail, and the acid blood drips into the wineglass, melting it against the table. Cell folds his hands in his lap. "Now there's no call for that, Vegeta. It's just an appetizer. You're getting all worked up over nothing." His tail waves around in the air, dripping acid onto his own body. He is, of course, immune to it, so he doesn't particularly care that he's bleeding on his own head. The cup shape of his horns collects it nicely and prevents it from doing any further damage to the restauraunt. It was insulting. And he would repay Vegeta. But unlike Vegeta...well, he had to be careful. Subtle. They were watching him. They wanted to see what he'd do. They wanted to know what he could do. "Oh, and bring him another fork," he calls after the waiter, "We'll need it for the main course." He looks back at Vegeta. "It's funny. I could say the same about you. Look at you. You don't even have the bearing of a King. You're a wild animal. You're barely even human, let alone Saiyan. You can't even have dinner with someone without trying to murder them." Cell's voice drops to a hushed, hissing, buzzing whisper. "You and your entire species are a stain in the sky. I am going to eat you, and your woman, and everything you have ever cared about. I will drink you dry. I will make the whole of the Saiyan race die and finish the job Frieza started. It's the one thing he ever did that was worth a damn." Cell picks up his knife and goes back to fiddling with it, his voice shifting back to its normal tone in a heartbeat. "Now sit down before you embarass me. I like this place. I may come here more often depending on how the main course is." "And stop acting like a spoiled child. I have an offer for you."
Vegeta	"If you could control yourself and your monkey jokes, I'd possibly not feel the need to suddenly stab you with a fork. Be glad that I showed some restraint." Vegeta doesn't make it clear on how stabbing someone with a fork is -restraint-, but apparently, to him, it is. "I'm -not- human, I don't use humans as the baseline for all that is good and evil. Humans are not the center of the universe. I am a -saiyan-, and stabbing someone with a fork for insulting you at a dinner that you're paying for is well within the boundaries of royal saiyan etiquette." He glances over as the waiter walks away, not apparently paying Cell's bleeding tail any mind. But his disgust when he does glance at it, well, it's clear. He looks at him in the same way that a king might look at a disgusting noble by marriage who doesn't have an ounce of -true- royal blood. "I'm sure you do want to wipe us out, I'm sure it burns you up that you're -less- than a half-breed." He leans his head back, literally looking down his nose at the taller form of Cell. "Make it."
Cell	"That's exactly my point," Cell replies, waving his hand dismissively, "Humans lost to you. They aren't the center of the Universe. You cut out what little pride they had left. You cut short a glorious promise of destiny." "I intend to change that." Cell sits back in his chair. He reclines thoughtfully. He rubs his chin. "Honestly, I don't think of myself as less than a half-breed. I think of myself as better than the average ape. I mean, goodness, Vegeta. This isn't even my final form. Imagine what I'll be like when I'm done cooking?" There's silence as the waiter wheels out a much safer appetizer choice - it has nothing at all to do with monkeys, and is instead a simple Caesar salad. Vegeta may take it as an insult, but since Cell didn't actually order it, it's probably not intended as one. Nobody else in the restauraunt seems to have the balls to do something like that. "Disband it," Cell says finally as he smells the main course coming, "Disband your little empire. Dismantle your desire to spread across the galaxy. Pull all your people to whatever home planet you've picked, and leave Earth. Forever. You and all your little friends stop conquering planets. You rule in peace and prosperity, and I'll never bother you again - not ever." Cell waves his hand. "No more monkey jokes. No more 'wipe out the Saiyans'. No propaganda, no furious wrath, no making fun of you, no mocking you. You get respect. You get safety. You get sanity. You get treated like a proper rival, and if you want to fight me, I'll play ball on some nice neutral planets." "The Saiyan people and the Earth get to be friends. Golden age. Peace and prosperity for everyone." Cell leans forward. "All it costs you is your race's stupid, self-righteous conquering. Not just Earth. Everywhere. You don't get to spread around to all the other worlds, too." Cell holds up his fingers, like he's holding a ball. He closes his fist around it. "Imagine it, Vegeta. Imagine your people building towers to your greatness. Imagine an endless reign of prosperity and joy as the Saiyan people turn from barbarian conquerors to enlightened mediators, artists, engineers. Imagine what your people could be. Imagine what the galaxy could look like if you put your pride and your anger away and really tried to give your people a future. I know what you're capable of, Vegeta. Part of you makes up me, after all. I know what you /could/ be." Cell leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "That's offer number one. I don't think you'll take it. But I wouldn't be me if I didn't try." This is mostly true.
Vegeta	"I'm sorry, but did you just imply that you aren't disgusting and vile?" Vegeta asks, after the mention of Cell's final form. Then the proposal begins, and he takes the salad, turning his nose up at it. But as it's an -unintentional- slight, he grabs a new fork as if he's holding a tiny shovel, then stabs it down into the lettuce to begin eating while listening. "A part of what my empire will be invovles taking the different perspectives of saiyans, Taylita and Raditz, who are against conquering, with myself, Serori, and Gohan, who are very much for conquering, and seeing what becomes of our race when we rule. What you're saying, it hasn't entirely escaped me before. I'll let you in on a secret..." He stabs into his salad again, holding a huge amount on a single fork while he speaks. "I have no idea if we're going to actually conquer or not. It's going to take a long time to establish society on our home planet, and by the time we're finished, Taylita and Raditz, if Raditz stops being a moron, will have already asserted their influence. I don't know -what- these saiyans will follow, they're primitive, they weren't raised under my father. They could prefer the more peaceful methods of those two." He shoves the entire fork into his mouth, chewing rapidly with his cheeks full, then swallowing hard. "So, when it comes to your offer, I have a compromise." He points the fork at Cell. "The saiyans who are directly under my command will leave Earth alone, with the exception of supporting Serori's hunt for the Dragon Balls. I have already promised Taylita that I wouldn't senselessly exterminate any innocent people, as you clearly know and have taken advantage of. But in exchange, you'll avoid killing my people. You can fight them as much as you like, but you'll avoid killing them, until we've fully established our home planet and our empire on that planet." He raises the plate, then begins to shovel the rest of the solid into his mouth, speaking whenever his mouth is clear enough for words behind the plate. "If, after we've finished on that planet, you still want to exterminate us, then declare war. In the meantime, this is a rivalry of elites."
Cell	"I have no interest in the Dragon Balls," Cell confirms as he watches Vegeta eat, "I don't give a damn about your 'wishes' or anything else. They can look all they like." "This rivalry between Elites extends to my own soldiers as well, however," he adds, "And to yours. If you make this agreement and I find out that you or yours have gone after mine, it's off. Saiyan season opens for business. I kill and eat everyone I like." "And you may be able to fight me, but I bet your primitive friends can't. I bet I can gobble them up. Yum yum yum." Cell flicks his fingers to the side as the waiter arrives. He takes the tray carefully and sets it on the table. "Otherwise, I accept your offer. I admit a distant sort of curiousity about you, Vegeta. I want to see if your people really are capable of turning into something productive." He fiddles with his knife. "What can I say. Maybe I'm just a sentimentalist. Maybe I feel like I owe it to Raditz. Who knows." That is a lie. That is a painful life. All Cell cares about - all Cell really cares about - is having time to get his own goals out of the way. Just like Vegeta, all Cell cared about out of this deal was the opportunity to get what he needed done. To keep the Saiyans from destroying his work. To keep the Confederacy from scouring the world, looking for the Red Ribbon Regiment, until he had all the materials he needed. Everything he needed. Wishes wouldn't cut it. Sometimes you needed to work for what you desired. And, well, the fact of the matter was, he was ready to strike, but the Red Ribbon wasn't. They needed training. THey needed work. They needed science. Science took time, time he didn't have with Vegeta breathing down his neck. This way...well, this way he could do something. He could work towards the eventual goal of splitting Vegeta's brain like a walnut. "The second offer involves your slaves. Your Androids are Red Ribbon property." "I want them back." Cell waves his tail - it's already healed, if Vegeta's paying attention - and raises the dish. It smells delicious. Warm meat. "I want those two returned to me. In exchange, I'll publically apologize for injuring your queen. Respectfully, politely, and where everyone can see." "Getting all my soldiers back home is more important to me than making you angry," he lies.
Vegeta	"Hah, they're barely reprogrammed as it is, if they even are anymore. They'd try to kill you, it's amazing that they haven't tried to kill me, because they only follow the bare minimum and most literal orders." Vegeta slams his fist onto the table, looking out toward the waiter. "Beer!" he shouts, then looks back to Cell. "I used to think they were merely machines, tin cans, but I know very well that they're more than that. They're safer in my hands than in any others. They ravaged the planet, they're probably what these Earthlings fear most right below me. So..." he shrugs, very casually. "No, they're too dangerous. And as much as I'd love to see them go on a killing spree and destroy your army from the inside out, I have no desire to give you weapons of mass destruction." He crosses his arms, peering directly into Cell's cold, creepy eyes. "Don't push your luck."
Cell	The waiter stares at him, then runs off to fetch beer. In a hurry. Cell shrugs. He didn't really expect Vegeta to let him walk off with the Androids. Vegeta probably knew why he wanted them, and if Vegeta didn't, Serori or the Confederacy probably did. Still, it was worth a shot. "I thought I'd make the offer," he replies smoothly. He cuts off part of the meal, setting it on his own plate. Then he stabs his tail into his food and...drinks it. It's really a horrific process. The tail visibly swallows, like it's taking large /gulps/ as mass moves through the distended thing. The food, meanwhile, deflates slowly, like a balloon losing air. In moments, it's gone, vanishing upwards into his stinger. Cell makes a motion with his fingers. "A little springier than I'd've liked, but not a bad job."
Vegeta	"You're an absolutely disgusting being of pure scum." Vegeta grunts, then waits for his beer and the rest of his food to come. "Since you were reasonable, and because it would be against royal saiyan etiquette to do so during the meal we came to an agreement at, I'll spare your arm. Now let's get this over with so that I never have to watch you eat again."
Cell	"You're such a sweet-talker, Vegeta," Cell replies, apparently deeply entertained. His tail swings back behind him. Vegeta's meal is placed in front of him. The waiter gives him a single look, then runs away. He doesn't even bother to introduce the meal. "Mmm. Smells great." Cell is of course not going to tell him what it is. Not just yet.
Vegeta	As this is Chinese cuisine, Vegeta uses a pair of chopsticks, which he seems very adept with. He starts to eat very rapidly, not even -questioning- what his food is. He doesn't look up at Cell, or -speak- to Cell. He wants to keep his food down and looking at Cell is the exact opposite of that.
Cell	Cell watches him eat with the curiousity of someone at a zoo watching a wild animal eat. Meanwhile, he pulls out his phone and takes a snapshot. By using his tail (CAREFULLY), he takes a second snapshot of the two of them eating. He sends both snapshots to Gohan. The phone vanishes back into his pocket. "I guess I made the right choice for you, after all," Cell observes, touching his chin as he stands up. "Listen, I'd love to keep this going, but I just got a call to get some work done. Enjoy the monkey brains, though. Local delicacy." With that, Cell strolls out of the restauraunt, humming 'Orange-Colored Sky' with that weird cicada voice of his.
Vegeta	"AAAAAAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!" Vegeta shouts, his hair bursting into super saiyan as he just straight up flips the table. But he knows he can't do anything more, despite his rage, he knows that all he can do, right in this moment, is allow Cell to walk out the door. Anything more, and he knows these people would die.