One colossal crash and Bulma was down the stairs. She nudged open the door to the dining room with her baseball bat. The front panel of the drinks cabinet had blown clear off. The spirit decanters stood untouched, while the shattered remains of the crystalware ran like water over the shelves and down onto the carpet. She looked to the tabletop where, at four in the morning, Vegeta sat cross-legged with his breakfast in hand, staring at her with those worn black shadows under his brooding eyes. All around him lay the glittering debris of every last red wine glass.
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