There went Vegeta again with the whole helping business once more, wondering why he didn’t just give up and send him someplace else after all of these failures. Any other person in command would do the same to a failing soldier and he was no different or should be considered special; if he failed then that was it, he shouldn’t be given so many second chances. It made him feel like a broken toy constantly being fixed until it was covered in bandages and dents, eventually being left to the side when no more use could come out of it. To have a life like his was probably torture to anyone else, to be constantly made a mockery of and then tested on to see why he was failing. Grumbling when Vegeta only denied the possibility of more experiments he casually scratched his ear with a claw, “You’re only saying that because you know you’ll fail”, he mumbled, letting Vegeta do whatever he needed to do with his blood. He didn’t know what he might find in it, it wasn’t like he was a scientist but something told him there wouldn’t be all that much in there. Looking back when Vegeta when he presented him with a question he stared him down, narrowing his gaze before averting it again, “I’ve failed more times than I can recall a victory. I’ve gone from one of the strongest to the weakest warrior here and I am not getting better. What has been done that’s been a clean success? And don’t say ‘living’ or something stupid like that…”

T’charrl was a little nervous to have someone at the door, even if it was Takeshi probably because of what happened the last time they were together. It was so bad just how much he was screwing up being around others and he was certainly a little scared that Takeshi was going to question him about it all. Staring up at him with a frown before realising food was on the menu, “Uhh, I-umm…food…” He was awfully hungry and hadn’t eaten much at all lately, but that was on the account of him either not knowing how to make food, being too self-conscious being around the others or too distracted by everything else he had to deal with. Finding the prospect of food too appealing to put down, slowly he managed to push himself up and onto his knuckles on his large claws, “Y-Yes, thank you. Uhh…” he paused, reaching over and grabbing his scouter, gently putting it on; while he was getting better at speaking he still felt self-conscious about how he sounded normally too, “I’m ready. I’ve missed out on too many meals…”