Work Text:
He'd become accustomed to time travel. Jumping dimensions was new, and not really a pleasant experience so far, since it had cost Trunks his ki abilities. He kept his strength and Saiyan senses, he'd found out, and more than enough speed to deal with a human, but he couldn't even muster enough ki to fly, let alone shield himself or fight. So far, Trunks was unimpressed with this adventure.
He remained unimpressed when he spotted the giant, obviously armed, vaguely-humanoid machines flying through the air. His mother could build better than that, and they were too blatant a threat. The androids were more dangerous -- the problem of 17 and 18 was that until they fired, they passed for human. Anyone could see these coming.
What finally did impress him was the giant, obviously armed, vaguely-humanoid black machine. Not for the green scythe that flashed through the air, or the obvious ease in demolishing the other machines. He was impressed with its grace.
Trunks was a Saiyan, even if he had been raised human, and no Saiyan didn't love to watch a battle. But he had grown up fighting 17 and 18 and their twisted ideas of aesthetics, and he found beauty in fights his father would have scorned to watch. The black machine was beautiful, and Trunks found himself fascinated, sure that he could hear it laughing.
Maybe this adventure wouldn't be too bad, if he could deal with that machine. Or, Trunks qualified, watching its chest open and a small human male step out, deal with its pilot.