Author's Note: For those who don't know, the '/' shows where the beat is. Also, this website is stupid and wouldn't let me put space between the paragraphs, so I had to TYPE OUT the word 'transition' like a tool. Anyway, this is based on the continuity gap between Finn's pathetic excuse for a "freestyle political rap" in Daddy's Little Monster, and his super sick battle rap duet with Marceline against the Lich in the comics. Enjoy.
Marceline lay on the bed in her room, doing nothing in particular. She didn't even have the energy to float. Turning her head to one side, she glimpsed the lingering daylight slipping down the jagged protrusions of her cave. She hadn't bothered to turn the television off, and the cheesy B grade acting of Heat Signature drifted into the room. She had only seen the film about a thousand times—and that wasn't an exaggeration either. She had kinda been around for a while. It was the only VHS she owned, after all, the only one she had managed to get her hands on. Well, there was movie night, but that hadn't lasted very long.
Just then, the phone rang. She leapt up out of her oppressive lethargy and nearly tore the thing out of the wall. She was incredibly grateful to hear Finn's perpetually cheerful voice drift from the receiver:
"Hey MC, how's it hanging?" He couldn't see it, but Marceline was beaming, to the point of showing a few sharpened incisors. It was amazing how quickly one's mood could change, under the proper circumstances.
"I'm pretty good, man, how's everything with you?"
"Better than I have ever been." He paused for effect. "And I mean that literally."
She laughed. "Okay, psycho, what are you actually calling for?"
"I am…very glad you asked," He replied slyly. "I've been working on some sick raps, and I was thinking maybe you could give me some feedback."
"Hmmmmm..." She rubbed her non-existent stubble in mock consideration. "…All right, sounds cool. Come on over."
"Awesome," He said, chuckling slightly. "See you in a bit then."
"See you." She hung the phone back up on the hook and sighed, more out of relief than anything else. It would be nice to have some company for a change, wouldn't it? ...Now what to do while she waited? The bed again, she supposed.
(Transition)
"It's still in development…" Finn said hesitantly. "So, try not to harsh too hard on my mellow, okay?"
"No worries, man. You're in a safe place." Marceline was reclining to a ridiculous degree, her entire lower torso hanging off the end of her unpadded armchair, still a bit too lazy for levitation. She put aside the bag of stale—yet previously unopened—tortilla chips she had found under her fridge and gave him all of her attention.
Finn stood across from her and fished a diminutive boombox from his pack. He set it on the floor, plugged it in, and deposited an unintelligibly scribbled-on cassette tape within its apparatus. He pressed play and a simplified, impromptu beat—clearly a Jake the Dog production—reverberated from the twin speakers on wings of heavy bass.
"Unh," He began. "This is the warm up part. Before I get ready-freddy."
Marceline merely smiled and watched expectantly.
"Okay, here we go. 'Bout to kill it. Alright, unh, unh…My name is Finn…I'm here to win…I'll take you for a spin then I'll toss you in a bin!"
The recording was then abruptly and emphatically cut short, no doubt to punctuate his dominant stage presence and ruthless punchlines. His smile was so ludicrously wide she knew he would be just as invested in her reaction as she was in his initial performance— if not more so.
"That…" She chose her next words with surgical precision. "Wasn't too bad, Finn…like you said, it's in development. There's…always room for…improvement."
If disappointment was a defined substance with weight and volume, Finn would've filled the room with it. She desperately wished to change the subject.
"Um. So…wanna hear something I cooked up?" She asked. His eyes lit up at this new proposition.
"Of course. Drop some knowledge on me, Marc."
"Thought I told you not to call me that," She snapped. "Anyway, it doesn't really have a name, but it sounds pretty cool, I guess…mind turning the beat back on?"
"Do it, sister!" The radio's small, square button was mercilessly slammed back down into its recession, and the steady rhythm of canine origin once more filled the room. Marceline cleared her throat, relaxed her mind and muscles, and moved to the beat. And then…
Marceline Scream Queen/ night terror dream theme
All-around scheme fiend/ deemed obscene glean green
Lean supreme careen scene/ bleed clean stream steam
Mean genes breed unclean/ serene keen in benzene
Devour your brain/ use your skull as a canteen
Scour your cavities/ corrode your soul like gangrene
Namesake of depravity/ pain-staking in clarity
Taking a break/ from shaping catastrophe
Allowing you to die/ with dignity is a charity
I unwind when I dine/ on misery in my majesty
A glorious reign/ with millennial length
A notorious beast/ with sentinel strength
My victorious swath/ leaves a feast for the flies
With haste head east/ and lay waste to the skies
Bet you've never met a de/mon as graceful as I
Spread hope just to snuff/ it so distastefully kind
Biding my time/ Armageddon arrives
Don't be surprised/ not many survive
And all who remain/ are all empty inside
Think you're safe in isolation/ I will break through your mind
Take what I find/ take what is mine
While you cry and I sa/vor the look in your eyes
Sample the flavor/ that hopelessness hides
Built on the labor/ apostles provide
Finn sat on the floor in stunned silence for a moment, ears still attempting somewhat futilely to fathom what they had just heard.
"Woah." He paused, unsatisfied. That hadn't done it justice. "That was…tops. That was…astronomical."
"You really like it, huh?" She asked, only the tiniest bit pleased with herself. "I'm alright, I suppose." The modesty was genuine too.
"So I guess I was pretty bad then, huh?" He asked, with a little less enthusiasm.
"Well, yeah, kinda," Marceline said reluctantly. She was then caught slightly off guard as Finn bowed like a medieval knight.
"Oh Marceline, Queen of the undead. It would be my honor if you would take me, a lowly peasant boy, under your wing to instruct me in the ways of the funky fresh and those dope on the mic."
She frowned.
"Finn, I could literally take you under my wing…ehhh, alright. I just want you to know I don't know the first thing about teaching. I guess I'll give it a try. But you're gonna need to give me some time."
"I shall patiently await your tutelage, m'lady."
"Would you please stop talking like that?"
(Transition)
"See ya, Marsheezy!" Finn called as he hurried home.
Marsheezy stood in the darkening archway and slumped to one side. Just what had she agreed to? Well, for one, something to do for the next couple of weeks. She supposed that was worthwhile. She withdrew from the damp, suffocating air into the false light of her home. If she was going to do this, she would have to re-learn practically everything she knew.
Once she was able to find it—a Herculean task in and of itself—she flicked on the light-switch in the old library she never used. Engorged shelves had eventually conceded defeat and spewed their gluttonous feast, leaving a vast and unfathomable ocean of crumpled pages and upturned bindings where the floor once was.
"Jeez," Marceline said aloud, giving voice to the empathy she felt for the uninhabited closet. She drifted over the swamp of paper, coming to rest at a far shelf that was entombed in dust. She began to look through the few aging tomes that had remained upright. In her search, in addition to the numerous musical history books she found (Among them The Culture of Hip-Hop, The Birthplace of Blues, The American Folk Music Revival, and Robot Rock: The Daft Punk Story) she also happened upon a plethora of novels and nonfiction books, some of which were older than her. She recalled being read to often when she was a child, but the specifics eluded her. She wondered why she hadn't visited this humble little hole in the ground in so long. She had nearly forgotten it, and yet it seemed this gargantuan anthology was perfectly suited to her hermetic lifestyle. It'd certainly be better than crappy, outdated movies on a loop.
