Real talk: I needed something much more lighthearted after what happened in the last chapter of Rehearsal. This may be the most ridiculous thing I've ever written (except that Cosmic Owl dream, maybe). Still canon, though. Hopefully you guys enjoy it.
Jan was not impressed.
At first he thought his plan deviously clever. Flyers! Who had ever heard of recruiting would-be recruits with flyers? It was unheard of, in that he had never heard of it. Which, you know, good enough. Nonetheless, he had gone into the dingy cellar, found the equipment (the good stuff was reserved for his master, of course), designed some notices, and generated hundreds of adverts. He even posted them around the Nightosphere himself, which was no easy feat given that he was scarcely allowed outside the Citadel walls without submitting a leave request in triplicate. Which he then had to submit to himself, and as per Citadel rules two copies would then be thrown into the fireplace. Which was ridiculous, even to him; the fireplace needed no additional feedings, twice a week were more than enough. But rules were rules, and far be it for him to try to upset the status quo. No demon was that suicidal, though evidently some were suicidal enough to answer the flyer summons, because here he was, looking out on the gaggle of demon responders and Jan was not impressed.
The change in Nightosphere management had not been as smooth as he had hoped. There was no bloody coup, but there seemed to be an impression across the dimension that his new boss would be any better (read: a pushover) than his old boss. Standards had dropped overnight, and a few foolish souls had even made a break for the surface world. This had gone about as well as could be expected, and the ones who were not killed immediately were tortured publicly as an assertion of power and control. Some had their souls ripped clean out, the hollow husk that remained mounted for decoration. If anything his new boss was even more sadistic than his old one and had brought new ideas to the Nightosphere, even going so far as to establish relations with the surface world. Or, more accurately, one very specific part of the surface world. Jan had seen that one coming, but no one had asked him so he told no one about it, he just enjoyed the carnage that followed when his master's decision was questioned. Within a week the Nightosphere had been literally and single-handedly decimated. Which meant the Citadel was now grossly understaffed, and it fell to Jan to re-staff if while his boss was occupied with More Important Things.
The flyer idea had seemed so sound, but the applicants were a bunch of idiots. The worst kind of idiots. The type of idiots that didn't even know who was in power, as if the bloodbath that followed the management change could be missed by anyone or anything. Fuzz, they even felt it on the surface world! The thought was accompanied by a frown. He didn't disapprove of the Great Purge of Imbeciles, as his master referred to it, but it did mean a buttload of work for the poor demon. And that's how he found himself on this terrible day: standing in front of the Citadel's entrance on a soap box, standing as straight as he could given his almost-mangled leg, glaring at the mass of stupidity before him. They were speaking, if you could call it that. Jan found it more like squawking. Infuriating squawking. They were squawking to one another unintelligibly, demons of all sizes and shapes. Some held copies of the flyer; these were the ones who chatted excitably about the possibility of working in the Citadel itself. It was a coveted place to be. If you could survive the boss's temper and the obscene workloads you were amply rewarded, with food and everything. That would be the first thing they'd want to know about: the benefits. It would, therefore, be the last thing he talked about. After one last survey of the mob he cleared his throat. Let's get this trainwreck going. In the past he had met his Queen's servant, a strange-looking stout man who spoke quietly and commanded attention passively. That always came across as weird to him, but maybe the surface world's subjects were less idiotic than the Nightosphere's.
He doubted it.
"HEY!"
To his relief the blabber immediately ceased, all eyes turning to the demon on the soap box. As unimpressed as Jan was with the crowd that crowd was equally as unimpressed with Jan. He was smaller than a demon in his position should be, all humanoid (except the missing torso) and a flaxen yellow. He had three large eyes surrounding his round mouth; if not for the black pupils they would have blended right into his body. He had three fingers - claws, really - on each hand, and no toes. He even limped, supported heavily by a dark cane made of the indestructible material unique to the Nightosphere. There were rumors as to how he acquired that injury and that cane. Legend had it that he had threatened someone's mate and they had let him off with only a mutilated leg, the leg a gift from the Nightosphere's master to celebrate Jan's tenth year of service. It sounded ridiculous to the denizens, but laughable or not one thing was clear: Jan outranked them, and it was in their best interest to listen.
Jan took one last moment to look over the crowd before him, as if searching for something. I wonder which one of you it will be… But it was a large crowd, perhaps three score or more, and he had no time to locate who he was looking for. "Alright, let's get this over with. You made it to the Citadel. Good for you. My name is Jan. I am the Citadel's Chief of Staff and the boss's personal steward. If you're here it's because you want to work here. You've probably heard lots of horrible things about this Citadel. Rest assured: they're all true." He noticed a small section of the crowd pale and smirked. "Yup. You're probably going to get beaten at some point. Your soul might get eaten. The hours just bleed into one another, and don't get me started on the cafeteria." This had the opposite intended effect, as another part of the crowd turned almost excited. "Wait, there's food?!" He groaned inwardly.
"Yes, there's food. That's one of the incentives for working your literal butts off. You get food. And some other stuff."
A red hand was raised. "Like what?"
He didn't bother to hide the irritation in his voice. "Look, worry about that after you survive the application process, alright?"
The same red hand raised again. "What's the application process?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "The boss hasn't decided yet." Hopefully it involves killing you. When no more questions worth his attention were ventured he nodded. "Alright, let's get started. Before we get started you get to enjoy a tour of the Citadel. Might as well learn about the place you want to serve in." Not wanting to entertain anything else from whoever that demon was he slowly made his way off of the box. To the group's surprise, however, he didn't venture into the Citadel proper. Instead he meandered to a statue familiar to all Nightosphere residents. "Pop quiz. Winner gets a prize." He pointed to the grey stone statue with his cane. "Who is this?" At first no one raised their hands, all convinced it was a trap. Who could mistake the half-demon, half-human, all vampire who wielded a bass that was actually an axe like it was an extension of herself? Who had never seen the statue of her erected the day she adopted the chaos amulet, inherited from her father, Lord Hunson Abadeer, former Lord Evil of the Nightosphere? It was a monument recognizable to all demons. The vampire queen, instrument-weapon held aloft in a fierce claw mid-stroke, her immaculate suit repelling the unworthy blood of the demons pressed beneath her boot.
The answer to Jan's question was so obvious the silent yet collective opinion was that it had to be a trap. Finally, a small blue demon with comically oversized feet raised his hand. "Uh… the master of the Nightosphere?" Jan nodded. "Correct. You get your prize when this is all over, if you live." This seemed good enough to the demon and Jan continued. "You all should remember the Great Purge." A collective, revolted shudder. "Well, this is Lady Marceline Abadeer, queen of the vampires and Lady Evil of the Nightosphere. Until recently Lord Hunson Abadeer, Lady Abadeer's father, was our boss. He has since retired to who knows where, though he acts as regent during Lady Abadeer's more extended trips to the surface world."
To his irritation the red hand raised again, its owner speaking before Jan could ignore him. "Will we meet Lady Abadeer?" Jan sighed. "If you're lucky, no. Lady Abadeer is occupied preparing for an upcoming trip to the surface world." The same insufferable demon. "Does she go to the surface world a lot?" The yellow demon debated printing out an FAQ before remembering what happened the last time he printed out flyers. "Yes, Lady Abadeer divides her time between the Nightosphere and the surface world. Rest assured, though, she's pretty much omnipresent so I would just assume she's around before deciding to do something stupid. She has a small temper." Small. Like the Great Mushroom War was small. "It was by her axe that the Great Purge was launched and it was by her axe that it ended." When two more hands raised he began to make his way to the Citadel. "Question time is going to wait now, otherwise nothing is ever going to get done and I have things to do. Important things." No one contradicted him, so he headed inside, the sounds of over a hundred feet or appendage-equivalents echoing behind him.
While the entrance to the Citadel remained largely unaltered after the 'company takeover' (as Lord Abadeer called it, tears of pride shining in his eyes) the interior of the building was a different story entirely. What was once a short dozen-room tour was now an all-day affair, and that stupid red demon had already put Jan behind schedule. He stopped just inside the entrance, flanked on both sides by stretches of hallways. "Alright, you're inside the building now. Congratulations. Now you get a tour of the inside-" The sounds of excited murmuring interrupted him and he narrowed his eyes. "HEY! Important guy talking!" Although he heard some snickering the blather did die down and he resumed his carefully crafted speech. "You get a tour of the interior, because if you're going to work here you should probably know where everything is." A blue tentacle rose from somewhere in the back. "I will let you know when we pass a lavatory." The tentacle lowered and he continued down the left hall at a leisurely pace. "When I first began working at the Citadel there was only one hallway and maybe a dozen rooms, only two or three of which the peons - that's you - had access to." Predictably, most of the rooms the group passed were closed, blocked by big, thick black doors that seemed almost wooden. Even Jan wasn't entirely sure where the material had come from; there was no wood in the Nightosphere, and prior to Lady Abadeer's appointment it wasn't like the dimension traded with the surface world often. Valuing his life, however, he chose not to ask. Instead he stopped before a seemingly innocuous door, the crowd stopping short behind him. When he heard murmurs of pain he smirked, but swiftly recovered his composure.
"As we continue the tour I will be overviewing some essential rules about your stay in the Citadel, especially if you're one of the few who will be living here full-time. Now!" His cane tapped the door. "In all of the paintings of the Citadel's interior the doors haven't changed. But they're outdated and something's different. Something super important. Can anyone tell me-" That cursed red hand rose once more and Jan did nothing to hide his discontentment. Please be you. I hope it's you. I want it to happen to yo- "The doorknobs aren't silver anymore? Because Lady Abadeer is a vampire?" Glob it. "Yes, insignificant speck, the doorknobs are no longer silver. They are a specific alloy created by the Queen herself. For those somehow bafflingly unaware, Lady Abadeer is a vampire and vampires are harmed by silver. So there's your first rule: No silver in the Citadel. Or the Nightosphere in general. Same goes for wooden stakes. It's a bad idea, trust me, I know what I'm talking about. The boss may be Deathless but it'd still make her very unhappy, and demons tend to get maimed when she's unhappy." Or happy. Or bored. Or hungry. Or- He cleared his throat, silently pleased when he noticed a few intelligent souls had begun taking notes. Maybe you'll be the ones to live.
He opened the door, revealing what he knew to be the tackiest, most cramped room in the entire facility. Its grey and tan checkered floor, the mint green walls and cabinets underneath a teal countertop, the white stove and microwave hadn't changed in hundreds of years. The fruit bowl - now filled with apples - was still flaxen, the broom had just been re-bristled last week, and the trash can had been upgraded for something flame retardant after an unfortunate incident involving a fire elemental that Jan had moderately positive opinions of. The only startling deviations were the teapot and hand-towel, now both a soft pink, and a series of magnets on the refrigerator. Those were new as of only a few days ago, those tacky little accessories that represented words and allowed one to write messages on the appliance. Which was what was happening right now, because they clearly spelled out, 'Finn wuz here, yo'. Jan chose not to address that once he returned to his tour-duty; those demons who could not fit in the room either hovered overhead or jumped futilely in a vain attempt to watch. He noticed that at some point recently the table and chairs had been replaced to something more… feminine. More pastel lavender. More wooden (save for one metal chair), capable of sitting a group of perhaps five or six. It was distinctly surface world. Even the painting above it had been replaced by some sort of strange stained-glass design. That's a weird crest.
"This is obviously the kitchen. For those of you assigned kitchen duty, know that Lady Abadeer has very strict dietary requirements. She only eats shades of red." To his relief the appendage that raised was not a red hand. To his irritation its owner asked a stupid question. "I thought vampires drank blood?" Jan sighed. This question came up everytime, and while he knew most demons didn't exactly pay attention to what happened outside of their own dimension this particular subject was public record and had been for over a thousand years.
"How many vampires do you think remain?"
"Uh… eight?"
"One. Lady Abadeer is the last of her kind. Do you know why? Because she killed the others. Single-handedly. All of 'em!" He slammed his hands together to make a loud clapping noise for emphasis.
"I'm pretty sure that's just a myth."
Jan balked. "Well, as her personal steward I can assure you it's not. She wiped out an entire species on her own. And do you know why she did it? To protect the few humans that remained from getting dead. So no, Lady Abadeer doesn't drink blood, she eats shades of red, and that's what you'll make all of her meals out of. But your job gets even more exciting, because she won't be the only one you'll be preparing meals for. You will also be responsible for serving guests, no matter what time of day or what they eat. And if they eat demons you jump right on in their mouth and thank them for the privilege." At first a couple of demons almost snickered, but upon realizing that he was being serious they instead exchanged glances. When Jan made for the door the crowd parted for him and he felt so very important for it. "Alright, let's go, more to see."
Back into the hallway Jan continued to make his journey down the corridor. "As we continue down the halls you will notice that we are passing a series of posters. Prior to Lady Abadeer's appointment these walls were actually lined with expertly crafted portraits of Lord Abadeer. One of the new boss's first acts in redecorating was to lovingly throw them into various containers and replace them with these posters, which reflect the various bands and concerts she has played with and in." This was impressive, even to the simplest in the crowd; the walls were absolutely covered in posters of various art styles and sizes, some featuring the vampire alone and others featuring her in bands. One demon flew to the high walls to get a closer look, only to suddenly collapse from mid-air. He hit the ground with a hard *thud* and lay still. Jan smirked. "Yeah, don't touch anything. There's another rule for you." No one took a note of that, and he hoped it was because the lesson was so obvious. To his discontentment the dead demon was not the accursed red one.
"The farther we get down this hall the more recent the posters get-"
"There sure are a lot of them."
His eye twitched. "Yeah. You may not have noticed, but Lady Abadeer is over a thousand years old. Remember? That thing I just said about that? Oh, and another rule. Her bass is actually the Abadeer family heirloom axe, which she converted even before her Turning. Never touch it."
"What if we're assigned to music-based duties and tasks?"
He snorted at the hunter-green serpentine demon; it was scaled and possessed two tiny bat-like wings in the center of its too-long body, but no limbs and an unnervingly humanoid face. It even had bushy seaweed-colored eyebrows, a long pointed nose, and a circular mouth much like Jan's own. But that's not where the small yellow demon's derision stemmed from. A job working in the music department was a very coveted position; taking perfect care of the boss's musical equipment meant preferential treatment, and if you were really good at your job you were usually exempt from the annual 'competency examinations'. "You won't be. But for everyone else applying, never touch her bass. You may be assigned to literally-" figuratively? "-anything else, but never, ever touch her bass."
"Would… would she kill us just for that?"
He sounded so pathetic that Jan couldn't help his sympathetic look. "There are worse things than dying."
"...Like?"
"Not dying. Now we head to the new wing." As the journey continued the scenery began to change. No longer was the tour group surrounded by dark, rough stone. Now it was giving way to something sleeker, something black, something with warm walls that were impossibly smooth. "Shortly after Lady Abadeer taking over as master of the Nightosphere she demanded an extension to the Citadel. In addition to the job-specific locations you'll be assigned to you will also find Lady Abadeer's office, her lair, the concert hall, and the cafeteria, which we will go to last." The excited chitchat ceased as quickly as it began. "For reasons that are hopefully obvious even to you unimportant specks we won't be visiting those first two."
"Which two?"
A yellow hand clenched around his cane in exasperation. "Lady Abadeer's office and lair. Those are obviously off-limits to those who don't want to have their souls sucked out. Now, while we make our way to the concert hall, here's another pop quiz. What is the most important rule of all?" To his dismay there was actual discussion about that one. There's no way they're this dumb. They're going to get eaten alive at this rate. Lord Abadeer used to say this all. The. time. His head was beginning to hurt from the stupidity of it all. "No one leaves the Nightosphere. Ever." A voice he didn't recognize called from the back of the group, but he couldn't be bothered to turn to see which demon it was. "Do surface dwellers ever come down here?" Jan took a steadying breath, deciding that this was perhaps the only halfway-decent question he'd heard yet. "Yes, a select few do. During Lord Abadeer's rule no one left or entered the Nightosphere save for himself. Lady Abadeer holds mostly the same views, but in addition to herself one other individual has her leave to come and go as she pleases with unlimited access to the entirety of the Citadel, and there are a handful of others that share similar privileges, though not as unrestricted."
He had meant to expand on that more, really he did, but they had come to a very popular large double-door and suddenly the group was awash with giddy delight. Everyone knew this entrance, even if they knew of none of the Nightosphere's other cultural icons. Unlike most of the other doors in the Citadel there were no knobs to be seen, only two brass knockers carved into the realistic likeness of bats, solid in material except for four tiny garnet eyes each. The double doors were also far larger than any counterpart in the entire building, reaching entirely from the floor to the ceiling, though still of the same dark material. Jan imagined that even if none of these simpletons had ever been inside the Citadel proper before this day they had all been in this room at least once in their pitiful lives. Not wanting to risk a stampede Jan pulled open the doors with great difficulty, allowing the horde to pour in before joining them. Despite the fervor they still made a path for the handicapped demon as he retook his rightful place at the front. This was no small feat, even if both his legs had worked.
"Yup, this is it. The Concert Hall," Jan informed him, pride evident in his voice. The room was absolutely massive; Jan wasn't even sure if it was physically possible for it to exist within the dimensional confines of the Citadel, but the Queen had assured him that science said it could and, well, who was he to argue with the Queen (and live)? Still, it was impressively large, able to fit over a thousand demons. It had possessed a thousand seats once upon a time, but a particularly large demon had accidently - so he claimed - thrashed them in his excitement, and Lady Abadeer hadn't seen fit to have them reconstructed, declaring that seats were too conformist anyway, and that it was better to let everyone rock out as they best felt. This often meant that smaller demons were trampled in the musical frenzy, but the boss never really seemed to care about that, so why should Jan?
Although the Nightosphere easily possessed the resources for a more upscale concert hall Lady Abadeer had pointed refused, instead favoring a venue design more reminiscent of the punk rock establishments she was more comfortable playing in. The walls were solid concrete, imported from the surface world at no small expense. The overhead catwalk was entirely exposed, allowing for easy strobe light attachment, directed to face the black platform below at an off-angle. The platform itself was elevated, giving the vampire a perfect view of the crowd no matter her position and was beset on both sides by enormous speakers; Jan was impressed the half-demon had yet to go deaf, especially with her sensitive hearing, but the speakers' inventor assured him that they were designed to prevent injury to the performers and, well, who was he to argue with the Queen (and live)? Already five microphones were standing in anticipation for the next concert; they happened as often as the boss's schedule allowed it, and since she made the schedule it was pretty often. Everytime one was announced the concert always sold out, not just because it was the big boss playing but because it was Marceline Abadeer, the Scream Queen playing, a punk rock legend even in the Nightosphere, whose denizens never imagined they would ever be able to see play 'live'.
Injuries and deaths to grab tickets were common and no one would insure against it anymore. It didn't help that morality was largely considered relative to all Nightosphere residents, including the boss herself, who saw nothing wrong with murder in the name of good music. While the setting sported an open-floor plan there were two buffer zones. The first was between the main body and a small VIP section, which also housed the only chairs in the entire room. Even touching one meant losing a limb. The second buffer was between the VIP section and the stage itself, a safety precaution meant to protect the VIPs from the rabble. In short, the room was inspiring, and Jan let the group explore it without hindrance. It was amusing really, though he supposed if he didn't get to look at it everyday he might be awe-struck as well. But he did look at it everyday, though he did still find it impressive. His good mood began to sour when he had to remind the group not to touch the equipment. Any of the equipment. Especially that equipment. Soon enough he was playing babysitter, and his bad mood returned. "Alright, come on, let's go!" No one listened. "We're going to see the cafeteria!" Everyone listened.
After a quick headcount to make sure no one had the bright idea of squatting in the concert hall its doors were locked. Before they moved on he needed to remind them that, despite the thrill they just experienced, the Citadel was still a harsh place. If nothing else, they needed to know the rules, and one above all stood out in his mind. It was a rule he was intimately familiar with - all older demons were - and even he wasn't cruel enough to let any potential Citadel worker start the job without having it driven into their soft skulls. "Alright, before we get going, we're going to go over a couple remaining rules." The collective groan did nothing to stop him. You'll thank me when you're not dead. And yet he knew it would happen without fail; no matter how many times he did this tour or to how many potential employees, there was always, always one who would challenge him about The Most Important Rule. Here it comes. I wonder which one of you it'll be…
"Here are some last things to know. It should be obvious, but stay out of Lady Abadeer's way. Remember that whole 'genocide' thing? Yeah. Keep remembering that. Another rule: Unless your job is to touch stuff don't touch stuff. Not in the hallways, not in a room you're not assigned to, and especially not the boss's stuff. Once again: genocide. If you see a surface worlder anywhere in the Nightosphere alert her immediately. If you live through the application process you will be provided information of info one who's allowed to be here before you bother her." He stopped to take a deep breath. Here we go. "But there's one rule above all the other rules-"
"Even not leaving the Nightosphere?"
"Yes, it-"
"What is it?"
He glared at the large demon who kept interrupting him until he finally got the message to shut up. "Yes, there's a rule even above that rule. Above all… do not disparage the Queen. In fact, don't even look at the Queen. Speak to her with humility and stay out of her way. Do nothing that could possibly be considered an insult, especially to a trigger happy immortal vampire with anger-management issues." The individuals that made up the group exchanged chastened looks before the large demon raised his hand. "Who would be stupid enough to insult Lady Abadeer?" He almost smirked in derision, would have if this weren't such a serious topic. "Oh no. No no no. Not the boss… though, yeah, don't do those things with Lady Abadeer either. But she's not who I meant. I meant… never deride Queen Bubblegum."
At first the crowd was silent, and Jan hoped that this meant the cycle had been broken. Then he heard a single demon laugh. To his relief, it was that obnoxious red demon. There's always one. I'm glad it's you. "You're joking, right?" Jan narrowed his eyes, pointing to his leg. "No. No I'm not." He saw the crowd squirm, the red demon finally emerging. He was small, perhaps a hair bigger than one of those surface world cats he had seen pictures of when he was younger and in service to Lord Abadeer as a lowly janitor. Humanoid. Four black eyes, no nose, one plus-shaped mouth, a dozen or so claws and toes, and one long spiral horn coming from the back of his skull. "No. No way. She's candy. Aren't candy people… you know. Not all there in the smarts area?" Jan's eyes widened in horror and he quickly darted his head to see if his master had overheard. Mercifully, she hadn't, and he hissed through clenched teeth, "Never speak that way about Queen Bubblegum. She's a frightfully intelligent woman and scary beyond logic in her own right. I've personally watched her sew life together and then throw it in a vat of acid when it wasn't to her specifications."
"...A candy person."
"Yes, you dolt. She-"
"Why would Lady Abadeer waste her time with a mortal made of food?"
The hissing intensified. "She's not mortal. She's the royal sovereign of the most popular surface world kingdom. More importantly though-"
The demon scoffed. "So she's, what? Head Simpleton?"
His teeth were clenched so hard he feared one may crack. "You have no idea how close you are to getting kill-"
"Jan."
He had been so heated, so concerned that his boss would overhear the red demon's insolence that he had completely missed the friendly blue portal opening, had been entirely unaware of the figure entering his home behind him. But he knew that voice, that unamused, ever-so-focused voice. Oh, he heard that voice in his nightmares, felt it in his mind whenever his leg hurt and he knew, knew, that she was thinking of him because it would not surprise him at all if the woman was actually telepathic. Oh no. No no no, not now. But if he had been ignorant of that voice he wasn't blind and he had marvelous peripheral vision, and he saw a crown. A crown based in the same dark metal as the Citadel, lined with twenty-three trigonal crystals, each a different color or shade, ranging from the darkest burgundy to the lightest cream. A crown with a familiar dark blue gem embedded in the center.
He knew that crown because he made it.
"Your majesty!," he yelped, bowing to the ground. It took only one quick glare for the crowd to understand the severity of the situation and do the same. None had ever seen a real-live surface worlder before, but their guide had until this very moment been only belligerent, and if he was showing her reverence then doing the same was probably in their best interest. The more intelligent of the demon put the pieces together, deducing that this this must be Queen Bubblegum, and thus the person they weren't supposed to mess with. Only the red demon remained standing, arms crossed, head tilted in mockery. To this demon the woman before him didn't look like much, really. Yes, she had a crown, but you could get crowns on the black market. She wore a form-fitting, royal purple dress that hugged her frame, and he was struck by how humanoid a candy person could be. The dress seemed to almost sparkle, but only when she moved. It otherwise just appeared a soft purple. The back had a lavender veil, which reached her matching royal purple shoes. But that wasn't what caught his attention.
What caught his attention was the top of the dress. Most humanoid dresses he knew of - for lady humanoids at least - were supported by straps that latched over the shoulders. This one was not, but he couldn't be bothered to figure out how it was supported instead, because his eyes were drawn the woman's right shoulder, where her neck met her arm, and its two tiny puncture marks, surrounded by a conspicuous grey patch in what would otherwise be flawless, soft pink skin. He recalled then something his ancestor Jal had taught him when he was much younger, that when vampires took a mate they marked them with a bite to declare them spoken for. That the mark looked like two tiny punctures made with surgical precision. Only now, far too late, was he was beginning to understand why Jan had been trying so hard to get him to stop talking, because there was only one vampire left in existence, and it was a trigger happy immortal vampire with anger-management issues. Who was also his boss. He paled as two piercing green eyes met his own and broke his soul.
At the start of the tour Jan wasn't sure if the kid was stupid or just over-eager. Stupid. The answer is stupid. As bad as he felt for the doomed soul he had duties, and they weren't to him. They were to his Lady and, by extension, his Lady's Queen. He spoke from his place on the floor, still not looking at the monarch. "May I ah… fetch Lady Abadeer for you?" The silence that followed the plea was almost too much for his feeble mind, but it seemed his Queen was feeling gracious that day, because her voice was filled with detached amusement. "That won't be necessary, Jan. She already knows I'm here." Taking that as his cue he rose from the floor, bowing once more. "Thank you, Your Highness." The pause was uncomfortable, at least for him. I suppose that's the point though. "Did I ever apologize for… ah…" Now the 'detached' part of the 'detached amusement' edged from her voice. "Yes, Jan. You did." Yellow claws fiddled nervously, eyes still averted. Behind him he registered that a few of the braver applicants were rising, only to return to the ground when the unsettling woman spotted them from the corner of her eye. "Ah, yes. Good. Good. Because-"
"Bonnie!"
With practice borne from a decade of narrowly avoiding decapitation Jan ducked, mercifully avoiding the ball of fur that spiralled past. It instead collided with the candy golem, or would have, had it not instead been caught with expert grace. Immobilized, the ball of fluff instead tried to squirm out of a candied grip, but when that failed as well it gave up. When it seemed as though the fuzz realized the futility of the situation Bubblegum smirked, but didn't release it. "If I let you go are you going to do that again?"
Two garnet eyes poked through the fur. "...No?"
"That's a question, not a statement, and you sound uncertain."
Now a flat nose poked out as well, large, enough to cover what was quickly becoming a bat-like face. "Well, it's fun, and I missed my favorite dork." When two tiny fangs tried to sink into one of the other woman's hands far too slowly to actually be a serious threat the creature was released, floating now with the aid of two soft wings. It was smirking, grey arms crossed. Queen Bubblegum smirked back. "And that's how you greet me? By trying to tackle me?" The smirk became a grin. "Well, I can think of some other ways to greet you, but we're in public, Bon, so you'll have to control yourself." With an exasperated sigh that was only half serious the younger queen pinched the spot where her nose met her face. "You give me wrinkles, Marceline. Right here." Behind her the crowd collectively drew in a sharp breath at such familiarity with Lady Evil herself, but the bat only snickered before shifting and they were soon held in awe within the presence of Lady Marceline Abadeer in her true form; a grey-skinned, garnet-eyed vampire dressed in sheer black blazer and pant combination and a lavender undershirt, her dark red tie topped by the Nightosphere's chaos amulet that was the source of so much of her power. Rumor held that under her left sleeve was a bracer with a strange gem, so similar to Queen Bubblegum's that it might even be its twin, but no one had the guts to ask.
She was still smirking.
"You'd have no idea what to do with your time if it wasn't for me." When she stuck her tongue out at her lover Bonnibel puffed her cheeks out, but didn't argue. "So what's up, dork? I told you that I'd be home before the wedding, and I know I didn't miss that yet or someone would be getting thrown out the window. Right, Jan?" She turned to him, her grin predatory. He gulped, nodding quickly, his voice squeaking. "Yes, My Lady. You're still on schedule!" She nodded, returning to her attention to more important individuals. "Cool, glad to hear it. So what up?" To her bewilderment her wife shrugged. "My castle is filled with wedding guests, caterers, staff, and too many diplomats-"
"Aren't you officiating?"
"I'm also responsible for making sure all foreign diplomats are in attendance, and a certain vampire is missing. Pep-But knows I went looking for her."
Now Marceline's grin was genuine, albeit lewd. "Well, you found me. So what are you going to do with me?"
"Marcy, don't be distasteful."
"My dimension, my rules." The younger queen rolled her eyes, but couldn't argue with that logic. Married or not, the Nightosphere was still firmly within the half-demon's iron grip. "Speaking of which, Marceline, it seems that I haven't been here in quite awhile. Based on my arrival I would hazard that some of your demons have forgotten who I am."
Marceline knew what that meant, and in that moment the playfulness she reserved only for her queen and friends fell away, and she was back to playing Lady Evil, the ruler and scourge of the Nightosphere. Jan gulped as his boss's gaze turned predatory once more, searching through the crowd for the traitor. Because that's what insulting Queen Bubblegum was, really: treason. The older demons, Jan's generation, they remembered the slaughter that began Lady Abadeer's rule. Most even remembered her from when she was still just the heir, and so Queen Bubblegum's presence and seat of power within the Nightosphere wasn't exactly hot gossip. It was the younger demons, the ones born during or after the Great Purge that seemed to have trouble with this law. But the boss was utterly humorless in enforcing it.
After all, she had spent centuries protecting her mate from the ancestors of these demons.
"Oh, now that's not cool, guys." Her voice was too calm, too controlled. Too much like her father's. "Didn't you learn anything from the tour? Pretty sure Jan told you all about Bubblegum. Didn't you Jan?" She didn't need to look at the small demon to know he was clutching his leg through the phantom pain. "Well, let's make this quick. I've got a wedding to attend. Here's the crash course. This is my mate. She outranks you. The end." Despite her declaration she was still scanning the crowd. "So, which one of you did it?" The moment those words were spoke the now cowering crowd collectively pointed to the hapless red demon trembling before Jan. Before the demon could utter a word in defense he was caught in a massive grey claw that threatened to crush him. After the cursory attempt to wriggle flee he drew his eyes upward to meet Lady Abadeer's slitted gaze elongated fangs. "Seriously, dude? You're going to insult your Queen when she's standing right in front of you? Weak." He knew he should apologize, but forgot how. Not that it would have mattered. The free grey claw traced a talon down his cheek, drawing blood.
"At least this will be briefly entertaining. Here's the question: pain, pleasure, or weird punishment?" After an audible gulp he managed to squeak through the oppressive claw, "...pleasure?" This was the wrong answer, as emphasized when Marceline's claw began to seethe, the faint smell of cooked flesh beginning to grace the Citadel halls. Now her sneer fell flat. "Dingus, no one's asking you. You don't matter." Just as she turned her attention back to the candy golem the playful affection returned to her voice. "Bonnie. Pain, pleasure, or weird punishment?" The woman seemed to consider him seriously before nodding to herself. "Weird punishment. I haven't seen that in awhile. Let's see what you got, Lady Evil." Jan groaned internally. They're flirting. Of course they're flirting. Why wouldn-
"JAN!"
He snapped to attention, now more hopeful than ever that Queen Bubblegum was not a telepath. "Yes, My Lady?"
"Go to the kitchen. Get an apple."
He was gone immediately. While she waited Marceline turned to her mate, her tone almost jovial. Almost relaxed, despite the horrible deed she was about to commit. "Want to stop by my office with me? I need to grab my bass before we go topside." Bonnibel nodded. "That's fine. I brought a treat for Schwabl. I found it while visiting Hot Dog Princess." The vampire nodded, looking towards the approaching, now out of breath assistant. "Cool. Hold the apple steady now." Once more her tone and posture shifted, becoming every demon's worst nightmare. Or at least that specific, captive demon's worst nightmare. "I'm not going to lie. This is going to hurt, and I don't care." Giving him just enough time to become ripe with terror Marceline drew his soul out of him, eliciting the delicious screams and cries of agony that sustained not only her but her realm as well. Before his soul could be absorbed she stopped, snatching it from the air, leaving a hollow husk in her hand. "Jan, apple." With it held up to her as high as her assistant could manage she shoved the soul into the fruit, grabbing it to hold up to Bonnibel for inspection. To the collective nausea of the tour group, she was smirking. "See? Soul food." With a snicker at her own joke Marceline sank her fangs into the apple, draining it quickly, groaning in satisfaction once it was a lifeless grey. "It's too bad you don't eat souls, Bon. You're missing out."
Bubblegum gave her own wry smirk, shaking her head as the drained fruit was dropped to the floor carelessly, yet another task for the under-manned staff. "Marceline, don't fill up before the reception." Not waiting for a response to her admonishment, she tapped the groaning husk. "What do you plan to do with this?" Apparently, this hadn't been something the rocker had thought about, because she stared at it in bewilderment for several long moments that saw more than one crowd goer pass out in disgust. Finally, her eyes lit up, and she gave her lover a smile that could be genuinely described as loving. "You know what, Bon? For old time's sake." The loving smile was returned, and with perverse delight Marceline shifted her free arm into a large curved saw. Without warning the husk was dropped to the ground and the older woman kneeled next to him, red boot on his back to him the body steady. Singing softly to herself did not to drown out the sound to everyone else in the room, the horrible grating of a saw made of bone onto a spiral horn, the grinding of keratin on keratin. Even Jan joined the crowd in covering his earholes, eyes closed and jaw clenched against the terrible noise. Only Bubblegum seemed immune to the cacophony, but then he knew for a fact that such behaviors were par for the course for her as well.
With a loud *snap* it broke free, Marceline held the spiral horn above her triumphantly. "Haven't gotten to do that in a long time!" When she stood she admired her prize, receiving a kiss for her effort. A pink finger traced the shell of her ear, and she shuddered. "When we go home we'll find some room for it with the others," the scientist murmured in her ear. The half-demon nodded and turned to abandon the group in favor of more attractive company, but was reminded of the near-corpse at her feet. She lifted her eyebrow, tilted her head, shrugged, then kicked it into the crowd. The screams and panic that followed had her cackling, the sounds fueling both the vampire and her domain. Jan could only look on in abject helplessness, knowing that it would now be his job to gather the hapless audience and clean up any additional mess. Evidently the dread was evident on his face because he felt a grey claw mockingly pat his head. "Sick, right? Tell you what. Whoever you can round up gets to stay and you can make them clean. Nerd alert and I are gonna bounce. Later." With one more pat the claw shifted into a grey hand as Marceline laced her fingers with her wife's.
The older monarch was almost disappointed that the sounds of chaos grew fainter the further the two made it down the long hallway, but her displeasure soon gave way when they reached her office door. "So how's the prep going? He get cold feet yet?" Bonnibel rolled her eyes as her wife pushed into her office. "Marcy, they have children together. We all knew that this was inevitable." The office was as the younger queen had last seen it. An office suitable for a meeting of no more than ten. Sheer black metal walls that were warm to the touch. The vampire approached the left wall to retrieve her axe-bass from its wall-mount, still clutching her trophy. "Yeah? Were we inevitable?" The voice was teasing, but the candy golem still found herself blushing in response and she hoped it was from anger, and not her own embarrassment. Sometimes it was hard to tell around Marceline.
"We both know the answer to that question, Marcy." As the vampire crossed the room to greet Schwabl in his custom made green and black bed situated in front of her fireplace Bubblegum admired the paintings that lined the walls, which had been replaced after Hunson's retirement. Now they reflected her mate, which, admittedly, she preferred. The Nightosphere press release of Marceline officially taking over the family business from her father. The picture of her chasing Peppermint Butler with a golf club while Jake cheered in the background, doing absolutely nothing to help Finn reign her in (that one was new). A small, candid photo of Simon in the very same office with Marceline, 'Take Your Dad To Work Day' hastily scribbled underneath. The portrait of Bonnibel herself ascending to the status of queen after announcing their engagement. A duplicate - or so Marceline claimed - of the treaty in which the Candy Kingdom territories swore fealty to the pink royal. An 'IOU' from Death. Finn and Jake at their knighting ceremony. Phoebe-
Her perusement was interrupted when she felt a tug on her dress. She was unsurprised to see a zombie poodle, puffy tail wagging lazily upon being noticed. She smiled and kneeled down to provide the necessary affection and promised treat. "Will he be alright with you gone for a few days?" Bonnibel looked up to find Marceline kneeling over her desk, scribbling on a piece of paper. "He'll be fine. Jan knows that I'll eat him if anything happens to him." By her lopsided grin the scientist knew her mate was serious, and for a brief moment she pitied the poor demon. But just for a brief moment. Once that lapse in judgment passed she stood to join Marceline at her desk, the most imposing object in the room. A dark brown desk, made from the recovered splinters of the Ancient Elm Peppermint Butler had once mutilated into a toothpick. But it was what was behind the desk she liked so much, her second favorite portrait in the room: the portrait of their wedding. Of course, that was just before a certain someone's guests decided to get the party started early and wreck everything (really, it was no wonder LSP wasn't speaking to the half-demon, despite Bonnibel's best attempts). Honestly, the memory could only be described as a disaster for most involved. 'Most', however, did not include Bubblegum. Or Marceline. Or anyone they really cared about, so she didn't lose sleep over it.
"Alright dork. You all set?" The rocker folded over the piece of paper, searing it closed with her fire. Undoubtedly, it would contain instructions for the Citadel staff in her absence; although they were accustomed to her being gone, sometimes for days, they were never the brightest individuals, and she never assumed they would remember anything. When she asked Bonnibel if she 'knew what that was like' all the younger woman could do was nod gravely. "I'm all set, Marcy." The vampire nodded, heading for the door in the western corner, almost hidden by the large window that sat behind the desk, Marceline's view into the Nightosphere proper so she could enjoy the sight of the confusion and frustration she sowed. It was the only location in the entire dimension to have a permanently open portal, connected directly to Bonnibel's laboratory (when asked why she chose there Marceline only shrugged before asserting that 'old habits die hard'.) After acknowledging her wife's indication that she was going ahead the younger royal peaked behind the desk, where her lover kept her favorite picture of all, what she called the 'family portrait'. It was only a few years ago, during a midnight picnic, even before their union. Of Finn chasing a mercifully-lucid Simon with a sword-shaped Jake through the air, while Hunson tried to convince Phoebe to relinquish her soul - only to be burned badly in the process - and BMO guarded the picnic basket atop the noble Lady, all while a sleepy princess dozed in the lap of a vampire tuning her bass.
Bonnibel Bubblegum never left the Nightosphere without visiting that picture.
With a smile she glanced towards the portal door, just to be sure her lover had already left the dimension. Satisfied that she wasn't lurking for once, the candy queen reached into a covert pocket sewn deep within the folded fabric, producing a small box wrapped in green and red paper, topped with a bat made of blue beads. She placed it in the center of the desk, far from the sealed note, exactly where she knew Marceline would find it upon her return back to the office. One last glance around the Citadel's seat of power confirmed that everything was as it should be, and with a nod to herself Bonnibel secured the office's front door before exiting the back, following Marceline home.