Soft rays of sunlight fell across the grasslands of Aaa. A gentle breeze swept across the green plains, sending neverending ripples through the tall reeds. In most's eyes, it was the eptimen of perfection. To the citizens of Aaa, it was simply yet another day in a series of long days.
Sitting in the midst of the sea of bright green, was an entricate tangle of wooden limbs and draping leaves. From afar, it looked simply (or maybe not so), like a giant tree. But, as one drew closer, you could spot a scatter of shining glass panes carved into the bark, limp bridges hung from separate sections of the tree. Several feet above the tree's wide base, there was an orange door with a series of wooden steps, various odd contraptions hung around the the structure making it evident that someone, or something, as was more likely in Aaa, lived there.
Just beyond the confines of the house, there was a dull-colored hovering figure moving at rapid pace towards the upper reaches of the tree. It seemed to take only few precious moments in order for the oddly shaped outline to reach the slightly swaying branches, where it seemingly hesitated. It floated at a halt, an arm extended towards the curtain of the hanging weeping willow limbs, for several seconds before, with a grand gesture of its arms, sweeped the branches aside and floated to the dark trunk.
It paused again, reading a small engraving in the wood. Marshall + Ashley 4ever. The hovering creature sighed. So much for forever.
He knew the real story, after all he was Marshall. But, that engraving was made long ago and Ashley was, thankfully, no longer a part of his life. He'd abandoned that road without looking back.
Marshall floated silently to right, coming at a standstill in front of a glass window, its frame's white paint chipping. Inside, Marshall thought he could hear the buzzing of bodies and life, though it was too quiet to be sure if it were real. With a nearly silent click, Marshall turned a small white knob hidden beneath the window, disguised as a tree knurl. The window, as if touched by magic, slid open. Marshall smirked, showing off a fanged grin. Even though it had been years, he still knew all the small secrets of the old willow tree.
Tapping the window so that it floated open, Marshall curved his way through the narrow opening and stopped and surveyed his surroundings.
He was in a somewhat small room. The walls were curved and made of oak, of course, sense it was placed within a hollowed tree. Beneath him, a straw-colored, thatched floor swayed sturdily. Even though he could walk, Marshall didn't dare but his feet on it. It would cause too much noise, not to mention, flying was always more fun.
In one quick glance, a person could confirm that it was a bedroom, assuming from the large and lumpy bed that took up most of the floor and the bookcases and dressers next to it. The next thing someone would most likely notice is how messy the room was. Numerous comforters and blankets were tossed onto the floor and hanging off the bed. The dresser near the foot of the bed, that looked almost like a doghouse, was covered in pieces of cream and honey colored fur. There was an open drawer, below the dresser's large cabinet that was blocked by double doors. In that drawer there was a mess of small and thin fleece blankets, it seemed that most of the fur accumulated here.
Strangely enough, if you happened to peek inside the cabinet section of the dresser, there were a number of rather odd objects carelessly tossed inside. A toppled colum of what looked like tuna cans was sprawled across the small alcove's floor, each one crumpled over the other. One particularly large can appeared to be crushing a small bouquet of what were now dried and wilted flowers. Hanging from a small hook on the cabinet's back wall was a pink, satin bow, tied into a perfect and plush knot. Among other things was a small stack of cliche romantic novels and a small, wooden hairbrush with several tufts of the same colored fur that coated the entire dresser and cabinet.
However, Marshall didn't notice these details and hovered on. Resting precariously on one of the treehouse's inner vines, was an oak desk. On its service were several pieces of weaponry: a sharpened spear, a large metal club with spikes scattered on its wider end, several silver knives, some chains, and even pickaxe. However, one weapon that distinctly caught Marshall's eye, and one that Marshall knew was the owner's very favorite, a large pink cleltic sword. Picking it up gingerly in his hands, Marshall gripped its end and slashed the air several times.
The sword was a unique make and very rare, which is one of the reason the owner liked it so much. Not only did it stand out for its color, seeing as a pink sword was in almost extinct use, but there was something else. As Marshall whipped the sword about, he felt an unusual surge of power through his arm that he was sure wasn't his own. The piercing edges of the blades glinted ominously in a graze of sunlight peeping through the window, and one could almost mistake the gleaming light to be a work or sign of magic.
Marshall flinched back abruptly, sunlight grazing his sensitive skin, and set the sword back on its proper place at the desk before once again dissapearing into the shadows of the room.
His ears twitched. Looking around, he raised his head and stared into vacant space. What he had written off as merely wind whistling through the hallways of the house suddenly became louder and more refined. Now, it was definitely something more or less. It could have been the low murmur of conversation or maybe it was high tones of singing, he wasn't sure.
Suddenly, the door to the room opened. Marshall widened his eyes slightly in surprise before, on instinct, sinking further into the shadows so that he was camouflagued completely. There were perks to being the Vampire King after all.
Marshall nearly smiled at the girl that walked in the room, the one that he knew so well and loved teasing oh-so-much. At this very moment, he was rather tempted to snatch that ridiculous bunny hat off her head and surprise her, but something whispered for him to be quiet and hidden. So, instead, he took the time to watch her lightly. Her cheeks were still slightly pink from her jog upstairs. It contrasted well with her fair skin. He smirked again, Fionna never tanned, it seemed. No matter how many duels were fought and monsters were captured all the while in bright, shining sunlight, she always managed to come hom pale as ever. Much like Marshall himself.
Fionna flitted about the room for a moment. Her normally bright "Forget-Me-Not" eyes (as he liked to compare them) looked slightly bloodshot and glassy. Several locks of straw-colored blond hair were falling out of her hat, which looked as though it had been rolled through a thick layer of mud and grime at least three times. Her go-to, standard outfit of a longsleeve sky blue shirt and navy miniskirt, looked rumpled and was torn in several places.
Though Marshall couldn't see it, he distinctly smelled patches of blood all over the girls body. Granted, this wasn't exactly unusual. Of course, Fionna was a human being, one of the last of her kind, and Marshall knew of the intricate, winding layout of veins and blood vessels throughout her small body. But this was different. The smell was more prominant and less . . . fresh. As though it had been layed out several days to dry. No, this time the blood was definitely on her rather than inside of her.
Still, Fionna made it over to her own dresser filled with what he knew were other varying items of clothing. She rummaged through one drawer labled boldly in black ink as SOCKS and promptly pulled out a slightly less wrinkled t-shirt than the one that she had one, though it was certainly more clean. Digging some more, she managed to find a pair of old sweatpants Marshall had given her and tossed them onto her bed.
To his utter horror, as he watched, Fionna slowly peeled the battered shirt over her head. Marshall's eyes widened and he felt his throat constrict into a lump. Fionna continued taking off the dirty garment, swaying slightly as she did so in the effort of taking off the article of clothing and mesmerizing Marshall slightly in the process. Finishing the task she left it as a lump on the floor where it had fallen and shimmied out of her short skirt which slid onto the floor effortless. The thigh high socks that she normally paired with the ensemble were apparently sliced to pieces as the last picked the last shreds off her legs, not that Marshall noticed.
Marshall was rather distractedby other things. The lump in his throat was increasing in size and constricting the room of his throat slightly. All previous plots of surprise attacks or casual banter was washed from mind as he watched Fionna. Then, despite himself, despite his brain screaming at him not to, despite his overwhelming instinct to run away and not sink deeper into the mess he caused, Marshall took a moment to let his gaze flicker down the girl's body before looking away and forcing his stare on something else in the room.
Of course, it wasn't that simple. Instead, he found his gaze lingering slightly on her skin, and, although he knew it was impossible, he was convinced that he felt a certain, and long forgotten, blushing warmth spread onto his cheeks. His eyes traced her outline lightly, flickering softly from here to there. Marshall took everything in of this new Fionna and tried desperately to implant it into his memory and never forget even though his common sense was still shouting mercilessly.
Silently, his sluggish brain noted the way her stomach poofed out slightly, a tiny pouch of stubborn baby fat that refused to disappear. He watched her toned legs, which appeared to lengthen as he watched. Her muscled arms stretched over her narrow shoulders. The way her hips curved into an ultra-thin waistline and then into—
Marshall stopped himself. He was not going to go there.
After all, this was Fionna they were talking about. Precious little Fi who he had known sense she was just thirteen and had shown more bravery standing up to a vampire than most people had in his very long life. Sure, he would do this with any other girl. He did do this with any other girl. He was a guy, that's what was expected, what was normal.
But not with Fi.
It was . . . weird to see her this way. Normally, the pair could be found laughing or doing some nonsense activity like strangling pixies. Truthfully, Marshall still thought of her as the same little girl he had kicked out of his house all those years ago. She hadn't exactly changed dramatically like how he had known some girls to do at that age. Sure, she grew up and became more of a woman. She had actual curves, she started brushing her hair. Once Marshall thought he caught her trying on makeup in the mirror, but she had stuffed it all away as soon as he had come into the room and Marshall decided not to press the subject.
But still, Fionna was still the same monster-wrestling, sword clad girl he'd met six years ago.
It was these things that Marshall reminded himself as he watched silently. Several times, he managed to tear his gaze from her slim frame and focus it on another object in the room, only to have it slid back over as his resolve shriveled. Eventually, after eternal waiting, Fionna let the grey shirt slip over her shoulders and cover her bare chest. Marshall nearly let out a sigh of relief, feeling all the tension and anxiety that had been rising the past few minutes slip away. She pulled up the matching grey sweatpants and crawled into bed, tossing her hat beside her as she did so.
Fionna's slow and steady breathing soon filled up the room. Evidently, the girl was exhausted. She hadn't even had time to pull the thick wrap of blankets across herself before falling asleep. Marshall finally allowed himself to melt out of the shadows, now visible but still darkened beneath the cover of the shade. For a moment, he watched her. She was so different from the Fionna he saw several minutes ago, at least in his mind. This was the Fionna he knew.
But, then again, it wasn't that at all. The Fionna he knew, while contrasting vividly with the new womanhe saw not long before, was tough and fierce. She didn't let anything get to her, and nobody bothered trying. But, as she slept, it was different. She looked more like the Fionna he saw after Gumball made her cry (that tard). She looked not exactly vulnerable, but more open. In her sleep, her face was blank of emotions and she looked again like a small child. Marshall smiled brightly, feeling his fangs pop over his bottom lip, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
It was an upside down kiss, and rather awkward. Fionna had been out adventuring for days and evidently had not bathed and her odor was less than desirable. It was swift and silent and was finished as soon as it was over. Yet, Marshall still felt a trace of warmth touch his lips. And, despite himself and everything that had happened, he grinned like a fool and chuckled throatily. Lending to swipe one more kiss, this time on the cheek, he grabbed his unfortunately frilly umbrella and floated out the window he came. The next time he came to face with Fionna, he wouldn't mention the strange encounter. Instead, he would laugh and tease as though everything was normal.
But, the thing was, from the moment Marshall felt that small flutter in his chest, nothing was ever normal.