With every step she ran, it was almost like a dream just out of reach. Her bunny ears flapped with the wind, and she just kept running. No, really, she wasn't running from fear—she was a fearless girl, never saw her flinch as far as I could remember—but she was running for fun, enjoying what should be the rest of her–or our–lives.
The grass crinkled under her small feet. You could see Cake's head peering inside the small creak from the poorly sealed lid of her backpack. Her hair shown in shimmering, maintained braids. I couldn't see what happened next—she just kept running. She was running towards a man, his outline pink. His arms opened wide, tears streaming down his face, a smile growing from ear to ear.
Running and running, she landed right into his arms—and just like that, she disappeared. Like a dream just out of reach.
The skyscrapers covered most of the land below, we were so far up I could barely see any cars below. You would only be able to tell when there was an actually car when you heard engines burning out gasses. The Palace of Gumwad stood just above it all—you could see the giant bubblegum dispenser standing proudly in the far left. A sickening bastard he was.
I was pampered neatly in a black tuxedo, honestly, it felt terribly incompatible on my body. My hair was neatly combed and gelled, but not so much that you saw a halo around it. A smaller man, a cinnamon bun—also in a suit—directed me to my seat, a sofa just for my size—in comparison to the cinnamon bun, he just looked silly in the chair.
He groomed his moustache before reaching for his mug, and then coughing and wheezing until it seemed like he would spit out his lungs. But he just pushed up his monocle instead of worrying about that matter.
"So, Mister Abadeer," he looked at me with the intention to rid me sooner, "you have been a citizen of Ooo for a mere 1000 years, am I correct?" he finished.
I nodded slowly, "Yes, that is correct, sir." He looked down at his laps, shaking his head in what seemed to be obvious annoyance with me, so far. "You have also met Fionna the Human before, based off of my knowledge."
"That is also correct, sir."
"Okay, so you know why you're here this fine morning. So, tell us all about your experiences with our saviour." He already thought of me as if I was boring enough, like a cheap, defective wind-up toy ready to be disposed.
"You really want me to tell you?" I questioned him—just to see if he was prepared for what may be forever.
"Of course I am," he rolled his eyes. Now he really seemed like he wanted to leave.
"Okay then. Let's begin our story from the first day we met." And it would start from here.
"Ready, Cake?!" a shrilling, antsy voice screamed. "Oh, baby, you know I'm always ready," another voice, though deeper, responded in anticipation.
"Hiyah!" Glancing into the direction of the voices, I saw a young, curvaceous girl swing her foot against a stray pebble. "Good one, Fionna," the voice, coming from a cat, small in stature, said, giving the girl a thumbs up.
I hid under the shade of my parasol, but that wouldn't help attract less attention to myself, as I was the sore thumb to the rest of the rich summery environment.
"Whew," the car huffed, wiping the sweat from her fur, "I think that's enough for today, let's go back inside."
"Awh, c'mon! Just one more, just one more!" the girl pleaded to her knees.
"No, no, baby cakes. Sorry, but it's getting late, and I'm pooped!"
The girl, shoulders slumped, followed the feline into a house—a treehouse—and it wasn't just some treehouse—but it was my treehouse, the one I shared when I was with my ex, Ashley.
You know, I wasn't very acquainted with this girl, so I planned to reclaim what was mine. I crept through the window, while the two were fast asleep, I just stayed in the ceilings' corner, until the girl beamed her flashlight, revealing my cover.
So yeah, she got kinda scared, we talked a bit, found out each others' names. And eventually, I was able to rid them from my property, lifting up my frame and revealing the 'ML', which was short for Marshall. Marshall Lee. That got em' moving in a swift second. But, man, how wrong was I—to just kick the girl out. This girl's name was Fionna, Fionna the human.
She had golden blonde hair, flowing down like a river, reaching her ankles. But she always wore a white bunny hat, and only just a small amount of hair was able to seep through. She had sapphire pools of eyes, glimmering so beautifully at night, when the moon was full, and when the sky was dotted with billions of stars.
I gave her the treehouse back, but as a gift. The rest of the story is history, I'd rather move away from that. She was only just a bit older at this point.
"Marshall Lee!" she stamped her feet like a whiny 3-year-old, throwing her arms down, "Gimme my hat back!" I was floating overhead, holding my parasol, swinging the hat back and forth, lowering it and making it higher whenever she jumped up. "Try me, bunny," I taunted, sticking my tongue out.
She leapt up, kneeing me in the abdomen. I fell back, holding my stomach, while Fionna scrambled to place the goofy headwear on. "Haha!" she pointed her finger at me, sticking her own tongue in return, dancing around like an idiot.
"You win," I scowl, "for now." I got myself up onto my feet, cleaning my pants off. She let out a groan, punching me playfully in the shoulder, resulting me to hold my shoulder, faking the pain. "Come inside, you two!" I heard Cake beckon to us in the doorway, her silhouette making a cutout image.
"Race you there," she said, but she was already 10 feet ahead of me when she said it. I was able to catch up to her, since floating proved to be faster than her own feet. As we got there, huffing and wheezing, sweating out every fluid in our body, BMO greeted us welcomely, "Hello Fionna and Marshall Lee," it said in it's heavy, accented voice.
"I'm making dinner right now," she said to Fionna, "Maybe you'd like to settle yourself in, Marshall?" she said, searching my appearance like I had a weapon, or something.
"Marshall," Fionna motioned towards me, "come to my room." She had on a pink towel, that's it. She climbed up the stairs, submerging back into whatever. I followed her along, smelling the scent of strawberries and butterscotch that soon came to greet me. I heard a creak in the bathroom, then thousands of droplets pelting a hard surface.
I leaned against the door, listening to the water, her humming smoothly gliding out from the wood. The way I heard movements, possibly her washing her hair, feet moving across the bath tub. I slowly turned the doorknob, just creating a small gap, allowing me to slide through a bit.
Fog clouded my visibility as I entered. I could hear her open the lid to a shampoo bottle, slowly applying some to her hair, and then conditioner, rubbing into her scalp.
I reached for the hamper, clinging onto a pair of pink underwear, with a heart in the middle of it. Just to inhale her sweet scent, I brought it to my nose, sniffing around. I tucked it into my pocket—for safe keeping.
Abruptly, the water stopped. Just drops of water, one by one. I covered my face, so to not reveal the blood rushing to appear at my cheeks.
I fled the bathroom, just hoping she didn't hear me stumbled on my feet. I just stood, my face showing a clear mundane expression, pretending that nothing had ever happened.
The next part, was just the start of my excitement. She emerged from the smog, bare. Very bare, no article of clothing found. Her nipple erect, her facial expression full of lust, as she inched near me. I smirked, seeing she was so interested in taking on such a big challenge, but I rejected her pleas—she was 16, and I was, physically, 18. But that didn't mean we hadn't indulged in some pleasure.
Her soft lips crashed into my own, her tongue asking for entrance. We continued kissing, her tongue licking around my mouth, moaning softly.
"Okay, okay," the cinnamon bun said, "we gotta cut to commercial." I nodded, seeing I did take some time with the first part. But the memories were still fresh in my head, as if they only happened a day ago. The audience in front of us began to chatter a bit, mumbling things to each other. They were fidgety, as if they sat there for 2 days, and it was like the cinnamon bun couldn't wait to leave, but I didn't really care. I just wanted to continue the story, wanted to feel alive again.