His fingers slowly run up and down the side of the spine of his bass. Its cool and sleek, and there's a small comfort he gets whenever he holds it. Mindlessly, he goes to pluck one of the strings. It hits a low note and vibrates through the instrument and fills the lone house.

The ball of white fur which is his cat curls up besides him. It's often he sees her even though she comes and goes as she pleases and sometimes won't return for weeks. But, he won't restrain his pet from doing as it wants. Never would he do that.

"Hey Schwabs." Marshall murmurs. He puts the bass to the side and brings the cat into his lap, careful not to disturb her much. The rough pad of his thumb slowly caresses the top of her head. A few purrs erupt from the zombie cat and she pushes into the rest of his hand. His lips curl into a soft smile. "Easy girl, don't get impatient." he says with an airy chuckle. Leaning back into the lawn chair, he closes his eyes, letting out a sigh that mixes in with the humid air of the summer night.

But, of course, not everything is able to last forever, whether it be good or bad. Even the most peaceful moments have to end, no matter how much you don't want it to. There's always a new beginning, even if it starts off with the slightest realization and is seemingly unimportant when taken in scale of everything else.

His stomach gives off a gurgled grumble. Or maybe that's the sound of thunder clapping faintly in the distance. Looking up, he sees a storm brewing on the horizon, quickly approaching him. The stars become dimmer as dark clouds makes a hazy cover over them, engulfing the moon as well. Then again, his stomach does ache with an uncomfortable emptiness. Either way, he knows he should be getting inside.

Marshall Lee stands up, his cat cradled in one of his arms. Her tail flicks back and forth leisurely, tickling his skin. He walks to the side of the boat and sits on the edge, grabbing it with his free hand. He then lets his body drop, leaving him to support himself by one arm. He swings himself back and forth towards a ladder. "One, two…" he mumbles to himself before jumping, grabbing onto one of the ladder's steps. He puts his two feet onto the ladder and hauls himself up until he reaches an open window. Letting his cat in first, he climbs through the opening and finally shuts the window with an awfully loud SLAM! He then saunters to another ladder and climbs down, being led directly to the kitchen. His cat follows him, landing on the wooden floor with a dull thump.

Already he can hear the thuds of knives hitting the roof, sometimes impaling the thick wood, other times landing on the back of the handle and sliding off the house harmlessly - or maybe not so harmlessly, you never know what poor innocent soul would be caught in one of the deadly storms - and landing on the grass below. Why could they never have normal storms? No, it always had to be wild blizzards or nonsensical storms of furniture - how did that even work, seriously - or like in this case, the rapid fire of knives from the skies. Never could it simply be a light rain.

But that wouldn't be nearly as exciting, would it?

"Anything you want, girl?" he asks in a gentle voice. The cat only mews and walks over to the fridge, pawing at it, only to trace over scratches from many times before. "I'm gonna take that as a yes." He opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a half-eaten can of tuna. "There you go." he says as he carefully puts the tuna in a red bowl labeled, 'Schwabelle', making sure to be wary of the sharp edges of the can. Too many times has he cut himself that way, deep too. The scars on his fingers prove it. Or are those from the times he's play his bass too long? Both. Let's go with both.

Marshall Lee stood up straight as he continued to go through the fridge, eventually pulling out an apple. It could hold him off as he rummaged through the rest of the refrigerator and cabinets in search of something to cook. Then again, he was an awfully lousy cook. Ironic, how his father was such a great baker.

He closed the refrigerator door and took an obnoxiously loud bite out of the red fruit. "C'mon Schwabs, let's go see if … ." The human trailed off mid-sentence, noticing a small figure out of the corner of his eye. Right outside on the window sill was a tiny bat, its fur matted with mud and blood, making it look miskept. It shook, terrified of the storm outside. He put his apple down on the counter. "BMO can wait for now." he mumbled to himself. He walked over to the window and opened it. "Hey 'lil guy … ." Marshall cautiously and slowly reached out, just in case the bat tried to attack. You never really can know how all animals will react. But, the bat scurried over to his hand, allowing him to gently cup it. "There we go." He put his other hand on the back of it, stroking its fur in the most relaxing manner he could. Raising his leg, he awkwardly pushed the window down with the heel of his foot just so he wouldn't let go of the bat. "Let's go give you a bath. And…did you get cut up? Crap, alright, so you did… ." He continues to go on, speaking in a soothing voice to the wounded bat. Maybe he can keep it, give it a name, make it his second pet. That'd be nice, so long as Schwabelle made sure to, let's say, not play too rough. Yeah, that seems like a good idea.

Then again, not everything is as it seems. There's always something else to make everything so much more complicated. Secrets and lies and stories to be told would always make something so seemingly innocent turn into something that should of never been uncovered.

But, for the moment, all he's doing is a seemingly innocent act. Just a seemingly innocent boy, tending to a seemingly innocent bat, in the most seemingly innocent of ways. And maybe, this seemingly innocent situation is not just seemingly, but actually innocent. There's always that possibility, right? Right?

But, really, who are we kidding?