Bonnibel
If I was a pirate sailing the seas
Would you come pillage the village with me?
We'll bury the treasure and go down together,
If I was a pirate...
Salt. Sharp salt twists at her nostrils, her setting upon a domino effect of the senses. A cough chokes up in her throat, unable to fulfill its purpose and provide relief. Her chest dry heaves in an effort to release the building pressure.
She presses her cheek against splintered wood and heaves again, body spasming. Suddenly the cloth is taken from her mouth and she gasps on the air like a fish out of water. Well put, the idiom had another use in the situation, as to replicate the feeling to the girl of being out of her familiar home. But she's felt that for awhile now; Years now. A "new" environment was nothing new.
The dark skinned girl growls after her coughing fit dies down, taking the risk to stare into the eyes of her captor. She dons a wide brimmed, triangular brown leather hat with many scuffs and tears added in with time. Her eyes, a deep blue as the shimmering waters rocking the boat, nose stubby and small, mouth in a straight blank line, with a tinge of a scowl.
However, she realizes, her most prominent feature lies underneath the leather hat; tinged pink dreadlocks. 'Oh god that's a horrible color', she thinks immediately. The thin lipped expression turned into a clear scowl, as if she could read her mind.
"What the fuck do you want? Finally decided to torture me some more in this shit hole?" Kon-dewako." She finally lets out, voice husky from lack of use and air, and tagging on a curse word in her own language for added insult. It does the job she aims for.
It's humid in the room, small and extremely uncomfortable. Yet, she keeps up her pride. It's all she has left. The pink haired woman inhales deeply- being odd to the fact of the nasty smell, which the captured girl addresses with the wrinkle of her nose- and then exhales. She waits a moment before speaking, seeming to choose her words carefully.
"You're an amazing fighter. I've seen what you've done upon the Rancor during the raid." Hmm. A small smile, an unwanted predator, threatens to appear on her face. She forces it inwards at the unexpected compliment but keeps her on visible mask as she continues on. "It's Bold; fighting against your own shipmates. Especially during a-"
She rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to cut her off. "I was a slave, not a shipmate. Those asses didn't even see me as near equal to their livestock." Yes, the interruption irked the other, eyes becoming narrow and an impatient sigh escaping her lips again. Also the action of rubbing her temple was another one to be taken into consideration but, in all finality, she chooses to push it all down and not lash out.
"That is what I have come here to talk to you about. I am Captain Bubblegum of the C. Kingdom. I am here to offer you a spot on my crew. "She takes a moment to let a smile cross her over her frown. "As an equal. Food, shelter, all under the condition that you will remain loyal to me and respect my authority."
The girl crosses her legs as far as the chains will allow. "Why the hell should I?" She spits back, suppressed anger from many years of oppression bubbling up. A bitter laugh echoes in her ears and it takes her a moment to realize it's her own. "You must be clearly drunk off the best ale gold can buy, or…" The captain unconsciously leans in at the pause and she seizes it, leaning in as far as she can also until they're face to face. "You're just a plain dumbass. A dunce. A sweet-toothed idiot with a toy ship. "A scoff is heard near the end. To top it all off, she spits on her face, laughing as she jerks back in disgust.
It only takes a couple seconds for Captain Bubblegum to move into action. Three to be approximate. One second passes; she registers the girl's mocking laughter and words just spoken. Two; her fingers expose the spit on her cheek, flinging it to the floor in disgust. Three; her sword is already unsheathed, and brows lowered.
Thwack! One moment the dark skinned girl was up, in the captain's face, the next she is on the floor as the result of a heavy backhand. Before she can react her loose lapel is griped and curved with a fist, pressing her back into the wooden wall behind. The other hand claims a sword, and presses its blade into the sensitive skin on her throat. The girl blinks, still in shock from all the actions occurring so quickly. Soon, it relaxes into a glare, jaw clenched in some form of anger.
Bubblegum stares into her defiant glare, studying the deep green eyes before smashing her other fist into her nose. The green eyes don't blink, nor does their intensity or gaze waver. The only sign that she had felt it were the sag of her body and heavy stream of blood coming out of both nostrils. She holds her breath and her tongue, for speaking would result in something else unexpected, and swallowing out of nervousness would force the blade into her skin.
"I will be respected. That is law. Now as you know, you're life is in my hands. Your body could've gone to the sea, at any moment of my pleasing. Realize this; I saw, no, see more than just a fighter. Anyone could wield a sword or pistol, but it takes skill, wit, and intelligence to become a warrior. You have tact. A…" Her hand briefly shakes in her short inner desperation to find the right word. "passion that I've never seen in any fighter before. And I want that. I could help you get back to your homeland if that's what you want afterwards. But you need to cooperate or it's all going off the table, you hear me?"
Neither blink in an unspoken, yet somewhat childish contest of a staring; in which a blink nor break of stare would be accepted as weakness. She mutters, "What's your name?"
The girl of tribal origin works her jaw for a moment before chopping out in strain, "Mar-ce-line." A faint accent of something lingers near the last syllable, but is unidentifiable.
Bubblegum reaches behind her, unhinging the keys from their clasp and unlocking the iron shackles that'd bind her wrists and ankles for close to three weeks, leaving red welts upon her skin. She struggles to her feet, after being in a lying down or sitting position for so long, and takes the clothed elbow offered by the Captain. She drops it as soon as she can relax on her own two feet, wobbling from side to side. Eventually the need for to lean on something period is commonly known. So she instead leans on the wall.
After regaining her own stature, it was only by a couple inches that she can look down at her, but still the shorter girl's authority was clear. Not the least intimidated, she sticks her hand out and says, "Now, would you join my crew?" Marceline stares at the appendage extended towards her but takes it with a nod. Not accepting the offer was death, by murder, or by starving alone one, and in any other possible situation in her thoughts. As soon as contact is made, the two jerk back from each other, with disbelief.
Marceline squints at Bubblegum, wringing her calloused hands and cracking her knuckles. 'What the hell was that' her mind shouts, but she just holds the gaze. The only sound in the room is in the air; it's a marriage of disbelief and curiosity, rocking with the motion of the hull.
"Capt-ain! Your guidance is nee-ded!" A young voice calls from the top deck. As the Bubblegum motions for Marceline to follow while taking off her glove, she too reasons her sore but tingling palm to the constant use of the fabric and poor friction. Marceline chooses to believe it's just her body beginning to react to small unfulfilling portions of food as a captive and sudden movement from being still so long. For one thing is certain, one thing in common other than the obvious between the very different pair, is that they lie to themselves.
The voice belongs to a shorter blonde haired boy who struggles with some rope...that's coiled around his body. Marceline squints from the sun, and watches as Bubblegum sighs and walks over. Her voice turns oddly regal, and sweet. Gentler than with herself, she adds.
"Oh Finn, you just undo this specific knot here. See?" The jumble is quickly undone, leaving him sprawled across the deck. A deep rumble comes from behind her, and it takes Marceline a moment to realize that it's another voice. A hand clamps down on her shoulder, heavy and strong.
"Oh wow cap'in finally let you out of the cellar huh? You look pretty pale." He offers a smile from over her shoulder. She hisses at it, choosing to expose her sharpened canines. 'Better feared by foes, than friends' she reasons in her thoughts. He studies her before releasing his grip as if he could be burned by touch alone. An emotion flashes in his eyes, strong enough to make him tense up. Wariness; close to fear. He looks away, mumbling the rest. "We knew she was going to with the way she'd visit you all the time anyway."
Bubblegum calls over, arms crossed. Flush dedicates itself to her neck, from the heat and the statement. "N-no you did not! I was just… checking on the captive. It's my duty!" She pauses and then adds, "Last time I checked, gossip is not the duty of a quartermaster, Jake." At her attention he relaxes. Jake rubs the back of his neck and then runs his hands through his brown medium length hair.
"Okay, okay. I believe ya." He holds his hands up in submission, but his eyes tell another tale, along with his words that drip with sarcasm. She blinks at him and then back at Bubblegum for the response. 'She allows them to talk to her like that or are they just that close?' The captain smiles, posture relaxing and strides off, taking a pale arm in tow. A little too roughly, she notes.
Passing the taller man she says with the shake of her finger, "Just calm it down and hold that tongue of yours, Dogman. Just before you lose it, eh?" Marceline catches a glimpse of him bumping fists with Finn before she's whisked away into another room.
"Here wear this." It's tight as predicted. The white tunic up hangs too tight to her body for comfort and trousers are clinging to her legs for dear life. However, she doesn't voice this discomfort. She still doesn't trust this..this person. Marceline just grunts and runs a hand through her hair, letting it catch on the many tangles.
Captain notices how she doesn't object and takes a second look at her through the corner of her eyes. Despite her naturally thin form, the clothing hugs her figure much..er.. too tight for any productivity. She groans, throwing another pair at her. Apparently, she's not her size. "If it didn't fit you should've said something"
Begrudgedly, she slides it on, it fitting much looser than the one previous. Still she mutters under her breath. The rest of the day is spent in turmoil, with a mixture of side-glares and spiteful mumbles from being ordered around by the captain and show the ropes of the different jobs on the ship.
At night, she ne'er sleeps, choosing to drift in short stents of time, ten-minute intervals or rest, with a knife under her pillow. It'd be a lie to say she hasn't thought of murdering everyone in their sleep hasn't crossed her mind, but then she'd live up to what they call her people: savages. She'd never live up to their expectations, the white men. But in addition, the fact that she'd die from a possible raid on the course back to her home isn't unlikely. The odds were against all her plans at this point, so better to follow rules then get killed.
Survival is everything. Yet, her interactions with the captain threatened that motto every day.
By the end of the week, it's an easy assessment that the tribal girl wants nothing more to do with the plundering life. Still, some of the other crew mates seem nice enough; she finds it extremely entertaining to scare the quartermaster, Jake, who seems to be frightened to death of her. His younger brother however, Finn, seems to be the exact opposite and follows her around from time to time. Despite his annoying excitement and enthusiasm for almost anything, when he learns to shut up, he can be tolerable enough for a weak smile once or twice.
The ship cook, a small old woman with more than enough sass to last her lifetime, is known as T.T. Many other crewmates littered the decks, most extremely obeying of the captain, unlike Marceline herself. She chooses to wreck as much havoc as possible for the woman, at any chance possible. But it needs to be in a balance; enough trouble to antagonize, not enough to get killed from. She retains some pride taken from her this way; pride is everything.
It's that balance that sets the tension between the two, thick enough that anyone, even the oblivious boy Charlie-Bun can sense it. And let me remind you: Charlie-bun was the one to alert their enemy ship, the Betty, of their presence by inviting them to a tea party.
NOTE TO REMEMBER:
Charlie-bun or also known as Charlie-boy is a very slow child and does not think things through as one should. However, his sickeningly sweet atmosphere does help in raising the morale of the crew of horrid times, so it seems to weigh out itself. Just remember not to give him candy; a lesson learned, the boy doesn't respond well with sweets.
Months drive on by, everyday longer than the last.
Interactions vary from many things, most likely the best example being:
"Now, you all o'er here are gonna swab the decks. Including you, Abadeer" She shoots her a look, as if saying with her eyes' I dare you to defy my authority' and continues. "I want these floorboards so clean we could eat off of 'em. Now scrub!"
As the small group scuttles to work, Marceline gets her own swab/mop. Bubblegum watches for the first couple minutes before going to use the bathroom in her quarters. Immediately, the woman runs over, swabbing the entire area in front of the door, and many yards in front. Her partners just watch in horror as the woman returns, opening the door to see the other goofing off.
"Abadeer! Get over here!" She smirks, looking over at her, twirling the mop stick.
"You'll just have to come o'er here and get me Cap'in." She grits her teeth, prepared to bolt after her and takes one large step- slipping swiftly on the slick surface. Her face smashes against the wood; she lays there, still in shock to what just happened.
Marceline guffaws, bringing the reality to happened crashing down around her. "Oh you decided to eat them floorboards already? How they taste, huh?" Mild snickers from the group go up at the tease and bubblegum flushes red hot.
Before any of them could react, she was off the floor, slipping/sprinting to the other woman and dragging her by her ear into her quarters. The door was closed with a slam hard enough to rattle the entire hull. All they knew was that she stayed in there for the rest of the day and at dinner, she returned with a bruised eye, and a towel tied around her sore jaw.
Now that example being made it's no wonder they never got on the right foot. Somewhat at least, until one night.
Marceline goes up for watch one night, standing upon her front watch of the ship: the bow. Looking over the dark seas used to thrill her to no end, but alas, the years of being a slave has worn her off of the feeling. The sensation that burns inside her chest, an overcoming sense of elation and pride, bursting through every smile. The feeling that got her up every morning with a kick in her step, despite what lay ahead. It was...joy. She's lost that a long time ago.
Nostalgia threatens to take over her wandering mind, but she doesn't let it. Another night of self-pity, despair, and tears isn't in her interests. Still, through it all, she watches the waves churn and roll under the blue sky, withholding bounds of stars and the moon, looming over it all. But she feels nothing. Eventually, after what's either an hour or two (it's hard to keep track anymore) a new sound takes her attention. Her hand automatically takes to the hilt of her sword, but slow enough to be unnoticeable.
They try to sound quiet, becoming softer and softer until they're only a couple feet away. She sighs inwardly when nothing happens over the next couple seconds, dropping her hand a little bit lower than her sword, enough to relax, but not enough to be in the face of danger. This has been the, hm, fifth, six time this has happened? Frankly it's hard to keep track of that also, with its happenings occurring so much. Every time she'd have the bow watch, someone would come up, and a few minutes during sunrise- sunrise signaling the end of her shift- they'd leave. She still hasn't caught them yet.
As usual, she acts as if she's noticed nothing, staring blankly out unto the seas. Soon, the sky brightens of the tell-tale signs of the showing of the horizon. Stars glitter into nothing, replacing with baby clouds. This is when Marceline chooses to make her move. Her voice is calm as the gentle laps against the hull of the ship, yet colder than the waters below.
"I know you're still there. No need to leave before sunrise again."
The wind is her reply, with the occasional caw of some unknown bird. Her hands rest against her sides, one boot propped up against the floorboards and the other stationary. A creak, just a creak from the thousands she's heard of that night appears. But it's not the same. She sighs impatiently.
"Are you going to make yourself known, or am I going to have to chop your arm off? I really don't appreciate games, crew-member or not."
Another creak, deliberate. Her wrist twitches by her blade handle.
Marceline swivels on one heel precisely, muttering an ancient saying in her native tongue when a sword comes flying right by her cheek, slicing open the flesh slightly. With her momentum she moves forward, sliding her own bade along the other one in a deflection and landing a cut, arching from the other's forearm to their elbow. They fight fast and light, seemingly moving with the motions of an experienced fighter. Neither is faster than the other, yet they seem to dance on air, twisting and turning with such precision, that even sound itself seems to be left in the dust.
The injuries, sight scrapes and cuts, start to pile up. Marceline unhands her opponent's sword, accidentally along with her own. Before she knows it, they're skidding across the deck and her body is being swept from underneath.
A quick side kick to the shin knocks her face hard against the wood, blood dripping from her nose. A heavy hand brings her eyes to meet, blue ones. Familiar blue ones that stare at her with an unreadable emotion every day. She scowls in realization as a voice accompanies it.
"Next time you threaten to attack your own crew, try making sure it isn't the fucking captain." She replicates her scowl, but doesn't drop the grip. Marceline has the urge to bare her teeth in a snarl, but holds it back. Bubblegum is the only one she can't scare nor intimidate. And that's dangerous on its own.
It's a silent match of wills; it always is when their gazes meet. Who will look away first, declaring themselves to submit, to be weak and who will say something to raise the stakes? Every second adds on the defiance, the stubborn-headedness of the two.
For once, neither of them has to submit. It's left, for the first time, a tie. Bubblegum's eyes widen as she spots something in her peripheral vision, at the exact same time as Marceline. The two both turn and look at the rising sun, sky bright and alive with an array of dazzling pinks, orange's, yellows and blues. The prime of the world. The sight's hauntingly beautiful to say the least, the minimum and the tension dissipates.
Bubblegum slumps down next to her rival, mouth slightly agape from the sight. Marceline just watches the colors turn and mold into each other, swallowing every once in awhile, and living in compassion. She's also the first to tear her eyes away from it all and glance at the captain beside her. Blue eyes stare at her inquisitively as an understanding is met, unspoken as always. By the time the captain blinks and turns to the other, she's being offered back the hilt of her blade. With a blank face she accepts it and the two go their separate ways.
A week later, they're both back at the bow, watching over the sunrise. Not a word exchanges, nothing changing. Absently, before the two leave once more, they each mumble something of their own respects.
Bonnibel chooses to say, "I come up for the sunrise. It's the only peace I get sometimes." Marceline nods her respects and then they're on their way.
The next week, Marceline says, "Back at my village, we had a painter. He'd paint paintings of fires so beautiful you'd think God send it to grace earth."
Bonnibel replies quietly, "I'd love to see that, I really would" before turning on back down to her quarters. Marceline remains at the perch before following, back down her sleeping quarters herself.
Week after week, short small talk you could say occurs. Of course they spit and gravel at each other during the waking day, but once every week they'd meet up during the night, no harsh words ever once lingering on their tongues. An odd relationship to most, but easy to understand to those two others.
One late night, Bonnibel breaks the rule to murmur before sunrise at the dimming moon, "I wish I could fly sometimes." Marceline just raises a brow in response, face blank as ever. She'd learned already how the woman had a prim and proper life in the city before stowing away on the crude ship, Lemongrab. It was horrid for such a lady as she was raised, but the dirty, swearing, swash bucklers brought her to life. It broke the bounds of the society she was born into. Just from a few sentences here and there she'd learned that all.
So, her response was somewhat in and out of the ordinary. She kept her brow raised as she murmured, "You can."
Confusion, alas was all over her company's face. "How?" Her response prompts a set of quick events, which lead her up to the crow's nest high above the entire vessel. The rising wind presses in their bodies in the small area. Marceline taps the ledge of the wooden tub in which they stand.
Bubblegum says over the wind, "What?!" The quieter girl is more confusing sometimes, her actions making no sense whatsoever until she explains them. And explain she does.
With a roll of the eyes she says back, "Hop up on the ledge." The captain's eyes bulge comically.
"Are you insane; in this wind I'd fall!"
Marce still appears bored with her responses to her own requests. "I'll hold you; just do it. We don't have all day. The sun's about to come up." Indeed her prediction is correct, because in just another five minutes, the sky brightens considerably.
"Hurry up, or you're gonna miss your chance. I'm not gonna do this again." Bubblegum seems to mull it over in her panicked state. Logic and reason seem to fly in through one ear and out the other when she gives one last attempt, brows furrowing.
"You could kill me. I can get up there right now and you'd be able to just send me tumblin' to my death." It's more of a statement than question. Marceline shrugs.
"I know that. Trust me or not." That doesn't offer much comfort and she seems to also realize this when she adds afterwards quietly, "It's your choice Bonnibel."
Her name. A mixture of emotions flurry though Bubblegum at the sound of it. Is it defiance, speaking her first name, or is it an act of comfort, familiarity? Or is it just a way for her to let her guard down enough to be murdered? All these go through her mind at the moment. She chooses, no, hopes it's the first. For…surviving reasons.
With the sharp inhale of breath, Bubblegum places her boot upon the wood, hearing every creak and groan in protest. Green eyes urge her on and she places the middle of her other boot on it, eyes tight shut. A large burst of wind attacks just then, threatening to pull her down. Another thought occurs to her then that she hasn't thought of before: Marceline doesn't have to have to wrong intent; in fact, she just may be honest right now. The wind could do the bidding itself, and an accident could occur.
Before she can react to this revelation, steady hands wrap around her buckle and waist, hold her upright and in place. Marceline seems unnerved by their close proximity and calls above the wind to her, "Now just stop the fucking panic-attack and fly!"
The statement as always is vague, too vague to understand. But somehow for once, she does exactly she says and flies. The wind no longer appears to hate, but instead flows through her hair and clothes, lifting her higher. For the briefest of moments, she's not on a ship, but above in the skies, clouds ruffling her line of sight. She soars above the clear water's seeing as far into the distance that she can relishing in the crisp morning air. With the occurring sunrise, warmth floods over her body, a tingly sensation overall. But only for a moment.
After what feels to be an eternity, she cheers into the skies, grinning as hard as her face will let her. Marceline unknowingly chuckles, head resting against her hip and looking up. Her mouth speaks in a tone foreign to herself. It's…warmer.
"How is it up there?" Bubblegum glances down, smile infectious as scurvy on the high seas. Marceline instantly feels her face begin to replicate it.
"Amazing! I feel like I'm on top of the world!" Her voice rings through the air.
"Well, My shift's gonna end in a bit, so…" the sentence drowns out her voice as her smile falters. Something pulls at the inside of the tribal girl's chest to see it do so. Quickly she adds, "We can do it next week if waters are calm enough."
It instantly lights up again and she climbs down carefully. "That sounds…acceptable, Abadeer." Again their gazes lock, but something lies newly under each of the pair. Now, lingers the competition of confusion. Both eyes seem to hold something behind them, an unspoken emotion that twists at their insides. Marceline tries to decipher the message behind Bonnibel's deep ocean irises, but ends up drowning in them unplanned; Bonnibel on the other side getting lost in the jungle that deems the other girl's.
A sharp smack of a large wave against the hull shakes them from their trance and they climb down, going separate ways as always. Something changed that early due morning. For better or for worst they never knew. But the answer comes faster than they both expect.
END OF PART ONE OF THREE