Time is a fairly relative concept to someone who doesn't age. It was easy for Marshall Lee to forget that three months is a pretty long time to go without talking to anyone, especially because until that point he'd been fairly consistent with checking up on Fionna and her merry gang of pyschos. But he'd spent hundreds of years on his own, for the most part, so a three month escape from Fionna-and-all-things-related-to-Fionna was more of a brief second than any real time. Of course, at the time he was wishing that that brief second would never end, and he'd never have to go back to Fionna-and-all-things-related-to-Fionna, at least not until he'd come to terms with the fact that his best pal was in possession of some mighty fine knockers.
So he was a bit confused when, after he'd given up his self-imposed exile, Fionna had fairly clung to him or a week or two afterwards; she'd come to his house in the late afternoon, hang out with him, and then leave sometime in the night. If they weren't doing mundane things like that, she was dragging him to go slay monsters and rescue princes with her.
And when he asked her why she was suddenly up his butt all the time, she replied, "I'm making up for when you got poo brain and ditched me."
And Marshall Lee realized then that to his mortal friend, three months is a pretty long time for someone to be silent. A quarter of a year that he'd wasted while trying to come to grips with the fact that his best friend was a girl, when really nothing has changed much at all. She still likes to wrestle and have spitball fights and attack critters. Now, he just has something nice to look at while she does it.
So, upon reflection, with this realization he knows he shouldn't be very surprised when his doorbell rings and there is a nervous-looking candy cane guard on the other side of his threshold with a formal message to formally invite Marshall Lee the Vampire King to a private formal luncheon with the Prince of the Candy Kingdom, formally signed by Gumball himself.
Private luncheons with Bartleby Gumball, Marshall Lee knows, are really just gussied-up tea parties, because Gumball is the prissiest boy Marshall Lee has ever met, and he has lived a long time and has met a lot of boys. He isn't much a fan of Gumball's tea parties because a lot of pomp and circumstance goes into them, even though Marshall Lee himself scares the jelly filling out of most of the Candy Kingdom's inhabitants. This was funny when he and Gumball first became kind-of friends, but years later it is mostly just irritating to hear the high-pitched screaming and the creamy insides squirt out of a dozen or so donuts and muffins. Also, there is too much pink. Marshall Lee is not much a fan of pink.
Despite all of this, it really has been a while since he's seen his friend, now that he understands the value of time for his mortal pals, and after scaring the stripes off of the candy cane guard, Marshall Lee grabs a baseball cap, throws on some sandals, fetches his umbrella, and floats out the door. The guard lies groaning on his porch.
It is a relatively short and uneventful flight to Gumball's castle, and when he gets there the Prince himself is waiting, all smiles and perfectly straight teeth. Marshall Lee waves a hand at him lazily as he lands, ignoring the frightened gasps of the cookie-people watching his arrival. "'Sup?" he asks, and it's less a question and more of a greeting, like he doesn't care very much either way if something is up or not. Gumball is used to him though; perhaps even more than Fionna is, because he doesn't have a perpetual shroud of naivety blanketing the actions of the people around him.
"My friend!" Gumball exclaims, throwing his arms around Marshall Lee as soon as the vampire as touched onto the ground. Marshall Lee hisses when this disrupts his umbrella and a shaft of sunlight scorches his arm. Gumball rushes him inside the castle, blathering the whole time.
"Where have you been? Were you truly just hiding in your house? Whatever for? Did something happen? Fionna and I were worried about you when you didn't respond to any of our calls or messages."
Marshall Lee blinks in a daze at the barrage of questions, wondering how Gumball can even catch his breath when he's talking that fast. He lets his friend usher him into a room that's tucked away into one of the darker parts of the castle, where the sun doesn't shine at this time of day, and he just shakes his head in exasperation when Gumball shoves a tea cup into his hand.
"Chill, Bartleby," Marshall Lee says dryly, holding up a pale hand to stop the Princes' inquiries. "Yeah, I've been at home. And nothing happened." He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.
He and Gumball are friends. But the vampire is not as close to him as he is to Fionna, or as close as Gumball himself is to Fionna. This is something that he is resentful for, somewhat. The fact that his best friend has other people she'd rather hang out with. The fact that, in the end, he is just a second choice. (Third choice, actually, if you count Cake. Which sucks even more. Marshall Lee the Vampire King is playing third fiddle to a cat.) But this is not something that Gumball can help, and though the two have something of a rivalry at times, he has always been a real bro when necessary.
Marshall Lee shrugs. "I just wanted to take a break."
There is some sort of judgment in Gumball's purple eyes, like he's trying to decide if the immortal is lying, or maybe not telling the whole story. But this is the truth, as much of it as Marshall Lee is willing to share, and the Candy Kingdom's Prince knows that Marshall Lee keeps tight to the secrets he doesn't want others to hear. So he just turns back down to his cup of tea and sips it daintily, one pinky finger out.
Girly as he might be, Gumball still retains his award for being the most bro-y bro in the history of bro-dom.
"Well," he says, looking up at Marshall Lee from over his tea cup, which is raised to his mouth in preparation for another drink. "Next time you want to take a break, you should warn us."
Marshall Lee snorts into his own cup of tea, which he doesn't drink because it's not red and his immortal body has trouble digesting anything but blood and colors. And he doubts that Gumball will be willing to spike the tea with blood to make it more bearable.
(Though, now that he thinks about it, red food dye might work. It is a thought he tucks away so that he can bring it up later, when they're having one of their habitual guy-fights and he can insult Gumball's lack of forethought for his guests.
For Bartleby Gumball, trashing his hospitality can be as devastating as a kick in the hoo-ha.)
He does, however, take a hefty chunk of the red velvet cake on his plate—he's not sure when those got there, but it's entirely possible that Gumball just willed them into existence, he's crafty with sweets like that—and bring it up to his mouth, sucking the color from it.
Colors, he has learned and grown to except over his many years, have a strange nature when it comes to taste. For everyday objects, such as bowties for instance, the color has its own taste and texture. For foods, it's sort of a dual mix of the taste of the color and the taste of the food. Sometimes he misses food by itself, but that's only sometimes and he doesn't think about things like food or sunlight much.
"Can't imagine you missed me much," Marshall Lee states wryly, spearing another piece of cake. Muted taste or not, Gumball makes the most excellent dessert.
Gumball finishes chewing his own bite before putting his fork down solemnly and watching Marshall Lee, who quickly becomes uncomfortable under his stare.
"Did something happen between you and Fionna?" Gumball asks calmly but seriously, and this is like his version of yelling. It's not something that Marshall Lee is used to being directed at him, and he can't help but sit a bit straighter and narrow his eyes.
"No," he grinds out, making sure that his fangs peek out from beneath his top lip. Gumball glances at them but quickly returns his gaze to Marshall Lee's eyes.
He takes a spoon, dips it into a small dish on the table, and comes back with a generous pile of sugar in the dip. He dumps the sugar into his tea and stirs it gently, still watching his vampire friend. Despite all of the pink and Gumball's generally feminine appearance, he still manages to look foreboding.
This doesn't do much for Marshall Lee, though. He's lived a thousand years, has seen things that would make Bartleby Gumball curl up in a corner. Normally a self-righteous Prince(ss) wouldn't be that intimidating. But this is Gumball, who is his friend, and that is unsettling enough. Stupid friendship. Marshall Lee wants his bro award back.
"Because," the Prince continues, lifting his cup gently, "Fionna was very upset when she realized that you were actively ignoring her. And I wasn't that pleased with your silence either." He hesitates, trailing one finger around the rim of his cup. "And you were gone for quite a while."
And, really, there it is. Concern for him and concern for Fionna. And as much as he doesn't seem like it, Gumball is still a dude and talking about feelings is difficult for him. Marshall Lee would have laughed if Gumball wasn't still staring him down.
"No, dude," Marshall Lee says, defending himself. "I'm serious. I just wanted some me-time. And I didn't realize how much time had passed."
The fact that he has realized that Fionna is a chick does not need to be brought up. There are some things that Marshall Lee will not share. Not even (or maybe especially) with Bartleby Gumball.
The Candy Prince looks him over as if trying to read his mind, but Marshall Lee shoots him a disarming smile. Gumball hesitates, then smiles back, and the moment is past. Gumball is now officially a bro again.
They make idle chat for another half hour before Marshall Lee yawns widely. It's now early afternoon, and way past his usual bedtime. He's got a full night of pranking and pixie-stomping, and he needs his rest. Gumball graciously bids him farewell as several pretzel-men clean up after them. It has been a rare moment of indulgence for Marshall Lee; normally he doesn't hang out with Gumball that much and he hardly ever accepts tea party invites. Even showing up is a testament to how much he's missed his friend over the last three months.
"Marshall Lee!" Gumball shouts after him, and he stops to float in the air about twenty feet from the castle. He waves an arm to acknowledge his friend.
"I wasn't lying when I said Fionna was really worried!" he finishes, sending another blinding grin at Marshall Lee that seems to shot right through him like an arrow.
His parting words send a little thrill up Marshall Lee's spine, but he doesn't exactly know why, and that confusion makes the flight home irritating. He lands, now annoyed again, to find that the candy cane guard is missing, and there's a note taped to his front door. He grabs it without reading and floats through his house, entering his dark, cold room and flopping down on the bed. He doesn't bother shedding his clothes, just stretches out on the comforter, and reads the note.
Marshie! Gimme a call when you wake up, we should hang
-Fionna
The note sends another strange feeling to rise within him, bubbling and roiling like it sometimes does when he sees Fionna now that she's suddenly a girl. Or like when he binges on blood after fasting for a long time. He needs to stop thinking about blood or he'll start to want it again. He also needs to stop thinking about girls.
Freakin' girls.
Marshall Lee wonders how soon he can justify disappearing again.
(bartleby is gumball's first name in my head. you will not disprove this for me. :|)