Fifteen Hours Since Finn's Rescue
Fire Kingdom: Castle
5:15 P.M.
Flame Princess
What have I done?
She didn't even linger to say goodbye; she just collected her armor and shot out the window so fast it should have broken the sound barrier. Flame Princess could not have cared less about her subjects ogling her as she flew by in her nighties, nor about how rudely she dismissed her court - illegible screams and barked orders were a valid form of communication in the Fire Kingdom after all. They filed out - every fool and cupbearer and steward and councilman - grumbling under their breath as they passed through the great volcanic threshold held open by Cinnamon Bun.
Flame Princess collapsed to her knees before her throne, elbows propped upon its stone-hard seat, cupping her forehead. Her eyes felt heavy, darting about the throne beneath her gaze, analyzing every crack and fracture. She lacked the mind to even mumble a thanks to Cinnamon Bun, for staying with her. She needed her best friend to talk to - and perhaps he knew that already.
When it was just the two of them, CB approached his princess upon cautious footsteps; he uttered nothing, intently listening to her soft little huffs echo throughout her now-vacant throne room. It must have been quite the sight, appearing suddenly like this, her ancestral, kingly black set spilled out from a sugar-scented pillowcase somewhere before her throne: leggings, breastplate and all. Flame Princess didn't even know where, precisely, she dropped it - she only knew it was clutched in her hand, cloth singing one moment, then the next... she'd dropped it.
Finn... echoed in her mind the umpteenth time. It was the only thought she could possibly form at the moment, and when it would, she'd remember that awesome, courageous hero she'd never stopped caring about - even if he betrayed her trust. Such images would last for a moment, though, before they were replaced with that broken, scarred boy who just blatantly confessed to... to...
Flame Princess laid back, sighing, rubbing her bare, orange thighs. "Cancel all appointments, Cinnamon Bun," she said, half in thought and half in reality. She felt half-dead, really.
"I can't do that, Flame Princess," claimed the ser. "That is a job for Seismic Pool, your steward."
"Then tell him, please."
"You kicked him out."
It took every fiber in her being not to explode right then and there. "Then head out and find him," she told Cinnamon Bun, slow and evenly like he were once again a half-baked halfwit. She was relieved, for both herself and her loyal knight, that Cinnamon Bun said no more, as the solemn echo of the triangular door shutting indicated.
I shouldn't have done that, she realized soon after. I need someone to talk to.
Flame Princess hunched forward in her giant throne, face burying in her hands. "What did I do? What did I do?" I ran like a coward. Finn wouldn't do that it I were in his position, and I would... Flame Princess couldn't spare more then half a thought contemplating what she did or could have done, it pained her so. Finn... Finn... who DID this to you?
"They must be lying," she muttered in a breath. "That wasn't Finn, they were lying. It-It should be treason, to... to lie to a princess." The real Finn has four fingers and he smiles bright as a flame. He has silky golden hair and eyes that are as deep and blue as the ocean. That thing back there had none of those things. They were lying! They had to be... lying...
Molten hot tears squeezed through her fingers. Flame Princess couldn't erase it, couldn't stop thinking about it - that sack of meat with chips of ice for eyes, and a ruin of a smile, who was once the boy she'd fantasized about marrying so many times.
And now her whole kingdom, the whole world, would know the truth - and it was all because of her, breaking her own promise in the name of the greater good. Heck, she sounded like PB now, and Flame Princess couldn't decide if that was tragic or ironic.
'I deserved this,' she vaguely remembered him telling her about two minutes ago. The rest was a blur, half of her listening to him, and the other her own hurricane of a thought process... What did he mean in reference to her fight with the Ice King?
Do I even want to know? "I should have just listened to Bubblegum," she told the throne. "And now Finn is...his life...oh, Gro-hod." She rubbed her eyes hard with the heels of her palms. "What did I do?"
"Something terrible, if I may be the judge of such things," came a voice from above.
Flame Princess had almost forgotten she was never alone in the throne room, not truly. The tears in her eyes sizzled and faded on the spot, and her hands became wreathed in golden flame. "Don John," she growled. The voice was unmistakable, that low rasp with a hint of an accent.
The Flame Lord's chuckle sounded a hollow rumble within his glass prison. "At your staunch service, Your Magnificence."
His mockery was palpable; John always had that irritating smirk on his lips, like there was this big joke that only he knew about. It never failed to put her on edge. "What do you want, traitor?" she snapped, not in any mood for such games with the wizard of flame.
High up in the lantern, Don John sat with his goat legs crossed. "To be free," he said. "To be the most powerful wizard in the world with a beautiful wife and lots of money. But we can't get everything we want, now can we?" Only John laughed at his joke. It was a joke, right? Because if it wasn't, why would he laugh at all? "Come here, Your Grace. I grow oh so lonely these days, and your father is like a broken record. I grow tired of whooping his bronze can at arm wrestling."
Flame Princess stood, her eyes red and glaring at the wizard. "It's rude to demand things of your king," she reminded him, hair splayed out in every direction to appear threatening.
"Then let us be thankful you are not a king. You are a queen." His yellow-lipped smile was slimy and glistening wet with treachery - You will NEVER change the Fire Kingdom for good, it said his words could not. Word games with Don John were almost a part of her schedule at this point.
Flame Princess's eyes narrowed, arms crossed, and her legs became a tail of fire. She ascended up to Don John, meeting his eye, sneaking only a tiny glance past his shoulder to see her father sleeping. "Would you like another cold shower, DJ?" she asked. "I'd be more than happy to oblige. If you hadn't noticed, I'm in a pretty rotten mood."
"You mean moreso than usual?" John's smile faded when he saw the queen's scowl darken. "Bad joke. Apologies. Being trapped in this lantern for, what, a year now? It has me a tad bit on-edge. No, Flame Princess, I would just like to talk. Spare me this one kindness."
Flame Princess took a minute to size up the lord, taking note of his snakelike eyes, lying lips, the horns on his head that reminded her of a demon. "I don't like you, Don John," she told him with chilly courtesy. "I don't like the way you smile. I don't like how you conspired with my father, and turned my subjects against me. I don't like how you wanted to marry me. Now if you'll be so kind..." She turned, and was only prepared to begin her descent when Don John cried out, "Wait!"
She halted - he sounded genuine, like he truly didn't want her to go. Flame Princess turned slightly, giving him only a suspicious glare to work with. "Just wait," he repeated. "Please, I want to explain. About the marriage...it was never truly like that."
"Dude..."
"Can you blame an old goat for wanting to secure his family's legacy?"
"Dude! Legacy? I'm a teen and you're, like, forty! What the heck does that say about you!?"
Don John took a few seconds to mull over her words, looking more confused than guilty. "Well," he started, "I'd say it makes me a nice man who is concerned for his family's future. Besides, it's not like I would have tied you up and forced you to marry. I am a gentleman, after all."
Flame Princess thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess there's that." But I still don't like you. There was a lingering sense of deja vu about this whole conversation she just couldn't ignore. Too well, she remembered Don John's pathetic attempts at "explaining" himself, in which he proudly regaled the tale of how her father offered him a seat on his high council if his daughter should ever come to overthrow him. If you told me about the coup, she thought, for possibly the millionth time since the ordeal took place, I would have given you that spot. You would've became my court sorcerer.
But fate had other plans - she was still king, her father still trapped, and her mage was that pile of coals, Magmeius - a true dummy. "If you think good behavior is gonna get you outta here early," she told the wizard, "then you've got another thing coming."
"Think, child," he advised like a kindly master. "Where would I go? I've probably lost all my property by now, and I believe my wizard's membership expired a while back. Nowhere to really go, but here. And I bet even in my own home I'm unwanted." Don John chuckled a bit. Flame Princess suddenly felt like she had snakes wriggling under her skin; even when trying to act what is presumed as casual, he comes off as sneaky and deceitful.
"So you did something really bad?" he reminded her. For a minute there, asking her a question with such intrigue and rapport in his gravelly voice, gave the Flame Lord a strange paternal vibe that Flame Princess had never experienced for herself.
Admittedly, Flame Princess had forgotten all about her woes whenever she engaged in conversation with Don John. Being reminded of what she'd seen, so abruptly, was like a bad taste in her mouth that she just wanted gone again. He did that on purpose, she tried, convincing herself. He knew that I was starting to forget, so he brought it up. She stamped out that fleeting moment of seemingly paternal affection from before.
"I'm guessing this is connected to Finn the Human?" he asked, knowing the obvious answer; it was clear he was trying to get under her skin. "A good lad, I'd say. Thick in the skull but swift with a sword, from what I hear. How is he faring?"
"Not good," said Flame Princess's lips. I didn't mean to say that! And yet words continued tumbling out of her honest little mouth: "He's in..." Nowhere. He's completely lost his mind and there's nothing I can do about it. "He's a mess," she finally managed to blurt out. "And I just made his problems a whole lot worse, DJ."
The Flame Lord groaned to himself, as he always did when in meditative thought. "The whole kingdom has been talking it up since you left," he said.
"I've only been gone for half an hour. How bad is it?"
"Bad enough, I'd say. Every guardsman and noble butt-kisser in this throne room has been telling everyone that passes through the same tripe. 'Finn the Human has returned!' they say. 'Did you hear? Finn the Human has returned! Cut his way out of his prison cell like carving a cake!' I, for one, am not foolish enough nor am I juvenile enough to fall victim to such... romanticized ideas. Not until I see it with mine own eyes, as old and failing they may be."
He knows what he's saying. Flame Princess felt her cheeks burn - she was exactly what Don John said she was: foolish and juvenile for believing such rumors.
She felt her stomach twist up further into something awful, and tasted bile in the back of her throat - she'd prayed to Grob, Glob, Grod and Gob that word hasn't spread throughout her kingdom. She prayed, and prayed, and prayed. But things couldn't be more worse than she initially feared; everybody and their mother was talking about it. Thinking back, during her rushed return to the Fire Kingdom and amidst all the laughing and pointing coming from the derogatory flame people gawking at the nightie-clad princess, she swore she remembered hearing a sparse few talking excitedly about Ooo's mighty champion returning triumphant from a prison break where he was being kept, and that he made it all the way to the Candy Castle before collapsing from exhaustion at its drawbridge.
They couldn't be more wrong, the fools. "Well," she thought aloud, "I don't suppose I can close off the Fire Kingdom and prevent everyone from leaving."
"No," solemnly agreed Don John. "Then you'd be too much like your father, and we wouldn't want that."
And what is THAT supposed to mean? she wanted to say if she hadn't counted to five like Cinnamon Bun taught her. But even so, the traitorous goat's ambiguity and mind games were beginning to grate on the short-tempered princess.
For as long as she could stand the silence right then and there, Flame Princess withheld voicing her thoughts. She was successful until a mighty terrible one ate its way out of her. "For once in your life DJ, be honest:" she sighed heavily, "do you have an inkling of how it feels to be one of the most powerful flame people of our generation, and being completely helpless to do anything to help your friend?"
John held his silence, thinking for a spell. His yellow lips worked in and out until finally he said, "More than you realize, Your Grace. But in case you were unaware, violence doesn't solve everything."
Flame Princess had no idea how to respond to that, nor did she particularly care to. It brought her thoughts back once again to that mangled thing in the Candy Castle's private ward. Just thinking about the human once named Finn made her sick. "I've gotta go," she muttered, drifting slowly down to the stone platform overlooking her throne.
But Don John never liked being ignored. "And what are you planning to do, Your Grace? What shall you do to the enemy that ruined your friend? Perhaps I can be of help!"
You liar, she hissed inside. You don't care about me. She could hear the joy in his insolence, the fondness he had for her strength and only her strength. Seeing her explode, she realized, would bring him satisfaction, like that creature named Funn claimed it once did. Like everyone else in my life, except for Cinnamon Bun. Thinking about how she once held the silly little boy-hero of Ooo in such astronomical regard...it sent an arrow or two through her heartstrings. He's meat and madness that's convinced he deserves pain...Oh Finn, what do I do? What did I do to you by acting so thoughtlessly?
PB was so right...
Don John noticed the fumble in her descent, the sudden trembling in her shoulders, and cackled. "Don't hide it, Flame Princess. You're angry at this, I know. It's in your blood! But tell me, what will the noble, mature, mighty and revered Flame Princess do to the madman that destroyed the last and finest of the Humans?"
Flame Princess looked back over her shoulder at Don John with a single, crimson eye, glowing and glaring like she were her father reborn. Molten lava dribbled down her fair cheek.
"I will destroy him," she swore, and continued walking.
She sensed Don John sneering behind her. "Then I wish you the best of luck, Your Grace. And may the Four save us if your petty revenge plunges us into war."
At that, the conversation was over. Flame Princess didn't talk to anyone else until later that evening, as she was tossing and turning in bed, when what she could do to help Finn finally dawned on her; it was a plan that wouldn't force him to appear in public eye, and may lend a huge hand in helping him get back into the swing of things.
I'll take him on an adventure. And she had the perfect place in mind.
One Day Since Finn's Rescue
Candy Kingdom: Medical Ward
1:57 A.M.
Marceline
The tasty tang of dried blood made her sick - Marceline had never exposed herself to the stuff, never drank a drop of it in her life. But with her hunter's nose, something as meager as the scabbed wounds on his little body were like being in a pool with too much chlorine, and it made her stomach turn.
It wasn't until well past midnight, where the only sound to be heard was the steady boop-boop of Finn's heart rate monitor, when Marceline dropped from her shadowed corner of the ward. She landed with the silence of a ghost, her feet never even touching the polished tiles, which gleamed underneath the moonlight that shone from the windows along the ceiling's border.
She wasn't sure if Finn noticed her or was ignoring her; she suspected the former, given that her choice of attire being an all-black tank and pair of jeans still shrouded her in shadows. Marceline drifted towards the spaced-out kid, unstrapping her ax bass that hung from her left shoulder and held it like she was about to play. "Yo, Finn," she called to him in a loud whisper.
Finn's icy little peepers swiveled in their sunken sockets, looking straight at her, almost like there was something far more interesting to be seen hidden behind her back. There was nothing, of course, aside from more empty beds. The eyes didn't bother Marceline as much as it did Bonnie and Dr. Ice Cream. Mostly because I'm desensitized by this stuff. Still, her shriveled little heart twisted and lurched at the desolating sight of her good friend.
"Your Grace," Finn said, his voice dry from underuse.
Marceline floated to his bedside, mouth switched into a frown. "'Your Grace'?" Marceline snickered. Only she would find it humorous. "No one's called me that before. Never liked hearing it, though. Sounds too snooty and dry, know what I mean?"
"I can call you 'Miss', if that pleases Your Grace," he offered. She ran her fingers down the strings, strumming the bass once; even without an amp, its sound vibrated in the still air of the ward.
Her throat bobbed upon the hard shadows on her face. "'Marceline' is fine, little guy."
Finn swallowed hard, looking like he was about to piss himself. His voice shook. "If that is what you desire, I am at your service, Marceline." He nodded, as that was all he could do for a bow.
"You're not at my service, man," groaned Marceline. "You're not at anyone's service! Not anymore, your Master's all chained up, gagged and blindfolded down in the darkest dungeon Bonnibel could find. I saw it for myself, if you'd like to know." Marceline's eyes softened. "He can't hurt you anymore dude - between you and me, though," she leaned in and whispered into his remaining ear, "I'd probably find a more fitting spot in the Upper Nightosphere, but don't tell Bonny I said that; might make me actually do that, and then I'll have to see my dad." She pulled away, smiling at Finn, expectantly.
His mouth remained a thin line for what felt like a full minute before speaking. "Your secrets are...safe with me, Marceline. Funn can be fun, but he can also be trustworthy."
Marceline couldn't help herself, and cringed; she didn't even want to be reminded of what Finn had went through because of her, it pained her like a wooden stake through the chest. Just hold it together, Marcy. Remind him of the good times, and stay away from...from everything else?
Why did this suck so much? Marceline never had to suffer compassion and heartache and guilt before she met Finn. At least not for a long time, she thought, remembering back on bleaker times when her world was grey and fire. And cold.
Not since becoming a vampire, not since breaking away from Bonnie all those years ago, did Marceline remember what it was like to care about yourself, as well as others.
Her chest ached even worse - too much to remember, too much pain at once. Marceline shook the memories from her skull and stamped out every emotion in her gut until only devilry remained. "Say Finn," she started, smirking like a imp, "remember our jam sessions we did every weekend?"
Finn looked straight at the moon gazing down from over her shoulder. "I remember everything." The dead look in his eyes implied nothing further.
Marceline regretted asking him that, but pressed on without a falter in her attitude. "Cool," she purred, nodding smoothly. "You're a pretty sweet beat-boxer, Finn. How's about you give me a beat?" She strummed her ax bass a quick two times.
Whether or not he was thinking or simply too afraid to answer, Marceline could not say for certain. For the longest time Finn just trembled instead of talking. Marceline began to fear she asked him the worst possible thing. I should have known. I'm not brutally demanding him to take me like a hound because that's the only world he knows now. This was all a mistake.
"Finn?" she asked, no fainter than a mumble. The boy persisted in his stargazing, breathing suddenly very haggard and broken. What was he thinking about!?
Grob this is going sour. Finn, guh, just act normal! Please! Marceline's old, emotionally-afraid instincts almost resurfaced, when she considered morphing into a demon, or simply backhanding him across the cheek.
When she felt tears prickling her eyes, it was time to throw in the towel at that point. "I'm out of here," she grumbled in a mixture of anger and grief.
But just as the Vampire Queen turned to float up to the skylight, she heard a sharp, sudden, "Wait, Marceline!" and it sounded like the old Finn was back - Marceline froze in place, as did her unbeating heart.
Then she heard him make some familiar noise: "Pt-tch, puh-tch-kuh-tch, puh, tch..."
Her head whipped around, to where Finn, staring up at the ceiling, with his pallid cheeks puffing in and out, beat boxed a very familiar tune.
Marceline recognized it immediately and joined in without lingering a second longer. She strummed her guitar and hovered back to his bedside, singing as she went: "La-da-da-da-da...I'm gonna bury you in the ground..."
Her voice echoed hauntingly, beautifully, in the vastness of the medical ward. Just like before, Finn's beat-boxing faded, and her singing took a more personal turn, despite being a wholly different song from the one she started with - Marceline simply lost herself in the memory, finding herself in the canyon again, where the air was dry, and Marceline realized that those three weenies truly did love the Vampire Queen's friendship - but unlike last time, Marceline was able to finish, for she wasn't afraid to, and Finn's backing faded quick as she started singing.
But Marceline didn't think about that; instead smiling a wolf's radiant grin after concluding. "That was pretty awesome."
Finn stared into the ceiling.
"I will suffer for this."
He sounded like he was about to burst into waterworks.
"Master never told me I was allowed to enjoy myself outside of entertaining...but I couldn't help myself." Then, for the first time in what felt like a million years, his eyes met with Marceline's.
It's funny, she thought later on, about how much impact a simple gesture could make.
"Marceline Abadeer," he said, "if you are truly the friend that other boy remembers, don't tell Master. Please...don't tell him." His dirty-ice eyes looked like twin pools shining in the moonlight.
I could argue and argue and argue that his "Master" is no longer a threat... she repressed the urge to do so, and instead gave herself pause to actually think before acting, as rare as such a thing was for her to do, ...but that'll probably get us back to square one. Baby steps, Marcy. Baby steps.
Compassion came easily to Marceline these days, and her smile conveyed as such. "I promise. Master won't know a word about this."
Finn looked like he was just offered his own kingdom to rule. "Th-Thank you, Marceline," he breathed. "You are as pure and loyal as the other boy remembers, and I'm not saying that because I have to."
As bizarre and gut-wrenching as the situation was, Marceline gained an odd sense of happiness from the mad boy's words. "No problem, dude," she said, trying to come off as cool as possible while thinking, You should hate me for this. Thankfully, the silvery moonlight shining overhead shrouded her eyes in shadow.
Marceline moved to lightly punch him in the shoulder. He showed no reaction to it. "Night, Finn."
When she was halfway at the skylight, making her departing ascent, she almost fell from the air when Finn cried out, "Wait!"
She turned and saw him looking back with pleading dead eyes. "Please, don't go," he whispered, yet she heard it clear as day. As before, Finn sounded like he was on the verge of crying. But it wasn't borne of fear, not this time, no, but of a different shade of emotion. "Please...I'm... I'm afraid of being alone again."
Marceline smiled warmly at the little boy, though she doubted he saw anything apart from the white of her fangs. "Sure thing, Finn." She floated down to his bedside, remaining a silent presence that left him more content than talking ever would. It wasn't until the sun began to peak its head over the Cotton Candy Forest, when Finn was still fast asleep, that it dawned on Marceline about his particular choice of song from before.
It's in the title, she realized. 'I'm Just Your Problem'. Did he do that on purpose? Was Finn subconsciously mocking her for her failure in looking out for him, as crazy as that sounded? Or maybe I really am the one who's nuts.