A/N: Look at me, updating within a month! Please do drop a review with your thoughts and what you'd like to see! Hope you're all well x

Chapter 7: Challenges

She takes off without a second to spare, much like when you just know a question does't warrant an answer, and she knows it doesn't. Bonnibelle also knows that she's at a disadvantage, experienced Vaiders and nature's assault missiles aren't a lucky pairing for anyone involved. Running without pausing to take a breath, she knows she'll have to put some distance between herself and them if she's to see anything heading her way.

She can tell there isn't anyone behind her, and she guesses it's slightly stupid to assume they'd pursue her when the arena is a ring and there are more of them than there are of her. She skirts to a stop, her shirt slightly tousled as it slips from the tucking in her trousers.

That's when the first stick strikes her arm. It grazes hurt shirt material, completing untucking it from her right side and bruising the skin underneath. She winces as she dodges aside as a second stick lies passed.

A few branches crackle under her feet and she looks down to the source of the sound as she massages her arm to soothe the bruise. There are scattered amounts of small sticks on the forest floor, even around the tree trunks and stumps, of every colour - colours that are most definitely not from the trees in the forest.

She steps backward, taking a deep breath to regain her rush and run again. A cacophony of crackles resound under the foot, even if all else is quiet outside the occasional chirp of a bird or two somewhere high up.

"This way!" She hears a muffled voice somewhere a little further behind her.

It only takes her a moment to realise, the scattered twigs and sticks are a tracking device. She's a buck to them and they're really hunting.

But she hears a crackle ahead of her.

I can play at this game.

Bonnibelle is in no way a soldier or a warrior, heck she's always had a bit of trouble finding her way around not poking herself with the quills she used to use to write her documents, but if there's one thing she excels at… it's adapting.

Adapting. Strategising. Executing.

She tears away to the right, making sure to hop over the sudden two stumps where trees once were. A stone races towards her from somewhere in front of her, she stops immediately, her body jamming in place as it misses its target.

The twigs continue to resound about the forest in snaps. Under her feet and definitely around her now.

They're close, she can tell as the little snaps seem to trail closer and even if she can't see straight ahead what with the trees all randomly growing about, she knows she's cornered. She looks around looking for weapons, even if she isn't sure if she's allowed to fight back. Besides, what was she meant to do? Hurt them? Knock them out? She chuckles inwardly at even the notion of her taking someone out, especially with her willowy arms.

There's a grunt as Lizza's face appears from behind a tree and there's someone else beside her, but Bonnibelle wastes no time making out faces as the purple haired woman swings a club at her middle. Bonnibelle drops to her knees and bends down, the loud thud of wood meeting bark behind her skull and she clumsily kicks off the ground and to the only next possible place.

She runs right against the tree in front of her.

She hears a laugh below her as her feet suddenly, push inwards and before she knows it, her body is propelling itself upwards. With nothing to hold onto, completely horizontal to the ground, she moves the only limbs she can - her feet.

With a few light taps, she finds herself approaching the very top of the long tree and bends forward as she stops stepping. Her fingers grab around the tip of a short, stubby branch and she halts, her body hanging limp from it.

She can hear more voices below now, one saying something, another laughing. Either way, she is somewhat impressed with her impulses, slightly embarrassed because she's sure they aren't laughing at anything but her and entirely terrified, because how in Glob's name is she going to get down.

A woodpecker is hard at work in the tree next to her, and just the fact that she has the view at all bothers her, because the tree it carves into is twice as long. She looks around, catching a glimpse of the mansion roof, but everything else is covered by the forest.

"Yo Bonni, do you wanna come down, or are you gonna run away even more?" Fio's voice calls up to her. It seems quiet, even if she's sure the other woman must be shouting.

"I," she tightens her grip because that woodpecker is looking at her all funny now, "I'm not sure how?"

It's definitely more question than fact, and she wonders if the risk was worth the run now.

There are several giggles.

Mary's voice says, "climb down or drop and pray. Lady Marceline isn't even around to help you".

"And oh would she help you," Lizza croons, accentuating the 'you' particularly.

She had thought that Lizza's comments were just to derail her and the other, but she takes the words to mind this time. Having no other choice, she let go off the branch and tries to move her feet, they slap against branches but gain traction as she continue to fall at an odd angle and when her right foot hits bark, she propels herself off it. The movement is second nature now, and she finds herself running down the length of the tree and before she hits the floor, she hops forward to the left, streaking passed the group of women at the bottom and away not the forest. As she comes to a slow jog, her mind is still wondering what it would be like to be carried down by the vampire, or just to have her hold onto Bonnibelle's arms as she is lowered to the ground, or would Marceline sling her over the shoulder like a child, or would she hold her breast to breast and gently float them away and outside the forest entirely?

"Ladies," Mary's stern tone dissuades, to the group as they walk towards Bonnibelle. A few of them lower their weapons, grinning at her like mischievous children.

Mary, walks over to her, her bun still immaculate with not a hair out-of-place and grabs her arm. She twists it, and with a quick nod pats it.

"Your arm will be fine," she smiles as she speaks, " as for the trial, you did really well and the actual vaiding will be ten times worse. After all, you can't stop them using their weapons, you have no weapons outside your speed and dear Bonnibelle," the other maids chuckle,

"you simply cannot run up trees".

Bonnibelle starts snapping out of her questioning mindset, "But I just di-"

"No, it's against the rules," Mary elaborates. Bonnibelle's only reassurance disappears.

Glob I'm finished.

She is sore, and she hadn't realised how long they'd been at it, but apparently she'd beens skirting about the forest avoiding them for an exact 2.7 hours, as Fio had mentioned. So, she is sore because her body now remembers crashing through a few too many branches and the lessened impact of stick grazing her as well as the various branches she pushed passed, slowly drifting into her non-vaiding nerve system.

Frankly, it hurts.

She's only just aware that a stone had actually hit her right foot as it throbs a little when she places her weight on it. Even after a few half-hearted apologies and a particularly nasty lecture about training preparing her for the real thing, she cannot understand why they'd chosen to not tell her about it.

She voices the same question as she helps Mary tidy away the plates from the dinner they'd just had.

"Sure they're funny women," Mary pauses as if the word hadn't been the right choice, "but they don't get much pleasure from hitting you".

Bonnibelle wipes her hands on a cloth, drying them as she puts away cutlery next. She asks, "but why would you do this sort of training only once the Lady left?"

"I ask out of curiosity," she adds, hoping not to sound suspicious or rude.

"Well, fresh blood gets drawn sometimes and the Abiders are controlling of their appetites, but that doesn't mean they can't smell it, dear".

A chill runs down Bonnibelle's spine, she faintly smells blood and sees it around her as flashes of a previous memory briefly spike her mind.

"Ah," she offers. "Thank you for the training and the explanation".

It truly bothers her, she ruminates, going to sleep and waking up for three days and not being irked by the vampire lady one bit. Not because of the blood, not because of the fangs and not even because of the very vivid nightmare she'd seen that first night of 'harsher' training.

Her mind seem to be stuck on a perpetual replay of how friendly the lady is, how kind she seems to her maids, even how playful she seemed with Bonnibelle. That is when she notices what she'd missed. Not that she'd been looking out for it earlier. The change in the way Marceline spoke to her.

Had she been to aloof? Had she annoyed the vampire? Metaphorically scared an ancient being away?

These thoughts trifle her waking thoughts, even over the course of three days as she is given a few petty tasks since the rest of the servants all begin to sympathise with how sore she still is. It's embarrassing she thinks, but in a way, she feels grateful to even have anything to feel embarrassed about. A reputation or some form of dignity to care about. It feels welcoming, to be a apart of something, to matter in some way - even if it is only to the unpolished stair banisters or to the constantly forming cobwebs.

And yet, through all these ideas of life and loss and blood and fatigue, Marceline Abadeer manages to occupy the forefront of her thoughts even if Bonnibelle does't have much to go off of.

So, it is a mighty shock when the pink haired lady is walking towards the mansion's entrance doors to call for the butler when a body crashes through the double doors and straight into her. She is immediately dredged out of her thoughts, as she feels the full weight of the body against hers and falls backward.

She cringes, her bottom taking he brunt of the fall and pushes herself onto an arm as she looks up at the figure. Words spill into nothingness as Marceline's face glares down at her, blood dripping down her chin onto her shirt collars as her nails begin retracting into her fingers. A low guttural growl resounds somewhere in the vampire's throat and she lifts an arm up to cover her face before hastily rushing up the long set of hallway stairs to her chamber.

There is blood on Bonnibelle's hair, her shirt, her gloves and even some on her cheek. She feels like she is about to retch, but holds it in as she attempts to collect her thoughts. The image of a monstrous Marceline burns itself into her brain, gore seeming to seep out of every orifice of the portrait in her mind.

Definitely not indifferent to the vampire side of Marceline.

No, definitely not indifferent to the blood.