I know this one is a little short, but I hope you enjoy anyway. I will be trying to tie in as much of the new season 7 content as it comes along. :)
Chapter TextLiving with Bonnibel is weird.
Not in a bad way. Well, it's feels a little awkward at first. Bumping shoulders and accidental grazes, followed by mumbled "Sorry's". Gazes darting away from one another without much else to look at within the confined area. Taking turns coming in from the heated bath shack and having to change in the single room they occupy; the space decreasing even more when they makeshift another bed for Marceline against one of the other walls.
Sometimes Marceline simply does not know what to say within the silence, nor does she always know what to do with herself. Like when Bonnibel hunkers down for the night and Marceline is wide awake and there's nothing to do but wander about the woods, or listen to the younger girl snoring away. Sometimes Marceline sleeps at night, just so she can hang out with Bonnie when the daylight comes. She has to wear sweaters or a hat when she goes outside, but at least she can enjoy the sunlight, somewhat. Plus, she kind of feels bad sometimes when Bonnibel is wracked with waves of uncontrollable yawning from trying to stay up too late to talk to her. The least she can do is try to stick it out in the light.
That's one of the strange bits that Marceline has trouble wrapping her head around; that Bonnie genuinely enjoys her time with her. At least it seems that way to Marceline. She is a lifeless corpse whose only documented purpose for existence is to consume life. Had she not been a vampire, she would still be a demon – still Hunson's spawn and heir. There's a bit of despondency that comes along with that. In seeing Bonnibel's potent excitation to anything scientific or particularly fascinating to her, she becomes hooked. Marceline wonders if that is all she is to the other girl; something to tinker with. To poke and prod until Marceline herself becomes ragged and dull and Bonnie finds something new to play with. She is just a girl, after all. Or, so Marceline thought.
"How old are you anyway?" Marceline asks, a few weeks into her stay.
Bonnibel's pencil barely lifts from the paper she is furiously scratching across.
"Thirty one."
Marceline's mouth drops slack. "No way!"
The pencil stops. "Yes. Measuring the way the humans did through four distinct seasons, I am thirty one."
Marceline crosses her arms, still not convinced. "Dude, you look like, thirteen, or something."
Bonnibel turns to her with a grin and pokes Marceline's nose with the butt of her pencil.
"And you look nineteen, but you're definitely not."
"Touche."
After those first few weeks of bumbling around in the small space, they get better at trying to find some sort of rhythm - how the other works. Marceline was used to either wandering aimlessly in the Nightosphere or being at the mercy of her father. She finds herself constantly asking permission to touch things, use things, eat things. She learns quickly that Bonnibel means to share what she has without reservation – aside from her research and work. Those things, Marceline is not to touch. She is not allowed to mess up Bonnie's work. Which she's totally cool with. Half the garbage on Bonnie's desk doesn't make sense to Marceline anyway. Except for some of the things that pertain to Marceline herself.
It is as Bonnibel had suspected; Marceline can survive entirely on shades of red. It is not long before Marceline's craving for blood subsides altogether. There aren't words to describe how relieved and elated this makes Marceline feel. Even if she sometimes wants to voice it, she isn't sure how to say something so private to Bonnie. Nor could she ever imagine why the other girl would want to hear it. The only one Marceline has ever confessed anything to, is Hambo. Once the initial shock has run its course through Marceline, the urge to say anything about it recedes.
They've documented a number of interesting phenomena associated with the ability. Bonnibel's hair returns to its natural pink hue sooner rather than later. This leads her to monitoring what Marceline eats for days after, leaving the counter lined with an assortment of grey objects that never truly return their original colour.
"It's weird that your hair went back but nothing else did," Marceline says as Bonnibel stands in front of the array of objects, perplexed. Marceline stares at the hair in question; thick and vibrant. Buoyant and heavier looking than what her own hair feels like. It seems stretchy and pliant. Marceline has the strange urge to reach out and touch it. Her lips draw involuntarily inward at the odd thought, not given much time to process it before Bonnie speaks up.
"My hair is living because I am. Which makes sense," Bonnie muses, thinking out loud. "But… technically everything is 'alive', in some sense. It's all made of the same few fundamental particles…"
Marceline does not know any of this. Living with Bonnie becomes more eye opening every day.
Bonnibel's excited gasp causes Marceline to flinch as the girl swivels to face her.
"Come with me."
Bonnibel marches out the front door leaving Marceling to follow dutifully behind. She leads them out back to one of the raspberry bushes.
"Ok, I'd like for you to eat the colour from some of these raspberries, but please leave them on the bush."
Marceline raises an eyebrow. Bonnibel herself is particularly strange, but Marceline is slowly learning her quirks. Usually her demands have meaning that Marceline is not privy to, but eventually reveal themselves. It is a stark contrast from her father, who had her do things she did not understand and never did. She suspects, upon much reflection, that they were ultimately selfish and self-serving. Simon sometimes did that, but looking back, Marceline has found that most of his reasoning was based on shielding her from the horrors of their dilapidated world. He tried to reduce her pain. That didn't help when he started going mad. Being so used to trusting Simon's judgement, only to have that in itself become crazed and unstable left Marceline questioning everything.
Bonnibel was such a pleasant change. She sometimes did things without explaining, yes, but always responded in truth and with such logic and enthusiasm when Marceline simply asked, 'why?' With the way Bonnie's eyes lit up, it seemed like it was her favourite word.
"Eh… alright, I guess I can pull this off without poking my eye out."
Thankfully, she does. When she pulls away, Bonnibel wraps a small piece of string around the stems of the particular berries.
When they return the next day to examine them, their colour has returned.
Bonnibel tells her that when an organism is in a state of regeneration or growth, it can return to its natural colour- like her hair. If Bonnie were to pluck the hair from her head however, and Marceline were to drink from it, the colour would not return. Bonnibel proves this the next day by testing it.
It's all very fun. The learning bits. And the company. Sometimes, Marceline experiments on herself. Reaching a finger out of the sleeve of her sweater for the sunlight to catch and sizzle. Practicing her martial arts, jumping and tearing through the bushes; these things lead to bumps and scratches. Though Bonnibel has never, and would never ask Marceline to do these things on purpose, she can see that hot light in Bonnie's eyes when Marceline shows them to her. Her skin regenerating and healing. Burns take the longest.
Eventually it leads to Marceline asking, "Do you want some samples?"
Bonnibel's pleading, wide eyes in response enchant Marceline into giving the candy girl bits and pieces of herself that she willingly thrusts upon her. Some she discards like nothing, such as a hair or a toenail. Some, there is a fraction of a second of pain when a skin sample is taken. Marceline barely notices, and in reality, does not care. When Bonnibel smiles, or twiddles her fingers excitedly when she's found something, it makes Marceline feel something. She does not know what that something is, but it is certainly not the constant, sickly churn that came with her actions in the Night when she did something for her father. This feels good.
After a while, Marceline does not know how long, the two of them essentially run out of parts of Marceline to play with without venturing into territory that Bonnibel does not want to encroach upon for boundary purposes.
That, and the house seems to constantly need fixing at the moment.
Bonnibel has a decent sized waterwheel she built at the stream on the property that is connected to the house that is steadily becing splintered and cracked. It supplies energy only when they really need it, or when Bonnie is experimenting. There is rot settling in the walls of the house, critters and bugs getting in, the roof straight up needs to be a new roof, the bathhouse needs a major upgrade as mould is becoming a problem, and countless other items on Bonnie's to do list are getting neglected.
Most of the housing supplies were left over from when she resided with the humans essentially in this same area. She had taken the best supplies of each dilapidated dwelling and owner she outlived, to build a bigger and better one, but those have been growing old.
Without a party to accompany her, Bonnibel has not risked crossing the open grasslands by herself to the ruins that lay beyond, for better, sturdier supplies and tools.
Marceline is here now, though. And that changes things.
Bonnibel is pacing about the cabin when Marceline enters. It is evening. Marceline has been out, wandering, looking for a few things within the area, doing whatever. She knows though, that something is up.
Marceline has only spent time with literally a handful of people in her entire life. All seemingly bizarre interactions and relationships. She has never felt very good at that sort of thing, but seeing Bonnie instantly halting her back and forth, popping her head up and wringing her hands out when Marceline enters the cabin causes her ears to twitch involuntarily – her senses to adjust and focus on the other person in front of her.
"Bonnie? What's up?"
"I…" Bonnibel gnaws at her lower lip, brow tilted up.
"This place is falling apart," she spits out, frustrated.
Marceline reaches a nervous hand to scratch at the back of her head.
"Yeah…I noticed," she admits. "I've been trying to ignore it. Or look for stuff that might fix it. But, I'm not very good with measurements and what your tools do…I'm really sorry." Her ears fall flat, causing Bonnibel to catch her own anxiousness and soften.
She takes the few steps toward the doorway where Marceline has just entered into, leaving the crisp evening to the outdoors for the rest of the night. Bonnibel places a hand upon her shoulder.
"Sorry for what? Grod, I didn't mean for that to sound insinuating. Things get old, Marceline. It has nothing to do with you."
Marceline looks away and shrugs off to her bed. "Oh. Yeah. I just…I use everything here, you know? I thought with more use, things would…go faster."
Bonnibel comes to sit next to her.
"Not the important things."
"No?"
"No. That happens all on its own. Unless I take care of them. I just…"
Bonnibel slows, and Marceline does not prod her, but eventually she takes a deep breath and continues.
"My saws have dulled. I'm running out of parchment and pencils. And I haven't had to work down an entire tree by myself, ever. Not, since I've been alone without others to help. And that's only scratching the surface. I also haven't been out of the forest to gather things to make said tasks doable since then, either. It's too far and dangerous, and I can hardly carry anything with just my own two hands. "
"Oh," Marceline ponders, resting back into the wall. "Well, you're not alone now," she states, simply. "We can leave to go get some stuff."
Bonnibel's reaction is the opposite of what Marceline was expecting as the smaller girl huddles into herself.
"I don't want to put this on you."
Marceline tilts forward. "Bonnie, what? Come on. I… live here too, kind of. Right? I want to help take care of stuff. I might not know how, but in case you haven't noticed – I'm like, ten times stronger than anything in these woods. And…I know these are your digs, but honestly, this is the only place I can remember that's ever felt like home to me. I'll make sure no baddies get you out there. Let me do something."
Nothing could really prep Marceline for the sudden action of a pair of gummy arms flopping around her neck with more force than she imagined Bonnibel to have. It leaves her frozen for an instant, sending flashbacks into her memory to process and compare. The last person who hugged her was Simon, one night before he went full crazy, and they had gone two days without food. Marceline had been cranky as a result. He was comforting her and promising that they would be alright, that food would come along. She always felt better when Simon held her and told her he would take care of them and everything would be fine. Before that was her mother, wrapping her arms around Marceline's tiny body, just a toddler. So bizarre, she had forgotten the memory until now, but there it was. She didn't know why she was being hugged, but it didn't matter. It was nice.
And this; Bonnibel, wrapped around her, is something else. Without thinking, Marceline instinctively pulls the other girl into her. It's different though. Marceline can't find the words to explain how. It is in part, that she feels so much more alive knowing that she is the one who gets to provide something for someone else. More alive, more awake. That she is the one who gets to protect somebody who let her in. It gives her motivation. And finally her thoughts land on the one word that has eluded her in all the years she's been alive. She hadn't even known she was looking for it. Purpose.