Marceline levitated slightly above her bed's blanket, staring numbly at scribbled sheet music and half-finished scraps of lyrics laid about on the bed with little organization. Her brain shouted orders, but her body just kind of flopped over on top of the crinkly mess, letting out a deflated groan as she tried, and failed, to muster the motivation to do something productive. Crona was certainly an option to cross-reference with, but he had departed for work hours ago.

"Yo, Marcy!" Her ears perked to a voice she hadn't heard in ages (or maybe it was weeks, for all Marceline knew), forcing herself out of her self-inflicted inertia to answer the front door. Finn and Jake beamed mischievously through the screen door, and she couldn't help but share in their goofiness. "Oh hey, no assassins at your doorstep this time." She knitted her eyebrows at the last comment, and considered reprimanding him the same she did to Crona, but let it slide just this once. Human naivety was a contagious parasite.

"Ay." She waved, propping open the door with her foot. "What's up?"

"We found this shady place in the Candy Kingdom, and we suspect that some illegal biz is going down. You up for it?" Finn swung his sword around wildly, likely trying to impress her with his refined technique.

"Yeah, sure, I'll bite." Marceline grinned, flashing her fangs. Jake went practically pale, to her amusement. "No pun intended, of course." He gasped in relief, glaring accusingly at the vampire.

"C'mon man! My emotions are not your plaything!" Finn and Marceline broke into laughter at Jake's expense, pouting with an occasional snicker he wouldn't care to admit.

The vampire wiped a tear from her eye, forcing the last few chuckles out before getting serious. "Alright, let's get moving. It's been awhile since my last adventure." She didn't bother to grab her ax bass, but figured she'd be fine without it, with her vampiric powers at her disposal. Besides, if the place was as seedy as she assumed it was, she didn't want to get any grime on it.


The Candy Kingdom at night wasn't as lively as she previously remembered. Perhaps her wide-eyed curiosity in Ooo had faded, maybe some personal bias against Bonnie, or the sights had just grown unappealing. Whatever the case, she tried to lay low as Finn and Jake sleuthed out in the middle of the streets, well aware of her own infamy within every corner of the land. Finn occasionally tried to get her involved in the interrogation sessions with random people they came across who he deemed 'suspicious' but she met his requests with casual denial, chuckling off to the side as she watched the show unfold.

After many wrong turns and distractions, they finally reached the place Finn mentioned. It was almost comical how dubious the place looked peeking through the windows, with a low ceiling, rows of lights that only seemed to illuminate with every other bulb, and a poker table set up in the back that held many a shifty character. And although Marceline didn't consider herself a criminal, she'd be lying to herself if she said she wouldn't fit in there.

"What's our M.O.? Sneak in or smash the windows?" Jake shapeshifted his hand into a key and a bat respectively, ready to take any approach.

"Hmm... We could start a fight if we shatter some windows, but that's the rough n' tough image we're going for. If we sneak in, we might not even run into trouble, but if anybody sees us, we're done for. What do you think, Marceline?"

"Front door." She said flatly, walking in without issue. Her ears perked to strained whispers, but she paid no mind to it. Their footsteps clamored behind her, already losing their cool in a place where it would draw the most attention. She rolled her eyes, already losing the adventurous spirit the duo had instilled in her minutes ago. Though, part of her wanted to keep up the charade, looking around for anything noteworthy now that she was inside. The bar was empty, save for the few customers and presumably the owner gambling in the back. Well, aside from the bartender at the very least. Wait. "I'll catch up with you guys later." Without thinking, she walked ahead, making firm eye contact with the bartender, unbeknownst to him. His foggy, pale-blue eyes were fixated on a glass of red wine, polishing it until its surface shone. Stringy pink hair dangled down to his mouth, perpetually stuck in a tight-lipped frown, brushing against his ghostly-white skin. Crona.

Marceline swung into the nearest bar stool, leaning over the counter to catch his attention. "Helll-ooo, roomie." She chimed, flashing her most charming smile at the black-blooded bartender. His reaction was priceless, eyes going wide and fumbling with the bottle before setting it down and shifting his focus to her. "Fancy seeing you here, Crona. You've really outdone yourself." She didn't have to remind him how trashy the place was; a glance told all one needed to know.

"Marceline, w-wow, I... wasn't expecting you. And yes, the conditions aren't exactly... ideal, to say the least. What exactly brings you here?" He actually engaged her in conversation

"Not much. Came here with friends." She looked over at Finn and Jake, currently getting strong-armed into a basement by some goons, and resisting every step of the way. "...Guess I'm free now."

"Oh. Them." Marceline caught a rare glimpse of Crona's glare, before he regained his composure.

"They're good guys. Kinda stupid, but good." She couldn't necessarily blame him for his resentment, but she felt the need to at least vouch for them.

"Whatever you say."

Before the conversation could go any further, a loud series of snaps from the back of the room broke it up. "Ey! Youse makin' chat with the customers?!" He seemed paralyzed from his boss's reprimand, jolting back to the shelves behind.

"Crona, hit me up with some of that cranberry juice." She slid some loose change across the counter, and he acted upon it quickly, pouring the crimson drink into a cocktail glass with the utmost precision. "Now, where were we?" She raised the drink in a solitary toast, downing it in one gulp. He raised an eyebrow, and the sight of his cheeks going red was enough to get a giggle out of Marceline.

"Remind me again, why are you here?" He had something of a sly smile on his face, not looking at her as he scrubbed down the dusty counter.

"I was thirsty." There was a certain hypocritical frustration within Marceline when he decided to act smug, drumming her fingers on the table monotonously.

"Your couch is a shade of red, as is your walls." His obnoxiousness hit a peak, staring right at the vampire with his chin resting on his arms, leaning over with that annoying smile.

"So is your face when you get flustered." Aaaand the killshot. Crona's bravado faltered, dropping the grin in favor of an agape mouth. His body shook from head to toe, making a swift if bumpy recovery before he could suck in a breath or two. "To tell the truth, I guess I thought I owed you a solid." She swished her empty glass around, her tone becoming a bit softer.

"So you're doing this out of pity?" Crona looked defeated, eyes glued to the polished wood of the counter.

A brief spark of anger surged through Marceline. "No, I didn't imply that. Is it really that much of a stretch to call us friends?" Following that, a drawn-out quietness fell upon the two, with Crona turning back to the rows of bottles, ending the conversation abruptly. Her glare seared into his back, furiously awaiting his response.

Suddenly, two glasses were placed in front of her without prompt. She looked at the drink, and then Crona confusedly, having never ordered a second, or third, glass.

His fingers carefully grasped at one of the shot glasses placed, holding it by his mouth."Cheers." The vampire blinked, surprised to hear the words coming from his mouth. He was smiling, however small, however feeble, but he was smiling. They brought their glasses together, taking the first sips in unison. She had failed to notice at first, but she was smiling, genuinely so, as the red wine trickled down her lips and letting the quiet atmosphere sink in, a different kind than laying in bed and listening to the dull tones of the fan. What made it different, she wondered. Was it the white noise of chatter in the background? The exquisite taste of the beverages? The vintage antiquity of the bar at night, looking like it came straight from a painting?

Or perhaps, it was just Crona.