"Let's drink the burning drink!
Let's drink while Rome burns!
Until the embers are on the ground,
Then we get another round!
Drink down the cup then fill it back up
And then we'll all return!"
They each downed another shot glass of the juice, slamming down the cups in time to the rhythm, laughing.
The crowd clapped to keep the beat of the chant as the shots were refilled.
This was a fun game to watch.
"Let's drink the burning drink!
Let's drink while—while what? London. oh!—while London burns!
Until the ashes are on the ground,
Then we get another round!
Drink down the cup then fill it back up
And then we'll all return!"
"Hey, hey-hey-hey... What is London?"
"Shut up and keep goin', Sparkles. Okay, okay, Chicago this time!"
"This's fermented! You let the stuff ferment!"
"Are you complaining?!"
"Glob, no!"
"Let's drink the burning drink!
Let's drink while Chicago burns! . . ."
It was after the verse about someone called Jimi Hendrix's guitar that they decided no one won.
"And really, really, rea-a-ally..." Marshall Lee repeated while the younger King laughed, an arm around the Flame King's shoulders to both guide him and hold him up. They were a bit further away from the crowd now, "It blew up. The oven blew. Up. I mean, no sparks or nothin', just boom! And you, buddy, reminded me of that."
"S'rry..." the Flame muttered, grinning, "Boom? Ha-ha-ah, no. I was 'Bang!' Boom is more fun."
"If it's meant in fun, yeah," Marshall Lee agreed, chuckling, "And you didn't mean fun, did ya?"
"Sooorryyy!" Igni laughed again, and Marshall Lee shook his head at him, grinning, and shoved him away, slightly rough. "Ah-h, buds are forgivin', right, pal?" the vampire asked, as the Flame stumbled against a tree, the bark crackling and smoking. "We're all friends, here, right?" Marshall Lee asked again, grinning patiently.
Flame King held up a finger, "Not...no-ot like that, man..." he warned, and then stared at the little fluttering flame that lit up on his fingertip.
"Ha-ha, yeah, no, don't worry about that, Iggy." the older King was quick to reassure, smirking, "I don't like guys."
That made Igni frown at him, blinking, "But you're with...?"
"GB? Yeah, 'cause he's GB." Marshall Lee told him, hands linked behind his head as he lazily checked around. The crowd was thinning out, "Didn't matter if he was a dude or a chick, I would've hooked up with G-freaking-B. Sure, I've messed around but...nah...you're not my type..."
Then he leaned in, smirking slowly, shocking that growing sneer off of the younger's face, "Unless you were thinkin' about it?"
The Flame King lurched back with a wordless squawk, and the vampire cracked up, "I'm just messing with ya, runt." he told him, knuckling him roughly in the shoulder.
"Ow! Ah-ha-ha!" Igni laughed uncertainly, as Marshall Lee kept grinning.
"Ah-ha-ha." Marshall Lee replied drily, "Gotcha, didn't I?" He shoved at the shoulder again with his fist, fit to make the younger man stumble back.
Igni's grin became more vicious, as he kept chuckling, "Ha-ha, yeah..." and he shoved back, adding a little more flame to it to make the vampire hiss.
"Nnnrgh...! . . . Ha. It's all just good fun, isn't it, buddy?" Marshall Lee growled, this time using both hands to shove him again in the chest, red eyes glowing.
"Indeed, comrade! Aha-ha." the King replied, smiling as the flames flared viciously at the edges of him.
"Aha-ha."
"Hm-hm. . ."
They both stared at each other.
". . . I will break your face, ya snobby li'l spitfire."
"I will blunt your teeth, perverted shadow-scum."
Later on, both would claim they threw the first punch.
. . .
Fionna looked uncertainly as a lot of the crowd was moving over to another edge of the field. She hadn't heard any screams, but she heard shouts, chants, and what sounded like drums. She turned to Gumball even as he turned her away while they danced, "Are you sure it's—?"
"Let them be," he told her, confirming her suspicions while smiling, but now she could see the smile was strained, "They need to let off some...steam... And frankly, I'd rather we not get involved. I find their immature brawling a bit too unsavory for my taste, and you certainly don't need that. Let's not let them ruin our fun."
She grimaced, "But they might—!"
"Relax, Fionna!" he laughed, twirling her, making her yelp, "We have our issues, yes? But let's forget them for now, avoid stress, hm? Don't you want me to avoid stress?"
She made an adorably nervous face as he smiled down at her, the girl clearly torn.
. . .
"You don't deserve her. Neither of you do." the Flame King hissed in undertone as he held the vampire in a hold, aware of their inconvenient audience, holding back his burning. Still, the half-demon's skin was taking on a more charred hue. "Hypocrite," Marshall Lee laughed quietly, before knocking his head back into the younger King's nose, and cheers from the Candy people, and even the Flames, broke out as the royal Flame stumbled back. Marshall continued, laughing, still too quiet for anyone to hear, "Pushy little brats don't get the girl," he got down on a knee to leer at Igni as he writhed on the ground, "Men do. You still got some growing to do, pipsqueak, before I can even consider you're any good for her. Or any challenge for me." His gloating kind of backfired, though, when the Flame King grabbed the front of his shirt so that Marshall's own nose could come into sharp contact with the Flame's forehead jewel thing with a CRACK! It turned into less talking and more brawling, as both sides of the crowd cheered or booed for both guys, and the drums beat wildly, raising the riot to new heights of energy.
The younger King used his flames, but never enough to incinerate.
The older King used his forms, but never enough to eviscerate.
Fang, fist, flame, and claw were used within the barest minimums of restraint, an unspoken agreement to do no more damage than two angry men could express by flesh alone. They'd had enough with war to bring it into a little fight. However, this unspoken agreement didn't say anything about chokeholds.
. . .
"Gumball, I really don't think—" Fionna protested, blushing as a particular move brought them closer.
The Prince's smile was wistful, admiring if lamenting her distracting concerns, "Is my company not good enough, Fionna?"
She shook her head quickly, "No, no, aw, man, I'm sorry, GB, but they're—we really can't ignore—!"
"We can pretend." he suggested, leaning in perhaps a bit more than was considered proper, "Besides, I have Monet observing the situation, should it—"
"BELOW THE BE-E-ELT! BELOW THE BELT, YOU SISSI-I-IES!" they heard the Peppermint Maid screech from the crowd, and the drumbeats increased in tempo.
Fionna grinned nervously, as Gumball groaned, hanging his head, ". . . Idiots..." he muttered unhappily, giving up.
She made them stop, patting him on the shoulder, "I'll take care of it." she murmured, running off despite his protests, "Fionna, I..."
. . . Gumball sighed, crossing his arms, as he glared to where she was running, and then went to find himself a minor, drinkable vice, allowing himself a twinge of selfishness. He didn't want her to take care of it. He sipped carefully, observing as the ruckus parted for her, closed around her, and then increased for a moment before there was laughter and groans, and shook his head. Somehow he'd need to convince her to...to forget being a hero, for once...
. . .
"What're you two dumbskulls doing?!"
"Stay outta this, Fionna! This is—urgh! Dangit!—this's a freaking guy thing, okay?!"
"GAAAH! Agh—it is a way my people prove their superiority, princess! I need to show this—rgh—scum his place!"
"Oh, I'll show you a place! It's where the sun doesn't freaking shine!"
"Oh?! Going to give me a local's tour, are you?!"
A few people in the crowd shouted out "BUUURN!"
Fionna's fist ground into her forehead as she watched them wrestle, seething.
"Do you guys know how stupid you look right now?!" she shouted, "Do you have to do this now?! Quit it!"
"THIS IS NOTHING YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND!" they shouted at her while strangling each other, and both abruptly, quietly realized this was exactly the wrong thing to say.
Fionna glared at them as the crowd hooted and hollered, and her fists clenched fit to pop the knuckles.
"Looks like we need to cool some heads again, huh?" she growled out, and abruptly reached into the tumbling chaos to grab the back of each male's scalp by the hair, pulled them apart over half-babbled protests, and brought them back together with an audible SPACK.
She glared at the crowd as they cheered, and her two 'friends' lay on the ground in a daze, the grass quietly scorching and curling around Igni's prone form.
"This's a peace thing, dangit!" she shouted at them, "And you both are gonna do peace or I'll freaking make ya do peace! Geez!"
"Wha? No flowers?" Marshall slurred, blinking.
. . .
He smiled a bit wryly behind his cup as he watched her drag the two unfortunates out of the crowd by their ears.
This was slightly inconvenient, then again, it was entertaining. That would make up for his disappointment.
For now.
. . .
The party continued without disturbance, and after Doctor Ice Cream had treated the two, Fionna treated them with her own medicine. Gumball was standing behind her as they faced the two slightly drunken miscreants, not bothering in the slightest to conceal his amusement. 'Traitor' the vampire mouthed at the Prince. The Prince only smiled wider.
"Shake hands." Fionna told them. Marshall Lee frowned, well, squinted through a black eye, while the Flame King crossed his arms, half of his face bruised and slightly swelling, "'Scuse you?"
"You heard me, Marshall Lee." Fionna smiled a smile that was patient yet also indicating that this could quickly change, "Shake. Hands."
The two glared at each other, and shook, one's palm burning enough to blister skin, the other's claws digging in enough to puncture it.
"For real!" the heroine snapped, not ignoring this, making them jump, "You will do it like you mean it!"
It was with a lot of grumbling, snapping, and even a few knuckled heads that they finally shook in a way that was just within the bounds of genteel, if only because their hands were too tenderized by previous tries to do anything more. Fionna nodded firmly, glaring, "Thank you." she said, as they both glared back at her.
Then she smiled, and all three men blinked, "Right. Now I'm gonna go hang with Gumball. Don't cause any more trouble."
Marshall Lee and Flame King gaped as Fionna promptly took Gumball by the arm to lead him back into the crowd.
The Prince looked over his shoulder at them, and smiled a benign lollipop smile that was every inch smug.
They stared, twin expressions of vengeance on their faces.
". . . Truce?" Flame King asked, as they glared at the Candy royal's back.
"Truce." Marshall Lee agreed.
. . .
Gumball and Fionna were both quietly laughing as they sat at a table, and Fionna promptly faceplanted it, "Aw, geez, their faces..." she giggled into the woodwork.
Gumball smiled at her, leaning on his elbows, "You've never considered diplomacy, have you, Fionna?" he joked.
She shook her head, rubbing her face into the tabletop, "No-o-o..." she laughed nervously.
She peered up at him, "Are-are you mad?" she asked, worried. "I was kinda mean, and..."
His smile widened, and turned into an Un-Gumball grin, "No. Would you think less of me if I admit I'm enjoying this?"
It strangely pleased him when she blushed, hiding her face in the table again without answering. He couldn't help laughing again.
He peered down at her, his smile easing up a bit, "Perhaps you're ready for some more, ah, polite company?"
She was about to shrug, stopped herself, and looked up at him, face tomato-red, "That's still okay?"
"It's always okay." he told her, and watched her blink, a thoughtful look on her face. "I know it's hardly the time for business," he continued, "But when all of...when all of this is over, I do have a sort of...proposal, for you, concerning my Kingdom." The adventuress tilted her head, confused, and he looked at her, "Fionna, how would you feel about becoming my official drill instructor?"
She blinked, "Huh?"
"Say what?" they heard an invisible voice exclaim, right from behind Gumball. Gumball faceplanted the table, while Fionna still looked confused.
Then Gumball's chair caught on fire.
. . .
"It wa-as a prank," Flame King repeated, staring reproachfully at the ceiling, a new goose egg on his head to match the vampire's, courtesy of Fionna, "It was a prank made as a circumstantial 'bro', and not as an enemy. And we got the fire put out, didn't we? . . . You used to love my pranks."
"When I was in on them," Fionna pointed out, scowling, "And I was talking to him."
He rolled his eyes, and then looked at her, smirking, "You didn't mind the Kitchen Incident when the dear Prince was talking nonstop about his precious recipes, if I recall."
She couldn't help a laugh at the memory, and looked around the kitchen they were in now. Apparently Flame people used blue flames to soothe any wounds, and Igni had spent a bit of time bent over the stove with his face near the jet flame. ". . . That was...that was different..." she mumbled, shrugging.
He shrugged back, still smirking as he leaned against a stone counter, careful to not scorch anything, then he winced as his headache throbbed, "As you say."
There was silence between them, broken by the ticking of the clock and the clicking of the stove burners as they cooled down.
"I'm sorry." he told her, and she blinked at him, before she nodded, blushing at the floor, ". . . Me too."
He shifted uncomfortably as the silence started again, and then spoke up, "If...if I hadn't—oh, shrap—if I hadn't been such a—could we have—?"
"Don't," she interrupted quickly, looking straight at him, "Don't start that. I'm having a lot of 'what if's' too, Igni, but-but we're here now. But, gah, I can't avoid this can I?" She smiled wistfully at him, "I was kinda wondering if things might've gone better if I had said yes, y'know? If I said yes, none of this would'a..."
He straightened, seeing where her thoughts were going, "No." he told her, "No. No, no, no, none of this is your fault, Fionna, it's... I wouldn't have wanted you to say yes if you thought you should because of my temp—..." He shut up, all kinds of conflicting thoughts tumbling around in his brain, and Fionna nodded gently, "It's a mess, isn't it?" she asked, and suddenly rubbed her forehead, her eye, "But...we were both stupid, right? We're both stupid. But we're getting to fix the stupid now, and I think that's...I think that's for the better..."
He looked at her, at the way she was rubbing one eye, then the other, though they looked dry, still.
"I leave tomorrow." he told her, and she nodded, "Yeah..."
"I need to work some things out before I set out again, so I'll be in the Fire Kingdom for some time..."
"Yeah... Will you be okay with your Mom?"
"Oh, no need to worry about that. I'll make a stronger lantern."
That made her giggle, a sort of hiccupping laugh that wrenched something in his chest.
"I...I will write, this time." he told her. "I mean, I can't use that—what is it called? The tree stuff?"
"Paper?"
"Paper, yes, but I'll...I'll improvise... Without, you know, setting important things on fire..."
She laughed again, nodding, "Thank you..."
His flames were fitful, and his cheekbones were a faint orange, "Fionna?"
She looked up as he carefully crossed the distance between the counter and the island, slow and cautious as he stared down at her. He was careful this time to keep his arms at his sides, careful to be just close enough to not crowd her, and watched her face flush in kind. He swallowed, leaning in, "Maybe if we could try, just to...?" he mumbled, and then felt faint pressure on his chest, and his flames stuttered and he quickly suppressed them to avoid burning her. He glanced down at his chest, where her little hand was slowly, gently pushing away. He let her push him away, seething, and felt the hurt frown pull at his forehead and his mouth, his face taut like his burning heart-guts.
He noticed she wasn't looking away, her face red and her expression sad, though a smile was ticcing at her mouth, "That'll hurt more than help, FK." she said sadly, "It's not...if I kiss and say 'no', we'll be all kinds of wrecked. If I kiss and say 'yes', that'll make all the shouting and fighting we did, all of the stupid stuff, it'll be like saying all that stuff was okay. And either yes or no we might...we might regret it, or keep thinking about all those stupid 'what if's' and..." "And you don't want that for a love story, for our love story, yes...?" he muttered, and slowly dragged her hand over his bare skin to over the place he felt his heart thump in his chest.
She swallowed, and took her hand away, and he let her, staring at her. She wasn't looking away. "Yeah." she mumbled.
He took a breath, and sighed, backing off properly, palms up and shrugging, "I understand."
She nodded, but straightened away from the counter, and then surprised him by spreading her arms, open, a hesitant smile on her face.
"Peace-friends?" she asked, looking so vulnerable. He felt himself swallow, like something was stuck in his throat.
He laughed, feeling it catch, "Peace-friends." he replied, giving up.
He took her offer of a hug, embracing her, and felt her arms wrap around him without clawing him. He was careful, and was surprised that for such a cool being, for such an elemental, that she was soft, and in her way, warm, and seemed so small. He bit his lip, hands nearly tensing into the fabric of her shirt, and felt her breath on his shoulder. For her, it was like she was surrounded by warm air and pressure, dry and comfortable, and it felt so freaking safe that she nearly broke down right there. But no, not now, just enjoy it...
"I'll become someone you'll be proud of, princess, you'll see..." he muttered defiantly.
He felt her laugh, and a strong fist thumped lightly on his back, "You already are, stupid."
They both mutually left the hug, blushing and not meeting each other's eyes.
"I-I'll see you off tomorrow," she stammered, "And give you my mail address on a rock or something so you can send me a letter because Cake says the guy always writes first and—" He pressed his face against her cheek, cutting her off, and she felt the brief, warm, dry pressure against her cheek that made the skin there tingle and heat up.
"Thank you, Fionna." he mumbled against her skin, and backed off, backing to the door. "I've, um, I'm not running but I have...things..."
She waved, dumbly, and he waved back, smiling awkwardly, before he ran up the stairs to the main halls, leaving a trail of flaming footsteps.
She slumped against the counter, fingers absently brushing against her tingling face. The place suddenly felt wet. She traced the wetness up to her eyes, and laughed nervously, a laugh that caught in her throat and came out as a reluctant sob. That tightness that had been choking her throat for weeks was suddenly gone, and it had apparently blocked up a lot of junk while it had been there. She let herself cry, then, the quiet whimpers echoing pitifully in the kitchen, flushing her face, tears making everything sticky and salty-tasting as she let the hurt out. It was full, uncontrollable sobbing that was messy, gross, and would have embarrassed her if she didn't hurt so freaking much. Every now and then she'd stop, sniffling, only to be attacked by a fresh wave of crying.
Eventually she calmed down, quietly hiccupping as she caught her breath, breathing in and out slowly, shakily, wiping off her eyes with sticky hands. She'd ended up sitting on the floor, against the cabinet, her butt and spine hurting from the hard, stone surfaces. She stood up and went to the sink to wash up, the cool water soothing her stinging eyes and cleansing her skin, and when she straightened up and waited, thinking, the tightness in her throat didn't come back. It was over.
She made a face at her reflection on one of the shiny pans. Puffy, squinty eyes, flushed skin, stuffy nose, and her mouth tasted horrible. She washed herself again, drinking some of the water, and sighed. The best thing to do now would be to just move on. No regrets, no 'what if's'. Just acceptance, and peace, and a few more face-washings.
. . .
"I said I was sorry, man!" Marshall whined, and got a faceful of jean pants for his effort. The pants in question had a significantly burned hole in the seat of them, and smelled like charred denim. "See if I make you that hangover cure," was the snap from the closet, "I've lost not only my dignity but my favorite pair of pants. Thank you ever so much!"
"Can just patch 'em or something..." the vampire grumbled, tossing them aside, and then leered, "To be fair, though..."
"What?"
Marshall Lee chuckled, "This isn't the first time you lost your dignity or your pants...around me..."
This time he got a pretty dang accurate faceful of the complete Knitting and Acupuncture Enthusiast's Kit, sans protective casing.
Later, after Marshall had picked the needles out of his face and felt less like a pincushion, they talked.
"So, what, you guys are pen pals now?"
"We'll keep correspondence." Gumball replied, "One of his conditions was that I would be a sort of advisor to him, if you remember."
"Remember what? I wasn't there." Marshall Lee asked, eyes innocently confused.
The Candy Prince shook his head, exasperated. "Would you, hypothetically, have any objections to his other conditions?"
"Hypothetically, not really." the vampire grunted, "It was between you and him and politics. I'm surprised he didn't even mention Fio."
"He's learned," Gumball explained, "That matters of politics don't involve matters of the heart. Or at least, I'd hoped he had."
"Nah, nah, that was strictly bro-stuff. Politics had nothin' to do with it!" he chuckled.
"Indeed." Gumball sniffed, still disapproving.
"Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you didn't want a punch or two in?!"
Gumball looked at him, and smirked, eyebrow raised, "I prefer to...delegate..."
Marshall Lee blinked, and then gaped, "Wait so you expected me to—?! So you and Fio—?! Oh, you sneaky li'l—!"
"Well thanks to you two's sudden camaraderie, my plans had been foiled most hilariously." the Candy Prince smoothed over, "I hope you're happy." "Oh-ho-ho no," the vampire protested, as they left again, fully-dressed, to return to the festivities, "You plan! How did I—how did you even...?" Gumball smirked, shoving him gently with his shoulder to drift a little, "You don't know everything about me..." he chuckled, and left Marshall there with the most dumbstruck look on his face.
". . . Evil!"