Real talk: Wow, you guys really missed Lady Evil! That's okay, I missed her, too. She's about to show up a lot in A capella (yes, that's still a thing). Certain things in Opening Act needed to happen before that series could continue, but they've happened, so that's nice.
I wanted to give another thank you for all the love you guys give me. You guys are so wonderful and give me so much inspiration! It makes my day. Thank you all!
It took awhile, but this is the first time in Opening Act that I've had to split a chapter. Why? Well, two reasons. I originally wanted to show Bonnie & Marcy's side and Finn & Jake's side in the same chapter as a 'parallel writing' experiment, but it got really unwieldy, and honestly it didn't do either side justice. In addition, this is the longest chapter so far. Why? Because I thought Opening Act could use a little light in the darkness. Also it's the chapter you've all been waiting for since Bonnie first threw that dagger, and I really didn't want to rush it.
Oh, and before I forget... why do you all want Marceline to cheat on Bonnie with Phoebe so much?! Calm down, everything will be explained... in time.
Enjoy the light for now.
Content Warnings:
Description of previous injuries (not graphic by Rehearsal's standards)
Schwabl is the secret protagonist
Fluffy feels/Feely fluff
Implications of lady-sexing
Mild disassociation
References to panic attacks
Slight PTSD
Bonnie comes to terms with things
Peppermint Butler was a complicated mint. He had been blessed by his creator with intelligence unrivaled by any other candy person, save for his creator herself. In his several hundred years of existence he had lived quite a life. In fact, he lived a double-life, playing the dutiful and obedient butler of his esteemed creator while also acting as the most notorious dark arts master in Ooo bar none, save for demons themselves. If his creator was aware of his shady dealings - and how could she not be? - she never said a word, letting him have his private hobbies, never wondering aloud exactly how he knew to summon Jan specifically for updates as to Marceline's condition, how it was he had met Hunson Abadeer, Lord of Evil in the first place, even before his daughter's mate had, where he found the time to be his golf caddie. She didn't pry, and he was grateful for that.
Peppermint Butler, on the other hand, liked prying, and he was really, really good at it. He was one of the few outside of the wizard community who knew how to scry, could look at demonic text without losing his mind - even if he couldn't read it or even understand the language - and had his finger on the pulse of Ooo as a whole. Nothing happened in any kingdom without him - and, by extension, Princess Bubblegum - knowing about it. Oh yes, Peppermint Butler knew all sorts of things, and was often the first to know things before they were released to the general public.
Example: his creator's mostly-perpetual relationship with one Marceline Abadeer, The Scream Queen, Queen of the Vampires, future Lady Evil… if her father had his way, at least. Their friendship began before he was even conceived, but as one of his creator's first children he was privy to watching their romantic entanglement from its early years. He had seen them revoltingly in love, had seen them bitterly fight, seen his creator break the vampire's heart, seen the vampire stash his creator's heart somewhere unknown, though he did look. He was witness to the queen's Great Betrayal, had gawked as his creator forgave her, just like also she forgave her for wanging the castle apart in what he once thought to be a temper tantrum, only later realizing the truth, feeling a slight twinge of guilt when he realized it hadn't been her fault. But only a twinge. He had watched as his creator gradually groomed the half-demon to be A Good Girl and little more than an extension of her will, had watched the half-demon lash out in anger for reasons even she didn't understand, because as immortal as she was she was still only nineteen and was thus saddled with teenage hormones and poor emotional development. They both were, if he was honest with himself. And he was.
The only one of Princess Bubblegum's creations with the permission to speaking freely he did so often, imploring her time and time again to leave the vampire, to choose someone else, anyone else, because there were a dozen or more potential suitors who would fall over themselves to treat her as the princess she was. Suitors who didn't try to make citizens explode for fun, who didn't drain the orchards dry, who weren't Of Questionable Reputation. At times he almost begged her to put aside their centuries together, to abandon the old in favor of the new; she always did so for literally everything else, why was this any different? And every time Princess Bubblegum would listen to his petition, nod along thoughtfully, then dismiss it entirely. The surface reason was different nearly every time, but the core was always the same: no matter what happened between them there was a bond she and Marceline shared that transcended everything, and that alone any other potential suitor was simple unacceptable. She recognized that he had her best interests at heart - and he did - but simply would not budge, no matter how much he wanted to see that scoundrel, that blackguard, that no-goodnik expelled from the castle, the kingdom, and his creator's life post haste.
But as he stood in the cool aviary The Morrow called home, watching his creator, his liege, his mother dismount, tears already falling in thin strips, clothing coated in the blood of the tattered and battered bat held limply in the arms of a jacket that had until hours earlier been her own, he knew, deep in his stripes, that this wasn't what he wanted. No matter his feelings on the distasteful station that bat held in Bonnibel Bubblegum's life this would never, ever be what he wanted. He was a dutiful butler, a trusted friend and confidant. Not a monster.
"Your Majesty!" Only around her would he ever let anything other than quiet dignity present itself, and this hardly seemed the time or place for quiet dignity. He had known she would be returning to the castle in a rush the moment she had called him on the emergency holo-crystal regarding the vampire's sudden disappearance, but he had never imagined that this would be the state she would return in. In all honesty, he had suspected that Marceline was just throwing a temper tantrum about one thing or another, perhaps having overreacted to some thoughtless comment courtesy of Finn or Jake. Yes, he knew she was unwell, but this? I owe her an apology, don't I? Yes, he decided, because even if he had never voiced his suspicion to his creator or the queen herself he could not rule out the possibility that the vampire once attempting to eat him had tainted his behavior in ways that were subconscious. And he would owe his creator an apology later as well, because he would be remiss to not inform Hunson Abadeer about his daughter's condition, his only child's broken body, even if he was sure his creator would object to the demon's involvement. Once he understood the deets, of course. "What happened?"
But the princess was shaking her head; she had no mental energy to review those deets, not when work was to be done, when time was of the essence. It didn't bode well if his ultra-scientific princess was abandoning explanations in favor of action. That really was more of a Finn and Jake thing. He watched her carefully, worriedly even, as The Morrow knelt, allowing her rider and her rider's passenger to slowly disembark. Slowly, both because of Marceline's grave injuries and because there was an impossibly sharp axe strapped to the candy golem's back that could easily separate a bird from its wing. Evidently the bird understood the gravity of the situation, returning to her perch with nary a complaint. "Pep, I need you to listen very carefully. Go to my lab and disconnect the ward. Find the ripest apples from the orchard you can, half a dozen at minimum. Bring everything to my rooms immediately. If I have any non-essential duties tomorrow reschedule them. Compile a list of anything that cannot be avoided. No one is to enter my chambers save for you, myself, Finn, and Jake."
It didn't occur to the mint to ask for details, explanations, any further information at all. It never did, because he had a job to do. And Peppermint Butler was quite good at his job. "At once, Your Highness." Give my regards to Miss Abadeer. For once, for perhaps the first time, that thought held no animosity, only pity. After one last knowing look he was gone, leaving the two monarchs alone in a massive aviary, constructed for the sole purpose of housing The Morrow.
In the daytime it was actually quite beautiful, the roof a crackle glass dome that allowed UV lighting, essential to any bird's health, to filter in, coupled with massive tree overgrowth suitable to providing shading. The room centered around a massive T-shaped wooden perch with faint beak marks capable of supporting the massive bird's weight, much as it was doing at the moment. But as grand as the aviary was, what with its forest green rounded walls that shown from the bird's evening bath it was humid, and Bonnibel knew it had to be uncomfortable for her passenger, even if she was deeply unconscious. With a small frown she zipped the jacket once more, covering the bat. "This isn't how I imagined welcoming you home, Marcy… but welcome home." The crack in her voice made it slightly less warm than she would have liked, but she supposed the sentiment counted.
After one last scan of the room - for paranoia was deeply ingrained in the candy princess, and it would not due to have prying eyes about - Bonnibel slipped out of the large room into the castle proper, closing the door softly. Not that there was any real risk of any of her citizens, save for Peppermint Butler, catching her. It was almost dawn, and though nearly all of her children were strictly diurnal by design only her castle's staff were early risers, and even then only the staff whose duties included castle maintenance, chiefly the guards who would be rotating shifts. Even more fortunate, Past Bubblegum had seen fit to construct The Morrow's quarters within striking distance of her own, just in case a quick getaway were ever needed. Or the reverse, I suppose, she thought as she absent-mindedly stroked down the bat's back. But as unlikely as it was that anyone would be skulking about at the current hour the young scientist still took every care to observe before moving.
As thankful for it as she was, even the princess could admit that her castle devoid of her citizens' various noises left the building eerie. She hadn't been gone long, of course, and so nothing had changed: the halls' walls were still a very light shade of lavender; red and white striped candy cane support beams were still strong and sturdy; the floral royal purple triangle and half-circle banners were hung with precision, and, above all, there was no damage, tarnishing, or anything else to suggest a problem, and so all hallway doors were closed. It was thus a simple matter of ducking from the aviary to the hallway proper, holding the small mammal just a bit tighter than was strictly necessary. With calm but deliberate steps the candy scientist strode past the locked doors to the larger one at the end of the hallway, eyeing over her shoulder every so often for reasons she could not explain. That bothered her.
It fell away the moment she pushed open the tan and cream door, slid into her room, and locked it. Only then did she exhale a sigh she hadn't been aware she was holding, slowly unzipping her jacket as she cradled the vampire. "Marcy?," she asked softly, hopefully, but there was no response, and if vampires didn't turn to dust upon True Death she would have been convinced Marceline had perished from her wounds. As carefully as she dared Bonnibel slid out of the letterman jacket, gingerly transferring the older woman away from the soiled article of clothing in favor of her stain-free purple hoodie, making a mental note to have the jacket cleaned spotlessly due to its now powerful sentimental value, but for the moment that was neither here nor there.
With the exception of her bed, which was now made and not by her own hand, her bedroom was exactly as she had left it before making the journey to the Nightosphere. Good. Our room wasn't too different in her mind, and nothing particularly jarring happened there. This should register as a safe location. There was no need to ponder if she would be recognized as a safe location. Nope, no need at all. With a soft sigh she gradually sat on the bed with more care than was strictly necessary, merely because it seemed like the right thing to do. Now would come the task of taking inventory of her lover's wounds, a task that sickened her to her core not due to the gorey nature of it all, but because the last time she had done exactly this it had been- No. I'm not thinking about it. I'm not.
Bon, it's not healthy to repress that. You were a different person then.
I treated Tyrant like property!
You're the best at this kind of junk. Don't let Past You trip up Current You. The tasks are similar, yeah, but the meaning is incredibs different. You've got a gift. Now's the time to use it.
Bonnibel stopped at that, at the gentle but knowing tone in Rechte-but-not-Rechte's voice. She was, objectively, absolutely correct, but…
You can't keep running from who you were. It bites, but ya gotta own it or you won't move forward, and if you don't move forward she can't either.
Bonnibel watched the bundle in her arms, still so deeply unconscious. I… yes. You're right. Of course. And so, with a sour taste in her mouth, the princess lowered the small mammal into her lap… only to have said mammal wrap its wings around itself, shielding its ventral wounds. The candy golem arched an eyebrow. Ah. Of course. Chiroptera anatomy: their wings curl due to simple physiology. Of course you would choose a form that makes it difficult for me to examine you. She blinked then, not because of the logic behind that thought - it was perfectly sound, thank you very much - but because she had thought it without any trace of ire. It had been purely affectionate; she was even smiling.
See, Bon?
She did. The Old Bonnibel would have become irritated by such an obstacle, probably would have pried her wings apart as a matter of recourse. That wasn't New Bonnibel's style. No, New Bonnibel merely shifted her perspective. Alright, Marcy, we can look at your wings first if you're so insistent. The same affectionate tone as she slowly reached over, unstrapping the bass exactly the same way she had seen her mate unstrap it hundreds of time. Only when it was leaned safely against their bed that she leaned closer to examine her wounds.
Her wings were, for a lack of better word, bad. A pink hand rose to touch them, get a better angle, but lowered. Marceline was sensitive to touch in the best of times, and with gashes like those her nerves were undoubtedly going haywire. And they were gashes, at least two on the right wings, three on the left below small puncture wounds on the arm. Bonnibel shook her head sadly at the small tear in the membrane. Small, but enough to be more than significant. She won't be able to fly. Float, yes… but those wings won't stay airborne until she heals them. And she wasn't healing them, that was the problem. The wounds weren't bleeding anymore, but there was no clotting, no coagulation to suggest that her lover was sane enough to put herself back together again. It was more like the dark, dead blood was held back by some unforeseen force, but it would only take one small provocation for the blood to flow all over again. And her wings were already covered in so much blood, the red mixing with the naturally grey skin to make something grotesque.
Bonnibel never wanted to see that color again.
Her right wing had fewer wounds, but they were no less considerable. Oddly enough, though, they were markedly different; the left side's wounds were deep but small, with the exception of the tear at the bottom. The right side's wounds were deeper, more akin to claw marks; the curved angle and width were giveaways in suggesting that- ...You didn't make them at the same time? That's indicative that your mental state didn't falter all at once. It deteriorated, albeit quickly. Suspicious now, she slowly rotated the bat, just enough to catch a glimpse of its fluffy back. Although the poof made it difficult to examine without physically touching it, there were five marks running diagonally, beginning at where her left hip would be and running to where she suspected the shoulder to be. These are deep as well, but not as bad as your left wing. Now she very, very much wanted to examine her lover's abdomen, but those battered wings were still wrapped tightly, and Bonnibel didn't have the heart to pull them apart. In her current state of mind she may consider such an act as aggressive. Knowledge would have to wait.
She hated that.
Still.
The princess shifted her position once more, laying the bat over her chest so that its little ear lay parallel to a candy heart. The wounds may have stopped bleeding but Marceline's fur was still caked in blood, and the perfectionist within the candy golem wouldn't let that sit. There would be no logical point in patching the older woman's wounds, but it would give her mind a task to complete. The vampire was always quite adamant that if Bonnibel didn't have a mental chew toy she would destroy herself.
Does that make me your chew toy, Bon?
As much as Bonnibel loved the distastefully lewd tone in Rechte's voice she desperately wished it was coming from the real Marceline instead. As a pang of an emotion she did not yet understand afflicted her heart she felt the bundling in her arms stir. Just a wiggle, really. But a tell-tale wiggle. Her heart skipped, which wasn't terribly healthy objectively, but it caused the bundle to wiggle again. "Marcy?," the candy golem asked cautiously. A tiny garnet eye reluctantly opened. It was glassy and unfocused, but at least it was looking in the correct direction. Bonnibel couldn't help but smile, and she couldn't help how wide that smile was. "Hey little bat." The bat watched her sleepily, then turned and buried its head in her chest. Were it not for her grievous injuries it would be quite adorable. Still, the vampire being semi-conscious did change her plans a tad. Wound-cleaning idea abandoned, the princess turned back to the bed, speaking in little more than a hushed whisper. "Hey, it's alright. We're home now. Are you hungry?" But the bat didn't say anything, just lifting its head once more to watch the woman who was her mate, wary, as one predator watches another. "Pep-But will be here soon with something to eat, okay?" More staring, more silence.
She doesn't know what to make of you, Bon. You were her best friend forever, then you kinda turned into a psycho for a long time, now you're saying you changed, right? Try to see it from her point of view.
Bonnibel mulled that over. I believe I understand. If I am claiming that I'm not who I was then there is no precedent for who I am. Coupled with her vulnerable state of mind and physical pain this all must be terribly confusing.
But she's not running, right?
The princess, by some miracle, successfully restrained her smile, controlled the steady rhythm of her heart. No. She's not running. With the gracious movements befitting her station Bonnibel lowered herself to the edge of the bed, settling the bat in her lap. Except, it wasn't a bat now. Now it was a rat, whiskers long and sensitive, fur black and as thick and plush as Marceline's hair. Its four garnet eyes watched the candy golem's, taking in her every movement. It was tense, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Bonnibel knew this form well; it was the shape the vampire chose when she needed to be sneaky, when she needed to make a quick getaway, such as when performing sensitive tasks. Such as, oh, say, installing cameras in the homes of dozens of Ooo denizens. More importantly though, it was also a tell-tale sign that she was nervous; her body pressed against the leg under her to shield her underbelly and aid in a swift escape, her tiny paws twitching in a way that betrayed her dilemma as to whether or not she should run, run as fast as she could, as far as she could. In spite of herself Bonnibel gave her lover a soft smile; the half-demon liked to think of herself as scary and punk-rock, but, really, a small mouse with soft fur, teeny claws, and an adorable grey tail was neither of those things and the candy golem could not be convinced otherwise.
"Aw… little mouse."
All four eyes squinted, but there was otherwise no reaction. Somehow that made it even cuter. It was all so familiar: Marceline turning into random creatures meant to intimidate the younger immortal, posturing before a woman whose will was titanium, courage unwavering; the cozy intimacy of two best friends alone and undisturbed; Marceline huffing and pouting because of aforementioned titanium will preventing her posturing from being effective in the least. It was all so familiar, so much so that it stirred ancient feelings in an ice cold heart, sensations not experienced since grey hands first crowned her, declaring her princess of the Candy Kingdom to great fanfare. If one could considered torn up napkins being used as confetti to be fanfare.
If I close my eyes… it's almost like nothing's changed. Like the past whatever-hundred years didn't happen. Like she's still my goofy best friend and we're just starting to realize that we're totes in love and not willing to admit it 'cause we're afraid it'll ruin everything. Like any minute now she'll turn into a giant bat and 'trick' me into going on an adventure. Like she'll tell me to go the flip to sleep because I'm terrible at understanding that even immortal beings need to sleep and eat. But as nice as those stirred feelings that coupled ancient memories felt they were melancholy as well, because they were wonderful but they were also in the past, where neither woman could ever reach them. Because, more than anything, it made Bonnibel realize a haunting truth: that Princess Bubblegum had felt exactly this, all of it, remembered it all. And she had shrugged, been aware that the half-demon felt this way, ...and told Marceline to grow up, just not caring in the slightest, and left her alone with her anger and despair. Because, more than anything, it made Bonnibel realize that as much as a dinger as Princess Bubblegum was to her all Marceline ever wanted was for her friend to come back, to go on one last adventure, to tell her she loved her one more time, to watch just one more meteor shower-
Bonnibel Bubblegum wasn't a woman who cried easily. She could count the number of times she had done so in her almost nine hundred years on two hands. But there was something about the way Marceline looked at her then, something about the fear and the wounded love and the and the hope and betrayal and the longing all mixing together, all fighting and merging in garnet eyes, how scared she was both of and because of her. And then the younger woman had another clear memory, this one fresher, fresher and darker. Of Princess Bubblegum sitting in Marceline's cave house, waiting for her to come home so she could drag her to the Nightosphere, because the younger woman had demanded she be made a queen, but Marceline was too hesitant, forcing the candy golem to wait and wait and wait for hundreds of years. And that memory ended in a single thought, not her own now, but her own in the past: If the roles were reversed, would she wait for me?
Bonnibel cried then, silently and effortlessly, not great sobs but small trails, because as unbearable as these emotions and memories were now she had just started experiencing them weeks ago. She couldn't imagine sitting with them for hundreds of years as Marceline had. Only now was it becoming real: Marceline had been waiting for her to come home, but Princess Bubblegum had been too proud to acknowledge any of her many shortcomings. That She Had Been Wrong. Only now, in this very moment, did Bonnibel Bubblegum realize the greatest profound truth of any: all she wanted was her best friend back, too. Marceline Had Been Right. "Marcy…" she didn't even bother composing herself. If she could see the vampire's gashes and torn claw and feel her trembling in trepidation the least Bonnibel could do was show her her tears.
And then a little furry ear twitched, all four eyes widened, and the rat was on the move, just before the abrupt knock on the door preceding Peppermint Butler announcing his presence. When there was no answer the mint frowned before unlocking the door and pushing the door open anyway; between the steel platter covered with various foodstuffs, the strange metal device tucked under his arm and the satchel of apples hanging off his shoulder he was in no mood to wait about all morning. "Everything you requested-"
No response.
"Your Majesty?" He raised an eyebrow and turned to his liege, wondering what could possibly have prompted her silence when she had been so eager for him to return not an hour prior. It was only when he saw her shocked expression, and where her hands were poised, that he understood. And smiled. And silently excused himself, leaving his creator alone with the rat who had dived into her hoodie the moment he entered the room.
"...Marcy?" It was difficult not to sound hopeful. She failed. But there was a muffled response, and Bonnibel took that as permission to stretch the neck of her hoodie and look down at the rat clinging to her chest, above her heart.
"...It's just 'cause you're warm. 'M cold," Marceline muttered. She almost sounded convincing.
Bonnibel pretended she was anyway. It was the least she could do. "That makes sense. You do have a fair number of wounds. Coupled with your… poor health and sleep deprivation, I imagine your sense of temperature is actually-"
Marceline zoned out. It was hard not to, because as furious as she still was she was nestled somewhere very warm, next to the most soothing sound she could think of. As her eyes started to close she felt a gentle hand reach up, cupping her back. She tensed, thought of pulling away, wanted to pull away, but two of her four paws were still clinging to the shirt under the hoodie, too tempted by the possibility of someplace cozy to heal to let her flee. Traitors.
And then she realized how much pain she was in. It hit her, all at once, like a tsunami. Every muscle clenched, her teeth ground, and she hissed, all four eyes closing tightly. She thrashed against the hand because as light as it was it felt like fire, felt like every nerve was being seared and cut and spliced and everything and anything horrible. "Marcy, you have to heal." It wasn't a demand, nor a chide, It Simply Was, and it was an urgent hushed whisper. "You took a severe amount of damage in a short period of time. The pain won't stop until you heal everything." A wounded hiss was her only reply. "Marcy, I know it hurts. The worst of your wounds are on your left side. I suspect your abdomen is a close second. If you prioritize those areas you'll recover more swiftly." She lifted her hoodie, retrieving her and slowly placing the rat at her side. "And… I know you enjoy being an adorable little mouse, but it'll be easier to heal if you return to your normal form."
A growl of frustration, a snarl from pain, a piercing glare, and then the vampire was a humanoid again, laying on the bed in an almost fetal position. "Still so bossy…," she hissed from the exertion. As it was, Bonnibel felt her breath hitch; she had forgotten the state of Marceline's body in her normal form, how ruined her clothing was, how much blood she really was coated with. At least it was dry now, and would be easily rinsed once the surrounding gaping wounds were healed. Even now there was no clotting, but the dark blood did not flow.
In its own way, it was impressive. How fascinating… in an absolutely atrocious sort of way. Bonnibel shook her head to clear her thoughts. "I know. I'm a dillweed." Marceline was fond of saying that a joke couldn't be funny if there wasn't any truth to it. Judging by the vampire's smirk despite the immense pain the princess's comment was funny. "But I'm a dillweed with centuries of experience in watching you heal. I know I don't deserve it, but… please trust me. I don't…," she took a deep breath, "I hate seeing you like this, and I don't know how else to help."
Another growl, this one gutterall, but- ...Glob it, I hate when she's right. I'll never hear the end of- it was too much energy to think and heal at the same time, so Marceline made her choice, shutting down all conscious thought as she pushed the extra energy into stitching wounds deep enough to reveal muscle together again. Starting from the left, just as Bonnibel had suggested. She didn't have it in her to hazard a guess as to where these wounds came from, or where she even was at the moment; her entire world was making her nerves calm the fig down so that she could think, but it was so hard to focus through the haze of pain, a sensation she was entirely unused to courtesy of her absurdly high pain tolerance. It made her work sloppy, leaving wounds half-patched, threatening to reopen again at a moment's notice. Behind her, or perhaps from her side, she heard Bonnibel gently suggest she breathe to focus her concentration, because at the moment she was clenching her hand hard enough to break a finger, which was just creating more work for her; peaking an eye open confirmed her claim. ...Glob it. I need that. Lacking the will to argue Marceline relaxed her hand and slid her eye shut, prioritizing the finger's reconstruction now, knowing that if she let a hand wound settle for too long it was a butt-ton of work to work it back up to full strength, and her music would suffer. It was all too much.
By the time her body ran out of stamina she was panting, not even wanting to glance and see how much work left she had to do to fix herself. At least it doesn't hurt as much. As her breathing calmed she felt the exhaustion creep up once more, almost dozing off… until she felt a warm hand stroke her hair and her eyes shot open.
"Easy, Marcy… you're still recovering. You've managed to repair your hand and the deeper wounds on your left side, as well as some of the smaller ones on your right. That leaves only the more superficial wounds on your left and those on your back and abdomen remaining. I'm quite impressed with your progress, all things considered."
Yeah, because I rock. But where was the insufferable knowing tone in that familiar voice? Where the flip am I? As her vision focused her thoughts fogged once more. A horrible trade off she didn't ask for. She was lying on something soft, right cheek rested in what she suspected to be Bonnibel's lap. The rest of her vision was hazy, and her eyes slid shut from the frustration; she didn't even resist when the hand resumed petting her. Not 'cause it feels nice. I'll just bite it off later. But where was the passionate snark so often coupled with that thought and others like it? Too much, all too much, but without any further energy she had no choice but to settle into the warm, comfy lap, oblivious to the smiling candy golem above her as she dozed, never fully settling into sleep. For some reason she couldn't yet remember sleep seemed like an awful life choice.
Bonnibel watched her doze with a small frown. Are you trying to keep yourself awake? Do you still distrust me that much? ...No, that doesn't make sense. If that were indeed the issue you would not be consenting to my close proximity now. Did you have a nightmare? The candy golem didn't dare to voice that question. Marceline was prone to nightmares, that much was indisputable, but there was something about nightmares that makes them so deeply personal, so intimate. Sharing them amounted to a bond of trust. Moreso when the nightmares are based in reality, as Marceline's were. Still… this isn't healthy. You've exhausted yourself, Marcy. You need to sleep. "Hey…," she whispered. It still made the half-demon jump. Not an auspicious start. "Pretty bad nightmare, huh?" A gambit. A big one. The queen curled into herself, eyes screwed tightly. Not arguing. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Marceline curled tighter into herself, debating making a break for it. The sole deterrent was that it would be dumb, even to her, to make a break for it without knowing where she was, and her mindmeats were too messed up to make that connection. "...No."
You're asking the wrong question, Bon.
"...Do you need to talk about it?"
A soft, half-hearted growl and for one horrible moment the younger woman suspected she had asked a second wrong question. But then, to her astonishment, the queen uncurled herself, just enough to remove the muffle from the voice, to release the pent up sigh that had been building for weeks. "...Yeah."
That was entirely unexpected. "Really?" Now it was the candy golem's turn to wince. Because that just sounded plain awkward.
Marceline nodded ever so slightly. "If I don't I'm just as bad as you," she mumbled. But there was no harsh tone, no lashing out. Just frustration and pain. And, frankly, Bonnibel secretly agreed. The older woman took a deep breath, thought carefully about how she wanted to word everything…
"I had a Cosmic Owl dream."
...and then blurted it out anyway. Typical. But now that was out there, and she curled into herself once more.
To her credit, Bonnibel recovered from the surprise much quicker than Marceline had expected. That makes sense. If I were to receive one while within her mind it only stands to reason that she would receive one eventually as well. Instead of saying any of this, "I imagine yours was not as pleasant as mine was."
With more effort than she'd ever like to admit Marceline pushed herself into a sitting position, eyes closed against the dizziness of trying to figure out where she was. Get out of my head, Bonnibel. But she wasn't wrong, and the vampire pulled her knees to her chest, resting her cheek. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered the subtext of the princess's comment, that a vision wherein the two were not only married but legit mates was pleasant. But it was only in the back of her mind, and it couldn't hurt her there. "...Hate the Cosmic Owl," she mumbled. "Hate that feathered idiot." A snarl was emerging from the back of her throat, garnet eyes slitting. The rage that had been festering before may have dissipated before but it threatened now to return with a vengeance.
And then a soft, fluffy pink blanket was being draped over her shoulders and her eyes dilated and blinked, fury extinguished by that one small gesture. "Here… once the adrenaline passes you're going to feel cold. It happens every time you heal an injury this severe." Marceline didn't turn to look at the other woman, the one whose hands hadn't left the blanket or her shoulder, nor did she react to its presence except to allow it. Come to think of it… although Navigator accepted my dream rather well the Unifier reacted quite volatilely as well. Not to this degree, yet the similarities are unquestionable. It was bizarre to say the least. But that mental exercise wasn't her concern at the moment. Just as she had predicted - or, perhaps, because she had even said it - the adrenaline was finally fading and Marceline slumped against her shoulder, conscious but exhausted. Shivering. Severe injury was the only situation Bonnibel had ever found that would make Marceline's dull nerves realize she had no body warmth, and it granted the half-demon the same weaknesses to cold as any living being. "Here…" and then, before Marceline knew it, she was being maneuvered, manipulated, wiggled, and then Bonnibel was leaning her back against something, the musician leaning her head against her shoulder, both under the blanket now.
Curling against the younger woman in an effort to steal her body warmth was as humiliating as it was involuntary, a primitive reaction stemming from what Bonnibel had once called the 'lizard brain', a part of any sapient being's mind that reacted purely on instinct. And Marceline Abadeer was all about instinct. Stupid lizard brain. But, there was no point fighting it; her strength would have to be saved for a fight she actually stood a chance of winning. And… it actually felt nice to be that close to the scientist, like a piece of her soul coming home. Like what was missing had been found again. Stupid soul. When she finally spoke her voice was quiet, drained, and almost unrecognizable as her own, even to herself. "...When I was a kid… an actual kid… I had a Cosmic Owl dream. I didn't know it at the time, 'cause the dunce didn't actually appear… but it was a Cosmic Owl dream. Dunno how I know, but…" she trailed off, hesitant.
But I don't want to sleep! My dreams are weird.
All dreams are weird.
But mom, my dreams are we-e-e-eird.
Marceline turned away from Bonnibel, not looking at her, not even sure if she could right now. It was just easier this way. "I remember telling mom about them, but she didn't get it. I didn't even get it. Not 'till I was older. Then… they got a lot clearer until the stupid feather-brain finally got the guts to show up, and he told me… I get to end the world." Her laugh was hollow, soft, and pathetic.
Bonnibel frowned, mind already kicking into overdrive. It finally had a puzzle. "But… the world had already ended by then, hadn't it?"
The vampire sighed, nodding. "Yeah. The humans already blew themselves up, so I thought the ding dong was wrong. That it was over. But… I couldn't shake it, you know? Even as a kid I knew who the Cosmic Owl was. I knew he was prophetic. I couldn't shake that he basically just told me that I cause the apocalypse, even if I was already living in it. It's not that easy… especially since…" Her eyes trailed down to her hand, nails still covered in her own blood. "I did all this to myself, huh?" Bonnibel wasn't going to dignify that statement. "Even before I ganked all those vamps and took their pows I knew I could do a lotta damage if I wanted. Or… even… if I didn't wanna." Super strength. Pyrokinesis. Necromancy. Sucking out souls...
The princess pulled her closer. She knew where this was going, where it had always gone. "You're not a monster, Marceline." Her tone gave no room for argument, even as her mind began to put the pieces together. Though this clarifies why you think you are.
The queen granted herself another hollow laugh. "I thought since the world was already ended I was off the hook. All I'd have to do is control what makes me me."
A bit emboldened now, a pink hand laced fingers with its grey counterpart. "You've done an unparalleled job at containing your abilities and using them for… well, not 'good' per se, but… not evil."
That earned her a choking laugh. "For real, Bonnie? Did you forget how we met?"
One hand squeezed the other. "Of course not."
"I was feral. I tried to eat you."
Bonnibel kissed the top of her head, dropping her tone to something much gentler. "I got better."
Marceline pondered how much impact those three little words were having on, on why they were having any impact at all. On why she wasn't surprised. Just tell her. Even if you're mad she needs to know. 'If' being the operative word, because it seemed all of the older woman's emotions were dull now, having their sharp edges dulled against the memory of her first Cosmic Owl dream. "...I had another dream. On our way to… well, she said we were on our way to the castle, and vision's not working too well right now, but I think that's where we are."
There was so much to that one sentence, but two things stood out beyond the rest. She? Her vision isn't working so well? But concern over her lover's ability to see would have to come second; if Finn and Jake were to be believed Cosmic Owl dreams were serious biz, and if one was couple by the queen's reluctant willingness to be open about it… well, that was an opportunity the princess could ill-afford to miss. "She?"
"Lady Evil," she spat.
Bonnibel shuddered, pulling her mate against her without thought. Even Rechte's sarcastic commentary fell silent at that revelation. But… that's impossible. Lady Evil fused with the rest of you when we rescued you. She cannot exist as a separate entity anymore. She's gone. We made sure of it. Only the sound of a *snap*, the unmistakable noise of a broken bone broke her from her reverie. She peaked down and saw her suspicions confirmed; no matter how limp the musician was in her arms she was still stressed, tense, on the highest alert, and her fist clenching hard enough to break her thumb proved it. "Shh…" as her right hand settled calmingly on the back of her neck, avoiding the collar area, her left slid down, prying the hand open with just a stroke over her wrist. "Hey, it's alright. Just tell me what happened." The vampire tensed.
Sounds like a command, Bon, came Rechte's warning tone.
"I'd like to help, Marcy. That's all." After four heartbeats Marceline relaxed, and the princess breathed an internal sigh of relief. I'll have to be more careful of thoughtless comments such as those. "What happened?"
Now the older woman was tense for a much different reason, no longer registering as her thumb stitched itself together. How much do I tell her? No way I can tell her that I'm supposed to betray her. Not gonna happen anyway. "Well… I woke up in dad's office. Her office?" She shook her head to clear the frustration of such a pointless discrepancy. "She said that you all merged us back together, but since she's the oldest of us she got to be there as a favor to deliver a message. That… I'm still supposed to end the world. Ooo." Bonnibel's hand stilled. "She said… the prophecy - the first one, when I was a kid - just implied that I was supposed to end the human world. We all just assumed it… but it actually meant Ooo, and that there's nothing I can do about it 'cause prophecy has a way of coming true whether you want it to or not."
The princess's free arm wrapped around the older royal's waist, pulling her closer subconsciously. It would be exactly like Marceline to run at this very moment, and while she was making excellent strides in being less of a power-driven megalomaniacal control freak Bonnibel was not yet of the opinion that the half-demon could be trusted on her own yet without incurring even more damage. "Marcy… Lady Evil was a tactical genius. If it was indeed her she could easily be attempting to manipulative you. Even if it is the Cosmic Owl his dreams aren't always literal, are they?" If Finn and Jake are to be believed, at least. That was meant to sound more reassuring than it actually did, but Marceline didn't seem to notice.
"...I need to go back to the Nightosphere, Bonnie." The young scientist had heard this declaration many times now, but this was different. Every other time had had some powerful singular emotion coupled with it: rage, fear, confusion, something spurring it onward, drawing it out, making it the star of the show. But this was new. It was… resigned, as if her lover was accepting a heartbreaking, profound truth. And that was dangerous.
"Why do you need to go back to the Nightosphere, Marcy?" Her right hand began to gently rub the back of her lover's neck, trying to ease her down from whatever it was that was running through her mind because she knew that, this time, with that tone of resignation, if Marceline ran she wasn't coming back. It was her eyes. They were the giveaway.
"Because… if I'm there no one gets hurt." That same resigned conviction, now matched by her pushing away.
Be careful, Bon.
It wouldn't be accurate to say that Bonnibel was 'restraining' Marceline… but it would certainly be an accurate synonym. "Easy, Marcy… let's finish our talk first. Then, if after you've debriefed me you'd like to leave I'll escort you back myself. Would that be alright?"
Marceline stopped squirming away, clearly weighing the pros and cons of such an offer. She was certainly strong enough to break away from the princess whenever she wanted, but in that embrace? She could seriously hurt the younger woman, and that was out of the question. Always would be. She froze, crippled by indecision, knowing that she had to go back, had to get away, but knowing it would be forever this time. She's a brainlord. She'll get it once I explain it all. So… just… just for closure. That's all this is. With a very subtle nod of her head she settled once more, fingers drumming nervously on her own arm. There was no nice way to ask this question. "...I know I freaked out. I don't really remember it… but…"
Bonnibel saw where this was going before Marceline could even finish the thought and smiled softly, squeezing her hand once more. "You had a panic attack, Marcy." You can say it. It's okay. You shouldn't be ashamed. There's nothing to be ashamed about.
Truer words, but they didn't stop Marceline's flinch. I knew it. Telepath. "...What did I do?" The question came out more quietly than she had anticipated. She suddenly felt very, very vulnerable. As if sensing that subtle change the princess pulled the blanket tighter around them both.
Bonnibel's tone was both kind and matter-of-fact. "Your house suffered considerable damage. Schwabl is fine," she rushed, because she knew exactly how much that dog meant to her. "Your house can be repaired. It's certainly in better shape than when the boys first found it and you tricked them into repairing it for you." Yes Marcy, I know about that. The vampire turned away, grumbling.
And then the other shoe dropped. "...Wait. Were they there? When it happened?"
...Oh butterbrittle. "Yes, we were re-acclimating you to Ooo as a group-"
"So if they were there and I tore my house apart they def saw the-"
"Marceline." A firm tone and, out of pure muscle memory, the half-demon's jaw snapped shut. There was no time for the princess to feel guilty about that now. She would later, though, that was for sure. "Stay with me, okay?" Her voice, now so much gentle. "They saw your trophies, but they don't know what they were. They think you just have odd tastes in decoration." Amazing how easily lying still came to her. Amazing how swiftly the guilt of it all settled on her shoulders. Amazing how, despite everything, Marceline seemed to just accept this.
I know it blows, Bon, but lying in of itself is not an act of aggression. Consider the alternative. If you told her that the dweebs saw her trophies and knew what they were would it help anything?
She still deserves to know, Rechte.
Well, yeah, but would telling her help anything right now? Or would it just hurt her?
I promised I'd stop lying-
Man, you love operating in the extremes, don't you, Bon? Rechte's voice sounded too teasing, too amused. You're new to this, so I'll forgive you this time, but ya gotta work on knowing when to use that cold logical side and that squishy emotional side. Take it from the master, right now you gotta get her stable or it doesn't matter what's true.
It bothered Bonnibel that a voice in her subconscious that sounded exactly like a figment of a voice in her mate's subconscious could out-logic her, but she supposed it was inevitable. At least until she got a handle on those pesky emotions before they got either of them hurt. I'll learn. I'm quite adept at learning.
"I know I torched some of the Grasslands." Marceline's whisper brought the princess back to reality. "Bon, what if I killed someone?"
Absolutely not. We are not going down this train of thought. "Finn and Jake are investigating right now," she soothed. "Their preliminary inspection has yielded nothing to suggest that there were any casualties or serious injuries. They have been instructed to enlist Doctor Princess and to utilize whatever Candy Kingdom resources are required to assure that no one is hurt and everything is contained."
There was something almost dark about the way the younger woman said 'contained' that made Marceline shudder, but the fog in her brain prevented any possibility to even consider analyzing it. It was for the best. "Yeah, but… what if I did? If you keep me here you're just making yourself a target."
Now the hand on the back of her neck stilled before trailing to the vampire's cheek, cupping it. "Marcy… do you know where you are?"
That one she did know. "...Your castle."
You're half right. "Marcy…" The hand trailed to her chin now, lifting it so that knowing yet worried green eyes met reluctant, almost panicked garnet. She paused, taking stock of the sight before her: the fang poking nervously through the lip, only to heal and reopen again and again; the tense and coiled muscles of a lithe woman ready to flee at a moment's notice; and, above all, just how lost her other half looked, how conflicted. How guilty. "Do you remember our first date?"
The empty laugh again at the absurdity of the question, how random it was, but she didn't look away. "You mean our actual first date or the one we didn't know was a date?"
Bonnibel smiled. "That second one. The night I met you at our tree so we could watch the meteor shower together we cuddled and drafted plans for this very castle. I told you about the stars, and you told me all about the humans who made up your family. I never told you, Marcy… but that was the moment I realized that no matter where I am or what I'm doing no place I inhabit will ever be home without you." It was worth breaking eye contact to pull the stunned half-demon deeper into the blankets. "I brought you here because it's our castle. Even though you're still understandably furious with me I am quite tired of you falling victim to one atrocity after another. None of this is your fault. I'm not harboring you, I'm protecting my family. You didn't kill anyone," she emphasized, hoping she was right, "but if anyone is grumpy about something that happened beyond your control then they must contest their complaints with me."
Marceline turned away, muttering, "it's not your problem."
She had expected an argument. After all, it was an ancient one, one that seemed to love rearing its ugly head. Marceline hadn't expected a kiss to her temple, and sat, stunned. "One day you'll understand that you're not a problem, Marcy. I know that you largely think that because I've encouraged such a mentality in order to assure your submission, but I no longer find such behavior within myself to be acceptable in any context. As much damage as that amulet did to you… I did more. I'm sorry, Marceline."
It almost sounds like she means it. And that was uncomfortable to say the least, the idea of Princess Bubblegum having and expressing emotion freely, not trying to purge it like a toxin. It's… more like Bonnie. You've done a lot of things that are way more like Bonnie. ...Were the dweebs right? Did you actually get the message that you were butthole? Marceline didn't want to feel hopeful, didn't want to entertain the idea… but even she could admit that sometimes obvious solution was the correct one. I mean… you've always sucked at pretending to feel stuff… She could almost feel how content her soul was at that moment, how much it didn't want to leave, but the rage, The Other Stuff, it was all still there, still powerful. Just like all of her other injuries, just like her mind's fog, just like- "...I'm still so mad, Bon. I just… I don't know why."
Because I stabbed you with a silver dagger that I promised to destroy? Because I was abusive? Because I literally tried to force my will down your throat? Because I was neglectful? Because I manipulated you? Because I broke your heart into a bajillion pieces? Because- "There are many valid reasons, Marcy. You don't need to explain yourself."
But Marceline was shaking her head. "That's… that's not what I mean. I mean… I betrayed you once, didn't I? But… you forgave me…"
Ah. "Marcy, whether or not you forgive me is something that will come with time and can only be decided on a case by case basis." The garnet eye turned to her, squinting in displeasure. Her own rolled. "What I mean is that there is no pressure for you to forgive me simply because I forgave you. It doesn't work like that. Your reaction to… well, everything I've done is valid and deserves to be recognized as such. I may have forgiven you, but that has no bearing as to what you should decide for yourself. I know what and how I am. I didn't before, but… I do now."
There was a long silence after that. Bonnibel ran her fingers through onyx hair, dumbstruck, having never expected to ever being allowed to do that again. Marceline stared off into space, rotating Bonnibel's confession every which way, as if trying to jam a square-shaped block through a round hole. It hurt, because this was exactly how Bonnibel used to sound, before that stupid dumb crown turned her into Princess Bubblegum. Those are pretty words, Bon… but you can't just go back being- And then she tensed, eyes widening. Because, perhaps, Lady Evil had said more than she had meant to in bringing her into the sunlight. In reminding her of what it was like to be de-vamped.
"...I hate your crown."
Bonnibel supposed that was fair.
"You were my best friend, and it just made you so… cold. I mean, yeah, you were always kind of emotionally repressed, but you were… you. So it was okay." That made no logical sense, but the young scientist got it anyway. "I just… wanted you to come back." Now it was her turn to lock their gazes. If Bonnibel was going to admit something to Marceline the vampire figured it was fair to return the favor. "I never told you before, 'cause I thought it was too… I dunno. But when you de-vamped me… it was really nice for awhile. I got to eat food, see what it was like to be a daywalker, terrorize a whole new pool of victims. But you know the best part? I got to walk in the sunlight with you. Neither of us staying up past when our bedtimes, no protective clothing, nothing getting in the way. And… since you didn't have that stupid crown it was like you were the old you again. Like I got you back. It was amaze-balls. I think I wrote a song about it? Probably got blown up." Now her gaze dropped, eyes sliding shut. Without realizing it her head came to rest on Bonnibel's chest. "...Being a demon bites, Bon. We don't get a say in who our souls pick, so when it picks someone not a demon it's not fair. You'll always have a power over me I can't have over you. It's like the world's dumbest magnet, so no matter how mad I am there's part of me that just wants to forgive you and get it over with. But… what am I supposed to do when it might get the rest of me emotion-ganked?"
It reminded Bonnibel too much of a nature documentary she had found as a child, well-before ever meeting a beautiful grey-skinned musician. It had been entirely inappropriate viewing for someone her age, and though she didn't remember much of it she did remember one scene rather graphically: some extinct animal from the world before the bombs with its leg trapped in some sort of contraption, choosing to sever the limb just for a chance of survival. Is that what I am? Or… was? A trap? It wasn't exactly an unfair analogy.
Come on, Bon. You can do this. Apply those mad skillzorz you've been racking up this whole time.
This isn't a- ...no, I'm not going to lecture my own sub-conscious about whether or not this is a video game. Which it isn't. Instead, the pink-skinned woman wrapped the blanket tighter. "You're right. It would be unfair to pretend otherwise. I'm woefully ignorant as to how half of your bloodline functions, but I know enough to recognize that your soul chose me. That makes me responsible for its care and safety, and until now I've been woefully inept in that regard." Green eyes trailed down as Bonnibel began to absently play with calloused fingers. They twitched, as if wanting to pull away, but relented. "But… you're hurt, Marcy, and healing begins in the mind. I learned during your absence that…" She trailed off, flushing from the humiliation. The wonderful, well-deserved humiliation. "In terms of my royal duties I've been operating mostly on auto-pilot since we brought you home. When you were gone it was like half of me was missing. I know that it can't be comparable to what you experience, but things are different now. I'm different. I want to show you that there really is a difference between me and my role. I can be cold, calculating, and manipulative… but..." She sighed, not sure what else to say. Unfortunately, leaving it without a 'but' set the vampire on edge once more. With a sad smile Bonnibel shook her head. I should have thought that sentence through more. "My apologies."
"Your what?"
And then they both froze at that old joke, that ancient teasing that Bonnibel, even as a young-un, never could lose her prim and proper language. How easily she slid back into those old habits when flustered, and oh how this admission of touchy-feelyness was flustering her. She flushed more then, because of course Marceline's brain, even broken a thousand ways, would still remember how to tease her. It may not remember what the sun was, but torturing Bonnibel? No, that it remembered. Apparently. So you give me another panic attack, make me almost gank myself, and that's your response? Good job, brain. Really helpin' me out here. You suck. So do you, body. All of you suck. In retaliation it shuddered, obediently calming down once her lover's attention returned to her.
"You know my what, you butt." It just flowed so easily, so effortlessly. Like nothing had happened over the past six centuries. Nothing at all.
Marceline took a deep breath, then exhaled. Both the rage and The Other Stuff were beginning to fade. A rare treat that granted her new clarity, that as nice as this was- "Bon… I can't stay. I can't even remember Ooo. I probs killed someone. Then what? Finn and Jake hunt me down?"
The princess felt her shiver once more as the adrenaline spiked through her and died, spiked through her and died. "Marcy, shh… you're going to end up accidentally hurting yourself more. I know I don't deserve your trust, but please… let me protect you. The boys will be back soon with an update. Then we-" Or, more accurately, I, you'll probably be asleep by then, at least if I can help it "-we decide the best course of action. For now, though, this is a good opportunity to relax and recover a bit."
"I'm fine," Marceline grumbled, not meeting her eyes. That's where lies live, after all.
"Mm-hm." And that was all the acknowledgement that false statement was going to receive. Acknowledge and move on: an essential skill for any monarch of any court to master. By Marceline's snort she knew she was being handled. "Now, let's focus on more pressing matters. Do you know when you last ate?"
Marceline did an admirable job of making herself as small as possible without actually shape-shifting. "...At the house?" It was a question and not a statement, but it was telling enough.
"Yes, you ate a very small strawberry at the house. Do you remember when you ate before then?" Her silence said enough. "I recommend eating, Marcy. It'll help you recover faster."
"Food tastes weird," she mumbled.
Bubblegum pondered if feeding the older woman her blood within her mind was having any influence over her reluctance once more, and not for the first time. The treacherous thing was even considering ways to test such an hypothesis. But that was all it was: treason. No. She's not and will never again be an experiment, and I will not even consider asking her to break that taboo. She only has three rules in Unlife, and that needs to be respected. "It's only natural that certain things will be difficult re-adjusting to. Fortunately, however…," she trailed off, visually leading the musician to the desk, what with its piles of papers and steel platter. "I know of an immaculate orchard that a certain vampire enjoys ravaging because she hates when I have nice things."
A pin drop could be heard in the depths of the silence, and Bonnibel subconsciously wondered if it was the same one from the Nightosphere, because Marceline had frozen at that subtle offer. Did I… push her too far? Did I take too many liberties with how well this conversation was going?
Her next words were somehow worse. "...Sorry, Bon. I don't remember the orchards." Worse because there was a thin sorrow there, as if Marceline was only now realizing how much of her was missing.
Oh no you don't. You're not spiralling on me again. With a subtle turn so that the queen could see the platter on the desk Bonnibel pulled her tighter. "That's alright, Marcy. Not everything will come back to you at once." She probably should have asked earlier, but- "Do you remember our rooms?" Really, she wanted to ask if the vampire remembered the castle itself, but suspected that may open a can of worms, given the tragic course of events that occurred within the pseudo-castle. This seemed like a much safer option.
The half-demon chewed her lip hesitantly, but, over the course of a very long minute, pulled herself away from the younger woman, floating to the center to get a good visual sweep. "...Yeah. I think. Some things kinda feel off, but… I guess the core stuff is there?"
Although Bonnibel's smile was knowing it was coupled with a twinge of sadness. "Here." If she didn't know any better she could have sworn that Marceline seemed to disentangle reluctantly. Obvs that's just the fatigue. Unless…? Doing her best not to make watching her from the corner of her eye all that obvious the princess strode to the opposite end of the room, gingerly picking up the plate of apples. When Marceline recoiled she understood why immediately. "It's alright. It's steel. No silver in this room." Or in the castle. Or the kingdom. Or any of my territories.
To her surprise, Marceline shed her blanket shield, floating off the bed to reach the center of the room. A sweep yielded no further answers. "So… it's always looked like this?"
Bonnibel nodded thoughtfully, strolling to the bed as nonchalantly as possible to give the platter a resting spot. "What seems different?"
The vampire chewed her lip. It did not escape the candy golem's notice that she seemed to be avoiding the lavatory. "I dunno. Just… seems more full?" She didn't remember Bubblegum having so many possessions. The last she recalled there was a bare desk, the bed, and empty booksh- Wait. That doesn't make sense. She's a brainlord, why would they be em- She hissed as a bolt of pain shot through her skull.
Her lover was at her side immediately. "Marcy? What's different?"
The half-demon shook her head to clear her thoughts, gesturing absently to the great bookshelves made of a solid tan wood she could not immediately identify. "You always had books there, right?"
"Yes, many. In fact, you found two of the bookshelves for me. We found many of the books together. I believe you called it a 'mall'? Where you found Schwabl?"
Alright… that does actually sound familiar. She had vague memories of that day. Or was it days? A record shop, a store that sold things humans put in their homes that even she could not identify, a pharmacy where the younger woman scoffed at the humans' primitive understanding of medicine. Yes, those were familiar, and the pain ceased as quickly as it began. Though she needed no breath she exhaled a sigh of relief, unaware of the clinical gaze she was being afforded.
Fascinating. Even such a subtle change is causing you this much discomfort? Perhaps it's correlated with the level of emotional attachment you have to a location or experience.
Serially, Bon? Right now?
She blinked. Ah. Yes. You're correct, Rechte. Now is not the time. When she cleared her throat to clear her thoughts it drew the attention of her fellow monarch. "Does anything else seem familiar?"
Happily, Marceline remained blissfully unaware of the clinically detached mindset having briefly returned to the woman who was trying really, really hard to prove it was gone, at least where she was concerned. "I dunno, Bon," she sighed. "I'm pretty tired."
Against her better judgment the young scientist wrapped her arms around her mate. Who… didn't pull away. Odd. "I understand, Marcy." And then she detached once more, taking the half-demon's grey hand into her own. "Are you hungry?"
"Would I know if I was?," she grumbled.
Interesting thought. I suppose you might not. She snatched an apple from the platter, offering it slowly. "Would you like to try? You may not remember the orchards, but you do enjoy terrorizing them. And the citizens therein," she smirked.
Yeah, that… does kinda sound familiar. "...Alright, I'll bite." Whether or not that was meant to be a joke would become knowledge lost to the ages. But bite she did, draining just a bit of the apple's red. Delicious red. When it was half-consumed she retracted her fangs. "...Okay, so that's not as bad as I thought it'd be. Choice."
The younger woman beamed. "Wunderbar! It may take some time before the habit of eating returns to you, but this is a wonderful beginning." In more ways than one. When she sat on the bed she patted her side. It took a serious moment of hesitation, but the queen joined her, still holding her apple, rotating it in her hand as if it could grant her the mysteries of the universe. "I'm… really glad you're home, Marcy. It'll take some adjustment… but you'll see. This is home, and it's a safe place for you to recover." And perhaps… for us to recover as wel-
Marceline sighed, suddenly very interested in her apple. "It's just… it's weird."
"What is?"
You really wanna tell her this? "It's just… I'm not sure I can forgive you, but… I'm not sure I can stay mad at you. Not after… I dunno," she sighed. "I'm usually better with this kind of stuff."
The princess scooted closer, entwining her fingers, running her thumb over the other woman's wrist. "It'll take time. Regrettably, you aren't capable of telling your heartguts how they should or should not feel, and what they feel can often be conflicted. You taught me that, when I was in your mindscape." She ignored the resultant bitter laugh. "Besides, you've gone through a series of jarring events rapidly and sequentially. To be honest, Marcy, even if you did abruptly decide to absolve me of all of my guilt you're not in a state of mind where you can consent to such a decision, and I would not accept it."
That gave the musician pause. Considerable pause. She was almost frozen by that statement. She just sounded so full of conviction, of… honesty. It almost made Marceline feel guilty about not telling her that last part of the Cosmic Owl dream, where she was destined to betray her. No, scratch that, it did make her feel guilty. Not enough to act, because her gut was telling her not to, but the guilt was undeniable. "So… even if I said 'hey, I forgive you', you wouldn't accept it?" Not that she was cruel enough to try. And that realization was jarring as well.
Again Bonnibel pulled her closer, letting her head rest on her chest as she stroked her long hair. "No, I would not. I meant what I said. You're the most important aspect of my life, and you deserve to be treated as such. That includes me earning your forgiveness. Logically, I have spent until this point merely correcting my mistakes. I haven't actually proven myself. Not yet."
Marceline fell silent, weighing those words, that sincerity. The pause lasted minutes, which was quite impressive for a woman composed chiefly of pranks and impulsivity. Finally, finally, she curled deeper into the embrace. It all weighed so heavily on her; the Princess Bubblegum of the Past, how Bonnie was before the flippin' crown, how the Princess Bubblegum of the Present was acting a lot more like Bonnie, how she had passed every little test the vampire had thrown at her, side-stepped them all with grace. How she was here now, caring for her, making the half-demon Her Top Priority. It was then she felt her anger shift. It didn't want to shift, it wanted to keep being where it was, but that didn't matter. She already knew what she wanted to say to that assertion. "Then I guess… this is as close as we get for now." This time the words didn't sound filthy. Perhaps a bit unclean, but not filthy. They still felt right.
That pin drop again. Did… did she just say that she's ready to forgive me, once she can consent to such an action? No, Bubblegum, don't get ahead of yourself. She's still too vulnerable and may not understand what she's saying. She's quite literally not in her right mind just yet. However… she did say it. The embrace tightened and the younger woman was quite thankful that Past Bubblegum learned to control the rhythm of her heart. It would surely otherwise be going haywire at that admission. Well done, me. Excellent work. Her mental praise was interrupted by a yawn that was not her own. Her smile was half smirk. "Come on, Marcy. It's past dawn and far too late for little bats to be awake."
If she didn't know any better she could have sworn that she saw the queen blush as she turned away to obediently remove her shoes. Fortunately, she didn't know any better. Cute. "Would you like something clean to change into?" She was already rising to approach the wardrobe.
"Nah, I'm good." To emphasize just how good she was Marceline was already a tiny bat climbing into a very large bed. "Forgot how soft this was…," she yawned. Bonnibel Bubblegum had always insisted on having the softest bed imaginable, even when her reign first began. Something about bodies made of gum being easily pliable? There was definitely a lewd joke in there, but the tiny mammal was too tired to voice it. Then she caught the implication of the younger woman's statement and poked her head out from under the blanket. "Hey, how long have you been awake?"
She… actually cares? Bonnibel cleared her throat. "I will join you shortly. I must confer with Pep-But that all non-essential meetings have been rescheduled for tomorrow, and be briefed on what essential meetings I am required to attend."
"So… I'm making you miss work."
The candy golem's smile was gentle as she returned from her desk with two objects in hand. "You aren't making me do anything, Marceline. Responsibility demands sacrifice, and I have more of a responsibility to you than some envoy from-" don't say Fire Kingdom don't say Fire Kingdom don't "-neighboring territories about trade treaties. Nailed it. "Besides, it's just for a day. I'll meet with them tomorrow. In the meantime, however," she held up a small yellow holo-crystal. "Do you remember how holo-crystals work?" The relief when the poofy bat nodded. "Regrettably, my own holo-crystal was left at your house. My bad. This one connects to Pep-But's. If you need me use it and he'll fetch me immediately." Without thinking about it she laid the small device next to her mate on the steel platter, scritching her tiny ear on its way back up. No purring, but no biting either. She'd take it as a victory. Besides, Marceline was more focused on the second device.
"Isn't that your lab's ward?"
The wards were an ancient invention, one known only to three individuals, two of which were in the room, meant to prevent unauthorized access to vital sections of the castle. Which was, exclusively, Princess Bubblegum's laboratory. They weren't large devices; metal, oblong, dyed a soft shade of pink except for that tiny grey spot where Marceline had once tried to eat it out of boredom. In its inactive state it was entirely missable. Bonnibel crossed the room to the northwest corner, kneeling to place the device. The tiny bat pushed itself up on its wings, but couldn't see through her. "Right now I'm authorizing only you, myself, Pep-But, Finn, and Jake access to and from this room. I'm sure Pep has already informed the castle's staff that our rooms are off-limits for today, but this way I can be certain you'll be able to rest without risk of being disturbed."
Marceline tilted her head. "But… your lab needs it or peeps could go in it."
"I'd rather prevent them from disturbing you. Besides, there are only three entrances to my laboratory, and they would never pass the security system." At the mention of the 'security system' the half-demon shuddered and hid under the blanket, missing the princess's apologetic smile. Ah, yes. You must have traumatic memories of the various defense measures I put in place. I'll make sure everything is disabled for you. You won't be conflagarated… or eviscerated or… well, any number of other conditions ever again. Before she could voice this promise there was a knock on the door and an adorable hiss from the bed. The young scientist rolled her eyes, clicking the ward into its activation state. A soft hum filled the room as four spiked legs emerged from the egg-shaped device, grounding it into the stone floor.
Unsurprisingly, it was Peppermint Butler at the door. Surprisingly, he seemed almost nervous, speaking in hushed whispers. "Your Highness, Finn and Jake have returned. And they brought-" A small white puff bolted passed the butler, and after a happy exclamation of 'Schwabl!' the two were left alone again. "Yes. That."
The princess raised an eyebrow, repressing a smile at how happy her mate sounded. Still, her second oldest friend seemed distressed, and that could not possibly bode well. She matched his hushed tone. "They are more than welcome to join us here-" Now he seemed even more distressed, eyes darting to the tiny bat being licked by a tiny-but-still-bigger-dog. "They, ah… wish for you to join them in the throne room."
Bonnibel stared at him, engaging in a silent but important conversation. When she nodded it was both an acknowledgement and dismissal. Once he was gone she closed the door, turning to the happy bat with a happy dog curled around her, both almost tucked under the impossibly soft pink comforter. "Marcy, I have to meet an envoy for a moment." She strolled over to the bed, tucking her in fully as the bat yawned, the dog following suit. Aw… "Try to eat something, a'ight? I'll be back in a few minutes." The bat nodded drowsily. Between the relief of seeing her beloved pet, the warm blankets, and the soft bed she was asleep before the candy golem reached the ward once more.
For several long seconds she stared at the device, mindlessly doing its one job. After a quick look over her shoulder to confirm there were no prying garnet eyes she kneeled next to it, making one small but vital change: removing Finn and Jake as authorized users. It made one click of acknowledgement before resuming its task, the only other noise in the room being the soft breathing of three immortal beings, two very much asleep. The third? The third was strolling to her wardrobe, all warmth and emotional fuzzies she had been experiencing until now being safely compartmentalized, placed in the same box as Bonnibel Bubblegum the Person. By the time her crown was retrieved from the wardrobe Princess Bubblegum the Role was once more in control, unsure as to which part of her was real and which was the facade.
But one thing was very clear, and that was that the younger woman's paranoia wasn't unfounded. After all, evolution discarded features and traits of animals it found a hindrance, and it had seen fit to cultivate that. Her mind was already turning over her butler's announcement. The only reason they would refuse to meet us in our chambers is because they have information they don't want Marceline to know about. In all likelihood, that means something has gone wrong. If they wish to meet in the throne room they either have a poor sense of urgency or they are coming as champions of the kingdom. If they come as champions they are not coming as friends. It stands to reason, then, that it is not outside of the realm of possibility that they are not here for innocent or friendly reasons. She slipped out of the door, closing it gently behind her. Her champions were heroes of good, righters of wrongs. Friends, yes, but was she really willing to risk her mate's safety in the name of friendship, now that she finally had her home, safe and sound?
Bon, put the mental weaponry away. They're just the dweebs. You're reading way too much into this. They probs just don't want to disturb her. You can't just start thinking of peeps as enemies just 'cause they're bein' weird. Don't go back to how you were just 'cause it's easier.
Perhaps Rechte, who was unquestionably insightful, was right, and their choice in location was purely innocent. Perhaps they needed to meet away from Marceline for an entirely unrelated reason, or they had expected her to bring the vampire along with her. There were lots of possibilities, lots of unknowns, lots to parse through. But Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum didn't get where she was by taking foolish chances and letting her squishy heartgut feelings guide her intellectual and political decisions. No. Those were exclusively for Marceline.
Easy, Bon.
Princess Bubblegum was a machinator, a scientist, a princess, in that order. She would ascertain the nature of Finn and Jake's unusual behavior, consider her options, derive a plan, and act accordingly, without any rashness or preconceived notions. After all, the duo were friends, that was unquestionable, and she would not have a beautiful grey-skinned woman sleeping in her bed if not for them. Curious behavior notwithstanding, they were special, not just because they were her champions, but because they had proved themselves capable guardians and loyal friends. They deserved more than she could ever repay, and she would forever be in their debt.
But Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum had not survived almost 900 years because Marceline Abadeer, her soulmate, gambled with her life. She identified threats, took the initiative to keep her safe, made sure she never worried about who or what lurked in the shadows. If her now-defunct trophy case was to be believed she had done this hundreds of times, far more than she had ever let on, ever hinted at. Bonnibel would not be alive were it not for her love and protection.
It couldn't hurt to make sure Marceline was safe as well.