Real talk: Aaaand we're back! Sorry for the delay, guys; between work and being very sick I've only been able to write in bits and pieces, which is awful for having a consistent chapter. I'd like to say the next chapter is definitely going to come out quickly, but for the next couple of months my job is going to be more demanding than ever. If I could do this all day I would, it'd be great.
A guest left a question in a review that I couldn't respond to, so I'm doing it here. They asked if I do requests, and the short answer is... maybe! I like to have a strict hold on The Symphony Universe, since all of my stories are basically different parts of one huge story, but I'm only one person and you guys have given me great ideas in the past. So the short answer is I'll consider requests, and if I think they're a good fit for this universe I'll write it and add it.
On the other hand, I've been considering making an alternate account for stories I think would be fun to write, but don't really belong in this universe (I had a fever dream once for a WoW/Adventure Time crossover, so yeah). The Symphony Universe will always take precedence, but that's not to say I'm close-minded for other stories for you guys to enjoy. I just like writing.
Oh, and Riux, I imagine that's basically 100% the way the eight of them would be. Lady Evil would definitely be a hopeless romantic in her own twisted way, Usurper would probably be both asexual and aromantic since she's so into herself, Rechte would probably be very affectionate but otherwise very 'let's go at our own pace', Arbitrator would go the 'secret admirer/courtship' route, Linke would be an overprotective girlfriend, Navigator would make the first move but be awkward about it, and Unifier would be the main character in a 'will they/won't they' anime. I'm not answering your question about Bonnie, though, that would be distasteful.
As always, thank you guys so much for all the love you give me! I hope my work continues to be enjoyable and worth your time!
Content warnings:
Semi-graphic descriptions of injuries
Several really bad physics jokes
Disassociation
Self-inflicted injury
Semi-description of self-neglect indicative of profound depression
Time isn't real
As a general rule of thumb, Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum liked routine. She liked formulas and equations, for she was a scientist, and as royalty her daily life was strictly regimented, even her speech heavily scripted. Because she was egotistical and controlling nothing happened without her knowing about it weeks in advance, and because of her insatiable thirst for knowledge if she wanted to know something she would learn about it no matter who or what got maimed in the process. She liked schedules, she liked certainty, she liked not only knowing the rules but making them herself.
As a general rule of thumb, these principles had guided Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum well throughout her eight and a half centuries of life. She was always well-prepared for any eventuality and had full confidence in her own abilities, as well as complete knowledge of her own limitations, few though they were. She knew how to compensate for the handful of weaknesses she possessed, and she knew all about the individuals and circumstances surrounding her life. Nothing, no gesture or word, was done thoughtlessly, and if chance was indeed involved she knew how to rig the odds in her favor.
That may be all well and good, but there were rare occasions where this lifestyle could backfire, and when it did it would do so spectacularly. Once a pattern cemented itself in her life it tended to latch on and could not easily be dislodged, not without replacing it with a brand new pattern, something far easier said than done. Example: for 47 nights in a row she had suffered through The Nightmare. It was always the same: her form the essence of silver itself; she was a living weapon; a friendly reminder that she killed Tyrant; a taunt from her subconscious - thn non-Rechte part at least - that she didn't deserve happiness and would live and die alone; that she couldn't change who she was, no matter what sweet promises she made to herself or others; that she wasn't worthy of her mate and if she really loved her she wouldn't let her forgive her and would accept her isolation with humility.
For 47 nights in a row she would be plagued with these images and thoughts, these emotions she could not control, and this would invariably lead to 47 mornings in a row where she would wake up in a cold sweat, bed unmade from her thrashing against her mental plague, and in each of these 47 mornings in a row she would reach over instinctively to the alternate side of the bed, feel the sorrow of its occupant's absence, habitually feel her shoulder for a love bite, and realize she was truly gone. Following this course of events she would feel a gaping hole open where her heart should be, taking all cheerfulness and light and sucking them away, tearing them to shreds. For 47 days in a row she would trudge through her daily chores, meeting with whoever she needed to meet with, sign whatever documents she needed to sign, eat just enough food to survive, try in vain to complete or devise some new science experiment before giving up. Sometimes she would scream into her pillow, or write letters to her lost love only to burn them, knowing that she would never read them anyway. Perhaps she would sleep, perhaps not, but the nightmares would always find her anyway.
Which made it very peculiar to her when she awoke on Morning 48 without having any nightmares at all. She didn't jolt awake, there was no cold choking her spirit, she could even still feel the blankets wrapped around her. What…? Her sleep-addled mind couldn't process that- I… slept? -tried to form some sort of coherent thought, really any coherent thought would do. Anything to explain why the 47-strong pattern of events had been broken. That explanation, it seemed, would come in the form of a weighty presence in her arms, a pleasant pressure against her chest, and a coolness she was not accustomed to. Now she was awake, now her eyes were widening as her brain immediately put the pieces together, blinked in disbelief, tried again, got the same answer, and then validated the answer a third time: there was a vampire in the bed. ...Marcy?
Even her own thoughts sounded disbelieving, whispered as if the older woman could hear her. Yes, it was all beginning to make a strange form of sense: Bonnibel had quietly slipped into bed the night before, not wanting to disturb her queen's vocal exercises, a silent way of encouraging her return to her first love that preceded even herself. At some point the princess had fallen asleep, lulled by the music filling the room, and sometimes after that, it seemed, Marceline had not only fallen asleep herself but had done so in their shared bed, cuddled into Bonnibel's arms, her head rested against her chest, cool breath meeting just above where her heart was supposed to be. The older woman was tense, not as relaxed as the night before, but was obviously comfortable - or exhausted - enough to remain asleep. Which was a bit problematic in that she was laying on the candy golem's arm, but that discomfort was a Future Bonnibel problem. Present Bonnibel was quite content with the cuddling, thank you very much. It left only her left arm free, and she put that to good use by stroking down her lover's onyx mane. They were both clothed, she realized, or at least more clothed than they typically were at night, what with her own nightgown and the vampire's oversized band t-shirt, but that was fine.
With a happy sigh Bonnibel settled into the comfort of the morning. Marceline was obviously still fast asleep, or she would have heard the brief increase in a candy heart's rhythm. While she preferred to be nocturnal for the purposes of avoiding the Sky Ball of Death she generally had an Unlife policy of sleeping when she was tired, being awake when she wasn't, regardless of time, something she justified as not being real. My mistake was attempting to explain quantum physics and eternalism. Bonnibel, on the other hand, had an almost perfect internal clock, and if she was awake it must be because it was time to be awake and commence the day's schedule. Were this any of the previous 47 mornings now would be the time she would begin the process of making herself miserable before dragging herself through another day. But this time she was waking up with her best friend and mate in her arms. She didn't need to check for her, didn't need to torture herself.
I… don't need to look for you. You're here. Her thoughts were elated, they were awed, they were baffled, they were heartfelt. As her sleepy mind began to return to its normal speed she began to recall the night before. That only made her thoughts more elated, awed, baffled, and heartfelt. Not that she complaining. Not this time, never again. She… was singing! Well, more of vocal exercises, really, but the thought made her beam. Yes, she sang… and then I went to bed while she was- She blinked, already flushing. If… I'm not mistaken she must have sung me to sleep. Although I'm sure it's just a matter of me falling asleep while she was still practicing. She glanced down at the sleeping woman as best she could without disturbing her, absently twirling the end of her thick hair between her fingers. Still... if I did fall asleep first that means she joined me in bed of her own volition after. She wants to be here? Not even twenty minutes awake and it was already a good day. With a smile she pressed a kiss to her forehead.
How long had it been since she awoke calm, almost at peace with the world around her? A year? A hundred? More? I imagine it must have been before I began to fill into my role more. Yes, she reasoned, that must be it; it had to have been before the weight of her crown. Even before this tragedy I remember waking up tense and stressed, but the further back I consider… how long have I been more of a role than a person, Marcy? It seemed like the sort of thing she would know. Not that she was in a position to ask, of course. Marceline may be gradually opening up to her, and she may have indicated that she was trying to find a way to forgive her, but their relationship wasn't there just yet, and Bonnibel still had a lot to demonstrate. And that one thought encouraged yet another thought, shameful but there. Though that does beg the question… which will return to us first? Emotional intimacy or-
Kind of jumping the gun, huh Bon? She could feel the smirk from the back of her mind.
And what do you mean by that, Rechte?
I'm just saying. You're doing a pretty rockin' job of showing her you've changed, but you remember what today is, right?
Of course she did. How could she not? I'll be good. Even in her thoughts those words tasted sour.
'Course you will. Even her subconscious sounded amused. You're on a roll. Now you just gotta show her you can play nice with her friends, put her brain back together…
Yes, Rechte. I get it. There's a lot to do, and not all of it pleasant.
Yeah speaking of-
But Rechte never got to finish her sentence because of the oft ill-timed knock at the door. It was fortunate that Marceline could sleep through the dead - no pun intended - or surely waking in her still-sort-of-mad-at-lover's arms could have gone quite awry. As it was it still made Bonnibel huff in place of her normal morning groan, but the intended effect was there all the same. Because who else came to wake her during the previous 47 days? Glob it, Pep-But. With great care Bonnibel slid her arm from under Marceline's still-sleeping form, tucking her in tightly to preserve the body heat she was taking with her. As she rose from the bed it was hard not to watch her, and it was hard to rid herself of the guilt she knew she rightfully deserved. I shouldn't be able to. As much as I want to hold her in my arms I don't deserve this. What were you thinking last night, Marcy? Why would you join me in bed after everything we talked about? But there was another knock, more insistent this time, and with a shake of her head she strolled to her door, knowing that if he were not acknowleged Peppermint Butler would have no qualms against barging in..
No sooner had she opened it a crack her ever-loyal butler entered her chambers, steel tray full of a curious assortment of breakfast items; waffles, sweet tea, warm syrup, these were nothing new. But the red juice? The bowl of raspberries? A kitchen hand towel? Those were new. As Peppermint Butler settled the tray on the one vacant space of Bonnibel's desk the sounds of stirring could be heard from the bed, the vampire's deep sleep apparently no match for the sound of metal grating. She growled and sat up sleepily, rubbing one eye as the other opened. Upon seeing who the intruder was she hissed, then laid back down.
Peppermint Butler raised an eyebrow, speaking loudly enough to make it obvious that he was addressing both of the room's monarchs. "Good morning, Your Majesty. It's wonderful to see you awake and still with us, Miss Abadeer." She grunted, he didn't care, life moved on. "I trust I will not need to lecture you on the importance of taking care of yourself this morning, Your Highness?" Lots of rhetorical questions happening these days, but she was saved from having to answer by his voice, now so hushed even Marceline wouldn't hear. "Your appointment with Hunson is scheduled, as you requested." Without leaving her stare he slid an inconspicuous sheet of paper onto her desk, hidden under three layers of parchment. While she was still formulating a response - or at least a grateful 'thank you' for his subtlety - he turned to leave, stopping only briefly to address the now-awake zombie poodle who was looking at him with squinted eyes. "I don't know what you eat," he quipped. And then he was back through the door, closing it behind him.
Bonnibel sighed as he left, but even she wasn't sure why. Exasperation? Relief? Frustration? Or maybe-
"What'd he mean?"
That. Or that.
"What'd he mean about you needing an…" And then the sleepiness was gone from her voice. "Bon, have you been doing that 'I'm not gonna take care of myself' thing again?"
Bonnibel sighed once more, but this time she knew why. It was a sigh of defeat, of resignation, of acceptance. "...Yes." It was a whispered admission, but still an admission. "Regrettably… I have been neglecting my own care."
"Bon, we've talked about this…," Marceline prodded. Warned. Warned-prodded.
"Yes, you're right," she admitted. "It's just…" She sankinto her desk's chair. Guilt was heavy, after all. "Eating, sleeping… I've mostly been acting on auto-pilot during your absence." She took a deep breath to steady her confession, but it didn't give her the strength to turn to meet her mate's eyes. "It's been difficult. I didn't expect you to ever come home, Marceline. I've had an unbroken string of nightmares about everything I've done to you. I know I deserve all of this… but," her laugh was bitter. "I imagine you're disappointed in me. Five centuries together and I still can't manage basic self-care without your interference because it's the lowest on my priority list when I see something that needs to be fixed."
There was loud silence and Bonnibel tensed, bracing for impact. She was expecting yelling, ranting, lecturing. Then she remembered that that was her style, not Marceline's. No, instead she got- "I hate seeing you hurt yourself." -a whispered lament. It was somehow worse. "Take the tray and come back to bed, Bon. We're talking about this, and you don't get to hide over there for it."
Bonnibel nodded silently, standing and lifting the tray as instructed. It was such a bizarre role reversal, even now: It was always Bonnibel who always gave the orders in their relationship, even before she was a princess, and it was Marceline who always tried to hide from difficult conversations, or who else at least wordlessly submitted. I wonder if this means she's growing up more than I ever gave her credit for. The answer seemed obvious. So obvious, in fact, that after she set the tray in the middle of the spacious bed she sat on her side, avoiding the older woman's eyes.
"Bon, look at me." The role reversal only grew stranger. Were Bonnibel in this position, were their roles somehow reversed, she would not hesitate to lecture her queen on whatever it was she had done wrong, and that sentence would have been said forcefully and with just a hint of accusation. Instead, out of Marceline's mouth it was soft and gentle, more than she deserved. That was somehow crueler, she silently mused, to be shown kindness when she deserved revulsion. But she did as she was bid, meeting concerned garnet eyes. "Talk to me."
Here now, another difference, she realized. At this point in the conversation, in any other situation, Bonnibel would take the initiative, beginning a long lecture on the importance of Not Doing What She Did, in this case self-neglect. But Marceline wasn't a creature of a logic and rules, she was one of emotions and symbolism. And now she was having the princess step out of her comfort zone, almost forcing her to express emotions she was just now discovering she had. In their normal daily life Marceline being able to explain away her actions would be the easy way out, just as Bonnibel lecturing would be, because lecturing was something she understood and even appreciated. It seemed as though this was her punishment: having to confront herself, her own worst enemy, without the safety net of a diatribe. She understood diatribes, so as unpleasant as they were they were comforting in their own way. She's testing me. She's seeing if I've grown insightful over my own mentality and characteristics. Yes, that made sense, and it emboldened her to have something logical to fall back on. "I'm sorry that I fell back into old habits, Marceline. I just…" She sighed again, now one of frustration. "I don't know." And she really didn't. Did these feelings welling in her have names? Were they one or multiple? Stagnant or fluid?
But Marceline was a master of this, and evidently took no pleasure in seeing the younger woman so frazzled. Mercy was generally not in her nature, but even now it was a hard thing to deny Bonnibel, who was so obviously trying. Perhaps, just this once, she'd lead her to the answer. "Nah, I get it. You missed me, so it made your bad habits worse. It's like a comfort thing. A really dangerous comfort thing."
Bonnibel collapsed on her side, back to the vampire. She couldn't see that disappointment in her eyes anymore. "Why are you still here, Marcy?," she whispered, voice heavy.
Uh uh. No spiralling. When the princess felt a cool arm wrap around her she jumped before realizing that the vampire had apparently laid next to her and was now pulling her closer. She let it happen. "Well, you dragged me out of the Nightosphere, I'm pretty broken mentally, and this room seems like the only safe place in reality for me right now."
The candy golem lifted her hand and laid it across the calloused arm wrapped around her. The original intention was to pull it away, but she realized that would take emotional strength to do so. Strength she just didn't have. She settled for resting her hand there. "...You've been considering forgiving me." A question not phrased as a question, because there was always the possibility the older woman had changed her mind. I would.
"Yeah," Marceline whispered. "I miss my Bonnie. You look a lot like her."
Bonnibel was unsure how reassuring that was. "When… did you know that your soul chose me?"
Perhaps it was the tightness in her voice, or how hard her grip was, but any trace of humor left the vampire entirely. This was a serious conversation, and if they were ever going to be able to overcome this even Marceline knew they'd have to redefine their boundaries. "I'll be honest, Bon… I don't know. It's not like we get a little text message telling us. I think it was…" She closed her eyes, trying to remember. "I know it was before you figured out I hate silence, but… after you moved out of the cabin and into the castle? We were definitely dating."
"What does it feel like?"
Marceline exhaled forcefully. Loaded question. "Just like… you ever look around and you find something that you didn't know was missing? You didn't know it was missing, but you're really glad you found it anyway and you're like 'no way I'm losing this again', 'cause it's mega important to you, you just didn't realize it before? It's a lot like that."
"Are… you trying to forgive me because your soul is telling you to?"
Loaded question number two. "It doesn't really tell me to do things, it just…" She trailed off, not sure how to explain this to a non-demon. "How do you feel when you're away from your lab? Not 'cause you wanna be, but 'cause peeps and royal junk don't give you the time or space to go down there?"
When she stopped Bonnibel realized she was asking an actual question. How different from her own tendency to harangue. "...As if I've been cut off from a piece of myself."
"Yeah. It's like that. As far as my soul is concerned you're part of me. It… can't really work like that in reverse, but it's one thing when we have to temporarily split up 'cause I've got a tour or you're curing the Space Plague, but it doesn't like being forced to separate."
How cruel to you. And now the heavy blow. "...If you weren't bound to me, would you forgive me? Would you still be here?"
Marceline tensed around the lump in her throat. She had been expecting this question to come at some point. She just hated that this 'some point' was now. "I'll be honest, Bon… I wanna say yes, but I know you. You want like… facts and stuff to back claims up, and I can't do that 'cause that's part of being a demon and I don't really know anything else. It's like me asking if you'd still eat tons of sugar if you weren't a candy person. Yeah, you may not need to like you do now, but you still just might end up someone who just eats tons of sugar for fun, you know?" And then, in a shocking twist, she actually pulled the younger woman against her. "We're still getting used to everything. I know you're a brainlord, so you want to think about all those tiny details and 'what if's, but just… don't. Not right now, okay?"
Bonnibel mulled that over, pressing into the embrace. Despite having just woken up she was suddenly very tired. I suppose emotions spend energy just as thinking and physical activity do.
Probably more, 'cause you're not used to. Like training a muscle so it gets stronger.
Mm. At some point, and she had no idea when, her eyes slid back closed, hand still tight around Marceline's arm. It was exhausting to feel herself at war all the time, and she wondered how everyone around her did it.
"What do you want, Bon?," Marceline whispered.
Bonnibel blinked the sleep from her eyes, but made no effort to move. "What do you mean?"
"Well… 's far as I can remember, before the amulet got shoved down my throat… I came back from the Nightosphere, went to my cave house, you were there already, and I got yelled at. We ended up in the Nightosphere, messed up crud happened, as far as I know I've been gone for like a hundred years, reality is dumb, and none of you will let me hide in my room. I'm tired a lot, and I have stupid mood swings. You betrayed me, but… you're trying to go back to the way you were. But you've never really talked about your end game here."
She's got a point, Bon.
"Just… be for real with me, okay? No more mind games."
Ouch. Not that she didn't deserve that one. "Yes, I understand where you're coming from, Marceline. I thought it was obvious, but I once more assumed that because I knew something others… well, that's not the point." She squeezed the arm under her hand. "I want you back. Us." Already she was tensing, knowing that, in all likelihood, this was about to go horribly wrong. "I took you for granted as my best friend and my mate in so many ways. My primary goal is for you to heal, and I wasn't exaggerating when I said that I would make sure you recover regardless of how long it takes. My secondary goal… is to show you that I'm worthy of you. That if you do take me back I'll be better. The mate that you deserve. No more mind games, or power plays, or anything else duplicitous. You deserve a safe home, and I don't just mean the location. I want to be that home. Like… I was once. When you were able to trust me. Before I became a monster."
Marceline was silent at that admission and every second grated on the candy golem. Nausea began to eat at her soul, the anxiety turning the back of her mind into poison. Only the vampire's soft breath - something she only did as a benefit for Bonnibel, the candy golem realized - was the only other sound in the room. Although she was laying on her impossibly soft bed the feel of the other woman's cool body, the strong arm wrapped around her, were the only things she cared to feel.
"Yeah, but Bon… how long are you going to want that?"
The heartbreak in Marceline's voice was contagious. "What do you mean?"
"I'll never be enough for you."
Bonnibel absently wondered if this was what a stake through the heart felt like. "Don't… that's not true-"
"It is, though," Marceline whispered. "Otherwise this wouldn't have happened in the first place."
Before the candy golem could response further she felt a tug at the back of her mind.
Hold up, Bon.
The serious tone stopped her glib comment. Yes?
I'm stopping you from falling into a trap.
A trap?
Yeah. Don't sweat it, you're not a high enough level yet to spot these things consciously, so that's what you've got me for. Gotta level up those mad skills before you can do it on your own.
This isn't a-
Don't look at the literal meaning of what she's saying, look at how she's saying it.
A fortunate fact of life was that Bonnibel Bubblegum not only liked making puzzles, but was quite good at solving them as well. It was just a matter of searching for the common link in all the pieces. The tone of her lover' voice, the words, the inflection… these were her only clues. Individually, they meant nothing to her, but collectively- with tears stinging her eyes she rolled over eyes, a hunch in her heart. When Marceline glanced away - glanced down - she knew she was right. "Marcy… none of this was your fault. You know that, right?" When there was no response she dropped her hand from the cool arm, cupping her cheek instead. "I encouraged this in you. I know, because I met the part of you that personifies it. Meeting her taught me how afraid I was of losing you. When she died it made me realize what you really meant to me, and at first I thought that I would do anything to have what we had back. I realize now, though… that what we had wasn't entirely healthy, and it isn't because you're the one who corrupted everything. It's because I did. Do you understand?" When Marceline didn't look up she knew she didn't. "This travesty happened because I was selfish and because you wanted me to be happy. This was about what I wanted, not what you wanted. That's why my first priority is you healing. I miss you, I miss, us… but if I prioritized that first then you would be right, nothing would have changed."
"So… you'd rather have me healed and gone than…" It seemed even the vampire was having trouble vocalizing the contrary situation.
"You are the most important part of my life," Bonnibel emphasized, forcing every amount of love and sincerity she held within her into the declaration. "I've hurt you for far too long. I want you to be happy and healthy. I need that… even if it means I cannot be in your life."
Marceline fell silent, unaware as she held the younger woman tighter. Unaware as the younger woman slid her arm are her waist to hold her in return. "I don't know what to do, Bon."
This was a different tone of whisper, an altogether new strain to the musician's already injured voice. It wasn't an entirely foreign one. If anything, it was the opposite; a tone of voice, a plead even, that the candy scientist had heard many times before, for there were many reasons why their relationship had the dynamic it did, why Bonnibel was always the more dominant of the pair, why her part of the dynamic was to guide the vampire. But here now there was a fork in the road, a test that even Marceline was not aware she was issuing. And so Bonnibel Bubblegum did something she swore she'd never do. Rechte?
Mmyes?
Please help me.
Aw, I can see why this one's tough, huh Bon? Oddly enough, the voice of Rechte-who-was-not-Rechte did sound oddly thoughtful.
It gave the princess encouragement that she wasn't hopeless. I can see this going so many ways, and we've both come so far. I don't want to say or do anything that could jeopardize her ability to recover, especially with what today will entail.
Yeah, I can see that. But it sounds like she's asking for help, right?
But my help hasn't-
Always been this messed up? Yeah, it has.
She was taking too long to respond, and with only a vague understanding of what Rechte was trying to say she did something she learned to do very well as a member of Ooo's royalty: bluff. With a smile that wasn't entirely sure of itself she held the vampire tighter, snuggling into her. "Shh… it's alright, Marcy. You don't need to right now. I still have a lot to prove to you, remember?," she murmured. With every bit of tenderness she tilted her chin up so that their eyes met, no matter how hard Marceline's tried to dart away. "I meet with Phoebe to sign our new trade agreement today. Why don't you come with me? You could come as you are, or hide as a little mouse or bat if you'd like. You could even be invisible if you're not ready to be seen yet." Conscious effort was made to make these suggestions sound like suggestions, not passive-aggressive orders.
By the way the half-demon shifted, the way her arm tightened, it seemed to be working. "...But… you hate when I'm in your throne room and you're working…"
A fair observation. But she's beginning to sound uncertain as to whether I'll be angry, rather than making an assumption. Excellent. "As I said before… I never should have banned you. You're an invaluable advisor and my best friend. You made this kingdom ever as much as I did. In this case you are also a mutual tie between both Phoebe and myself. If anything your presence, even if you did choose to remain hidden, would be most beneficial."
It was a hard concept for Marceline to wrap her mind around, that her presence in Bonnibel's sacred throne room may actually be a boon, not a burden. In fact, it was too hard a concept, so she mentally shelved, choosing instead to focus on something else. "...I really don't want you guys to kill each other." It was more to herself than anyone else, merely a thought aloud. Regardless, "...Alright. I'll come with you."
Strangely, those five words filled Bonnibel with something that was almost nervousness. Though it isn't entirely unwelcome. What is this feeling? It was a mystery she would have to solve another time. Uncertain yet daring, she lifted herself enough to kiss the vampire's cheek. "Thank you, Marcy. Once Phoebe and I have finished you two can catch up while I analyze the samples sent by Dr. Ice Cream. How does that sound?"
At first Marceline only eyed her, and at first Bonnibel wasn't sure why. "And what about your cameras and other bugs you have in the throne room?"
Ah. That's why. "I understand your reluctance, Marcy. Once Phoebe and I have concluded I'll disable the security system on my way back to my laboratory. Pep-But knows to keep everyone out of my court when it is in session, so I guarantee you will both have complete privacy."
The eyeing continued. "I dunno, Bon… you love spying."
The accusation was glaring, but well-earned. "I don't disagree with you, Marcy, but even at my worst I've never spied on you."
That was hard to argue against, even if Marceline was never quite sure why she was spared the princess's paranoid wrath. It was one of those situations where she wasn't sure she even wanted to know the answer, so she didn't think it best to ask. But it was true; Princess Bubblegum had always made certain the half-demon was aware of when she was wearing a transceiver, and the older woman was the only one to know where the Super Secret Spy Room existed prior to its destruction. And, of course, the 'secret' camera placed in her house was placed for a much more fun reason, and before she knew it she was blushing at that fact. Ah crud, she's smirking. Well, that was no good. "So you're saying that you trust me more than you distrust Phoebe?"
The smirk didn't die, but it did soften. "Marcy, whatever you and Phoebe would like to discuss is private and has nothing to do with me. You're welcome to use the gardens or any of the Kingdom grounds if you'd like, but…"
"...Going outside's still not a thing I'm ready to do."
Now the softened smirk was a sad smile. "You're an autonomous individual, Marceline. What you and your friend talk about - even if it's me - is and will remain between you two unless you choose to share it."
"...Promise?"
It was so soft, so apprehensive, that Bonnibel couldn't help but pull her closer. Is this… you trusting me? How emboldening. "I promise. My hope is that by the time you two have concluded your meeting I will have some answers for you regarding the samples I'm going to be provided with, so I'll have my own preoccupation. Then you and I can decide where to go from there. Alright?"
"Alright." It came out faster than she had meant, but she was anxious and anxiety often made her rash in a way even she recognized as unhealthy. With a surprising amount of reluctance she pulled out of Bonnibel's embrace, withdrawing from the bed. "I'll get ready, alright?" And that came out faster as well, causing her to blush and look away, all the way to her trunk. It felt so odd, turning her back on the scientist, showing that vulnerability, knowing she could use it against her in every sense… but doing it anyway, because this was the only way to know for sure how much the younger woman had really changed. It was too much to think about right, too much could go wrong today. She'll show her true colors today. Then at least… well, it won't be closure, but… There was no way for her to finish that sentence and not have it be heart-wrenching. With only one swipe through her trunk her outfit was chosen and, with a complete evasion of the other woman's gaze, she floated to the bathroom. "Be out soon," she quickly mumbled, then passed through and closed the door.
Bonnibel watched her move, watched her avoid her, watched her leave with a melancholy expression. She knew trust would take time to rebuild, and she had suspected that it would take the form of small tests that she was sure even Marceline wasn't aware she was administering. Curiosity was a trait they both shared, after all. With a proud exhalation Bonnibel hoisted herself into a sitting position before finally pushing herself off the bed. It was time to get to work. Alright, Pep. Let's see what you've got for me.
While she reached for the platter on her desk her real target was the sheet of parchment that her esteemed butler had carried in with him. True to his dutiful nature, he had been in cahoots with someone underworld contact - quite possibly Jan - and snagged her an appointment with the Lord of Evil, exactly as she requested. It was the rest of the message that caused her eyebrows to rise. Really? In just a few days? It was almost frustrating; it had taken three weeks and much-deserved posturing to secure a meeting with Hunson Abadeer the first time, and even that had been lucky. I suppose Pep must have told him how the purpose of the meeting is to update him on Marceline's health. He must have failed to mention the second reason I wish to meet with him, or he would surely never have agreed to this swift an appointment. She made a mental note to thank her favorite mint later for this strategic omission. For now she would settle with filing the parchment and marking her calendar.
When she stood and approached her wardrobe her good mood floundered, just a bit, because regardless of what would come after this meeting with Phoebe was not only royal biz but it was royal biz that Bonnibel was technically in the wrong about. With a concerned frown she opened the doors, quickly retrieving the article of clothing Marceline readily claimed to be Princess Bubblegum's Most Royal Dress: long and magenta, passing even in her ankles, accented with a purple sash. The short sleeves, barely passing her shoulders, were lined with neatly trimmed lace, as was the necklace, though this lace was the same rich purple as the sash. The dress hung neatly on its soft pink hanger like an accusation, cloth soft and deceiving. Logically, she knew, that Phoebe would be at the castle shortly and that, logically, now would be the time to get ready to receive her. But… something doesn't feel right.
You can't wear a different dress?
Regrettably, no. No, because after being caught in a hoodie and sneakers three days ago Princess Bubblegum needed to make a statement, needed to do a little posturing of her own. Even if Phoebe was a friend of Marceline's she was still a foreign dignitary, and her own kingdom was volatile with no love lost between the two princesses. No matter the reason she couldn't give the appearance that she was losing her touch, or that she was going soft. At least, as far as politics went. No one needed to know that someone was turning her into a squishy marshmallow behind the scenes.
Yeah, and that someone's gonna wig out when she sees that dress.
Yes. Because I won't look like Bonnibel anymore. This would have to be handled delicately, because only now was the candy golem beginning to realize the flaw in her 'take your vampire to work day' plan: she would have to look and act like Princess Bubblegum, the same role that had stolen Bonnibel away for hundreds of years. Before she would never have recognized the subtle treachery, and now she didn't have the luxury of trust built up a frown she laid the dress at the foot of the bed, turning back to retrieve the platter of breakfast items instead. I'll talk to her first, rather than risk adding to her trauma. She placed the platter on the bare sheets of her side of the bed, preparing the amazingly still warm waffles and syrup.
When the bathroom door opened Marceline exited, now dressed, drying her hair with a soft pink towel that lacked any grey spots. Unlike the princess, who had an image of infallible power to maintain, the queen needed no such public perception; she was billed at the punkest of the punk rockers, and even now she dressed for it: her jeans were so dark blue they were almost black, with black cloth cords stitched up her right thigh. Her oversized flannel shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a dark green tank top with a fuzzy bat ironed on over her right breast. Bonnibel noted with regret that her purple collar remained, but there was no sense drawing attention to it or her feelings towards it. Instead she patted the bed next to her. "Breakfast?" Marceline raised a skeptical eyebrow, threw her towel back into the bathroom where it did not belong but whatevs, then floated over to land where she had been beckoned. Her skepticism only grew not only when she was handed the bowl of raspberries, but when Bonnibel began to willingly consume her waffles without being prodded. "...What?"
"You're eating."
"And you aren't." She nudged the hand clutching the soft yellow bowl.
That seemed to break Marceline out of her stupor, but instead she only frowned at the fruit. "Bon…"
The younger woman smiled encouragingly. "Marcy, I'm not going to try to make you eat. I think it would be wonderful if you tried. If they don't taste right we do still have lots of items left over from last night you can eat." That had the unintended effect of reminding Marceline about why exactly food didn't taste right to her. "We'll find a way to make normal food palatable to you again. This is only a temporary adjustment."
Marceline eyed her darkly, but Bonnibel had expected as much. If she had spent every day of her immortal existence resisting the urge to devour the life force of every living creature, including those she loved, she might be a bit testy about the proposed compromise as well. With a small snort of irreverence the vampire plucked a small raspberry, ignored that Bonnibel was trying very hard not to make it look like she was watching intently, and sank her fang into the soft flesh. The taste that assaulted her was not a pleasant one, and her grimace must have shown.
"Marcy…"
No. Uh uh. She forced herself to choke down its red, unwilling to even consider-
"Please."
It was the earnest tone in her voice, how soft and gentle it was, that broke the half-demon's preoccupation with her own ire. With a growl of resentment she dropped the now grey fruit back into the bowl, but refused to look at the younger woman.
"I know you're hungry, little bat." The extended fangs were a blatant giveaway. "I hate seeing you like this." Setting aside her own plate, Bonnibel scooted closer. "I can't imagine what this must be like, and I know that what must be a simple request for me seems almost impossible to you." Reaching down, she laced their fingers. "I promise you though, none of those objects have my blood on them anymore. You're not drinking my blood. I would never do that to you."
"Why…?," she whispered. She didn't mean 'why wouldn't you do that to me?'. No, this was much more profound.
Now Bonnibel turned, pulling Marceline against her. "I know… it's not fair, and it's cruel. It's only temporary, though. We'll figure out the cause, and then I'll take care of it."
They stayed that way for several minutes, Bonnibel unwilling to let her go, Marceline reluctant to face the truth. Finally, though, facts won and she pulled away. Without looking she reached her hand to Bonnibel's side of the bed, summoning the half-consumed pillowcase from the ground. As she drained the remaining pigment she closed her eyes, tried to avoid looking at her meal, but it didn't change how good it tasted, it only dropped her heart to the pit of her stomach. Finally, after too long, she retracted her fangs and threw the balled up fabric to somewhere it could no longer psychologically torture her.
She was disgusted with herself.
"Hey…" Evidently Bonnibel felt differently, because now she was taking a clenched hand into her own, stroking under the wrist until it relaxed. "Thank you. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you. All of this, really. You're getting better though, and I'll make sure you continue to improve." Not wanting to overstay her welcome she kissed the hand, returned it to its rightful owner, then stood.
"Time to go?"
It was easy to ignore the slight waver in Marceline's voice, and the abrupt change in topic. Bonnibel supposed that must mean she was improving as well. "Yes. I imagine Phoebe will be here soon, she's very punctual. Before she arrives, however, I wanted to brace you for something." Not wanting to drag it out Bonnibel lifted the hanger of her dress. Just as she predicted, the vampire tensed, not reacting quite as severely as the night before, but still visibly uneasy. "I know, Marcy. Since this is an official court this calls for my Most Royal Dress, as you so designated it." Even when she laid it back on the bed trained garnet eyes fixated on it. "Marcy…" When the prod for attention failed to elicit any Bonnibel cupped her cheek, turning her gaze to meet her own. "I need you to understand something important. I'm still me." It took every shred of her newfound humanity to keep her voice soft and reassuring. "I'm still Bonnie. But since I'm about to do something involving royal junk I also need to use my role as Princess Bubblegum while I work out a new deal with Phoebe." Marceline was almost rigid now, and she didn't blame her. Hang in there, little bat. "I promise, though, I'm still me."
Despite her best wishes, Marceline turned away. "...But you said everyone else only gets you at your role."
Bonnibel watched her mate, watched her fidget and hunch her uncertainty. She's still not stable. This will require I be delicate. "Yes. Everyone who isn't you… they require my role, because that's how I keep my kingdom and my people safe and secure. But that isn't how I keep you safe and secure. This is a special case, because while I violated a trade treaty I did so to protect you. Using only my role wouldn't be appropriate. It's not about them," she made a vague gesture to her closed window. "Further, Phoebe is a fellow princess, but she's also your friend, and she understands why I violated our treaty. This is a very special circumstance where I'm still me, I'm just using my role as a tool." A pink hand slid up, resting on the back of her queen's neck, even as she looked away. "You'll be with me, and just by being there you'll keep me grounded. You always have."
Marceline was quiet, confliction both painful and evident. Finally, just when Bonnibel's heart threatened to arrest, she nodded, though whether it was one of submission or understanding the younger woman couldn't say. "Alright, Bon. If you say so."
That's probably the best you're gonna do right now.
Yes. My actions will have to speak for themselves, because I certainly don't have the credibility to back up my own claims otherwise. After pressing a kiss to her forehead Bonnibel withdrew her hand, standing. "You'll see, Marceline. I'll show you." Even if the half-demon didn't look the candy golem still smiled at her, already building the mental resolve to endure whatever this meeting would entail with grace and aplomb. Even if she had refrained from any overt action against Phoebe during their meeting days ago their cold war wasn't going to be enough this time. Marceline wouldn't - shouldn't - be satisfied with trivial improvements at this stage. No, after centuries of her admonishing Marceline it was now Bonnibel's turn to prove that she could behave. Though I'm sure Phoebe won't make it easy-
You're already going down the Path of Toxic Thoughts?
Bonnibel had no response to that tongue-in-cheek quip, only retreating from her lover at enough distance to slide out of her nightgown. Out of the corner of her eye she noted that Marceline had turned away, not watching as Bonnibel changed from one persona to another, and wasn't sure what to think of that.
Yep, firmly down the Path of Toxic Thoughts.
That's enough, Rechte.
I know, but you keep doing it anyway. What's up with that?
That didn't warrant a response either, and she instead turned back to the bed, where a vampire once sat, but now there remained only a small rat. Bonnibel smiled gently, reaching her hand out. "Ready, Marcy?"
A twitch or two of her nose, a small delay, a moment's hesitation, and then the older woman was scurrying up the offered arm, nestling under the blanket of gummy hair, on her shoulder. No sooner had she settled she turned invisible, clearly not wanting to be seen. Something about that warranted comment, but the princess had no idea what the comment should be. Best to leave her be. That wouldn't stop her from reaching up to give the invisible rodent a tiny ear scritch, and apparently it wouldn't stop the tiny rodent from accepting the gesture. Not wanting to push her luck Bonnibel crossed their room to her desk, fetching a small bundle of documents. Before she could leave, though, a strange sensation of playfulness, something she wasn't used to feeling in her current attire, struck through her, and she glanced down at the zombie poodle that she only now realized was staring at her. "Schwabl, you're in charge of the room." If she didn't know any better she could have sworn she heard a soft snicker from her shoulder as she left and locked her room.
She didn't reach the back entrance to the throne room before a small presence made itself known. "So… what do I have to do?" The soft whisper sounded full of trepidation, and it took a good amount of self-restraint for Bonnibel to resist providing her with reassuring physical affection. After all, if she was invisible it was because she didn't want undue attention.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Marcy."
She's used to you telling her what to do. Think about it from her perspective.
How heartbreaking. And yet... "Oh! Why don't you observe our interaction and see how it is I function in my role? Once the day has concluded you can give me your insight, both professionally and… well…"
"...If you're really being you and not your dumb role?"
She sounded too uncertain for that comment to have any bite."Bluntly, yes."
"...Kay," she whispered.
The rest of the walk to the throne room, short as it was, was in a silence that wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Rather, it was almost thoughtful, and the tiny weight on Bonnibel's shoulder was almost a reassuring hand nudging her forward. When they did finally reach the back door to the throne room the princess stopped.
"...Where is everyone?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's… quiet. It's weird."
"Oh! Yes, I often ask that Pep-But keep the foyer clear on days that I hold court. I love my children, but not all of the kingdoms I trade with are… friendly, and some just prefer the quiet."
"Is Phoebe one of those?"
It was almost a trap, but lacked the malice needed. It was… curious. "Because our kingdoms enjoy a tentative truce, and the Fire Kingdom's culture isn't one I've been able to study, I thought it best to keep my citizens away from Phoebe and her delegates, rather than risk an accidental incident, or insult."
"...I could help."
Bonnibel's hand stopped over the knob to her throne, completely unsure as to whether or not she had heard her mate correctly. "...You.. want to help?" Marceline tensed, not sure what to make of that tone of voice. She gave no reply, made no noise at all to betray her apprehension. Instead she froze, feeling every bit like the prey she was masquerading as. "...That would be wonderful, Marceline. But… are you sure you feel comfortable with that?"
Marceline turned away. Even if she was invisible she felt too exposed. "I'm not gonna give you Phoebe's secrets… but I know more about how she does things, and I really don't want you guys to kill each other." Her nails twitched. "It's just you two today, right?"
Bonnibel nodded. "Yes. I promised Phoebe that after we concluded she could have private time with you, if you so desired."
"...Okay," Marceline exhaled. "Let's go. I'll just… watch. And then… yeah…"
The princess's smile was sad, and she was rather glad that Marceline wasn't at an angle enough to see it. Are you happy now, Lady Evil? "That sounds like a perfectly adequate plan." And with that she pushed into the door, leading into the empty throne room. All thoughts of how her conversation with the younger monarch would soon cease, for when she felt the fine tremor began, heard the not-at-all concealed whimper, she knew something was wrong. "Marcy, what is it?" There was no response. Well, except for the fine tremor now becoming honest to goodness trembling, and it put the princess on high alert. "Marceline? Please talk to me, if I don't know what's wrong-"
"Did it always look like this?" Maybe the question started as a hiss, but it devolved into something pitiful.
"This… room-"
Her question was cut short, because even if she couldn't see the older woman she could feel the rat clutch its head, heard the tell-tale hiss indicating something in her mind was severing from reality, and if her shaking was any indication it wasn't a clean break. Even while she was still formulating an explanation the rat rolled off her shoulder, and only her trained reflexes allowed her to catch it. It convulsed now, sharp incisors digging into her flank in frustration and pain. Bubblegum, break this down. She doesn't go into your throne room, why would this cause-
But some part has gone into your throne room, Bon. Even Rechte was betraying some apprehension in the way she began her sentence so delicately, as if torn between giving away the answer and wanting to stop a problem before it became a catastrophe. Some part that destroys everything she touches.
...Usurper. Yes, she remembered now. How the embodiment of Marceline's rage and jealousy had taken over the faux Candy Kingdom throne room, how in her anger she had destroyed not only the room but the castle itself, how she had literally taken Princess Bubblegum's throne and made it her own in a twisted form of admiration, how she used that admiration to punish not only Bubblegum but that piece of Marceline so loyal to her. This break is severe because not only is she questioning this reality she's in a figurative mental war with herself.
I'm not so sure it's figurative.
But that was neither here nor there, because if Marceline's agonizing path to recovery had taught Bonnibel anything it was that the vampire would destroy herself and be helpless to stop it. "Marcy, please listen. Do you know where you are?," she asked gently. A soft whine was her reward. "I know it's confusing, but you're in my throne room. The real throne room, not the one in your mind." But how much to reveal? She said no names. She didn't refuse any other information. Technically. "This hurts because when we were in this room in your mind the… well, one of the most malicious parts of your psyche had taken it over and wanged it apart to send a message to me. She was violent and killed off two other pieces of you traumatically."
"Why…" When she found she was unable to stop her own physical self-destruction she welcomed the pink hand prying her apart.
"Because she was your rage." Apparently we were revealing almost everything now. "She was mad at me, and she wasn't unjustified. But this room isn't her room. It's in one piece, and it's safe. Look." Almost cradling her now, Bonnibel swiftly approached her still-immaculate throne. Knowing this could go only horribly right or horribly wrong she lifted the rat's tiny paw and placed it against the lavender mosaic chair. "Do you remember? She carved an 'M' right here in this spot to declare it her own. But there's no 'M' here, because it's not her's. It belongs to me, because this is the real Ooo, not the one in your mind."
Though the message was received Marceline still withdrew as if bitten, hiding in the crook in her arm. "...Hate it."
She knew what 'it' was, but, "What do you hate, Marcy?"
When the vampire tried to sink her fangs into herself once more in frustration she was once more pried apart before any serious damage could be wrought. "...I live in two realities, but one of them isn't," she muttered after a significant pause. Under her fur she flushed in humiliation.
Bonnibel quieted, watching as the woman she loved tore herself apart mentally, knowing it wasn't her fault but not knowing how to stop it. Well, except for- "I know, Marcy. I can't imagine how hard this is for you. You'll get better, though. Remember?" It wasn't a good sign when Marceline jumped upon feeling a soft hand stroke over her fur, but it was a phenomenal one when she let it happen regardless. "It's going to be the hardest thing you've ever done, but you'll get better. For now, try to focus on the other end of the room. There was less corruption in the front." Though that does raise an interesting consideration. Arbitrator died where we stand. Is that the cause of your acute reaction now? Or… could it be that my disallowing you to spend time in the throne room without me gave you a less concrete memory of what it should look like, thus making it harder for you to tell fantasy from reality? So many curiosities, all in too poor a taste to research. Once again science would have to take a backseat to sheer love.
Somehow her reassurance was anything but to the small rat. "...It's not just this room, though." Though clearly a good amount of it was, as her eyes were still closed. "I keep slipping in and out in stupid dumb ways."
Bonnibel's fond smile was nothing short of morose. Really, all shewanted to do in that moment was send Phoebe away again, take Marceline back to their rooms, tuck her into something soft and feed her hand towels. "Would you like to talk about it?," she broached not unkindly. "I could ask Phoebe to delay our meeting. I'm sure she wouldn't mind for you."
Marceline sighed, trying to her hardest to find comfort in the gentle warmth of the princess's shoulder. "...Nah. S'alright. Lemme think about it and maybe we'll talk later." Maybe.
Bonnibel's smile didn't fade, nor did it change temperatures, but she did graze the rodent's head with a soft kiss. "Alright, then. Whenever you want, perhaps even after this meeting with Phoebe." Oh. Right. That. Steeling herself mentally, the younger woman crossed the room to lay her trade treaty across the large circular table before taking to her perch of power, setting herself in its center, arms rested on the rests. She could feel Marceline squirm restlessly on her shoulder, pace down her arm, freeze, then ran back up. "It's alright, Marcy," she soothed. "This is a mutually beneficial conversation."
Despite the dread in her voice Marceline seemed almost relieved to be focusing the burden of conversation topic off of herself. "Then why does it feel so… wrong?"
Because you're used to seeing me malicious, controlling, and megalomaniacal, and that persona has all but trumped the person you fell in love with. You're a protective individual, and you're worried about your friend, who you see as a person, not just her role. You want to protect her, and you're not sure if you're betraying her or helping her because she's private, distrusts me, and I've made no secret that I distrust her as well. You only want a balance you know does not actually exist, but you don't know how to create it, or if I would even allow you to try because you're still afraid of me.
She said none of this. That would make it too real. "You're just going through a lot right now, and you're being introduced to so much. I know my promises may not mean much to you yet, but I promise, Marceline. It'll be alright. One step at a time."
There was no time to respond before the door opened and Peppermint Butler peeked in. He saw only his princess, but he knew better. "Are you ready, Your Majesty?"
No. Yes. Probably. Definitely not. Does it matter? "Yes, Pep-But. You may allow her entrance whenever she is prepared."
You got this, Bon.
Amazing how sweet lies can sound. But… not as sweet as Marcy's music. I'll do this for you, little bat.
The sound of her throne room's main entrance opening had never unsettled Bonnibel before. It was always familiar, comforting, a reminder of her own power and authority. But now the tune was different, off-key and more of a high-pitched whine. 'Out of tune', that's what she knew Marceline would call the sound, a warped reminder of The Way Things Were, the Way Things Were Supposed to Be. When her throne room door opened this time there was no small rush of power, no small reminder of her status and position of authority. If anything, it pricked at her poorly mended heart, and she felt like she was on foreign soil. As if the throne room she found herself in were a replica of the real Candy Kingdom throne room, a poor yet impressive forgery, with cheap air and quality props.
And then there was a tiny, cool nose pressing the tension against her neck. Did it soothe her? No. But it did help preserve those tiny seeds of a conscience she was trying so hard to grow. In the back of her mind she could hear the vampire's melodic laugh, calling her a dork and telling her to take a chill pill, and make it a double-dosage. As if the half-demon didn't have all of the power right now. As if she cared. Or knew.
"Presenting Flame Princess Phoebe, of the Fire Kingdom."
As always, Peppermint Butler didn't need to shout to impart the authority of his words. He did a fantastic job of looking impassive, of ignoring what the long-term ramifications of this meeting could hold. To her credit, Phoebe came alone, seemingly without any escort or accompaniment. Which is not to say she came with pure benevolence and well-wishes in her heart. No, because unlike her last visit she wasn't dressed in a semi-royal-casual outfit. No, she was dressed in traditional Fire Kingdom royal attire. Her bronze armor shined, reflecting her flames and glory. A brown cloth lining featuring a dual scarlet 'V' accent had been overlayed on the armor, a matching mantle settled over her shoulders with a traditional ruby cut in a diamond shape centering her chest. Her crown was impeccably straight and just as shining, and if she felt any trepidation she showed no signs. No, the only sign of her emotional state was how warm the room was.
"Thank you, Peppermint Butler. Please leave us." She didn't need to watch to know he had bowed and excused himself, nor did she need to listen to know he had gracefully closed the door behind him.
Now it was just her, her guilt, and her best laid plans. Even the room felt warmer.
"Thank you for returning so promptly, Phoebe. I trust the journey was unremarkable?"
The temperature seemed to lower to its original state. Well, 'original' in the sense of the temperature it first was when the fire elemental first entered the throne room. "It was, yes. I thought it best to resolve this matter swiftly and quietly, so I elected to come alone. I figured you'd share my sentiment and not want to hold an open court." She made a show of looking around the almost-empty room. "I'm glad to see I was right."
Pink fingers tensed, only relaxing when that tiny nose pressed her once more. Even if she didn't know what that gesture meant it was a reminder of why she was doing this. "There was no point. I violated a trade treaty, and it is a situation that is in our best interests to resolve. Now," she leaned, reaching enough to gesture to the dual parchments on the table. "I have a copy of the new proposed agreement for you. The parchment is flame-retardant." Phoebe's eyes flickered towards it briefly before returning to her fellow princess. "Before I read it, what does it say?"
Bonnibel said nothing, but internally she was almost impressed. Giving me an opportunity to be caught in a lie? I hope you're observing this, Marceline. Whether because she wanted her to learn or because she wanted proof that Phoebe could be just as diabolical she wasn't sure and didn't care. "Silver ore accounted for 9% of our agreed upon trade. That is a considerable portion, I admit."
"How do you plan to balance that scale? Unless you plan to literally buy out the debt." If Bonnibel didn't know any better she could have sworn that her fellow royal sounded almost amused.
"I already trade you raw material from the dextrose and sucrose mines. I propose I counter the offset by introducing maltose." There was an undertone there, something dangerous that Marceline didn't understand and didn't like.
Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "You're offering to trade a reducing sugar?"
"I think you'll find quite a difference in your ability to use it as a raw fuel source, given that it itself is a catalyst. You may also find it more palatable for your young in emergency situations, reducing your dependence on rocket fuel."
The younger princess watched her carefully. "You must have quite a lot of maltose stored up, I take it."
Bonnibel wasn't going to fall for that barb. Instead, she danced away from the information prod. "Reducing sugars are vital for many medical tests I perform, given the chemical composition of my subjects." There. A perfectly acceptable evasion.
Already playing hardball, girl? "I admit, that's pretty tempting, Bubblegum. You've been pretty stingy with reducing agents in the past."
"...You have something else in mind."
"I have to explore every option available to me."
Is that how smug I sound? You don't wear it well, Phoebe. "What do you propose?"
"I want access to technology."
Bonnibel raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware the Fire Kingdom shared my appreciation for science." When the nose jabbed into her neck she actually did feel a teeny bit bad for that snark. Teeny bit.
"When I was just a spark you managed to build a lamp to cage me. I want to know how you did it."
Bonnibel narrowed her eyes. "I had to-"
Phoebe did the unthinkable: she lifted her hand, interrupting her growing-less-gracious hostess. "I know, Bubblegum. I'm not asking for why you did it. I want the technology you used to do it."
"For what purpose?" The candy monarch's voice was tight.
"I have an idea of a television show."
Bonnibel didn't react to that sarcasm. Well, she almost didn't. And really, shouldn't she get brownie points for that? "For what purpose, Phoebe?," she repeated, harder this time.
The flame elemental watched the other woman, the tension in her jaw, almost saw passed the well-hidden ire. She recalled, then, a conversation she once had with Finn, back before their doomed relationship even began. I called him a water elemental, the opposite of my own being. Marceline, Bonnibel… you're opposites too, aren't you? You're bound by law and order, and she just… does things. But your binding is self-constructed, whereas her's is inflicted. You can't trust a prisoner to make her own cage, and I suspect you know that. Phoebe sighed softly. "Bubblegum, you're dangerous. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I know why you altered our agreement, and on a personal level I agree with your decision, but I can't let you decide the changed terms. If I do what's the point in having a legally binding agreement? My people would lose faith in me as a leader. I accept your offer of maltose to balance the scale. In addition, though, I would like access to the technology that allowed you to contain me when I was a baby."
Bonnibel sharp intake of breath was well-hidden by everyone who was not herself and Marceline. Internally she seethed, and that was hidden even from her lover. In addition?! How dare she! How dare she try to punish me like I'm some sort of child! She would have-
Bonnibel, reel it back in. She's right. You'd do the same thing to prove a point. Are you mad 'cause of what she's asking or why she's asking?
Both!
Okay, well, put the ego away before you hurt someone with it, alright?
It was not alright, it was anything except alright. "Why."
Phoebe shook her head slowly. "Bubblegum, I'm offering you an easy way out of this that will allow us both to save face. I can show the Fire Kingdom that we came out of this violation better than we went into it, and all you sacrifice is technology that you've already created and proved functional."
She's right, you know.
Piercing green eyes narrowed into a barely-repressed glare. "...I will offset 7% of the production with maltose. I will provide you with the blueprints and readily-existing technology as you are requesting it, but I reserve the right to continue to use and improve my methods and techniques. I'm not signing over all rights to you or the Fire Kingdom."
Her words were cold enough to chill all three royals in the room. Good thing Phoebe was a quick recovery. "I'm not asking you to, Bubblegum. What's yours is yours… so long as you treat it right of course." It looked like a threat, but sounded only… sad. As if she wasn't talking about fire elemental containing technol- ...Oh.
That only made it more infuriating, but the cool presence watching over her shoulder calmed her. "7% worth of maltose and the plans to the lamp technology. Shall I assume that your personal acceptance of why I barred silver is why you're suddenly being so agreeable." Silence. "Off the record, of course."
No such thing with you. "I'm trying to avoid an international incident. If you're offering a reducing sugar, an agent we both know would allow us to increase our energy efficiency, you must have put serious thought into it. That tells me that you want it resolved as much as I do. There's no point in nitpicking the nitty gritty when your offer is already close to satisfactory, which is why I'm asking you to add the technology."
"You're taking something from me personally, rather than my kingdom's resources, to prove a point."
Internally, Phoebe was grinning. "Off the record?" But she didn't finish that thought, only watching her fellow royal impassively. It in of itself was enough of a message.
Bonnibel seethed, but diplomacy won out. "...Alright. Agreed." With a sigh that seemed to intake more filth than it expelled Bonnibel picked up her quill, making scribbled notations to indicate the changes to her original trade offer. "Pep!," she called
There was an awkward silence, the scurry of footsteps, the sound of a door opening, then- "Yes, Your Highness?" He seemed almost scared to enter the room. But then he had always been a wise mint.
Princess Bubblegum tapped the annotated parchment. "Phoebe and I have reached an agreement. Please fetch my sealing wax so that I may officiate the document into law."
"At once. Back in a flash!" And then he was gone, leaving the two princesses to stare at one another. It was an awkward, tense silence, and both were quite eager for it to end. When Bonnibel's second oldest friend returned with her pink wax and seal in hand there was a silent collective sigh of relief. Both items were placed on the table before Peppermint Butler backed himself a good three meters away, out of the blast radius. Just as she indicated the candy golem made no delay in unstoppering the wax, sealing her crest into the modified parchment. As she watched expectantly Phoebe produced a small lump of coal, and were this any other time Bonnibel would have even been curious as to how the small puff of smoke - or was that a tiny flame? - could possibly act as a royal seal. But soon that would be the least of her curiosities, because the moment her esteemed butler went to recover the document Phoebe raised her hand, politely stopping him.
"One sec, Pep. I think it's customary in Ooo for all attending royalty to give their seal indicating they've witnessed a new international agreement be forged. We're missing someone." And then, just like that, her gaze turned squarely to Bonnibel. Or, more accurately, her right shoulder. "It's your turn, Marceline."
"Excuse me-"
She had no room to finish, because before she could even finish objecting the rat rolled over her shoulder, turning itself both humanoid and very visible. But her eyes were averted from her friend, her hand rubbing the back of her neck nervously. "What gave me away?," she whispered nervously.
Unlike the princess, Phoebe gave her friend a sincere and comforting smile. Her voice was calm but unrestrained, with even a bit of humor injected into it. As if Bonnibel wasn't there. As if she didn't matter. "I've told you before. You leave a cold spot."
The candy golem eyed her fellow elemental, quickly putting the pieces together, as was her gift. "When we came into the room you increased, decreased, then increased the temperature again. You were looking for Marceline." She was almost impressed. Maybe a little impressed.
"Thermodynamics is something my kind tend to grasp very easily." She motioned to the parchment, almost daring to touch it. "Your turn, Marceline. I know you hate to admit it, but you're a legit queen. Gotta acknowledge you were here and saw this go down."
Marceline somehow resisted the urge to turn to Bonnibel for approval, not entirely sure what it was she was going to, or even hoping to, find. Instead she nodded obediently, pricking her finger with her own fang before allowing a single drop of dead, maroon blood to drop between Phoebe's mark and Bonnibel's seal, bridging the two with a stain. "Are you two done, now?" Hopefully that sounded a lot less timid than she'd meant. It'd be a long series of days.
Bonnibel rolled the parchment, tightening it with a second royal Candy Kingdom Seal to indicate that it was a treaty agreement, before handing it back to her most loyal servant. "We are. Thank you for joining me a second time, and for your cooperation, Phoebe." All that, and she still didn't look at her. Instead she looked at someone much more meaningful. "I'm going to analyze those samples, okay? Enjoy all the time you'd like." It didn't escape Marceline's notice that Bonnibel's voice was a lot calmer now, affection softening it.
"...Alright, Bon. I'll meet you at your desk or something." The 'or something' would definitely be at her desk, but it felt so wrong to defer to her for instructions in front of Phoebe, or even imply that the castle royal quarters were her own. No matter how many pretty words Bonnibel used the castle was still a strange place, this Ooo a strange world. But, be it mercy or just plain good luck, the princess only gave her a reassuring smile and exited her throne room the way she came in, suddenly feeling like an invader in her own home, and that wouldn't do at all.
And then there were two.
Marceline watched Bonnibel retreat, turned away from Phoebe just enough to avoid looking at her. True, she may not have known the younger princess for a fraction of the time she had known Princess Bubblegum, but the flame princess hadn't exaggerated when she had called the pair of them 'kindred spirits'. Unknowing if she was more excited or nervous about talking to her friend again after a brief but subjective one hundred year absence the vampire exhaled forcefully, took a seat in the air, pulled her knees to her chest, then rested her forehead on them. "Hey Pheebs."
"Hey Marceline." There was noticeable worry in the younger woman's voice, but also profound relief. "How are you feeling?" A grunt. "What happened? I heard the summary from Jake when you were first jailbreaked, but I've only received sporadic updates since."
Marceline groaned, pulling herself tighter, but finally looking up. "What do you know so far?"
Phoebe shook her head, even knowing her friend couldn't see it. "Marceline, this is your story. You know my life policy on honesty; unless you tell me it's conjecture, and I'd rather hear the truth."
Crud. But it was hard to argue with that logic. After all, one of the things Marceline appreciated most about the mini wildfire before her was how consistent she was in her thoughts and deeds; she loved Bonnibel with all of her heart and soul, but there was just something so nice about being able to trust someone at their word, at knowing you were being told the truth for a change, because if Phoebe knew she couldn't be honest she would say so straight away, rather than play a mind game or construct an overly-elaborate lie. Of course, that also made it difficult not to respond in kind. Like right now. "...It's not great, Pheebs."
"Is that why she's making you wear a collar?" And why your voice sounds warped?
Marceline frowned, almost wanting to growl from just how 'too soon' that comment was… but honestly, that was a fair assessment. It did nothing for her discomfort, be it mentally, physically, or emotionally. "She's not making me wear a collar, I'm doing it because I want to." When Phoebe raised an eyebrow Marceline sighed. "That came out wrong."
"How should it have come out?"
Marceline tried to shoot her a pointed look but it backfired, turning her animosity into guilt at the sight of the concern festering in her friend's eyes. Ugh. In a rare moment of words having officially failed her the vampire reached up and behind her neck, unclasping the royal purple collar. When her soft shield fell away so did her mental fortitude and she turned, simultaneously displaying her shame in an effort to hide from it. When she heard Phoebe's inhalation, followed by a slight ripple in the room's temperature, she bit her lip, one fang easily piercing the flesh and lodging there. It stopped her from needing to think of something to say.
"Marceline…" Phoebe trailed off, knowing not what she was looking at, only that that knot of silver flesh, the lines extending around her neck like a living collar, that scar that shouldn't be there. That explains your voice... Against her better judgment she briefly found herself cursing Princess Bubblegum - and not for the first time that day - before scolding the thought away. That wasn't what her old friend needed right now, and those comments would serve no purpose except for inflict more pain. "Is that from your father's amulet?" As kind as the question was it was still sharp enough to make the half-demon wince. "Does it hurt?" Besides psychologically.
Taking that as implicit permission to shield herself once more Marceline quickly returned the collar back to its protective position around her neck. "...Yeah," she whispered, feeling every bit a child. "It's been weeks but it's still tender, like the nerves are going nuts. Sometimes a strong breeze hurt it, and I don't know how to heal it. So I just… don't wanna…"
"...Look at it."
"...The Dork Patrol says my voice is getting better, but.."
Phoebe may not have known Marceline for as long as Bonnibel but she knew a dark train of thought when she saw one. Keeping to the flesh-exposed areas - for Marceline could knit flesh, not cloth - the flame elemental pulled the immortal woman for a hug, derailing her. Once Marceline realized what was happening she returned the gesture before pulling back, the burns already having healed by the time she was settled in the air once more. She gave no indication she even felt the pain from having been giving physical affection from a heart of fire itself; after spending so long together it was unlikely she even did. "What have you been doing since the guys rescued you?"
It was becoming increasingly hard to look at the younger woman, and Marceline couldn't fathom why. Maybe if she ever built up the mental fortitude again she'd try to decipher that riddle, but Present Marceline had enough problems. More than enough problems. All of the problems. "Well… I remember they brought me back to Ooo to show me the moon and stars, since they didn't exist in my world. I guess that was on your turf, huh?" A shaky laugh didn't tempt Phoebe to rise to the bait of interrupting her story. "Then… I was in the Nightosphere for a long time. I don't really know how long, since time doesn't exist there… but enough that they came back and got me. Bonnibel says I can't heal by avoiding this, so she brought me back to Ooo. To be honest, I don't know how long I've been here, either." She sighed, her bones beginning to ache from profound fatigue she wasn't even aware she was being subjected to. "I don't remember a lot about when I was in my brain, but I don't really remember Ooo either. So either my brain is trying to remember both or not both at the same time and… I don't know."
She had expected Phoebe to ask the same follow-up questions everyone else had been subjecting her to: what's it like; is she getting better; what are the differences and similarities between the world you don't know and the world you don't know you don't know. Maybe she was even expecting the young monarch to ask about the Grasslands Incident. What she wasn't expecting was, "What did Hunson say about your reaction to the amulet?"
In retrospect, Marceline would later muse, she shouldn't have expected Phoebe to focus on what everyone else had focused on. After all, their friendship had been forged through the gradual recognition of their eerie similarities, by being given the cheat sheet of what fate had in store for them before flipping the script and carving new paths. They had questioned their own alignments, flirted with their own dark sides, but despite being mortal Phoebe had come away from it all in remarkably better shape than the relic of an ancient queen. Marceline admired that about her friend, respecting her not only as a ruler but as a wise individual in of herself. Despite her age - relative or otherwise - Phoebe had evolved beautifully and grown into a wise woman. Were anyone else to ask that question the musician would probably have reacted with a convenient rage-filled mood swing. But Phoebe? Phoebe may never have met Hunson Abadeer, but she knew the man, knew him because she knew her own father, who also worshipped evil and thought nothing of raising his daughter to follow in his own footsteps.
In retrospect, Marceline would later muse, she should have seen this discussion coming. Would she have given Phoebe the same Talk? Probably not. But then… Phoebe was a lot more responsible than her. "...He didn't think it was able to do this. Not to me." Not to his flesh and blood.
Phoebe regarded her friend sadly, watched her poorly-hidden fidget, the way her shoulders sagged, how self-conscious she looked. "You know what I'm going to suggest, Marcy," began encouragingly.
Once more, were it anyone else, Marceline would have had their head between her teeth. But it wasn't anyone else. "Pheebs… come on." It was almost a plead, as if the fire elemental had any real control over the onyx-haired woman's life. Do I even have control over my own life? You know what, I'm not gonna ask 'cause I'm not gonna like the answer, am I?
Regrettably, Phoebe cared not for Marceline's desire to not hear her out. "It's tempting to say that this began because of Bubblegum being Bubblegum, but I can admit that I'm pretty sure she was just the catalyst. I know the chaos amulet is literally pure evil and all, but it shouldn't have been able to do all of this to you. Not with your bloodline. Have you given any thought as to why it was able to?"
Marceline began to rub her arm nervously, still not looking at Phoebe directly. "I dunno. Maybe? Sort of?" Lies. All lies. And Phoebe knew it.
"I know it's not what you want to hear, Marceline, but I think you're never going to get better until you get to the bottom of why you got hurt in the first place… and to do that I think you need to go back to the Nightosphere." When there was no groan or other vocal objection Phoebe began to realize that either she wasn't the first person to raise this suggestion, or that Marceline had already begun to suspect that for herself. Hopefully the latter.
No such luck. "Yeah… Bon said the same thing," she grumbled. Well, not so much 'grumbled' as 'whimpered pathetically', but no one needed to acknowledge that. It seemed dignity was a fleeting luxury for the half-demon. "It's just… Pheebs, that place is so messed up."
"I know." And she did. Even if she had never personally seen the pocket dimension she had certainly met enough demons that weren't Marceline, had heard all of the stories and legends. Was even standing in front of one at this very moment. "You're almost a thousand years older than I am, so I know that I don't really have audacity to tell you what you should do, but I can say that if I hadn't confronted my place of origin and my father I wouldn't be as happy in life as I am right now, and I wouldn't be able to control everything I can do. I'm not you, but we share circumstances… enough so that I don't think you can run and hide from this anymore." Her burning hand settled on her friend's shoulder, neither noticing the soft stench of burning flesh. It was par for the course by now. "You're special, Marceline. You told me how being half human and half demon means you're not of either world, but that's wrong. You're from both worlds, and right now you're only drawing strength from one."
"I shouldn't draw strength from anything. You don't even know what I'm capable of." Her eyes closed, her mind filling in the images for her.
"I have a pretty good idea. Remember how we met, and how I knew where to find you? You could have killed me." The conviction in her voice made it abundantly clear that Phoebe knew that this wasn't an idle thought; she really was certain that there was at least a 50% chance she wasn't making it out of of their initial encounter alive, and yet she did. And here she was, only now withdrawing her hand to give the now scorched arm before her a chance to regenerate. Marceline may not register the pain but that didn't mean Phoebe was going to let herself inflict it. "You're afraid of yourself, girl. I think you'd stop being afraid if you knew what you were. You'd know how you could use your abilities to benefit those you care about." The vampire looked so uncertain, almost scared. "You're good at running, Marceline, and you're really good at fighting… but you're not always good at knowing when you should do one or the other. You want to run right now, and I think that's pretty understandable, but I don't think it's what's going to help in the long-run."
Marceline floated, cheek coming to rest on her knee in ponderance. The whole thing left a sour, biting taste in her mouth, and for once it wasn't from the dead blood pooled from a gashed cheek. No, this time it was worse. "...I had another Cosmic Owl dream, Pheebs. Feathered dillweed said I'm supposed to end the world." Her eyes closed at her own flat affect, but she felt the soft orange flames that comprised her friend's body edge closer.
"You need to stop torturing yourself like this. Finn and Jake don't like it, I don't like it, and I really doubt Bubblegum likes it." Just as she predicted, at the unexpected usage of her mate's name Marceline's grey ear twitched. It would have been endearing, were Bubblegum herself not involved in the sentiment. Well, maybe a little endearing anyway. "I don't know what you two have going on right now, girl, but she's really obvs worried about you. I didn't make my last meeting with her easy on purpose, but she restrained herself. Even when I told her how my father wanted to wed us."
A loud groan. "Ugh, Pheebs, you didn't…" Bonnie was actually…?
That garnered a small smile. "My point, Marcy, is that she's worried about you. Doesn't it say something to you when both she and I agree on something?"
It did. And it sucked. "Yeah, but…" But… what?
"Please, don't misunderstand me, Marceline. I'm not recommending you go take over the Nightosphere or anything, just that you try to figure out what's going on with your flame. I've seen how beautiful it can burn."
"Yeah. It could burn Ooo down," laughed bitterly.
"Or it could roast some marshmallows at Finn and Jake's weekly movie night. It could do a lot of things. But the best part of knowing how it works is that you get to choose what it does. It doesn't pick for you."
Now the bitter laugh was a bitter chuckle. "You sound like Finn, Phoebe. Are you going to try to convince me that I'm a good guy next, since all of this is 'cause I don't wanna hurt people or end the world? 'Cause spoiler alert: I'm not a good guy. I know 'cause I think this is me at my best, def at my most vulnerable, and you know what? Still not a good guy."
"But you want to be." Amazing how such a being made of literal fire could give such a cool reply. Even more amazing, though, was the odd sense vertigo accompanying the deja vu assaulting the older woman. Marceline bit through her lip once more as Phoebe politely pretended not to notice. "Why not think about it? I know that it's a big decision, and it's one only you can make. But whatever you do, Marceline," at the sound of her name in that convicted tone of voice the vampire finally glanced up, "I'll support you. And if things ever get too redonkulus here you know you're always welcome in the Fire Kingdom. You and Schwabl."
It was hard to tell if she was joking, serious, or both, but the intended effect was the same regardless, an the singer couldn't help her grateful smile. "Yeah… thanks, Pheebs. You rock."
Phoebe laughed softly as she turned back to the massive table to gather the now sealed - and flame shielded - trade agreement. "You're always welcome, Marceline. Let me know what you decide to do, alright? And if you do decide to go to the Nightosphere… come find me after, alright? I'd love to hear about it." She made a vague motion to the front of the throne room, and Marceline uncurled to float beside her towards it. "I'd like to get a call or something with some good news about you for a change."
That was an excellent point, and Marceline rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment. "Ah… sorry, Phoebe." The fire elemental only chortled softly, letting her friend get the door for her. No sense in accidentally setting the room partially on fire. No, she'd been enough of a maverick already, and she was quite comfortable with ending the serious note there, letting it go naturally so that her first visit with her nocturnal friend end on a pleasant note. Once they reached the point where Marceline dare not tread - for it was still daylight in a threatening world - Peppermint Butler would take over the duty of escorting the flame princess out of the kingdom, leaving the vampire to wave haplessly at their retreating backs from the dark, empty foyer. Left alone with her old enemy - her thoughts - Marceline would slowly began the subjectively-long trek back to the castle's master rooms, where she would return to bed, cuddle with Schwabl, and ruminate.
And, as Marceline ruminated, down an endless hallway she dare not cross, Bonnibel would sit in her lab, unaware of the conversation her mate was having with Someone She Really Just Didn't Like. But that was neither here nor there; in keeping with her promise she was buried in her work of ascertaining what exactly happened in the Grasslands, and to those remaining some half-dozen victims mutilated by the events wherein.
True to both Dr. Ice Cream's and Doctor Princess's promises Bonnibel had been sent samples and notes in droves, even a candid video from a cheap cell phone. They littered her laboratory, brown box after tan box after manilla envelope after blue binder after wave after wave of frustration. All but three of her stainless steel beds held open anatomy and physiology books and reference guides for the various species that called the Grasslands home, and her sink held a possibly still-living tissue sample cooling from a brief but fruitful experiment on heat intensity.
But for now that was forgotten. Instead, Princess Bubblegum, having shed her crown in exchange for her glasses and changed from her Most Royal Dress to a more disposable white smock and lab coat, was staring intently at her computer's screen, eyes dancing along the text, mumbling to herself in concentration. To the right of her desk sat two of her Official Science Journals, as well as her Unofficial Science Journal, a document she kept for her own eyes only where she could comment on her findings without contaminating them or inviting bias.
Really, Bonnibel had absolutely no idea how long she had been figuratively barricaded in her lab with only her promise and the shards of reality to keep her company. She was quite good at compartmentalizing, and the moment her door had closed she had shoved Princess Bubblegum The Role in her happy little box and gotten to work, almost entirely forgetting about the heart-to-heart chat Marceline and Phoebe were undoubtedly having. It was easy to do with science by her side.
But now hours had passed, and samples had been poked, prodded, injected, and stained. Her microscope was short hundreds of clean slides, and she had filled a notebook with her findings. Were this any other circumstance she would be quite pleased with herself, not only for the amount of work she completed but the high quality of her effort as well. But this wasn't any other circumstance, and instead she leaned back in her soft, pink, ergonomic desk check, drumming her now glove-free hand on the armrest in consternation. She used to be so good at managing her research anxiety, used to be a champion in fact, if such things had competitions… which, in her learned opinion, they should have.
What's up, Bon? Even her mental portrayal of Rechte sounded concerned which, while not unheard of, jarred her just enough to break her concentration. For once she considered that a good thing.
It just doesn't make sense… Even in her mind it was a mutter, and she turned back to her personal notebook to review her notes.
Science got ya down?
All six lived, Rechte.
Yeah, but I thought that was, like… a good thing. You like when people live, right? That's a thing you're in to?
Yes, but… She sighed, turning back to the digital images only a click away on her computer. Before her laid the mangled leg of a small reptilian child. At one time, she knew, it was covered in green and turquoise scales that shined in sunlight, some evolutionary mechanism designed to disguise it when hunting in the nearby lakes of the Grasslands. In this case, however, the leg was a bright orange and pinkish-red, flesh under the scales exposed to the harsh world above. The top of the leg, once attached to the small child, was a blackened mess that flattered and tapered where it once met the thigh, cut off somehow and by some unforeseen force. At first glance it looked as if it were blown apart somehow, but the upper wound, she realized with horror, was seared shut. Further, the mangled flesh stopped just above the ankle, leaving the three clawed toes, calf, and foot itself unhurt in any way. According to Dr. Ice Cream's notes the foot itself experienced normal reactions to external stimuli, including the pinprick test. And including after it was detached from the body, having been found a meter away. "Do you see this?"
Uh… yes?
"What cauterized that wound so cleanly while severing the leg from the torso just below the knee? What could possibly allow for the nerves in the foot to remain active and responsive so long after the amputation? How are select sections entirely unharmed, and in such a bizarre pattern?" All hypotheticals, because this Rechte may be a part of her sub-conscious but it was her conscious mind at work right now. "And here."
A new tab, a new image, a new atrocity. This time it was white skin that reminded her vaguely of Finn's - a realization that accompanied some form of nausea - but injured in a whole different way. This time the cloth of some shirt of pants - she wasn't quite sure - had been cooked into the flesh by the same intense heat. It wasn't an uncommon thing to occur to victims of second and third degree burns, for skin - even of whatever this creature is, Dr. Ice Cream wasn't sure - cooks easily under intense heat, it doesn't melt, despite popular misconception. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. But when the good doctor had cooled the area and tried to remove the covering she had found that it gave easily, and though the patient reported that the area was numb and hard to move the previously attached cloth had peeled off easily, as if it had only been gently stuck, and under it there was no sign anything was wrong at all, not even a scratch.
"They're all like this." Another picture, this time of the limbs the royal doctor had called 'fused', but on second and third examination she found both arms almost perfectly fine, at least in function. The patient, Bonnibel learned from the notes, had later felt an intense pain they could not describe - possibly because Mushroom People typically held limited vocabulary - felt a crack in them before she heard it, then pulled her arms apart. Where the two had met there was the tell-tale warped and rough skin indicative of poorly healed third degree burns, and the patient complained constantly of a dull ache, but there they were. The only oddity was that she found using both hands at the same time to be uncommonly difficult, but the good doctor suspected physical therapy would rectify that situation.
Bonnibel sat back in her chair, pen between her lips in pondrance. None of this makes any sense. All of these injuries are bizarre. You'd never know they all happened at the same time, in the same place. Further, I've never known Marceline to possess the capability to inflict anything like this. Burns in of themselves? Certainly. And in her void form she can assuredly cause all kinds of untold mayhem. But…
This is nuts, huh?
That's one way of putting it. Her head ached from the idea that she was missing something, something important about the situation. I need to see the Grasslands for myself. She had in even more tabs and folders well-documented images of the destruction, and the personal photos Finn had taken for her when he had arrived on scene, but as an esteemed woman of science the candy golem wanted nothing more than to see the damage with her own eyes. She was sure then that she'd figure something out.
Makes sense to me… but what about your lover-girl?
Ah. That was a good point. Marceline seemed to be firmly entrenched in the beginning stages of recovery but the outside world was still foreign and probably a bit scary, especially that part with the Sky Ball of Death. Bonnibel knew she needed to get to the bottom of this, but that would either involve forcing the vampire to leave her comfort zone before she was ready or leaving her alone, both ideas out of the question. The young scientist was growing less certain that the older woman would flee the moment the opportunity presented itself, but she knew she was still having minute breaks from reality, and Bonnibel needed to catch those as well, both to study them and to help ease her mate through them.
So what wins out? Solving an intellectual-type puzzle or being an emotionally supportive mate?
It was weird knowing what her answer used to be, knowing why it used to be that, and knowing now why it was a problematic one. In the old days, a mere couple of months ago, Princess Bubblegum wouldn't have hesitated. She would have instructed the half-demon to wait obediently in their room, maybe even instructed the ward to keep her there if she was feeling particularly sadistic, under the pretense that it was For Her Own Good. I would have argued that getting to the bottom of this was paramount to her recovery, as the more time lapses the harder the mystery will be to solve. She tapped her finger on her desk, lost in thought. But… recovery isn't so linear. It may bring both of us comfort in the knowledge, but I understand now that I can't dismiss her emotional and psychological scars.
Or that one around her neck, Rechte chirped.
Yes. That. But she's not ready to talk about that yet, and I'm not ready to push her. The pen was withdrawn from her mouth. I cannot shake the feeling that although Marcy is involved in this she isn't the cause. While the simplest solution is usually the correct one that's a proverb, not a hard rule.
So… what? Wrong place, wrong time?
I don't know. Odd how it was getting easier to admit those three little words, at least in the privacy of her own thoughts. Not yet, at least. Now it was the pen's turn to be tapped against the desk. It may be harder to solve this mystery the more time passes, but it's still possible. There's ample evidence. But the longer I allow Marcy's health to drag out the harder it will be for her to heal until it becomes impossible… until those wounds, all of them, turn into scars that I can't soothe for her. She needs her mate more than she needs this solved.
And you should probably see what happened with her convo with Phoebe, huh?
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Butterbrittle, I almost forgot about that. Do you think she's back by now? She turned, searching for a clock, didn't find one, and scowled. Why are there so few clocks down here?
Time's not real, Bon.
Her mental glare resulted in a mental smirk. Not today.
Everyday.
Her deep sigh turned into a quirk of her lips. The voice in her mind may not be the real Marceline, or even the real Rechte, but she reminded her so much of the woman she abandoned. Please don't misunderstand me, Rechte, because I value your company… but how long do you plan to reside in my sub-conscious?
Odd how she could feel the mental shrug. When it happens, you'll know.
Cryptic, but did she really expect less from her trickster of a mentor? And that's what she was, really; a representation of that small part of her that vaguely understood what it would take to be a better partner, and a better person. For now that answer would have to be enough, and she closed all three notebooks before rising. Alright. It was time to go home, and with a quick flick of the monitor's power button the screen darkened and her lab coat was shed, freeing her from the quandary within. There would be no sense in tidying the lab; she knew where everything was, and there was no one who would even be able to enter the spacious labyrinth of a room. Not with the security system in place, which housed so many traps and means of destruction that only an immortal woman capable of surviving almost anything could traverse it.
Of course, she didn't need to anymore. In the old days the security system was always online, except when the princess herself needed to reach her lab or purposefully allowed guests in. Otherwise none were spared, not even Marceline. But time had turned her mind, and in the musician's long absence she had modified the security feature to accept a drop of Marceline's blood as proof it was her wanting access, disabling the system and allowing her safe travels. It had taken a long time to update the old system, and longer still to get over the sickening sensation, the mental images of all the burns, cuts, bludgeonings that the singer had to have had to endure just to spend a modicum of time with her younger lover.
Bonnibel had had a lot of time to herself to think on things.
She crossed the lab's passage in quiet contemplation, thinking not only of her next move but of all that had happened so far. The journey, then, was quick, and she exited so lost in thought she almost missed the vampire dozing on the bed, a small poodle tucked under her arm. Except to remove her shoes she hadn't changed at all; it seemed her conversation with the mortal princess had taken a lot out of her, and Bonnibel hoped that wasn't a bad thing. Removing her own shoes, Bonnibel gently eased herself on the bed, watching Marceline nap. Her right arm was tucked under her head, as if she had forgotten what a proper pillow was. She was almost hanging off the bed, shirt ruffled, and the princess couldn't help but nudge her back on the bed. The jostling didn't stir her but the zombie poodle, who opened his eye, lazily wagged his tail at the sight of the young scientist, stood up, yawned, and licked his person's face.
"Ugh, Schwabl… let me sleep, little guy," Marceline grumbled, slowly rousing from her pseudo-slumber. When she heard a soft giggle behind her, coupled with a familiar heart head, she turned over her shoulder. She tensed, suddenly very awake, and for a moment Bonnibel couldn't figure out what could turn her admittedly restless lover from dozing to anxious in a matter of seconds.
Then she remembered one of Princess Bubblegum's many rules: No dogs, or any other animal for that matter, on the bed. Feeling only contempt for Past Bubblegum she reached out to rub the small dog's ear. Schwabl, evidently sensing no danger, laid back down. Well, more like plopped back down, watching the two immortal women half-heartedly. Surprisingly, it was enough to calm the vampire, that silent reassurance that everything was fine and she wasn't in trouble. What did I do to you, Marcy? But she didn't ask that. Instead she asked something much more productive, something less hurtful. "How was your conversation with Phoebe?"
Marceline turned back to staring at the small canine next to her, reaching out to stroke his belly as he helpfully rolled onto his back in a silent demand. It was so much easier to talk to him than to the princess, even if she was technically talking at him at to her by proxy. "It was… nice. Nice to see her." She fell silent, and Bonnibel tried to think of something to ask that didn't seem like prying, something innocuous. As it turned out she didn't have to. "We… I told her about what happened. You know, with…" Oh yes, Bonnibel knew. "She… I dunno." A strong exhalation. Why was this so hard? "She doesn't think I can get over all this junk here by avoiding it all."
Bonnibel felt herself grow cold, but didn't contest the claim. Mostly because she had made it before. Of course, when she had made it it was different. Who knew what context Phoebe meant it in? "Did she have an idea?" The tone was kept as conversational as possible, but this was dangerous territory. Only a few days ago Bonnibel had learned how close the two were, but what they did together remained a mystery. What they knew, what they talked about… all unknowns. She hated unknowns. It was what made her such an effective scientist.
After a pause, Marceline nodded. "She thinks all this… that I can't…" Why was this so hard? Again the thought crossed her mind. But she knew why. "She thinks that the answer or… I don't know, whatever it is in the Nightosphere. She said…" How much did Bonnibel know? Was this betraying Phoebe's trust? No… Pheebs would be okay with this. I'm not spilling anything. "She said that she couldn't, like… come to terms with herself until she learned what it meant to be her. She thinks that's what I need to do."
It bothered Bonnibel how much she was agreeing with her fellow elemental recently. "And what do you think, Marcy?"
Marceline fell quiet then, and for several long minutes the princess feared that she had pushed too far somehow. "I mean… it makes sense, I guess. I don't want to become Lady Evil ever… but you said you met her in me, right?"
Oh yes. We all are quite familiar with Lady Evil. "Yes. She was part of you, and quite a large part at that."
"...She wanted to be Lady Evil in real life, didn't she?"
And I promised to train you to that end. "Yes, that was her intention. To kill the rest of your psyche and come back herself."
Marceline shuddered at the idea. "...Yeah. That's what the dweebs said." When a pink hand came to rest on her shoulder she found she didn't hate it. This was gradually becoming less surprising to her, so much so that she found her own hand unconsciously reaching up to cover it. The sensation of her cool skin coming in contact with the warm skin under her was gradually becoming more welcome. "So… I guess some part of me wants to be Lady Evil? I don't know…"
A daring move, but- "...Maybe some part of you just wants to learn more about yourself, and both who and what you are?," Bonnibel broached gently.
Marceline's frustration manifested in pitiful squirming, her hand stilling on the small dog's belly. "...Yeah. That's what she thinks, too. I guess a lot of this wouldn't have happened if I knew me better, right?"
Bonnibel gave her a small, sad smile. "Marcy…" She brushed an onyx lock behind her ear. "This isn't your fault. You know that right?"
"But… it makes sense, in a warped sort of way. If I knew me better…" Her thought trailed off, only to be picked up anew. "If I knew what I was I'd know what I can do. Maybe… I could control everything then. Not just my pows, but why I'm like the way I am."
You mean wonderful, loving, loyal, and a mischievous little punk-rock imp? "What are you thinking?"
"That… you and the dweebs can try to make this better all you want, but like… I can't get your spasms out without finding the source, right?"
"Are you going after the source?"
No no no no no- Her chest tightened, and she was suddenly so happy she didn't have a beating heart unless she wanted to."Yeah, she nodded. Otherwise you're all trying for nothing, and something like this could happen again. Maybe not you putting the amulet on me, but… something." Now she pulled away from her precious pet, rolling onto her back to meet the piercing green eyes above. "...I think I need to go to the Nightosphere, Bon."
The princess nodded. "I agr-"
"And I want you to come with me."