March 11, 2987, cont'd

Weather: Dry, dark and windy Mood: More optimistic Music: Blitzen Trapper - Booksmart Baby

So the doctor the Master sent me to was that cubehead from yesterday, Bob James. Hey, so did I mention I'd told him a few things about his parents after he insulted me? No, I guess not. Well, he got an earful for talking trash with me while I was burning up out there in the canyon. I still halfway stand by what I said.

There was tense moment when I stepped into the exam room. First off, I don't like exam rooms. They're cold, cramped, and they remind me of that time Simon took me to the free clinic at Lasthaven when I was eight, because I had pinkeye. They'd never seen a demon before, and they nearly cut me open to see what I was. Then Simon came back from the restroom, saw the doctor preparing a scalpel, and froze everyone in the place with his crown. I didn't see him again for days while he found his way back to sanity, so I had to wait with a bunch of thawing corpses in a creepy-ass clinic for the better part of a week.

Second of all, what do you say to a guy who's about to put his cold, gloved hands all over you, when not twenty-four hours before you called him the son of a diseased slut?

He looked at me, and I looked at him. I awkwardly laughed, more to break the silence than anything. The atmosphere in the room got even tenser... more tense? And then he awkwardly laughed. We both awkwardly laughed, and I was entirely unsure whether we were laughing together or separately. But we laughed, and after that he seemed to consider it a moot point.

So he examined me. You know, first came the "say ahhh" bit, then he stuck a thing in my ear, and after that he used lot of electronic instruments to scan me. He thinks they're magic, but they were just how people did medicine before the Bombing. Anyways, he scanned me up and down, left and right, poked me with some sticks, and then tried to draw blood from my finger. He found out to his amazement what I'd already told him, that I wouldn't flipping be a vampire if I had any blood of my own.

Then he showed me some "magic" pictures of my insides, that were literally pulled up on a computer with an "intel inside" sticker. Grod, wizards would call fire magic if we didn't all know the trick of making it. Behold, by rubbing these two magic sticks together, I shall create a potent fire spirit!

So I have no stomach, apparently. I mean, it would stand to reason-I don't eat solid food. I also have about a dozen things in my chest and stomach cavity that he couldn't name and couldn't figure out from the scans. I told him that, logically, I drink blood and primary colours, so that stuff has to go somewhere. That takes care of, like, at least two mysterious organs, and on the other hand, I can also suck people's souls out, which must take a bumtch of specialized equipment. So that answers that, right?

And then he started in with the questions. Do I smoke? I told him I don't breathe but once every two or three minutes when I'm resting. I think I could bumping die if I smoked. Do I take heroin, meth, or slab? No, since I can't smoke, I'd need working veins for those, I said. He looked at me funny, like he expected me to say "no" in a different way. Do I drink?

I gave a slow, "no shit I drink"-kind of nod. Do I drink alcohol? he asked.

So at this point, I was wondering if it had really sunk in for Bob James that he was examining a vampire. Does that word mean "street performer" here or something? So I decided to start being a little heavy-handed with that point. "I don't drink... viine," I said, trying not to laugh.

"Then what kind of alcohol do you drink?"

If I hadn't been exhausted, I would have become a wolf involuntarily. I explained very patiently what a vampire actually was, which he claimed he already knew, and what exactly I all the time be drinking. After about an hour of this delightful conversation, he asked "Wait, what was your problem again?"

"Acute insomnia."

"Oh, oh! I have something for that. My brother Ron makes a wonderful potion. And he always delivers."

He prescribed me some kind of bright green herbal stuff that he said would knock out an elephant. That's supposed to be encouraging? I'm halfway a junkie already and you're prescribing what I can only guess is some kind of booze or narcotic, if not both? I'm not touching the stuff unless I'm desperate, but I took the bottle of it. It'll look cool on a shelf, if nothing else.

So I came back to the guest quarters after dark, and felt like banging my head against the wall. But then, that's stupid, isn't it? I started the day with only one goal, to find out about the college, and I'd actually gotten several things done, even if they weren't all useful things. So that's a pretty good day for me, I guess.

Which brought me to my next order of business: I had to find out who exactly the Master thought was going to pay for me to go to college.

And suddenly I was feeling guilty: Why should someone else pay for my quest of self-discovery or whatever it was again? But the Master talked like a hundred thousand silver pieces wasn't much money, and like there was a certain person who was just dying to pay. After I thought about it a while, I thought: I don't know what to feel or think, so I guess I'll do. And by "do," I meant "find this mystery person and ask them what to feel and think. And also ask them for a wossname...scholarship."

So I called some people. I radioed in to the central phone exchange of North Ooo, and asked the little candy dude who worked the switchboard to patch me into a certain 666 number, because just dialing it never works anymore. A minor demon came on the line and asked me to hold, likely forever. I used the voice on him, and he put me through to a middling demon. Lather thoroughly, rinse, repeat. Eventually middling demons in the Nightosphere call center became major ones, and major ones became top executives. After what seemed like eternity, I was on the line with Dad.

"Sweetie," he said, when we'd gotten down to business. "With silver... you know I never touch the stuff, regardless of what that Iscariot character said. I would if I could, but I have a business to run."

"Yeah, I knew it was a long shot. Thanks anyways," I said. I hope I sounded sincere, because I tried to.

"It's just life, Marceline, Darling. You know what I always say?"

"It is hard for thee to kick againt the pricks?" I said.

"Hhhhhwhat?" he snorted. "I'm sure I haven't said that in a thousand years. I was just going to say 'if every corn-dog were perfect, then...' oh, how does that saying go? Anyways, I have work to do, but do come home some time! Love you!" Click.

It was a long shot, I knew it. So I dialed the Society for the Advancement of Supernatural Beings.

"Yes, sorry," the secretary said. "Our last scholarship for the calendar year was taken by... ah, yes, I believe he's some manner of intelligent bear. Quite intellectual, in fact."

"Thanks, anyways," I said. It figured. I'm a damn adult, technically speaking, and I should be paying for it. It's just kinda hard to get a job when your skill-set is so specific and you're also allergic to daylight. I called a few other interest groups associated with the SASB, and it was the same at each one.

So I called the Candy Kingdom, just on the nonce. Somehow Bonnie was the one who answered.

"Marceline."

Glob! She took my name and put two lifetimes of complicated emotion into it, not just for her but for me as well.

"Bonnibel," I said, and hoped it had sounded as strong as when she'd said mine.

"... I hope you're not calling collect," she said.

"Hey, do you know about college scholarships for vampires?"

"Marceline, it's getting late. I see you called collect from Wiz-City. Hopefully you didn't just do that to joke around." Her voice as she said that would have reduced a candy person to syrup, I'm sure, but I'm not easily pushed around.

"I'm serious. I just want one until I can find a job. I want to attend the Lyceum. Do you know of anyone?"

The tone in her voice was completely different when she responded after a few seconds. "Marceline, that's... that's great. I always like to see people pursuing education. I don't know who offers scholarships specifically for vampires, but, um... wait."

"Yeah?"

"You haven't served in anyone else's military, have you? Or married anyone?"

"No, not since... back then."

"Then you're still a Candy Kingdom citizen from... from back then. I sent a bunch of money up there about five-hundred years ago. They guarantee education for any of my citizens that want it, up to ten per year. And you'd be the first ever to want to."

"What, really?"

"Yeah, didn't the Grand Master tell you that?"

So I thanked her several times and hung up.

You know, that was my first conversation with Bonnie in a long time that wasn't like, terrible. Well, my world's on fire, how about yours? Look out college, here I come!