Within a week, Bubblegum had managed to squeeze most of 'Bleh!' between her royal duties. Mostly at night, when she was supposedly asleep.

Twice she had nodded off during summoning's, and she hadn't even bothered paying attention to the Marauders when they came back only to hear there was no wolf imprisoned in the depths of her wicked library.

A few times, Bonnibel had inwardly accused her obsession on Marceline's rock and roll voodoo rather than her brain's insatiable hunger. But so far, she hadn't come across anything in 'Bleh' that would suggest a vampire could magically hypnotize their prey.

Sure, it listed how 'sexy' they were—although Lumpy and Pear were definitely not in that department-, and yes, they could use their said 'sexiness' to lure. But most of the time, a vampire simply 'mauled and hauled their prey into caves, bashing in their skulls and breathing their red mist.'

But they did. She knew they did. They had to have. And especially their Queen. Gob knows how powerful one got from slaughtering others. Marceline probably entranced her fans without them knowing it.

Only the weak minded could get brainwashed. And that was one muscle Bonnibel could flex. Organ, if anyone wanted to get technical.

Yet sometimes—particularly after a more gruesome passage—she briefly mulled over what Marceline was doing, being the nocturnal creep she was. It wasn't like the queen dropped by often.

The pink had yet to return to her wrist, a bracelet of white skin with those two little dots on the inside. She had taken care to cover it in company with the largest wrist watch she could find. The last thing she wanted was a series of questions.

Her stomach gave a good gurgling roll, and she grimaced, hand leaving her notes to rub there.

Finn, being the good hero he was, seemed worried over her too. He kept bringing her chicken noodle soup, thinking it a cure all, and valuing the friendship she held with the boy, she kept eating it. And if she ever saw broth again, she was going to hurl.

"Oh, Finn," she groaned, her head thumping to the table. "Why must you be so kind with your noodles?"

Because that was definitely the only reason her stomach was aching.

And night walks totally help achy stomachs.

Nice, long night walks.

Wrapped in coats to keep herself warm, her boots laced up to her knees, breath huffing into an endless stream of fog—oh yeah that soothes it.

Those creepy gnarled trees that resembled flesh eating wood nymphs? You might as well chug carbonated sugar water!

The howls of hungry wolves? You might as well take a hot bath.

Dank, dripping and jagged mouth of a cave, the darkness swirling inside likely to suffocate you with its sheer darkness? Sign. Me. Up.

Down into the cold water that circled and nipped her thighs through her leggings, stomping through mud and the skulls and apple cores that came burping up from it. The wind moaned down into the cave, it's longing call echoing off the walls.

Up until she reached land, a dim house with light humming past the frost slick windows, and the muffled strums of a guitar within.

"I got two fangs, and I never knew they were each a

Sweet tooth.

You got me hungry, lemme have that sugar rush

Let me drink you till you're blue—"

There was a pounding knock at her door, and Marceline's ear perked.

Oh geez, if it was that stupid Simon again, she was going to kick his tightey whiteys until they turned brown.

She axed her bass guitar into the ground, its blade sticking in to keep it up. And he better not be peering through her windows, because she wrote her best stuff in her undies, her hair in a loose pony tail.

"Simon says go shove your head up your-!" she snapped, slamming open her door.

A pink fist smashed into her nose, and Marceline's knees crashed to the floor.

"MOTHER FU—!"

"Oh! S-sorry Marceline! I-I d-didn't know you were o-pening tha-the doorrrr," came a teeth chattered voice. Her watering eyes glowered up, and she immediately forgot her pain.

Bonnibel almost looked blue she was shivering so hard, twigs in her pink pony tail and clothes damp and muddied.

Oh plums! I gotta do something! A very secret and noble part of Marceline thought.

Wait, do we make fun of her or warm her up? The rest answered.

KILL HER AND DRINK HER DRY! Well, that was going in the trash—obviously that was her father speaking.

Wait a minute—both! Man, I'm clever. And sexy.

So…so kill her and make fun of her-?

NO—oh my Gob, move over, I got this.

And so it came to pass that Marceline stopped bickering inside her mind and yanked Bonnibel in, closing her door to the harsh winds outside.

"Are you looking to make yourself hard candy or something?" she growled, hunching down into a sit so that her enormous bat body could fit inside her living room. Her grey green arms buried the frigid princes into her chest fur, wings wrapping around them both. "It's definitely past your bed time, you brain lord."

Eee! It's like holding an ice cube to my boobs—

The vampire's snout twitched. "Why do you smell like soup?"

"I-I have to t-t-talk to you," Bonnibel shook. The fur around her was hot, and she gratefully snuggled deeper into its plushy depth. It didn't smell half bad either, for a bat.

"And you couldn't just call or something?" Marceline snorted. "What is with all of you princesses and endangering yourselves?"

"I don't have your number," Bonnibel trembled. She stuck her hands onto the heated skin deep within the hairs, and the vampire jumped at her frigid touch.

"You could've sent a messenger," the bat glowered. And really, she wasn't angry. If she was going to ever be honest with herself, it was worry.

They were wolves out there. And worse, people like her out there.

"You ate the last one," Bubblegum replied, and her voice was losing some of its shakiness.

"For the last time, I thought he was candy."

"He was candy!" Ah, there was a feisty little kick. She shifted her wing, checking down at the girl cradling to her fur.

"Better?"

"Ugh," Bonnibel rolled over, peering up with exhausted eyes. "How?"

"Bat fur's pretty thick—?"

"No, how do you speak with a bat tongue?" the princess asked, shifting onto her back. Her arms were curled up in front of her chest like some sort of helpless wiener dog, her nose red and sniffling.

The bat smiled. Sometimes I could just eat you up, Bonnie.

"Why is it always twenty questions with you? And my tongue stays the same—it's why it's so long and forked, even when I'm a chick."

"That…that actually makes sense," Bonnibel murmured before a yawn overtook her.

"Maybe we should talk in the morning," Marceline began, but not before a long and loud burst of snoring assaulted her ears like machine gun fire.

Bonnibel lay limp in her arms, mouth agape.

"Oh geez, her breath reeks of soup," the vampire coughed. She eyed her window outside, and with her excellent night vision, she found the flying weather to be dreadful.

Whatever. The princess had made her bed by coming all the way over here. And now she'd just have to sleep in it.