Marshall's P.O.V.
"Of course not- the greatest minds came not from Neanderthals!" P.B. roared.
All of a sudden, I thought quietly to myself, 'Well, technically they did.' But I wasn't gonna say anything, as the two gummy royals were on a roll, and I valued my own semi-corporeal, sunproof skin.
"At least I'm not a geek!" Bubba snapped.
"Better a geek than a dweeb!"
"Well, you're a total nerd! I mean, hello, have you ever thought to do something else with your life then shut yourself away in some crusty lab with your experiments?"
"Look who's talking! Slap some glasses on you and you're a perfect high school dork!"
"Whatever you say, Dr. Frankenstein."
"Well, at least I'm not some prissy half-wit!" She yelled, obviously not considering Bubba's current reaction to sissy-Bubba comments.
"Do you want a vault door to the face?!" He bellowed. He then shrank back slightly. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." He apologised.
"Oh, shut up, you squishy, soft, self-pitying simpleton of a Sucrose Sapien!" She shrieked.
"I'm not the one who led on a kid for three years before breaking his heart!" He shot back.
She gave a scream of rage and hurled a beaker filled to the brim with some pus-yellow bubbling liquid at his head.
He snatched up a stirring stick and lashed out at the flying chemical, slicing the beaker cleanly in half.
One half went sailing through the air to land safely on a cushion on the nearby couch, and the other half passed through my chest to almost daintily smash against the wall.
I, meanwhile, was doing a goldfish impression, thinking 'Howhedodat?!'
Marceline looked a little stunned at the fight, but not surprised or shocked at Bubba's... un-princely-ness.
I had thought that I was one of if not the only person that Bubba was Bubba around, rather Prince Gumball. He might extrude a polite, prim shell around himself when other people were around, particularly Lady Elizabeth Gumball, his tyrant mother, but he was, in reality, a bit of a risk-taker with a heart of gold, a little bit of a prankster, with a devious side to rival my own. Of course, I'd never seen this side, this battle-attuned version, this icy, fighting edition of my bud before.
"Du-u-u-ude..." I blinked, staring at him. I half-noticed that the chemical his cousin had thrown was slowly eating through the floor. "How'd you do that?"
Gumball put down the stirring stick and smiled at me. "Years of practise, Marshall. Years of practise." With that, he scooped up Marceline, bridal style ('Jeez, those two are on and off like a Christmas light!') and jumped out of the window.