I don't own Adventure Time.
Chapter 11
29th February 2016
Stop staring at her legs. Stop it right now. Look away. What's wrong with you?
"Are you feeling okay? You seem distracted," Bonnie said, pacing in front of Marceline's enormous window.
Shit. Busted.
"I'm fine. Was just wondering how that big brain of yours can fit inside such a small head," Marceline said. Her fingers ached. The pencil she held had already been worn down to a blunt nib. She never once thought that she'd have to relive this hell again. The hell of study. If there was anything Marceline disliked more than Nighto or her father, it was being forced to learn things she couldn't care less about.
Econometrics, auto regressions, vector theory, Markov chains - a bunch of convoluted gibberish, all of which she had to cram in her skull before the Gala. Studying was a splinter in her brain - a permanent one where the pain rivaled that of a summer Saturday hangover. There was just too much. Too much to learn, to read, to write. How did Bonnie even expect her to understand all this? Sure, math may have come to her like rain to a river, but Marceline didn't attend a prestigious academic slave house. Heck, she couldn't even remember the last time she picked up a book.
"I see," Bonnie said. She glanced briefly at Marceline, creasing a sheet of paper between her fingers. "Well, try and think about those exercises in front of you and not my head, will you?"
"Sure, princess. Whatever you want," Marceline replied in an overly sarcastic tone.
The couch was stiff as a board. Marceline remembered picking the thing out of an online catalog, never intending to actually use the damn thing. The color was what mattered. The sanguine red of the velvet was a constant reminder of her condition and to her needs.
Marceline gave her sixth attempt at absorbing what a 'Jacobian matrix' was before she found her eyes wandering off again. Wandering off to… her. Whoever invented pencil skirts didn't understand the torment Marceline was experiencing right now.
"By the way, what did I do to warrant such a nickname?" Bonnie asked, her pacing coming to an abrupt stop.
Marceline quickly directed her gaze back down. "What?"
"Princess. You keep calling me that," Bonnie said, her brow creased.
Marceline shrugged, beginning to scribble on the sheet of paper she held firmly. "It just suits you."
And it's what I called you when we were little…
Admittedly, the pain of being unable to reveal a floodgate of memories to the girl in front of her was more tormentous than the study.
Bonnie raised a brow before resuming her steps, offering a new pencil to Marceline whilst the latter racked her brain around the concept of expected values. It wasn't long before she finally snapped, scrunching the paper in her hands into a rumple, tossing it over the couch along with the pencil she had just received. With a huff, she dropped her back down onto the stone-like couch, propping her legs up onto the armrest before crossing her arms.
"This is hopeless," Marceline began, staring at the ceiling. "There's no freaking way I'm going to learn all this."
"You haven't tried learning at all," Bonnie said with a sigh. She walked behind the couch, leaning over the thing to meet Marceline's upside-down face.
"Are you kidding me? What do you think I've been doing for the past five hours? For the past week!?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I didn't want to bring this up, but it looks like I have to," Bonnie said, looking over her shoulder to see that the wad of paper had landed only a few feet away. "There's something... distracting you. I don't know what it is but that's just the vice I'm getting. Why is study so difficult for you?"
It's because I can't stop staring at you, you pretty dork.
"Nothing. It's just that... we've been going at this for over a week now and I feel like… I feel like I've learned nothing," Marceline said, resting her eyes shut. "And I don't think I can learn any of this in time before the Gala."
Marceline's head involuntarily dipped lower into the couch, causing her to open her eyes. Her pupils dilated to the size of marbles as her gaze was met with Bonnie's again, except this time she had moved and was sitting mere inches from her head. The assistant looked down at her boss before unfolding the wad of paper she held, straightening out the creases with the palm of her hand.
"You know, you still haven't told me," Bonnie said.
"Told you what?" Marceline asked, doing her best to not think about how close the two were. Christ, if she moved up a bit, her head would be right in Bonnie's lap.
"Why you want to win this thing," she said. "I mean... you're definitely not the most competitive person I know, so it's nothing to do with pride. Plus, Nighto's reputation seems to be the least of your concerns. So, why? What makes you want to win this so much?"
Crap.
There was no way Marceline could tell her. No way that she would say that the only reason she wanted to win this stupid thing was to protect Bonnie. To protect her from Marceline's father. To prevent him from ruining what little precious time they could have together. No. It'd been too long since she'd seen Bonnibel. She wouldn't be able to withstand another seven-year lapse in contact. What could she say? She's doing this because she wants to? What a load of bull.
"I'm doing this because I want to," Marceline said. She wanted to slap herself for uttering such a childish response. "What more reason do you want from me?" Her tone was sharp.
Placing the now-flat sheet of paper on the coffee table, Bonnie turned her attention back to Marceline. She looked into the other woman's eyes for an uncomfortably long period of time with an unconvinced look on her face.
"Fine. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. I just thought that if I had to bow to your every whim with your stupid rules, you'd at least have the decency to tell me your reasons for using up both our time."
God damnit. Was she always this good at making me feel guilty..?
Marceline could only fiddle with the ends of her hair as her assistant sat patiently, waiting for the response that she wouldn't get. A few moments had passed before Bonnie sighed, showing that she'd given up digging into Marceline's motives. The girl picked up the sheet of paper on the coffee table, scanning the notes Marceline had written with darting eyes. A sharp 'tsk' left her lips.
"You know," Bonnie began, sinking into the couch a little, "an expected value is the sum of all possible values multiplied by their probability of occurrence. It isn't..." - she placed a finger onto the 'art' on the paper - "... this."
Indeed, an expected value was not a less than flattering drawing of Bonnie being depicted as a war-like dictator. The only indication that made the crude stick figure on the paper resemble Bonnibel was the hastily scrawn speech bubble that read, 'I'm a smarty-farty from Blackwell.' It was too bad. Marceline had forgotten to etch in the stink lines.
"Meh, I like my definition better," Marceline said, closing her eyes with a proud smile.
"Ugh," Bonnie said with a puff of air. "It's obvious we need a break. It's almost morning."
"Now that's something I can agree with," Marceline replied. It had been hours since she'd woken, and she hadn't had breakfast. Unfortunately, vampirism didn't completely abolish human needs.
"I want to do a little something. A surprise, actually," Bonnie said, uncrossing her legs to sit up.
Marceline's head bounced on the couch as Bonnie got up. She picked her head up somewhat, her interest aroused as to whatever surprise Bonnie had in mind. Judging by her assistant's usual clement demeanor, Marceline didn't expect much from the mild-mannered girl.
A surprise? Hmph. What could it be… Another textbook? A set of sharpened pencils?
Tilting her head to the side, Marceline watched as Bonnie walked over to the kitchen. The girl unzipped the bag on the countertop to pull out several plastic containers, each neatly stacked on top of each other. Inside each of them was a myriad of colors. Squinting slightly, Marceline discerned that the colors belonged to an arrangement of foods.
"Mind if I use your kitchen?" Bonnie asked.
Sluggishly sitting upright, Marceline paused for a moment as she considered the peculiar request.
"What happens if I say no?" Marceline asked, a finger resting on her chin.
"Then I guess I wouldn't be able to cook something for us."
"Wait," Marceline said, raising a finger. "You want to use my kitchen… to cook something?"
With a slow nod of her head, Bonnie looked at Marceline with an amused expression.
"For both of us?" Marceline continued.
"Yep. You say that like that's a bad thing."
"No, it's not that. It's just… I've never had anyone cook for me before."
"Funny. I thought you'd have a dozen servants groveling at your feet trying to serve you when you walk into restaurants," Bonnie said with a shrug. Marceline's eye twitched as she was about to spit an agitated retort until Bonnie let loose a small laugh. "I'm kidding. There's a first time for everything, I suppose," she said.
Without pause, she popped open the lids of the containers. Despite the kitchen being more than twenty feet away, Marceline could smell every ingredient on the kitchen countertop. There was the piquant fire-like smell of red pepper flakes alongside the ambrosial odor of freshly picked parsley. There was also a vivid odor that was characteristic of nothing other than peeled lemon zest. Marceline didn't want to sit up but her hunger overpowered her voluntary movements, forcing her to rub her eyes and walk in a trance-like state towards the kitchen.
She herself didn't know much about cooking, but Marceline definitely couldn't say the same about Bonnie. Several cupboards were already laid bare when Marceline had reached the kitchen. There was the sound of water rushing from the faucet into a stainless steel pot whilst Bonnie had procured a wooden cutting board out from under the kitchen countertop. The stove's igniter crackled, birthing a blue flame to which Bonnie lightly placed the pot of water on. Marceline could only watch, hypnotized by her assistant's movements as she pulled out a seat to the kitchen island.
Out of her bag, Bonnie pulled out a burgundy-colored apron as well as a knife that was covered in a wooden sheath. She quickly donned the apron before pushing up the sides of her hair, bunning it up into a ponytail. Bonnie smiled as her eyes met Marceline's as the latter turned away, heat forming on the Abadeer's cheeks. Grasping its handle, Bonnie slid the knife out of its wooden sheath. The blade was shinier than any gem Marceline could think of. Silver swirls embellished the blade's entire length as if clouds had been imbued into the folds of the steel itself.
"That," Marceline said, pointing to the knife, "looks really expensive."
"It is. It's pure Damascus," Bonnie said, examining the knife. "At least that's what the salesman told me."
"I didn't think you'd be one to spoil yourself."
Bonnie examined the blade's edge, turning it over as she ran a fingertip down its spine. "I'm not. I bought this for my uncle, but I can't help but use it at least once."
"Wait, you haven't used it yet?" Marceline asked, leaning over the countertop.
"Nope. Every chef knows the first time using a new knife has to be memorable," Bonnie said. "Special, even."
"What's so special about right now?"
"Because…" Bonnie said, placing a handful of parsley onto the cutting board, "... I'm cooking for you."
It felt as if Marceline's stomach had done a front flip. "What?"
"If you hadn't given me this new job, I wouldn't have been able to afford this. So, it's only fitting that you share in its creations."
Oh.
For a second, Marceline had thought-
"Pass me that box with the spaghetti, would you?" Bonnie said.
The boredom of the night had lifted somewhat. If she wasn't filling her head with math and calculus, Marceline was fine with anything. Except, she would never have thought she'd be handing Bonnie a wad of spaghetti whilst the latter cooked in her kitchen. It felt much too surreal.
Strands of spaghetti fell gently to the bottom of the stainless steel pot as the boiling water absorbed their stiffness. A waft of parsley-sewn air traveled under Marceline's nose as Bonnie sliced through the herb with ease. It was hard to imagine. Imagine that Bonnie and she would be in this moment. Her, cooking for the two of them whilst Marceline sat, starry-eyed, unable to take her gaze off her assistant. If only every moment in her life would be like this.
When Bonnie placed a new ingredient under the knife, however, a monstrously familiar odor plagued Marceline's senses. Its sour bitterness caused her eyes to water as she wrinkled her nose. Bonnie must've noticed her boss' expression.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Marceline retched as she covered her nose and mouth with her hands. "Is that…" - she dry-heaved once - "Is that garlic?"
The rhythmic percussion of Bonnie's cutting stopped. "Don't tell me you've got an allergy to garlic, too."
"Mhmm," Marceline murmured, still pinching her nose.
Without pause, Bonnie swept up the bulbs of garlic. She flung them into one of the plastic containers, sealing the lid shut before any more garlic particles could disperse themselves through the air. "That's… I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
Tears had already formed in Marceline's lashes, her vision becoming blurry from the moisture. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just-"
Another helpless cough left Marceline's throat. Bonnie hurriedly reached for a tissue, offering it to Marceline. The woman declined the gesture as she rubbed the tears out of her eyes, stroking the base of her neck as she did so.
"It's nothing. Nothing serious. I'm just glad you didn't make me eat that. I can't imagine putting that in my mouth," Marceline said, still rubbing her eyes.
"You're saying you've never tasted garlic?"
"I did once when I was little - throat closed up pretty bad," Marceline said, inhaling the surrounding air slowly. "Since then, I've had none."
"No garlic bread?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Garlic prawns?"
"If it's got the word 'garlic' in it, I haven't had it, princess."
"Yogurt soup?"
"Ew. I don't know what that is, but it sounds gross already."
"Yeesh, photosensitive and an allergy to garlic. You know what you're starting to sound like?"
"What?" Marceline asked, a small smirk played on her lips.
"... Nothing. Don't worry. I was thinking something stupid."
"What else is new?"
"Hah hah. Real funny."
After a heated discussion of whether or not spaghetti classified as a pasta, the food was finally ready. Pulling up a seat next to Marceline, Bonnie had this weird giddy look about her as she set down two full plates along with a set of forks. The smell was amazing. It had been too long since Marceline had an actual meal as opposed to just draining the red out of a week-old apple or a punnet of strawberries - a combination of laziness and lack of ability to cook being the main causes.
"It's angel-hair pasta with red flakes, parsley, and shallots," Bonnie said. "I'm not sure how this would taste without the garlic." She picked at the plate with an unsure look.
'I'm sure it's perfectly fine,' Marceline wanted to say. Even if the food did taste like horse-dribble, Marceline wouldn't have the heart to say anything about it. Heck, she'd stomach the whole plate just to not hurt Bonnie's feelings. Noticing her assistant was just staring at her - presumably waiting for her to go first - Marceline raised her spaghetti-twirled fork and took a small delicate bite.
To say the food was delicious would've been a gross understatement.
It was weird. There was no explosion of flavor or an overpowering amalgam of different tastes. It wasn't like the food served from overrated restaurants her dad used to take her to either. It was smooth, elegant and mild. Yet, for some reason, Marceline thought she'd never tasted anything better.
"How is it?" Bonnie asked, having not touched her own plate.
"It's good," Marceline simply put. She felt as if her statement didn't do the meal justice.
A look of relief blessed Bonnie's features as her shoulders visibly laxed. "That's nice to hear," she said.
The pair ate in silence with Bonnie only asking the occasional question about Marceline's problem with garlic. Little did she know, it wasn't really an allergy but rather a weakness. Garlic was revolting. It clouded every one of Marceline's senses. It blocked sight, smell and touch as her father had so kindly shown her when she was little. The effects lasted for hours. Thankfully, Bonnie had thrown the venomous cloves away before they lingered in the air for any longer.
With both their plates empty, Bonnie had begun taking them away, until she stopped abruptly. "You've got a little bit…" she said, facing Marceline as she gestured to her chin with a finger.
"What? My chin too small for you?"
"No, no, you've just got some… Ah. Here, I'll get it," Bonnie said. She brought her hand up close to Marceline's chin.
Although startled, Marceline didn't find herself pulling away from the redhead's reach. Instead, she almost found herself leaning in. Bonnie's hand was soft to the touch as it cupped Marceline's chin. Her thumb made a massaging motion, rubbing what felt like remnants of spaghetti sauce off of Marceline's jaw. As she pulled her hand away, it looked as if Bonnie was considering to lick the sauce off her hand, but instead wiped it off on a tea towel.
An uneasy silence followed. Marceline was processing what had just happened. Was that the first time they'd touched since seeing each other again?
Wow, why would you even think that? You're so freakin' corny.
"So where'd you learn to cook like that?" Marceline stammered out. It was obvious what she was trying to do - changing the topic.
Intentional or not, Bonnie followed along. "When you've got a bunch of free time, you have to fill it with something. Given that my uncle used to be a chef, I think it's only natural that I picked up cooking as a hobby." She said it as if it were obvious. "What about you?"
"What about me?" Marceline responded.
"Seeing as you probably stay indoors all the time and that you barely do any work, the vice-president of Nighto must occupy herself with something."
A blank stare was Marceline's response. It was true. Hours of the day didn't just pass by in the blink of an eye, although that would've been a nice vampiric feature. Her time had to be sunk somewhere - it just so happened to be into her precious piano.
"Well?" Bonnie asked. "If you're not going to tell me why you want to win the Gala, you could at least share with me what you do up here by yourself every night…"
Heh, wouldn't you like to know, princess.
"Do you really want to know?" Marceline asked.
"I doubt you want to hit the books again anytime soon. So yes - please enlighten me."
Marceline breathed a sigh. She was reluctant to show Bonnie. To show her one of the few things she uses to keep herself occupied - to keep herself sane. When they were little, this situation would never have even arisen. She would share with Bonnie the warmth, rhythm, and emotion of her piano as the two would spend hours on some afternoons talking with one another.
"If you insist," Marceline said, standing up before walking across the kitchen. "Follow me."
Was I really going to say that?
As she followed Marceline to the back of the loft, Bonnie wanted to laugh at herself. Photodermatitis and a garlic allergy did not automatically make someone a blood-sucking corpse of the night.
Vampires didn't exist. They were just gimmicks of European folklore used to scare children.
A whole night of teaching must've been getting to her head. Even though she could withstand hours of study on end, Bonnibel herself was human and had a limit to her brain's willpower. She was extremely thankful Marceline had agreed to a break. Cooking wasn't just an art to Bonnie. It was a way of release - a therapeutic escape that let her get into a rhythm that was almost impossible to shatter. It was a shame she had to substitute garlic with shallots in her aglio'e'olio, however. She didn't expect her boss to be so fragile. The hard-ass reputation Marceline had notoriously received was beginning to deteriorate from Bonnie's perspective. Fragile, as she may be, her skin was unnaturally cold when Bonnie had wiped the sauce off her face.
I still can't believe she let me do that…
From an outside point-of-view and the way Bonnie cupped Marceline's chin, it looked as if she was about to-
"Ahem," Marceline coughed. "You alright there, dweeb?"
Snapping back to reality, Bonnie crossed her arms. "No, I was not that thinking about that."
"Uh… thinking about what?" Marceline asked, a confused look on her face.
"Oh… um… nothing," Bonnie quickly said, turning to hide her pinked cheeks.
"You are super weird sometimes." Marceline had stopped in front of a door, her hand placed on the ornate handle. She sighed. "Before I show you this, you have to promise to never, ever, ever, tell anyone else about this."
"Geez, you make it sound as if you're a serial killer showing me your victims."
"Huh? No, those are downstairs." A sunken look came over Bonnie. Marceline waited a few moments before giving a wry smile. "I'm joking. Calm your farm. Seriously, though - promise me you'll never say a word about this to anyone."
Bonnie raised her right hand and held out her left on top of an imaginary book. "I, Bonnibel Beesley, solemnly swear to never reveal whatever secrets, mysteries, or enigmas that lay behind-"
"Alright, alright, that's enough," Marceline said, rolling her eyes. "I'm just saying, I don't want word getting out about this."
"Whatever you do in your spare time is your business. I won't tell anyone."
After a small sigh, Marceline gripped the doors handle firmly, pulling it down to reveal the other side. A rush of cool air met Bonnie's skin as the pair walked through to the other side. The room was filled with complete darkness until Marceline flicked a switch on the nearby wall. Light flooded the room causing Bonnie to wince as she brought a hand to her eyes. As her vision finally settled, what she saw was nothing short of jaw-dropping.
The room was huge. The high-ceiling cast a stage lighting across the room that gave the hardwood floor a sheen finish. The walls were covered entirely in a dark foam in the shape of pyramids - acoustic panels and bass traps, a common method for soundproofing. A few feet nearby was a desk with more tech than Bonnie had ever seen, and this was including Finn and Jake's office. The equipment looked like that found in professional recording studios where the number of knobs and wires resembled the control panel of a nuclear power plant. The most prominent piece in the room, however, wasn't the electronics or the obviously expensive interior design. The thing that stood out the most was…
"Is that… a piano?" Bonnie asked incredulously. Her question was rhetorical, but she couldn't help but ask it.
A snort was the response she got. "Duh, I thought Blackwell would teach you what a piano looked like," Marceline said, walking over to the pristine-looking instrument.
Years of watching and listening to pianists perform had allowed Bonnie to recognize the maker of Marceline's piano instantly.
"It's a Bösendorfer," Bonnie said, placing a hand on the piano's fallboard. "I thought they stopped shipping these to places like Bathurst. How did you make them send one here?"
"I didn't buy it if that's what you're asking," Marceline said, seating herself on the piano's black leather stool.
"Huh? Then how'd you get it?"
Silence followed Bonnie's question. She didn't notice it at first, but when she saw Marceline bite her bottom lip to the point where it had broken skin did she realize she'd struck a nerve.
"It's my mother's," Marceline muttered, breaking the silence. Her head was downcast as she tapped her fingers against the piano's glossy surface. "I inherited it."
It took Bonnie a few moments before she actually understood Marceline's words. The realization caused her to bring a hand to her mouth. Before she could mutter an apology, however, Marceline had flipped open the piano's fallboard, revealing a perfectly aligned riverbed of ebony and glowing white keys.
"I don't want to hear some half-assed apology if that's what you're going to say," she said matter-of-factly.
Awkwardness ensued as Bonnie stood with her mouth shut. Over the past couple weeks, Marceline had openly expressed her dislike toward her father - but, she had never mentioned a word about her mother. Bonnie had felt inclined to ask at times but decided to keep her lips closed. Good thing she did.
"Are you just gonna stand there?" Marceline asked, breaking Bonnie's train of thought.
Shifting her head around, Bonnie didn't understand Marceline's question. Judging by the woman's posture - her foot was placed on the sustain pedal whilst her fingers were elegantly poised above the keys - it looked like she was about to play.
"You're going to play something?" Bonnie asked.
Marceline rolled her eyes again. "This is what you wanted to see, wasn't it? What I do when I'm alone?"
Confusion still on her face, a slow nod was all the response Bonnie could give.
"Well then hurry up and sit down," Marceline said, nodding her head at the empty space beside her.
Doing as she was told, Bonnie quickly shuffled over to the piano stool, taking a seat next to the vice-president who began to look regretful of her words. Out of her peripheral vision, Bonnie swore the woman had a smile on her face but upon looking up, there was only a stern expression there. A few feet away, Bonnie could spot a microphone atop a stand - pop filter and all. Immediately, a thought entered her head.
"Wait… that microphone. Back when you dropped me off after the interview and there was that music from your stereo. That wasn't you playing...was it?"
Marceline froze for the briefest of moments before shrugging. "I forget," she said.
Her lie wasn't fooling anyone as Bonnibel smiled warmly, knowing fully well that her boss was the pianist that she had spent a whole evening trying to identify.
A few seconds later, Marceline began to play.
A beautiful tone flooded the room. The sound was like that of the jingles of sleigh bells on a snowy Christmas morning. There was a melancholic sadness within the notes that seeped into Bonnie's skin and spread like wildfire through her veins. The piano sounded as divine as it looked, prompting Bonnie to sit completely still, afraid that any sudden movement would prompt Marceline to stop her performance. The black spruce-wood had been sent to life by Marceline's slender fingers. Her eyes were shut as she continued her slow finger-dance across the ivory-white and charcoal-black keys.
Wow...
No breath left Bonnie's mouth as she stared, awestruck at what she was witnessing. She knew the piece. She knew it was one of Chopin's etudes but for the life of her, she couldn't remember which one it was. Bonnie found herself unable to look away from Marceline - the girl's expression was undeniably bewitching.
She looks so…
'Focused' was not the right word. Rumors of the vice-president being a lazy lay about had all been banished from Bonnie's mind. Some of the keys on the piano's lower octaves were stained an ever-so subdued red, leading Bonnie to believe that the bruises she often spotted on Marceline's fingertips weren't an accident. The woman beside her emitted an aura that was completely opposite to the one Bonnie was explaining number theory to a mere hour ago.
However, something about the whole situation bugged Bonnie.
Something about the fact that here she was, listening to Marceline play music that flowed through the air like an eagle in an up-draft.
She couldn't shake the feeling.
Something about it all seemed much too…
… familiar.
What was it?
Was it the music? The setting? Was it...
Unfortunately, Bonnie was much too exhausted to delve into the thought any further. She almost found herself being lulled to sleep by the entrancing music. Her head almost rested on Marceline's shoulder before she shocked herself back upright, stealing a glance at Marceline, making sure she didn't notice her little blunder.
As Marceline played the final chord to the piece, she turned slowly, meeting Bonnie's gaze. Each passing moment was a drip in the well of tension that seemed to exist between the pair.
"I wish you'd learn math like that," Bonnie said bluntly.
A huff of air left Marceline's lips as she gripped the leather of the stool's cushion, a small smile gracing her features.
"I could if it wasn't boring as shit," Marceline replied.
Another smile made its way onto Bonnie's face. "Got any more surprises for me?" she said.
There was a soft thump sound as Marceline closed the piano's fallboard. She looked back at Bonnie with a smug smile.
"Nothing that you should know."
A/N: Smh, this took me almost two months. More to come (and unlikely to take as long as this one did).