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MARCELINE WAS WEIRD, for lack of a better word. There was just a certain aura that she managed to exude, one that made Bonnibel feel as if she were hanging around someone otherworldly. She hadn't been able to explain why Marceline could bulldoze her way past people like it was nothing, how she used outdated words quite often, how her presence could so easily be missed — as if she were a ghost of some sort.
She watches Marceline take a sip of water from a plastic bottle, and Bonnibel wonders, for the hundredth time, how her hair could look so impossibly, indescribably soft, another of her more unnatural qualities. She ponders how it'd be like to run her fingers through them–
"He's got...a 'thing' for you, right?"
Marceline was starting to pick up some teenage lingo at last, though it was unclear why she spoke so...oddly.
Bonnibel jerks herself out of her thoughts and glances in the direction of Marceline's gaze to see that it was on Finn, who was fooling around in the swimming pool with Jake.
"I have a feeling," Bonnibel replies, staring down at her palms, which were in her lap.
The notion of liking someone was entirely foreign to her; though she found certain people attractive (for instance, the lifeguard lazing in her chair beside her), she never quite got around to developing a crush or anything of that sort.
It never did affect her, so Bonnibel merely watched–studied–the people around her falling in and out of love. She didn't understand the point of love; why would someone go back to a person who single-handedly tore their heart out of their chest?
Marceline's green eyes remain on her as she lounges on the lifeguard chair, her face shrouded in the shadow cast by the shade, but they soon flit back to the pool she's supposed to be watching.
"You don't like him back?"
"No."
"Why?" Marceline tilts her head, a mischievous grin on her lips. "He's nice, cute, and I personally love his hair."
Finn laughs in that moment, trying to drag his resisting step-brother into the water, presumably to force him to do an underwater handstand. His long, shiny, luscious blonde hair could easily rival Rapunzel's, Bonnibel feels, just that his wasn't as long. There was no denying that she liked him, but that feeling hadn't developed into something more. Truth be told, she personally felt that she was better off single — she would be an awful partner.
"Just not feeling it," Bonnibel replies curtly, picking up her book. "Besides, I don't want a relationship."
She feels Marceline's searing gaze on her as she flips a page and continues reading up on ribosomes, and she mentally prepares herself for the same questions that people always asked her.
"I wouldn't say that."
Bonnibel lowers her book. No question on her opinion about relationships? No question on why?
