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MARCELINE JERKS AWAKE, hands grappling at sheets as she sits up gasping like a drowned woman, the thunderous drumming of her heart ringing in her ears.
Where was she?
She doesn't need a second glance around the neat mess of a room she was in to know that it was Bonnibel's — the girl loved pink, so practically everything was of varying shades of the exact same colour, and even the bed she lay in had a pink pillowcase and bedsheets.
A low meow comes from the other end of the room, near the door, where a wardrobe stands at the foot of the bed, and a small, pink cat hops up onto the sheets, putting a paw forward over Marceline's covered leg tentatively, its yellow eyes boring straight into hers.
Wait—pink cat?
"Goliad, don't," the door's nudged open, and Bonnibel shuffles in with a tray, her pink hair tied up in a loose ponytail. She stares, for a good few seconds, at Marceline sitting up in the sheets ogling the feline with her mouth open. "Don't mind him."
"He's—" Marceline gasps when Goliad leaps onto her lap and sniffs her curiously. "—pink."
"Yes?" Bonnibel cocks a brow, setting the tray — on which sat a quaint little kettle and a cup that looked like it had come straight from an English tea house— down on her nightstand. "I dyed him."
"Cool," Marceline reaches a hand out to pat his fur, openly gaping at the softness beneath her skin. "I've never seen a pink cat spirit before, though. Have I been away from the Nightosphere this long—"
"No, you idiot, dye, like, you know, what I did to my hair?" Bonnibel deadpans, indicating the top of her head.
Marceline just gives her a blank look.
Bonnibel groans, pointing aggressively to herself again. "I coloured my hair?"
Marceline blinks in surprise, looking back down at Goliad nuzzling into her palm. "Oh, I thought it was natural."
"You can't be serious."
"How'd I know? Maybe humans evolved to—I don't know—spout more...hair colours?" Marceline gasps when Goliad promptly nestles into her lap, a small squeal leaving her when the cat turned on its back, an invitation for a belly rub. She enthusiastically runs her fingers through his fur, and he purrs, eliciting another slew of excited coos. "I mean, doesn't LSP have purple hair? And a lot of the humans at the swimming pool had coloured hair too."
"Oh glob," Bonnibel mumbles exasperatedly, reminding herself that this was a thousand-year-old vampire she was dealing with — but this wasn't even her most pressing issue. "Where's Neddy and Aunt Lolly?"
Marceline's shoulders tense, her hesitation palpable in the air. Bonnibel couldn't care less, however. She had spent several hours fretting over both Marceline and the whereabouts of her family, and though she—at least—found both of her cats hiding in the backyard earlier, it wasn't quite enough to shake that nasty feeling that settled in her gut. Coupling the almost-certain fact that Marceline was involved somehow, it was safe to say that Bonnibel was well beyond worried now.
Marceline looks away, and impatient, Bonnibel yanks her swivel chair from her desk, drags it to the bedside and drops down onto it.
"Marceline, you've got to tell me what's going on," Bonnibel says firmly, and the vampire chances a glance at her before turning away once more, still as silent as a thought.
A distant look's in Marceline's eyes — something aghast, something horrified, something that told of what she had seen hours before. It definitely hadn't been pretty. In that instant, it was as if they weren't just arguing about hair dye a few minutes ago.
"My dad," she begins, smoothing Goliad's fur mindlessly as he meows softly up at her. "He took your family."
Bonnibel freezes.
"I'm sorry," Marceline drops her gaze weakly, her words and voice unstable. In all the years she had ever known Bonnibel, she had come to learn that she cared for her family to an entirely-different extent. No matter how invested she was in science, nothing ever presided her love and care for her family, and Marceline had taken the people she loved the most from her. "I should've never, never come back. This is...this is all my fault."
In truth, it had been ever since the very beginning. Time did little to quell the looming feeling of guilt that clawed at her chest and hung off her back, though she scoured landscapes of all kinds, sought out people of all kinds in a poor, pathetic attempt to relieve some of that burden. Ever searching for Phoebe's reincarnation was a mistake.
"—celine! Marceline!"
Marceline snaps her gaze to Bonnibel, who had already stood up and was in the motions of slinging a pink backpack over her shoulders, an impatient look on her face. She gapes.
"Are you coming or not?" Bonnibel cocks a brow, adjusting the strap of her bag.
Of course. She'd always been the more emotional one.
"You're okay, right?" Bonnibel continues, backtracking when Marceline releases a shaky breath.
"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine," Marceline manages to cough out, and she gently sets Goliad down on the bed, smooths her grey singlet, then stands up, still feeling a little wobbly on her feet. Bonnibel sends her a disbelieving look, but nevertheless waits for Marceline to make her way slowly to her side. "Wait—ah—where're you going?"
Bonnibel looks at her like she's spouted two heads. "Aren't you leading the way?"
"What?"
She definitely wasn't intending on going back this soon, not when she had incurred her father's wrath like that, but there was still the overarching problem of him holding Bonnibel's aunt and brother hostage. She probably had to do something about them — soon. Just not right then.
"Well, your father's got them, right?" Irritation is starting to seep into Bonnibel's voice now, and Marceline looks down at her, at how blue eyes demand her for answers or initiation of some kind. "We are going to get them back...right?"
Her voice trembles at the end of her question, and Marceline breathes in slowly and runs her hand through her hair.
"Yeah," she sighs, dropping her arm and offering Bonnibel what was, hopefully, a comforting smile. "Yeah, of course."
The logical side of her yells itself hoarse at her, but for some reason, her body steers her forward, and she reaches out, looping a loose arm around Bonnibel's shoulders to bring her flush against her chest.
Bonnibel doesn't resist. She doesn't when Marceline gently nuzzles her nose into her hair either.
"Just give me a little bit of time," Marceline breathes, and Bonnibel feels how much the thin body trembles against her. Cautiously, she reaches out to embrace Marceline too, her arms encircling around her waist.
At Bonnibel's tentative touch, Marceline tenses, then relaxes. Right — she was here, safe. She almost didn't dare to breathe, lest that horrid, nightmarish stench of charred skin plagued her senses again. That vision remained ever so clear; a ghostly reminder of the atrocities she did, of gnarled hands that would never let go of her.
"Okay," Bonnibel says, slightly breathless. "Just a little bit."
