This story was one of great length; one which starts before it even begins: A drop of liquid, a good intention warped and twisted. And so too shall it end, but for now see a grave. Simple a grave is it, and it sits on a small hill bare of all markings, and smoothed and worn by ages of weather. More a part of nature than made has it become, the headstone is barely visible in the moonlight. A stillness falls, remains, the entire absence of noise replacing the mere silence of the night. Blades of grass stop swaying in what wind scrapes over the hill A drop of liquid falls to the dirt, eagerly devoured. The soil begins to shift.
Now, a look out from the hill, time shifts forward two weeks.
In the distance can the shape of a castle be made out. Turrets gleam and shimmer in the sun, bubbles gently rise into the air above as small townsfolk move about their daily routine in the city below. A stranger moved among the crowd, taller than most of the candy people surrounding him. A white hat covered his head, torn in several spots and patched in far more. He waved, a wisp of pale yellow hair gently fluttering across his face, free of it’s woolen confinement. A sword is strapped to his backpack, past the point of being well used, and more into the realm of scrap metal; it dully shines, edges chipped away by far more than just age. A dog walks beside the boy, and surprisingly is the one who is talking currently.
Observe now the heroes of this story…
“I’m just saying, it’s not that hard.”
“Jake, I told you. No.”
The dog casually reached up and stretched an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “You know you want to, Finn.” A faint blush crept up onto Finn’s face at the words, saying much more than his shaky rebuttal. He shook his head. ”Sh-she said no once, and that’s enough for me. Besides, I’m thirteen, and she may as well be thirty then.” He stopped, as he caught the distracting glint in the dog’s eye. ”Meta… metarfo…” he stuttered, searching desperately for the word, then gave up. “I didn’t mean that, so don’t tell her. Or Lady.” The dog adopted a look of innocence that only puppies can usually achieve. Big, saucer eyes looked up at Finn. “What, me? Tell everyone you just called PB thirty? I’d never!”
As the debate raged back and forth, the two managed to wind their way towards the castle’s front door. Heavy set, it loomed before them. A guard standing beside the door came to a sharp attention, his armor rattling in many place it probably should not have; pieces of the armor moved strangely, and the guard’s figure wobbled and shook. The only logical explanation might be that the guard was melting, made of some sort of moving substance, or made up of more than one person; perhaps a lot of small people trying to be one big person.
“State your business,” said the knee.
“It’s the heads job to say that, idiot!” retorted the stomach, followed by a dull thudding sound.
The face tried to look apologetic. “Excuse that, good sirs. Please, state your business.”
Finn tried to keep a straight face, as he answered, “Our business is with the princess. She asked for us.”
The guard nodded, and motioned them inside, the heavy doors swinging shut behind them. Before them led a short hallway into the Great Hall; the scene of many fancy banquets and diplomatic meetings. Servants darted to and fro, nearly invisible to the untrained eye. One servant the pair did miss, though, was Peppermint Butler. Usually he was there to greet guests of the princess.
“Hey, Finn, where do you think Peppermint Butler is?” Jake asked.
A shrug was all that Finn could give as they worked around towards the stairwell. Only their footfalls broke the silence as they proceeded upwards, the soft murmur of wind barely whispering through minute cracks in the mortar. A door was at the top, which Finn knocked on lightly. ”It’s us,” he called, “Finn and Jake.”
Bubblegum’s whisper barely reached them. “Come in.” She sniffled.
Had she been crying? As they slowly pried the door open, they saw the princess on her bed, royal dress on as always. Her smooth face was streaked in rivets of pink tears, which she hurriedly wiped away with one of her dainty hands, and plastering on a smile. “I-I’m glad you’re h-here…” She stuttered after a moment’s hesitation. With an immense sigh, followed by a shudder her figure produced as if to try and hold back tears, she stood…. But she seemed weak, as if something weighed on her mind and her body enough to make her walk in an unstable way. Finn caught her as she swayed slightly. Worry creased his face as the boy walked the princess over to the bathroom, in case she was or would be sick in some way; it was in fact the way she wanted to lead him anyhow, but she did not give hint to that the bathroom was where her problem lied, literally, yet.
“What’s wrong, PB?” he asked, voice full of concern. She motioned him away from her a little, as she gripped the handle on the bathroom door. It almost seemed as if the handle was a pin holding her to the wall of life, and health.
“It… It’s P-Peppermint Butler.” She pushed the door open a crack. Finn and Jake peered in, and quickly wished they hadn’t.
Oh Glob, the blood…