Marceline's kitchen was a mess. Finn had had the ill fortune of being inside the house when the Vampire Queen was voraciously hungry.
He had been sleeping the night he was taken. Barely awake, in fact. Drugged with sleep, for lack of a better phrase. Quite literally, he was taken from his room and made to satisfy Marceline the Vampire Queen's unearthly craving for a late night snack.
"I just got done beating the snot out of a nasty Why-Wolf and I. AM. HUNGRY. So you're coming over to my place to help me feed." Marceline had said somewhat insidiously to Finn.
In the event that an individual should find himself in the presence of Marceline the Vampire Queen when her stomach is emptied of all its contents then they had best equip themselves with all the garlic and wooden camping stakes a supermarket has to offer.
Unfortunately, Finn the human is ignorant of his friend's overwhelming need to feed. As a result, he has forgone the protection of anti-vampire weaponry in favor of unprecedented submission to the Vampire Queen's will and acceptance of his fate. "She's one of my bestest buds who needs my help" Finn had silently muttered to himself in order to quell the irritation that had sprouted upon being torn from his place of rest. "This'll only take a moment and then (pause for overextended yawn) it will be back to bed" he had said during his abrupt journey to Marceline's house. The candid human boy had no idea what the night would hold for him. This night, of all nights, would not see Finn leaving the cave.
Finn's trust in Marceline's sound judgment and benevolence was horrendously misplaced. It was most evident in the present state of the kitchen. Crimson colored liquid had practically painted the walls. Over drawers and on the fridge it was splattered. The excess fluids on the kitchen surfaces dripped onto the linoleum floor to form pools of red. If one had an affinity for spilled blood, then the sight of this scene to that person, or perhaps even vampires, would have been the bee's knees to them.
Even Schwabl, the poor zombie dog, had not escaped the disgusting mess. But he was long gone. Left to clean himself in the water outside the house.
Now, Finn the human, the last human in Ooo, quite possibly the sole surviving member of his species, lay barely alive in the house of one of the world's most infamous creatures.
"What the heck Finn!" Marceline cried as the sight of the kitchen mess hit her like a freight train.
A series of groans and moans was her response until finally: "Hmmm? Huh? What? I'll smack you with a turkey leg the Ice King." The words bubbled out of the tomato sauce Finn's face was marinating in.
"What happened to the late night snack you promised me? I asked for Ooo's famous spaghetti not Finn a la' rouge." Marceline continued to float above the sauce covered floor until coming to where Finn lay.
"Sorry Marceline I'm just…(insert second overextended yawn)…really tired. Couldn't you have had a late night snack like…I don't know around noon time? Don't vampires sleep during the day or something?" Finn's exhausted state reverberated in his voice. Though one needn't hear Finn to know he was in dire need of sleep. There was enough drool coming out of his mouth to indicate that much. A deluge of spittle had now occupied space on top of the spaghetti sauce; a pool of drool on a pool of sauce.
"Real nice Finn. Real nice." While Finn uttered his apologies, Marceline had moved onto the kitchen stove to investigate the cause of the explosion. It wasn't difficult to discern what transpired in the kitchen to catalyze the explosion. In Marceline's hands were a box of baking soda and a shattered bottle of something that exuded a foul odor. She took a whif.
"Vinegar." Marceline chuckled. 'Tired boy + baking soda and vinegar in kitchen = uncanny explosion.' Her stomach grumbled its remonstrations to unnecessary thought processes. When struck with the pangs of hunger one does not think, only feed. "Finn I'm taking some of your blood."
"Here take it." He gurgled into the unfinished pasta sauce."I gots no use for it."
Marceline knew that in his sleep deprived state Finn was not to be taken seriously. Never mind the bulging, corpulent veins; the fattened and ripe muscles whose sheer volume promised satiety and respite from Marceline's vampiric hunger. In short, it would be much preferable for the famished vampire to simply ignore the perfectly good snack in favor of lifting her blood filled friend into the bathroom where he could take care of his messy exterior.
"Nah thanks, I'm good." As soon as she said the sentence, Marceline's stomach growled again. "Why don't you take a shower instead. Obviously you're too sleepy to think clearly tonight to do anything." She grabbed Finn's arm and dragged him out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of gored tomatoes.
"Hey Marcy?" Finn whispered as he was pulled upwards through the hole leading into Marceline's bedroom.
"Yes Finn?" The vampire said, voice strained from having to lift 190 pounds of boy.
"You know what time it is?"
"Lemme guess. Is it…"
"Sleepover time." Marceline unceremoniously dumped Finn's sauce covered body into the tub.
"Nice." Finn said through closed eyelids. He rubbed the back of his head, hoping to assuage the pain of his cranium slamming against porcelain. "Hey, could you bring me some of my clothes in the closet?"
Marceline snorted. "Yes master."
He sat there in the bathtub, blinking at the light overhead that suddenly turned on. In the next moment he heard a thud on the floor and a slamming on the other side of the room that indicated he was alone. Numbly, Finn set about undressing himself and haphazardly tossing his soiled clothing somewhere in the corner. His hand turned the knob labeled H and soon droplets of steaming palliative water were washing away the sauce behind his ears. He sighed in relaxation. "Yeah, that's the stuff."
Sitting in a bathtub half awake did no favors for Finn the human's alertness. The only sounds his drowsy senses registered were the spraying of water from the showerhead and the pitter patter of each tiny droplet hitting the porcelain. Over time, he imagined that the droplets were his head hitting the bathtub repeatedly. "Yo Finn your sleeping on the couch downstairs tonight!"
'Yes, this bathtub feels like Marceline's couch." His breathing slowed until it ceased to be evident. The rise and fall of his pectorals was absent and gave no indication that he was breathing.
"Hey Finn, did you hear me?!" There was a severe knock on the door. Startled, Finn sat, back straight, in the bathtub.
"Yeah." His heartbeat was hammering in his eardrums. It was about the only thing he did hear. When he looked down, he saw that his skin was clean enough. Afterwards, he took a whiff of his armpits to confirm what he saw. 'Okay, still smell like tomatoes.' Finn frowned. He did not want to go to bed smelling like tomatoes, least of all seasoned tomatoes made with black peppercorns, salt, basil and all the other usual ingredients commonly incorporated into spaghetti sauce.
His eyes searched for a way to rid himself of the scent of savory skin and found a small assortment of pink and green plastic bottles standing next to the bathtub. Not wanting to stand up, he stretched his arm out from the edge of the bathtub and over to the toiletries. He brought the bottle up to his face and smirked at the label.
'I know what to make Marcy for dessert now.' He chuckled lightly as he squeezed a droplet of the bottle's contents onto his left hand. 'Wait. What if instead of smelling like spaghetti I smell like a strawberry tart?' Finn paused, held the oddly colored paste in his hand to his nose and inhaled heavily. The scent was very gentle, not overpowering. Instead of the overly sweetened product he was expecting, a slight hint of strawberries was all that Finn's olfactory senses detected. Satisfied, he liberally applied the body wash to his armpits and the rest of his body.
After a period of twenty five minutes spent washing, rinsing, drying and finally dressing in give up on life pants and boxers, Finn swung the bathroom door open and looked about the room before him.
His brain was extremely drowsy following the hot shower. In his debilitated state, his cognitive faculties did not register that he was supposed to sleep on Marceline's couch. Gazing at the round bed, Finn immediately ran towards it and jumped onto the sheets. 'This is the softest bed ever.' He thought. Laying supine in a bathtub too small for one's body make people believe such statements. For now, Finn simply enjoyed being comfortable in a bed. And now he was deep in sleep on someone else's bed.