blue wind gets so sad / marceline [day 1]

blue wind gets so sad / marceline [day 1] Feb 20, 2024 9:42:36 GMT -5

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Post by d8 🐀 setta furey on Feb 20, 2024 9:42:36 GMT -5

What’s going to happen to them? Marceline asks herself as she stitches up her cheek. The action is familiar, but ultimately uncanny – she’s used to sewing, but not like this. There’s nothing comforting. The skin on her face isn’t calloused like the skin on her fingers is; the needle stings on each pass through her flesh. Marceline ties it off, satisfied that her skin isn’t going to peel off, or freeze and break away in the cold, and traces the lumpy stitches with her thumb. They feel childish, and for the first time in years, so does Marceline. Her face, which her mother and sisters always took in their hands to kiss and that her stylist coveted so, is now permanently marred. But that’s okay – she has her hands. As long as Marceline has her hands, she’ll be okay.

With her hands, Marceline can make anything. Her hands are never idle. They keep her busy. There’s always something to be done, some patch to be sewn or some sweater to be darned. There’s always a child, or a doll, or a child and their doll who need dresses. There’s always a wedding, or a funeral, or a birthday party that someone wants a new outfit for. And Marceline, who was never one for socialising, was there in her own way; standoffish as she could be, Marceline has always been surrounded by community. It’s only now, in this cold, lonely place, that she realises how much that meant to her. She’s been able to live pigheadedly independent in peace because the option to reach out was always there. Marceline, willfully solitary, was never really alone. When she looked up from her busywork, there was always a smile awaiting her.

Here, it’s different. She has Váli and Hal. She has Garnet too, maybe. Sort of. But she’s useless.

Useless isn’t quite it, she admits. Marceline gulps down her painkillers with her newly purified water, and looks off into the distance. She can feel the pills every inch of the way down her throat. Only one cannon has gone off all day, and Marceline is the one who lit the dynamite. After that, she ran, arriving somewhere between denial and disgust. Now, hours later, Marceline can’t help reflecting on – well, not the moment. She can’t think about the moment. The impact. The crack. She can’t help wondering what it all says about her. Marked out by her new blue eyes, Marceline is undoubtedly changed; she just hasn’t figured out how yet. Maybe change is her new perpetual state. Can she ever make peace with the two versions of herself? The two sets of hands attached to her wrists? She stands up, looking back in the direction of Váli and Hal. She felt bad for wandering off, but she needed time for herself. She needed time to clean up. Regardless of her realisations, Marceline still couldn’t let herself do something as intimate as stitching up her own face in front of others.

Just then, she hears a noise. A tribute? Marceline ducks, shuffles behind a craggy boulder. From her new point of view, she can see a crumbling, charcoal cottage. Its walls look like they were made out of softened ash in the first place. From behind it, something emerges.

table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !

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blue wind gets so sad / marceline [day 1] Feb 20, 2024 12:02:16 GMT -5

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Post by d8 🐀 setta furey on Feb 20, 2024 12:02:16 GMT -5

A… spider? The thing that rounds the corner is definitely a spider, about the size of Marceline’s splayed hand. Did it make the noise then? She wondered. It looked too small, too delicate. After checking her surroundings, Marceline approaches it. It seems like it somehow already knew she was there, like it was waiting for her. Her feet crunch in the snow, an uneven sound thanks to her slight limp. The painkillers haven’t quite worked their magic yet. She crouches down next to the spider and holds out one of her wretched hands — but the spider doesn’t know what she’s done, or if it does then it doesn’t care. It climbs up. Now that she’s looking at it closely, Marceline can see it’s just about the size of her palm. Its legs tickle, but it isn’t unpleasant. Far from it.

Marceline lifts her hand — the spider crawls around it, and starts delicately spinning its web around her outstretched fingers. Marceline feels herself tearing up; but it’s not unwelcome in this cold. Her tears are somehow still hot, running down her cheeks.

Ah, you’re like me, she says, voice quiet. She feels a little silly for talking to a spider. She’s never had a pet before. And you don’t have one now, she reminds herself. She’s doing her best to take care of herself, to take care of her allies. She can’t take responsibility for this little thing’s life too. But if it wants to come along with her, who is she to say no? They can be companions.

The spider seems to understand. It’s able to read her damned blue eyes, and crawls up onto her shoulder. Her eyes aren’t something she can explain concretely — but Marceline has a pretty good idea of what they signify. There’s one thing that sets her apart from the others in the arena. One done feed. The other creatures she’s caught glimpses of look sweet, with puppy dog eyes and brushable hair. Her new friend is different too. Weird, and marked out from the others, like she is now. She doesn’t feel any better about it all, doesn’t think she ever will, but for now all she has to do is survive. Everything else can come later. Marceline stands to attention, and moves to check out the charred cabin, while she’s nearby. After this, she has to get back to the others.

The cabin — no, the whole woods, in fact, don’t feel as imposing, now that she has her new friend. She decides not to name it; wouldn’t that be imposing? They’ll both likely be dead within a week. They’ll live together on their own terms.

scavenges the charred cabin

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7 - Scarf (-1 weather damage)

table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !

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