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“Thank you for having us, professor.”
Bonnibel Banner manages a wry smile in an attempt at civility. Hunson always had a way of hiding his true intentions behind the tone of his voice, soured much like the expression his daughter had been wearing all night. Bonnibel knows why. She didn’t teach music. She was who Hunson wished was teaching his daughter, not Professor Petrikov, who had been off of work sick for the past few days.
“Of course,” Bonnibel responds behind her smile. She chances a glance at Marceline, still quiet and avoiding any and all eye contact, and Bonnibel’s heart breaks all over again for her. Hunson is hurrying her out of the building, hand hovering at her shoulder. Marceline would rather do as she’s told than go against him. “I’m always happy to help out Mr Petrikov.”
Hunson’s expression shifts ever so slightly. Bonnibel has met and knows too many parents to know exactly how to read one. He’s unhappy that Marceline’s actual teacher wasn’t there to be berated. As if Bonnibel would’ve let that happen, anyhow. “I really do wish we had more opportunities like these parent-teacher nights. It’s nice to have a little insight.”
“I’m sure.” Bonnibel nods.
Hunson gets a phone call and is busy for just long enough that Bonnibel manages to catch Marceline by the parking lot, stuck between wanting to put a hand on her shoulder and wanting nothing more than to take her away then and there.
“You’ve been quiet,” is all she manages to say, tilting her head to finally grab Marceline’s attention. “I’m sorry he started asking about your classes again.”
“Yeah,” Marceline mumbles, looking past Bonnibel to frown at her father. “I’m used to it by now.”
“You shouldn’t have to be used to him wanting control over your future,” she wants to tack on a pet name at the end of that, but they’re still on school premises. There are still other professors, students, and parents hovering around them. “You’re twenty.”
“Yeah, well,” she shrugs the shoulder that Bonnibel wants to stroke. “I’m not allowed to have that.” Bonnibel bites back what she wants to say. It’s rude and nasty, and despite everything, Marceline shouldn’t have to hear those things about her father.
Hunson is finished with his phone call and gestures Marceline over to where the car is parked. Bonnibel finds herself walking forwards.
“Please don’t argue with him,” is a quiet plea. So quiet, in fact, that Bonnibel had to look back at Marceline to check that she had even spoken. There’s a gentle terror on her face, lining her eyes and furrowing her brows, that almost makes her rethink. Almost.
“Your daughter is an exceptional student, Hunson,” she starts softly. She really doesn’t want to argue, doesn't want to argue, doesn’t want to go against what Marceline wants. But there’s no way in hell she’d let Hunson continue with his passive-aggressive parenting. “She’s doing amazing in our music program, better than most of our other students, and I think that removing her would be a huge disservice to her and the work she’s done.”
There was a pause as Bonnibel took a breath, watching as Hunson blinked and stared .
“I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me.” Bonnibel held in her confidence. “I can’t possibly pretend to know what happens behind your doors at home, but I’m certain that if I hadn’t been here in place of Professor Petrikov today, you’d have asked him yet again to reconsider her place in his classroom. Marceline is an adult, and she’s more than capable of being in control of her own education.”
Hunson stands a little straighter as if offended that Bonnibel had dared to insinuate that his daughter wasn’t allowed to be her own person. There’s a tiredness in his face, though, that Bonnibel takes as a win. “Marceline, hurry up and get in the car.”
“Way ahead of you, Dad,” is shot back over Marceline’s shoulder, having apparated by the passenger door. She’s not looking at Bonnibel anymore, and Bonnibel’s heart sinks. As Hunson clambers into the driver's seat, Bonnibel offers an apologetic look at Marceline, who returns a fragile smile.
Bonnibel mouths, “I’m sorry,” in hopes that it makes whatever argument Hunson starts a little less hard on Marceline. “I love you” is thrown in too, and Marceline’s smile wavers in a watery way.
Her response isn’t given. Bonnibel assumes it’s because Hunson was getting tired of waiting for the door to be closed. That’s fine with her, though. As long as Marceline knew she was loved, that’s all that mattered to Bonnibel. She’s all that matters.