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Trees were always a nice find, regardless of where they were. They protected her from the wrath of the sun and often provided a sense of serenity that made her want to whip out her axe and play whenever she lingered in clusters of them for too long, filling the calm air with sad lyrics and rolling melodies. Today was no exception and Marceline found herself floating aimlessly through an icy forest as she played, not caring if she got hopelessly lost or not in the process, not that it really mattered if she did. She had no one to go home to. It was just her, her bass, and Hamboo, and no one else.
Somewhere along the way she’d apparently gained an audience in the form of an unruly old man in blue robes who happily trotted after her through the snow, humming her song out of tune and making incoherent commentary to himself as he listened and continued to follow after her. She simply shrugged it off at first, as this wouldn’t be the first time she’d gained an unintended audience, except when she turned back towards him a second time she found herself as frozen as the ground beneath her, her music coming to a harsh and sudden halt as she finally recognized who the unruly white hair and ridiculous blue mu'umu'u belonged to.
“You’re…”
Memories of a less elderly and more well-kept version of the man bombarded her. Every kind smile. Every silly song and gesture. Every worried glance when he thought she wasn’t looking… And every manic episode until he was rarely himself anymore and had run away from her just like her mom had done before she’d met him.
Her mouth fell open and closed like a fish, convinced that this had to be a dream or spell or something other than reality, but no matter how many times she tried to blink of image of the man away, he stubbornly remained.
Had he finally come back for her after all of these years? Had he finally managed to gain control over the madness that had been slowly devouring his mind and had turned him into someone he wasn’t?
She took a breath, and then another, waiting for him to say something, to do something, to run over to her and pet her hair while he apologized for ever having left her with the sorry excuse of a parent her actual father was… But he didn't. He just stood there and stared, recognition nowhere to be seen in his once vibrant eyes as his expression shifted from amused to disappointed.
“Why’d you stop playing?” He asked, voice tinged in confusion. Her heart lurched at how like himself he still sounded, outward appearances be damned.
She shook her head, ignoring his question entirely. “Do you remember who I am? Is that why you were following me?”
He visibly thought about it for a moment, his back straightening as he scratched at his shoulder and hummed to himself. “I don’t think so. I was just enjoying the music, was all.”
She shook her head once more, scolding herself for thinking his reply would be anything but. She knew what that crown had been doing to him and what it actively still was. Hoping for the gentle soul who’d raised her was nothing more than a lingering childhood naivety that she’d had yet to shake — yet despite knowing that, she still couldn’t help herself from hoping that maybe Simon was still in there, hidden deep beneath the madness clouding his once brilliant mind.
“Simon, it’s me: Marcy. I’m your—” She froze, the word daughter nearly slipping off her tongue before she could stop it. “I’m your… friend. Are you sure you don’t remember me?”
He didn’t even think about it this time, instead shaking his head as soon as the tail end of the question had left her lips. “Nope. Never seen ya before in my life. I’m sure of it… So are you gonna start playin’ again or am I gonna have to go find amusement elsewhere, because if the show’s over, then I’ve got no reason to stick around.”
Oh, Simon. If only you could see yourself, see how pathetic you’ve become because of that damned crown.
She sighed, blinking away hot tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks and began to pluck absently at her base for a moment, unsure of what she should do. Should she try explaining to him again that he knew her, or should she just leave? Oh, but that wouldn’t work at all, because the crown gave him the power of flight, so there was a chance he’d just follow after her, unable to take the hint that she wanted to be left alone and seeking an encore performance.
Simon sniffed, regaining her full attention once more as he glanced impatiently between her and her bass as he absentmindedly twirled a lock of hair around a clawed finger. She smiled sadly at him, having finally come to a decision.
“You know what? It’s fine if you don’t remember me right now, we’ll work on that part later. For now, I’ll just… play whatever you want to hear, OK? Anything you want. I Promise.”