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Huntress Wizard finds that the casual ways in which she treats Finn do not translate to his AU counterpart, Fionna. Elusivity will not satisfy her accidental roommate one bit.
“What's this doing on my table?” Fionna gestured to her table. Normally home to other junk which was now on the floor, it now held up the butchery of a doe.
Huntress Wizard ran water in the sink, drinking in through her hands as the doe's blood ran down the drain. “It's dinner.” She turned off the faucet. “Know anyone with a smoker?”
Fionna rubbed the sleep from her eyes and blinked away the beast. “Gary's folks might?” She last saw Huntress four nights ago, heading out as Fionna got home sitting and bitching with Marshall Lee, Ellis P., and Hunter about property rights and rent. Huntress rooted through Fionna's cabinets. “Heading back out?”
“Got any twine?” Huntress pushed aside a toolbox and half a box of batteries.
“Drawer above that,” Fionna began, “When will you be back?”
“Dinner.” She tied the carcass to keep in from jostling as she carried it. “There's some marinating in the fridge for later.” She pulled on her boots.
Fionna squinted, “Hey those are mine! Get your own, you wad!” She shook a fist in expression.
“No money,” Huntress turned out pockets that were also borrowed. “Might get some for a side of this,” she shrugged the doe over her shoulders and opened the door.
“I'm not even sure they have a smoker —”
“If they came to your mind, they probably know where one is at least.” Huntress stepped out, and the door swung closed behind her. Fionna stood in her apartment, staring at the blood on the table and the unusable viscera in the trash. There was less than she'd thought, then remembered Huntress saying ‘waste not’ on several occasions.
“Agh!” Fionna fumed, and she searched for sanitizing wipes.
Huntress knocked twice on the Prince’s door. She heard shuffling about and a muffled “Bubba will you get the door?”
Gary opened the door, the smell of cheese and potatoes wafting out the door. “You’re dressed like Fionna — what is that?!”
“Deer. Is your dad home?”
“Yes, what are you doing here?”
“Fionna said your dad might know where to find a smoker.”
“But he doesn’t smoke and I don’t think his friends do — oh you meant for the deer.” Gary kept a few feet of space from the girl wearing baggy clothes with the dead animal. “Okay,” he turned about, “Dad it’s for you.”
The short pinkish man appeared with his wife, “Oh you must be one of Bubba’s friends. Quite a catch ya have there!” He looked over it. “So watcha gonn do with that?”
“Fionna said you might have a smoker. I didn’t want to fill her freezer. Oh, do you know a tanner?” She cocked her head, and Gary shrunk back, out of his element and disappeared further into the apartment.
Mr. Prince responded immediately, “Oh me and the boys used to go hunting back in the day. There’s a butcher in east - town, he can help you deal with that and get the hide dealt with.” He gestured her inside, “Why don’t’cha set that on the tile there, I’ll write you the address. Coffee?”
“Black.”
Mr. Prince poured a mug and pulled a seat from the kitchen table for her. “My old pa used to feed the family off catch; brought me with.” He found a pad of sticky notes and a pen. “You got a hunting license?” Huntress shook her head. “Why don’t I buy this one off you, and we’ll get you proper papers before your next.
“I want half of the meat smoked and I want the leather.”
“Done; whatcha want the leather for?”
“Boots. Belt. I dunno.” She slurped her coffee.
Mr. Prince eyeballed the doe; “I can give you half of what it’ll fetch, how’s $75 sound?” Huntress narrowed her eyes, considering his mannerisms and intent. “I'll have my son get it to you once it's smoked.”
“Deal,” she stood and shook his extended hand. Mr. Prince fished through his billfold, tucking a roll of bills into her hand and patting it twice. “Why don’t’cha stay for lunch, finish your coffee?”
Huntress hovered by the door, hand on the knob. “It's casserole,” Gary chimed in, approaching. Then more quietly, “Would you stay? I want to pick your brain about Fionna.” She released the knob and nodded. “Nelly, lunch!” Gary called out.
The Princes set the table, dishing a heap of casserole on each plate, then a side of buttered green beans. Nelly showed Gary characters in her sketchbook while he asked about their character traits. Mr. and Mrs. Prince chatted about several various topics; sales, community events, Gary's professional baking projects, Nelly's recent zine submissions, and occasionally directed a question to Huntress. She scarfed down her portion and answered in three words or less. Mrs. Prince topped off her mug. She watched each of the Princes, assessing what Gary might want to ask her. A few times she caught Nelly watching her from behind her sketchbook; Huntress angled her head to let leaves hide her face and occupied her hands by folding napkins into various birds.
The Princes finished and cleaned up. Nelly returned to her room, and Mrs. Prince offered “Why don't you take the rest to go?” She poured her coffee into a travel mug, “this was a freebie from my dentist — you can keep it and I can get some cupboard space back.” She tucked it into her hand before she could answer, patting her hand twice. Gary leaned down to hug his parents, then motioned Huntress to the door.
“Remember to get a license; the Game and Parks office can set you up,” the short man added.
Huntress stepped into the hallway with Gary, who nodded his head toward the stairs and began walking. “So what's going on with Fionna right now?” His voice rose and his eyebrows furrowed.
Huntress cocked her head inquisitively, “What do you mean?”
“You're living with her. How does she pay rent?”
“Dunno.”
“What do you mean you don't know?” He opened the door to exit the building.
“Haven't asked. We don't talk much, I guess?”
Eyes widening in bafflement, Gary pushed on. “You've been there how many weeks now?”
“Four? I'm gone half the time anyway.” She wondered why he wanted to know, but reasoned that she didn't need to know and decided not to ask. Gary stopped and examined her expression, searching for something. Huntress continued, “I'm either hunting or dealing with shit in Ooo. The Finn situation isn't great.” Gary's eyebrow raised, and she felt she'd said too much.
Gary sensed this, and changed topics. “Where are you headed? Can I give you a ride?”
“I'll walk,” and the two parted. She didn’t want to be cornered into answering questions; what she said was on her terms or not at all.
Fionna bagged up the last of her sanitizing wipes with the offal and added another item to her grocery list. The whiteboard never really got erased, she just added more items and looked at it before deciding what to actually buy.
The gap in her wall left by the Scarab's assault was convenient. If Fionna had garbage, she only needed to drop the bag straight into the dumpster. She held the sack out, dropped it, and turned away in time to hear a thunk. The lid was closed. Fuck. She decided that she'd deal with it when she next went down. Her formerly table - junk sat now on chairs and the floor, and she bent down to put some of it away. She scooped up a pile of mail, recycling ads and setting some aside for later. Fionna came to an envelope sent from a Martine Campbell and tore it before recycling it unread. She plopped down on her bed, sighing that that was enough cleaning.
“Mother of shmow — what am I doing?” Fionna saw her clock read 1:03 PM, while she had a job interview at 1:30. She found suitable clothes, lint rolled them, spritzed some deodorant, brushed her teeth, and put her hair in some semblance of order before rushing out the door. “I’ll be back for you!” she shouted, passing the dumpster. Running for the bus stop across the street, Fionna slammed into the side of a car that just stopped. Gary screamed from inside, rolling down the passenger window.
“What the flip! Are you trying to donk up my car?”
Groaning, Fionna picked herself up. The bus came and went. “Can you give me a ride, pleeeeeeease?”
“I was just about to go for ingredients,” Gary’s eye twitched but he said in seemingly high spirits, “Where can I take you?”
“The community playhouse, please.” She buckled in.
Gary chuckled, annoyance dissipating. “Sure thing, Fionna.” After a couple blocks, he inquired “So why the playhouse?”
“Madame Bufa needs a new assistant.”
“Wowwww.”
“I’ll look great on stage!” She boasted nonchalantly.
Gary laughed, “You’ll knock her dead.”
She caught him with a small dig in the shoulder, “Thanks, but I’m sure that would put me down an employer.” Gary softly smiled, but it didn’t quite touch his eyes.
“I really think this one might work out for you,” he dropped the joking and raised his brows in sincerity, but Fionna already had the door open and turned away, the din of traffic partially obscuring his voice. Fionna hopped out, and beat feet to the playhouse door.