Who Smells a Sitcom? (Marceline)

[Deleted]

Ever since that fateful day where an intergalactic stakeout in the hopes of providing the galaxy fresh, clean clothes that had a hint of violet lilac in each and every thread had gone wrong, Sam knew something wasn't kosher about this place. For one thing, he was completely naked, and nobody seemed to pay any mind to it! Naked in the sense that he didn't have any fur...not...naked in the sense that he wasn't wearing any clothes. Not only would that be traumatic experience for people's peepers, but it also makes for an inconvenient trip to the hoosegow! And second, his little buddy was nowhere to be found. There could be a chance that he was here somewhere, and they were just separated, but Beelzebub knows those two were like peanut butter and Worcestershire sauce. Delicious together only if you're a chain smoker.

But with those two tidbits to worry about, Sam knew he had to focus on how he could adapt without the need of his fur, and the assurance that he'll always have someone to watch his back. Even if that certain someone is wielding a sharp implement to stab said back, but that's what we call tough love. So without asking too many questions, Sam ignored much of the conspiracies and hoo-hah that went with these Tenebrae folk, and took up their offer to live in this twisted society. An offer that meant he had share a living space with another, and one he surely wasn't going to have a connection with like he had with Max. But hey, what can he say? Max was like a mole you want to keep for vanity reasons, but at the same time you're afraid that it may be cancerous.

Shrugging it off for now, Sam had taken one of the extra keys to the household, and took off in his two-toned colored DeSoto Adventurer to unpack his things which...thankfully wouldn't be much since he didn't do any shopping since he ended up here. Just his banjo, an extra suit and tie he kept in the trunk, and his Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum revolver which he affectionately dubbed as "The Big Gun". He could purchase more stuff later once he was finished adjusting to whatever this sickly sweet wonderland had to offer. Once he had pulled up to the house, Sam carelessly folded his suit so it could be wrapped around his banjo and firearm, then carried it while holding the housekeys with his free hand. Upon unlocking the door, he had then curiously peeked in to see what this place had in store...but the first thing he happened to notice was a charred fridge.

"Hot bareback gorilla on a relaxing evening at the zoo! Must be one of those 'reverse freezers' that burns your TV dinners instead of keeping them frozen. Well, at least the reason my baby corn is crunchy won't be because of freezer burn..."

[Marceline Abadeer]

So, like, excepting the whole fridge thing, Marceline hadn't done anything too terribly wild since coming here. There had been a few gigs, mostly to earn enough scratch to keep afloat. There had been that thing in the arcade. And she had sort of left a good portion of her edibles in a stranger's fridge, before getting said fridge more or less fixed. Sure, it still sort of looked like someone had decided that it was a good place to store something that was on fire. Details, really. Wasn't like she'd set a house on fire. This was mostly because she hadn't gotten that bored. Yet.

Today, she was doing what she mostly did every day: hung out and plucked at her axe. Which meant having long, delicate fingers plucking at strings and coaxing out sweet tunes, while a slightly dry, slightly ethereal, slightly wounded voice sent lyrics flowing through the air. Which mostly resulted in something akin to music, really rad music, actually, with a strange sense of heart and soul to it.

"~Left myself in another land
Said goodbye to my father and
passed along to this foreign land
this foreign land.

Gotta dig...~ Nah, that's not working," she mumbled, pausing for a moment, tapping the instrument/weapon. Tunes and lyrics wrapped themselves around melodies in Marceline's brain, mostly churning and doing a whole lot of nothing productive. She thought she was just stumbling on something when a loud noise drew her attention. she nearly jumped at that, turning to look at the door to her bedroom (where she'd been doing this. Obviously. It was that or the back yard, and after the whole incident with the squirrels...)

"Bareback gorillas?" she repeated, tilting her head. "~Bareback gorilla, chillin' in the villa, gonna thrillya,~ Hmm, not bad, not great though..." she tapped her guitar a bit before rising. Marceline slid the instrument onto her back, adjusting slightly so it wouldn't pull harshly against her black shirt or get tangled in her hair (thank God for ponytails). Soon, she was heading downstairs, and soon after that, she was seeing some guy standing there.

"That totally works," she said, nodding to the fridge. "I only set it on fire that one time."

She studied the guy for a bit, trying to figure him out. Weird, but then again, this place was nearly as odd as Ooo in its own way.

[Deleted]

So...this was home! Despite the freezer that was surely going to give his DiGiorno Pizzas more of an "unique" flavor than what he was anticipating, it wasn't too shabby of a place. Can't beat a nice, comfy bed when compared to sleeping on top of a hard, wooden desk while a rabbit tries to occasionally shove you off for some room. Oh, and what's that he was hearing? Music? Heck, this place can't be all bad if you have your own entrance music. It's like being in one of those television shows where you had background music to set the mood, and judging from the tune he was hearing he had to assume this show that he had the great pleasure of starring in was....Rock of Love with Bob Saget? What the blasphemous cross-dressing devil?

Oh, right. He had completely forgotten that he had a roommate, so he presumed it was them making those finger snappin' tunes. Well, it was great to know they had something in common. They both enjoyed making music comparable to an oasis of butterflies flowing through the eardrums straight to the willing grey matter! Maybe if he played his cards right, they could partake in what these kid's call "jam". But how would the collaborated efforts of an electric guitar and a banjo sound like? Probably like the sound you hear when you're strapped to a dentist chair, and you're getting your teeth drilled without novacaine to numb the pain. This was going to be a delightful experience indeed!

With those brief few moments of him enjoying what he thought was a malfunctioning fridge and composed music for a lengthy 90's sitcom, Sam was about to make his way upstairs to give his room a gander when he had been cutoff by his roomie in the flesh! Huh, right off the bat he knew Max would've liked this one. He was genuinely fond of anyone who enjoyed the free choice of self-harming one's own body with an ink laced needle. Turning his head over to the kitchen as she was gesturing to the fridge, Sam couldn't help but snap his fingers in a disappointed manner.

"Aww, fuzznuggets. I was looking forward to flossing Lean Pocket ash out of my teeth."

*CLANG!*

*BANG!*


...Unfortunately, taking the time to snap his fingers caused him to drop his stuff. Both his banjo and gun falling in front of his feet with the latter shooting a hole through the wall. Weren't first impressions great? Seemingly unfazed by it, he extended his hand to the girl.

"Salutations. Name's Sam. What's your handle?"

[Marceline Abadeer]

Marceline smirked at the guy, leaning against the wall with practiced nonchalance. Used to be that she could make her body practically liquid, which made for all sorts of cool postures and positions. She still retained some of that now, seeming almost too relaxed as studied the guy closely. To her credit, she didn't even flinch as things hit the ground. There was a slight twitch as the gun went off, and there was most definitely a blink. Her eyes flicked to the wall, took in the hole, then looked back at the guy responsible, who seemed completely at peace with the fact that his piece had just hit the floor.

"Marceline," she drawled, nodding. She extended a hand, snagging Sam's and working to perform a semi-elaborate variation on a shake. This ended with a nod toward the guy, then a nod toward the floor. "Seems like you dropped your piece. An' your gun too." She tilted her head slightly studying the two objects on the floor. People transferred with whatever they had on hand, which, for most people, meant either their most prized possessions or, well, random junk. Marceline was still waiting to find the guy who came over holding nothing but a rubber chicken and a pair of pliers.

"They say gun violence takes place most often in the home," she continued, her voice remaining perfectly level. She raised her gaze from the gun to its owner. "Not a fan of getting shot. I get this feeling like it would really hurt now," she tilted her hand to give her neck a scratch, which might have had the nice side effect of demonstrating the twin set of puncture scars on her neck. Not that she'd ever purposefully do anything like that. She was as innocent as a newborn babe, our Marceline was.