Details in the Fabric - Old Version: Chapter Four
Marshall wakes up slowly at a snail's pace. He tries to remember where he is, without opening his eyes. What even happened last night? There… there was a window; something with watermelons… something with Patrick Swayze; and is-Marshall shifts, uncomfortable, and breathes in deeply-is that the smell of strawberries?
Oh.
He opens his eyes and grumbles, neck sore as he gains his bearings. He's splayed out on a bed, that damn cat pillow halfway under his head, making his neck crook at an awkward angle. Auburn strands of hair tickle his nose, and someone is curled up against him, and he can feel a hand gripping his sleeve, and a leg is positioned between his calves.
"Gumball! Are you up?"
Marshall's breath hitches in his throat. Gumball's mom thumps up the stairs.
Mrs. Prince is a woman with blue eyes and pale brown hair and freckles clustered on her nose. She has a chipped tooth and a scar on her cheek and she paints and draws every day. She has a soft voice and a laugh that sounds like church bells. She likes baking and gardening and always must have beautiful blossoms sprouting from the flowerbeds that are underneath the windows on the front of the house.
Marshall remembers meeting her, her big smile and gentle eyes, and liked her immediately. She's like a second mother to him, and sometimes she'll even buy him cigarettes if he asked nicely enough and said the right, sappy things that she always melts at.
But Marshall's always felt that there's something about her, something she's hiding. The way she gets a faraway look in her eyes sometimes, the way she pauses while cooking or talking or reading and has to leave the room afterward. Marshall has even caught her staring at him sometimes in a thoughtful way, her brow furrowed as if she's trying to remember something; or perhaps trying to forget.
Marshall remembers one day in the summer before freshman year he convinced Gumball to snoop around the house. "Relax," he had said. "No one's going to find us, you're parents are out."
"I don't know, Marshall Lee-"
Marshall cut him off. "Let's snoop around your mom's room upstairs." He referred to the room on the roof.
"But-"
Mrs. Prince's room was bright. The sun was up and it was eleven AM. The large windows were left open and a breeze came in. Marshall smirked at Gumball, who was looking nervous.
"Dude, relax."
"I can't believe we're doing this."
"If you really wanted to not do it you would've said-Hey." Gumball froze, head snapping up. He quickly dropped his hands to his sides. A trail of blood slid down between his thumb and pointer finger. Marshall glared. "Stop doing that, for Christ's sake," he said. Gumball swallowed and nodded and then immediately turned to the right, walking over to the bookshelf and bending down to open a chest next to it.
"It's locked," he announced. Marshall shook his head and pulled out a bobby pin from his pocket.
"Move aside." About a minute later he popped the lid up and pushed it, letting it rest on the wall. Gumball gasped and so did Marshall as they both looked down.
There were paintings, tons of them in varying colors. Some were in a café, others in a garage or outside or on a bed. They were all depicting the same woman. In some of them she didn't have on any clothes.
"Who is she…?" Marshall had whispered. Gumball reached in and pulled out a canvas, the one at the top of the pile. The woman was smirking, wearing a band t-shirt cut off at the midsection and sleeves. It revealed taunt muscles and a few tattoos. Cherry blossoms curled onto her belly from behind her back. Besides the shirt, which hardly counted for clothing, the woman was wearing nothing else. Her dark hair was long and had a few braids. The woman seemed to be going for dreadlocks. She had three moles lined up completely straight on her knee.
"She has your nose," Gumball muttered.
Marshall frowned. "What?" But Gumball was already holding up the painting, completely transfixed. He was biting his lip and if he had his other hand free, he'd probably be scratching the back of his hand. His brow was furrowed just like his mom's. It was the look Marshall saw often, when Gumball was reading or studying or thinking really hard.
"Nothing," Gumball had answered. He quickly put the painting back and closed the chest. They never looked in Mrs. Prince's room again, and they never brought the woman up either.
Now, Marshall's mouth falls open. His heart hammers. "That was my mom," he whispers. Below him Gumball stirs and the leg between his calves moves. The redhead stretches, joints popping.
"Whassit?" he mumbles. His voice is slurred.
Mrs. Prince is now in the hallway, Marshall can tell because her footsteps are louder. Marshall tries to push his friend off but Gumball stays, whining and closing his eyes again, burrowing deeper. Marshall groans, "George, for fuck's sake-" The door slams open.
"Up and at 'em, sun-Oh!" Mrs. Prince's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, but she immediately grins. Her hair is gathered in a ponytail and she's smeared flour on her arm. She's wearing a purple, baggy Michael Jackson hoodie that seems to have seen the worst and sweatpants which are grey. "Hello, Marshall Lee! I see you've visited yet again. We have a door, you know." She acts as if finding her son snoring on top of Marshall is a normal occurrence. Maybe it is.
"Um," Marshall swallows, grimacing down at Gumball. "Yeah."
Mrs. Prince hums, eyeing him in the way Gumball tends to do, as if she knows something he doesn't. She tells him to be downstairs in ten and whisks quickly away.
Marshall sighs. He drops his head back on the pillow and looks down at the thing on top of him, now curled up and drooling on Marshall's chest. "George," Marshall says. He shakes the boy a little. "Wake up."
Gumball snorts and jolts, snapping up suddenly, eyes wide. "Oh my god," he says. He scrambles off the bed and stands in front of his end table, frantically bending over and clutching his alarm clock. Marshall nonchalantly looks over his shoulder and sees that the clock is nearly unplugged. "Oh my god!" Gumball repeats. He shrieks and runs into the bathroom. Water runs and Marshall sniggers. Gumball comes out of the bathroom seconds later, face drenched because he hadn't taken the time to dry it off. "It's six forty-five oh my god!"
"Morning to you too, Princey."
"Shut the fuck up, Marshall Lee!" Gumball twists his hands together and hurriedly rips his shirt off, pulling it over his head which messes up his hair. He shucks off his shoes as he walks to his closet, opening the door and stepping inside. Marshall has the strange inclination to stare at the moving muscles of Gumball's back, at his surprisingly lean and strong arms and it takes everything in him not to.
Gumball steps out of the closet with a red sweater on and fresh jeans. He puts on his expensive shoes, some type of heavy duty moccasins that won't fall apart, and throws Marshall a bundle of clothing, catching the latter off guard. "Here," Gumball says as Marshall unties his boots. Marshall is surprised to find the clothes he's holding are actually his.
"I left these here?" he asks, befuddled. Gumball snorts, glancing at Marshall through the mirror whilst combing his hair.
"You've left tons of clothes here, Marshall Lee."
"Oh."
And Gumball suddenly gives Marshall this smile with pink lips and white, straight teeth and bright blue eyes and silky auburn hair and Marshall swallows thickly and gives him a small grin in return.
"Good morning," Gumball says happily.
Marshall stutters out a "Yeah" and focuses on getting dressed.
"So you coming tomorrow?"
Gumball looks up from his book. Marceline raises an eyebrow and Marshall Lee turns to them. "What?" Gumball asks. Marceline rolls her eyes.
"To the bar," she says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "To see us play."
"Oh!" Gumball's eyes go wide, and then he starts looking anxious. Marshall rolls his eyes and steals one of his friend's fries. "I don't know," Gumball says. "Bars are really… unsanitary. And loud, and gross, and the people there are always getting in fights and then someone comes in with a gun-"
Marshall snorts. "Is your dad watching those Western movies again?"
Gumball huffs, looking back down at his book as he mumbles, "Some of those are based off of real events, you know…"
"I wouldn't do it, Gum!" Finn adds in from across the lunch table. He looks up from his beat up Gameboy and Fionna scowls at him. Gumball looks up and Finn continues. "Man, that place is nasty. I saw some girls having sex on a table."
Gumball blanches and Marceline guffaws. "Don't listen Gumball, he's a liar. They were just making out, clothes on. Kind of. Anyways," she plows on happily, "Hutch keeps everything under control. Don't worry about it."
"Hutch?" Gumball asks.
"The owner," Marshall clarifies. "He's a cool dude."
"I don't know," Gumball says worriedly. "It still seems-"
"Oh for fuck's sake, Gumball!" Marceline loudly barks, swinging an arm around his neck. "Christ, you're the most sheltered person I know. This is going to be for your own good," she says, squeezing his shoulder with her hand good naturedly. "I promise."
Laney glares at him and then leans over the railing and spits. Marshall watches as she looks at the wad of saliva fall. His sister turns to him and leans against the bar. "Mom's pissed at you," she says. "She found the money."
Marshall swallows and looks away, lighting his cigarette. "God damn it." Laney gives a short, quiet laugh that isn't all that humorous.
"Yeah, that's what I said."
It's quiet, nearly six. Marshall shivers in his jean jacket. He looks up from the cement floor of the balcony and finds Laney staring at him. "What?" he asks.
Laney opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again, clearing her throat. "You don't have to try and help everyone, you know."
Marshall frowns and Laney smirks at him sadly. Inside the apartment a door is slammed shut. "Mom's home," Laney whispers.
Jennifer Hart is a hard-working, quiet woman, who has bared a lot in her life. She has jet black, straight hair, just like Laney's, and grey eyes. Freckles are scattered under her eyes and there's a scar that crosses horizontally on her nose, supposedly from a bar fight when she was in LA. She works as a waitress from four to five thirty, and then as a bartender from ten to midnight. Her bloodshot eyes are constantly dragged down by bags and ringed purple. She's bipolar and is an avid smoker, sometimes going through one pack in a whole day. Rich tells Marshall and Laney that she used to be very outgoing and loud and was very invested in music. Now, though, it seems that the fight-and the song-have been drained out of her.
"Hey, sweeties," she says. She tucks Marshall's long hair behind his ear and kisses Laney's forehead. She doesn't say anything about the money or the man, and Marshall stands anxiously as she sits down at the ratty kitchen table.
"Mom, why don't you go to bed? You look like shit. No offense," Laney says softly. Their mother rubs her eyes and rises, walking towards the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup. She downs it all in one and immediately goes for another mugful.
"I'm fine, don't worry." Jennifer Hart's eyes scan the apartment. "Jesus, this place is a mess."
"Me and Laney'll pick up," Marshall Lee pipes up. "Don't worry about it." His mother glares at him, drinks the coffee, and refills her cup again. Marshall doesn't say much more and his mother eventually, reluctantly, goes to bed.
"George!"
"Marshall Lee? Why are you using a pay phone?"
"Forget it, dude. Marcy's on her way to your place to pick you up."
"What? Marshall, it's nearly ten!"
"And the set starts at ten thirty!"
"Marshall, I told you guys that-oh-"
There's a bang and after several minutes of loud noises, shouts, and wrestling, Marceline's voice comes on the line. "Got him!" she pants, and the line clicks off.
Marshall smirks, nodding innocently at Gumball, who walks up to the building Marshall's leaning on and glares. The light above the door flickers as a mosquito taps against it. Gumball shivers, looking around the dank street accusingly, and Marshall rolls his eyes.
"Relax, tightass," he says. Gumball scoffs but says nothing and continues shaking in his fancy sweater and shoes. Marceline walks up to them with Finn and Fionna soon enough, and together, they all walk in the bar.
The ceiling is high, vaulted by large, thick strips of wood. It's basically just a warehouse, fancied up with a bar in the back and stage near the door and with wood paneling on the walls. Tall circular tables are spread out among the open floor, surrounded by cushioned stools that are fraying. People are laughing, drinking, talking, and occasionally hitting. Many people say hi to Marshall and Marceline and a few even nod at the twins as well.
Marshall turns to Gumball, who's looking around the place closely, inspecting everything. He accidentally bumps into a burly man with a thick mustache and squeaks, face going red. He hurriedly says goodbye and fidgets with his hands, moving closer to Marshall. Marshall huffs and swats at his friend's hands. "What am I going to do with you?" he asks. He nearly wraps his arm around Gumball's waist, but doesn't.
"Marshall!"
Marshall grins at the familiar voice and turns around. The drummer, a heavyset guy with long, brown, curly hair and permanent stubble walks over. His name is Gus. He dropped out of college and hails from Seattle, has tattoo sleeves and gauged ears, and is loud and outgoing.
"Hey, man," he says. Marshall smiles some more and nods. Gus turns to Marceline and they greet each other as well, Marcy slapping him on the back. Gus has already met Finn and Fionna and he frowns at Gumball, who swallows and leans into Marshall again. "Who's this?" Gus asks.
"His boyfriend," Marceline snickers. Marshall scowls at her and she mockingly apologizes, raising her hands in fake surrender. Gumball shifts beside Marshall and he takes a step forward.
"I can introduce myself, Marceline." He looks at Gus and beams, offering at handshake. Marceline snorts and Marshall curses under his breath. "I'm Gumball Prince," the redhead announces. Gus cocks his head as if Gumball is the most confusing thing in the world, and there's an awkward silence. Thankfully a loud bang breaks the tension before it gets too bad.
At first it's only Marshall who notices, because the music is loud and everyone in the bar is talking. Soon enough though everyone else sees who came in, and Marceline hurriedly beckons the person over.
Max Parsons is a college student majoring in business management and only because his parents forced him. He has short brown hair and tan skin. He's obnoxious and loud, but Marshall's used to it and it isn't even that bad.
"'Sup?" Max asks casually. He pauses and looks at Gumball, then smirks. "Jesus, who are you? Aren't you supposed to be at church or something, little boy?"
Gumball scowls. "Firstly, I don't like how you talk. You're very, very rude and abhorrent. Secondly, I'm as old as Marshall, even older, and I know that you're bringing up religion and church because you obviously think being committed to a certain faith is a sign of weakness. Therefore, you think I'm weak, probably because of my appearance or voice or maybe even for the ridiculously stupid reason that I'm currently wearing pink. Well, I'll have you know that I'm actually quite strong, thank you. I'm not exactly athletically coordinated but I can shoulder more than you may think. And even if I'm not the best at sports I make up for that in academics, which you seem to be lacking."
Marshall's eyes widen. Gumball hadn't even taken in a breath when he finished. It's a shame he doesn't want to be a lawyer.
Max stares at Gumball for a second. Then he glares. "What the fuck ever," Max spits out. "Fucking faggot."
"Hey!" Marceline hits Max upside the head. Meanwhile, Marshall turns to Gumball, who's simmering.
"Dude, you okay?" Marshall Lee asks tentatively. Gumball swallows.
"No," Gumball says. His hands are curled into fists and his voice shakes. "I don't like that fucking asshole." His Southern accent has made its appearance. Marshall frowns.
Their set is mainly a bunch of classic rock-Guns N Roses and Poison, etcetera. Marshall sings, smirking as he strums the guitar. The whole place seems louder, the crowd, the music as it reverberates across the vaulted ceiling. He keeps his eyes on Gumball, who's sitting with Finn and Fionna awkwardly at one of the small wobbly tables. Gumball looks up and smiles at him and Marshall beams back, and he sings a bit more loudly after that.
"You did great!" Gumball exclaims as Marshall steps off the stage. His friend's face is flushed and he's giddy and he's yelling over the loud bar.
"Yeah, sure, don't mind me, the fucking fabulous bass player," Marceline says. Gumball rolls his eyes and someone walks past and Marcy steals the person's beer, knocking it all back in one gulp. She leaves to get more.
"But we're not old enough to drink!" Gumball protests later as Finn hands him a beer. The blonde rolls his eyes and grins.
"Age is but a number, Gummy ol' pal," Finn slurs.
Gumball stammers but eventually accepts the drink-then accepts another and another until Marshall, who's tried to stay sober for Gumball's sake, tells him to slow down. Gumball surprisingly scowls and starts yelling over the music, about how he's his own person or something.
Max and Gus come up then and Max smiles wolfishly and says something Marshall can't make out, but Gumball apparently does because he whips his head around. "Don't fucking call me that!" Gumball nearly shouts. Max snorts and blows him off, turning to Marshall.
"Lee, tell him to calm the fucking down, for Christ's sake." Marshall averts his eyes and swallows, hoping no one noticed him flinch. Gumball gasps and Marceline curses under her breath.
"Don't call him Lee!" Gumball says, actually yelling this time. A few people look over and before anyone registers what's happening, Gumball's fist is flying, hitting Max, square in the jaw.
"Oh God," Gumball whispers "oh God, oh God, oh God!"
Marshall Lee retorts, "I don't think he's willing to help out."
"Shut up, Marshall! Oh, oh God…"
The night air is cool and it's far past midnight. Marshall lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, then exhales. The bitter wind tosses his hair. Marshall looks down, and what do you know, Gumball's again turned his hands into a bleeding mess. With the cigarette between his lips, Marshall pauses and sighs, and takes Gumball's hands in one hand, holding out his other expectantly. Gumball complains-"Are you seriously worried about this right now, Marshall?"-but relents ultimately and gives Marshall Band-Aids, which he perpetually carries. Soon, Gumball's hands are plastered with Hello Kitty and that penguin dude and that pink bunny, the Band-Aids put on carefully with Marshall's nimble fingers, calloused from years of playing guitar and piano.
He slaps the last one on and smiles, finally removing his cigarette from his lips. "There." Gumball's hands don't look any more presentable as before, but at least they're covered with cute shit rather than blood and dry skin.
Gumball sighs. He pockets his bandaged hands. "I can't believe I punched him," Gumball whispers.
"I can't believe you guys actually fought! People were taking bets, you know, as it was getting longer. Gumball the Pacifist in a bar-fight," Marshall says.
"My parents are going to kill me. Even if they don't find out about the fight, it's what-past one?"
"Yeah," Marshall Lee murmurs. "Sorry."
"It's fine… You don't really like him, do you?" It's a genuine question and it catches Marshall off guard.
"What?" he asks. Gumball looks at him, eyes steel.
"He's a complete asshole, Marshall, you know it."
"Well, I… He's-never been that bad before. I don't know why he was acting like such a douchebag."
"I know why," Gumball says. But they're at his house now and his parents are probably waiting and Marshall can't talk to him about it any further. Gumball looks at his front door nervously and then back at Marshall. He leans in and kisses Marshall's cheek, leaving the latter flustered.
"Um-" starts Marshall, but Gumball has waved and is walking into his house.
A/N: Well holy fucking shit this is a month late. I said was going to make it a quick update too. Don't believe me ever again ok.
I am so mad at myself for not writing this soon enough. A big chunk was writer's block, another part was some personal stuff, and lastly I was just being a huge lazyass.
Max and Gus are important! And I hope you like Marshall and Gumball's mothers. I also really, really love Laney and I want you guys to like her too. She's a huge supporting character.
Please review. I won't promise anything because I promised last time and look where that got me, but I'll try to make the next update quicker. I'm really sorry, again.