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Grass Finn Bullshit
"Finn!" Jake cupped a hand beside his mouth, the other six or seven busy putting away their haul from the Bargain Kingdom (a store, not a government, for once). A ninth hand sprouted to gently retrieve the vuvuzela from where BMO was absconding with it. "You hungry, buddy? They had a huge special on boar meat, I'm thinkin' sloppy joes!"
"THEY LEFT!" Neptr chimed in, sullenly, from his perch on the stair. "FATHER AND GRASS FATHER. NOT NEPTR."
"Oh yeah. Well, don't sweat it Neptr, that chicken coop is the kinda thing that changes a man. Better to skip it."
"NOT A CHICKEN COOP, A DUNGEON ADVENTURE."
Jake's coordinated dance of arms flagged for a moment, doubt curling in his gut. The prickle of concern was followed immediately by guilt. What the hell was he worried about? Two Finns were better than one. He could stand to cut Fern a break, even in his own thoughts.
"Welp, you can help me on a culinary adventure if you want." Jake's gaze dances from the meat to Neptr. "Whaddya think about Sloppy Joe Pies? Has a nice ring to it..."
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The sun was slung low in the sky by the time Jake heard the familiar sound of Finn's return up the treehouse steps. Alongside the involuntary prick of his ears, the dog feels a smile start to spread. No matter how capable the kid (teenager) had become over the last decade, Jake was pretty sure he'd never lose the sense of relief that came over him when Finn came home safe.
Lately, lingering misgivings aside, those feelings were starting to blossom towards Fern as well.
"Hey boys!" Jake lets the smile grow to a grin, craning his neck over the arm of the couch. "Y'all have fun out there?"
Jake felt suddenly cold, as if some cosmic entity had reached its hand down and pinched out the contented flame and safety of home. His voice lost its usual buoyancy, standing up from the couch.
"Wait, what happened?"
Finn said nothing, standing there looking as if he'd been through a woodchipper. Blades of grass clung to his hair, his clothes, even stuck to the razor sharp line of blood at his exposed stomach.
"I know that look!" BMO chimed in, sounding pleased to be the one with the answer to Jake's question. Neither the boy or the dog seemed to hear him in that moment. "You just killed someone."
"THEY LEFT!" Neptr chimed in, sullenly, from his perch on the stair. "FATHER AND GRASS FATHER. NOT NEPTR."
"Oh yeah. Well, don't sweat it Neptr, that chicken coop is the kinda thing that changes a man. Better to skip it."
"NOT A CHICKEN COOP, A DUNGEON ADVENTURE."
Jake's coordinated dance of arms flagged for a moment, doubt curling in his gut. The prickle of concern was followed immediately by guilt. What the hell was he worried about? Two Finns were better than one. He could stand to cut Fern a break, even in his own thoughts.
"Welp, you can help me on a culinary adventure if you want." Jake's gaze dances from the meat to Neptr. "Whaddya think about Sloppy Joe Pies? Has a nice ring to it..."
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The sun was slung low in the sky by the time Jake heard the familiar sound of Finn's return up the treehouse steps. Alongside the involuntary prick of his ears, the dog feels a smile start to spread. No matter how capable the kid (teenager) had become over the last decade, Jake was pretty sure he'd never lose the sense of relief that came over him when Finn came home safe.
Lately, lingering misgivings aside, those feelings were starting to blossom towards Fern as well.
"Hey boys!" Jake lets the smile grow to a grin, craning his neck over the arm of the couch. "Y'all have fun out there?"
Jake felt suddenly cold, as if some cosmic entity had reached its hand down and pinched out the contented flame and safety of home. His voice lost its usual buoyancy, standing up from the couch.
"Wait, what happened?"
Finn said nothing, standing there looking as if he'd been through a woodchipper. Blades of grass clung to his hair, his clothes, even stuck to the razor sharp line of blood at his exposed stomach.
"I know that look!" BMO chimed in, sounding pleased to be the one with the answer to Jake's question. Neither the boy or the dog seemed to hear him in that moment. "You just killed someone."
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Jake climbs down, freshly scrubbed dry with a towel and already warming up pleasantly. There were some aches and pains that a couple hours in an ice bath couldn't entirely soothe away, but certain amount of perpetual low level pain was par for the course for him since he turned 30. Or, jeez, 40. Who was keeping track?
The smell of nearly scalded milk hit his nostrils first, covertly turning the burner to low as he passed. Finn still seemed absolutely brimming with beans, chatting animatedly with BMO through the fight. Jake was able to pick up plenty from his third hand eavesdropping. Finn had hooked up with Huntress Wizard (Jake knew he liked her) and worked out a way to trick his own guilt into working for him instead of against him.
It was a sort of genius plan, one that Jake wasn't sure he'd ever come up with. Pride burned a little hotter inside his chest as he mixed up the cocoa, adding a pinch of salt to each mug before pushing Finn's across the table towards him. Settling in with his own mug, Jake leaned against his palm and smiled at the kid (man) sitting across from him.
"Pretty good day, huh?" He held up his mug, as if toasting.
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“You are so right!” BMO pipes up, holding an empty mug up with both hands, wanting to be included. Finn laughs, taking another sip of his own; it only tasted a little burnt. He was all smiles, looking and feeling like he could go out and fight another hundred monsters right now if need be. He gaze shifts back to Jake and his expression softens a little, a hint of concern passing over his features.
“You okay, by the way? That Grumbo kinda mashed your biz up, huh?”
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As he was warming up, the soothing properties of the ice were waning. Still, it wasn't so bad. Nothing Finn's joy couldn't numb away, coating Jake in a pleasant balm of Good Vibes.
"It's a good thing you're back in hero biz, 'cuz I'm seriously getting old."
It was a rare thing for Jake to admit. Up until recently, any implication that he'd aged past 35 would be met with flustered excuses and demands to watch him grind the front stoop. That started to change earlier in the year, for reasons Jake never fully shared with Finn. Or even himself, really.
"You hungry?" He remembers himself, setting his empty mug down on the table. "Or did HW feed you?"
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“I’m starving,” he says, gulping down the last of his hot cocoa. There really wasn’t anything surprising in that answer; he was always ravenous after a big, exerting fight or dungeon crawl, a fact that Jake knew and almost always anticipated with an offer of a meal. “HW is always trying to get me to eat the weird parts of the animal, elk hearts and boar brains and that jazz. No thanks.”
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"Maybe hot dogs? Or, hm, if you aren't feeling weird animal parts, maybe not." He heads over to the fridge, pawing through his good ingredients. "Oh, snap, I've still got another block of this chive butter. Think you can hold on long like 45 minutes for biscuits?"
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Finn pulls his knees up, holding BMO close while Jake takes their mugs away.
“Now that my head’s all un-donked and I’ve got my slaying powers back, there’s a couple dungeons nearby we should check out. I found them a couple weeks back but I was saving them until I could do the deed. One of them was crazy with traps, just in the entrance, Jake. You’re gonna lose it.”
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Flour, eggs, buttermilk, salt, baking powder and enough butter to stop every artery in the Grasslands. The ratio was second nature at this point, and Jake's notebook of recipes stayed in its spot on the high shelf. He could make these with his eyes closed.
Jake had the dry goods mixed together and had just began chopping in frozen butter when Finn spoke up. For a moment, the throb in Jake's muscles seemed a little more pronounced.
"Sounds fun, man." He glances over his shoulder. "But what about that Grumbo guy? Lady was giving me the secondhand rundown from Peebs; she's pretty sure someone's stealing Candy Kingdom secrets and using them for monster experiments." And, adding in the buttermilk. "I dunno how much downtime we're gonna have until we catch 'em."
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“Well, I bet we’ll have time for both. I mean, did Peebs have any leads?” He shrugs. “Until something else happens, all we can do is stay vigilant.”
And who was going to know that they were dungeon crawling on their downtime anyway? He was itching to get back out there and actually do something fun.
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The 'biscuit-cutter' in this case being a very sharp metal circle Finn had hastily created by cutting a tin-can in half with the grass sword.
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Finn’s loyalty to the candy kingdom, and protecting it, and especially to PB were pretty much rock solid. But sometimes it felt like it was all he did these days.
He puts the makeshift biscuit cutter in Jake’s hand.
“Maybe just one of the dungeons then. I don’t think it’ll take too long. And PB will call us the second she needs us.”
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A welcome distraction from the small voice in Jake's head who couldn't help screaming will this kid ever let up about the freaking dungeon?
It wasn't a kind voice. Jake hated the voice. But damn if he didn't kind of agree with what the voice was implying.
"Heh, you really wanna check 'em out, don't ya?" Jake chuckles, a little more tired than he strictly meant to. "Well listen, don't feel like you gotta hold off on my account. I probably won't be up to dungeoneering for another couple days. Crank that oven for me, will ya?"
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“Uh, yeah, I guess I could go by myself.” The disappointment in his voice wasn’t well disguised, and there’s a little slump to his posture when he turns on the oven. “So, what are you gonna do tomorrow?”
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However much his body was ready to be resigned to 'Sure, Grandpa,' his brain's anti-gramps hairtrigger was still active. Pathetically so.
"Well wait, hold on, how many traps are we talking about?" Jake asks, backtracking on his own words. He was home free, and here he was, signing himself up for another night in the ice bath. As Lady would say: pathetic. "I feel like I could be up for a brainy-style dungeon tomorrow, if you're still offerin'."
He slid the biscuits in, cranking up the timer. Fifteen minutes, just enough time to fry up some eggs.
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“A bunch…but they’re totally the puzzle-y kind! Runes, glyphs, weird mirrors and lights kinda stuff.” He smiles as he chatters on about it, really working hard to sell the thing, convinced that if he made it sound interesting enough that Jake would also get excited about it too. That usually happened.
After a moment of rambling description, Finn pauses, seeming to consider something.
“You know…..maybe someday we should invite Jermaine to do a dungeon with us. Like, a safe one, not too scary.”
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Jake cracked two eggs into the heated iron skillet, almost in the exact moment Finn mentions Jermaine. That he got a big chunk of shell in the egg and broke a yolk was purely coincidental.
"Globit..." He winces, hissing at the heat as he begins to fish the shell out, allowing that minor distraction to take center stage in his mind. Conveniently, Jake doesn't seem to acknowledge Finn's suggestion at all.
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“Uh, Jake? What do you think? Jermaine…that could be fun, right?”
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"Huh? Oh yeah no, man, I mean. I dunno how much that's Jermaine's scene, but you could always call him if you wanted to set something up." There's a clink of glass spice bottles as Jake blindly feels around for the pepper, not looking up from his egg. "Just don't get your hopes up too much, he hates travelling."
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Grinding black pepper into the eggs, Jake realizes just how loud the grinder seems to be in the kitchen in this moment.
"But, uh, I mean. Totally ask him, you never know, right?" Jake clears his throat, turning down the heat on the eggs. "I'm sure he'd have plenty of ideas on how to improve things."
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Finn rest his chin on in his hand, huffing exasperatedly.
“Oh my glob, come on, man, you can’t be like this forever, you’re gonna have to see him eventually!” Finn’s voice took on the cadence of someone who was more frustrated than angry. Mom and Dad would roll in their graves if they knew their two boys were acting like this. Of course, he keeps that sentiment to himself, sure it would only rankle more feelings. “We almost had a great day at that beach-“ (What part Finn was referring to as almost great was anyone’s guess) “We can’t give up on that momentum!”
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Slipping the eggs and jam in front of Finn, a hand (with fork) joins it shortly after, followed by salt, hot sauce, and a pat of chive butter. Over by the stove, a the smell of buttery biscuits tumbled out of the oven as Jake creaked it open. "Oh man, I outdid myself with these ones, buddy."
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“Me?” He protests incredulously, eyes on the tray that Jake was taking out of the oven as they spoke. “After today I’m Finn: one, inner demons: zero. I think your Grumbo is gonna be talking to Jermaine.”
Talking with all the confidence and surety of a sixteen year old who had recently solved exactly one problem.
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“You’re making up excuses.” He takes a biscuit, hissing while he bounces it in his hand, scalding hot. Until he remembers his metal hand, and transfers it. Butter, jam, egg. He admires the still steaming, perfectly dressed biscuit for a lingering moment before taking a bite. It was hot, and he fans his mouth with one hand while still trying to talk. “It’s like, you gotta- ow ow…you gotta be the bigger person.”
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"Dude, you can't even taste it when it's that hot! How about you be the smarter person?"
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