“...so I think we need to get seriously focused, dude, because this is serious biz. Cults!? Corruption!? I dunno, man. It’s bingo-bango-ba-nay-nay.”
“Focused,” repeated Jake, entranced. His thumbs were hammering away at a handheld gaming device as they walked. “Seriously...focused…”
“DUDE!” Finn shouted. He slapped the clickety-clack game right out of Jake’s hands, and it went tumbling across the lush grass. “What if this guy eats our planet!? Do you want our planet to get eaten!? Do you want to become one with some whacked out poo brain from the cosmos, corrupted for all eternity?”
The young boy leaned in until his black pupils were inches from Jake’s, and dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. “...cosmic poo brain. For all eternity, dude.”
Jake’s jowls had drawn back in a scowl, eyes narrowed, and he stooped to pick up his clickety-clack game. He leveled an accusatory yellow dog finger at Finn’s human face, which the boy’s eyes crossed to stare at in the correct perspective.
“That’s how YOU feel about this kind of thing, Finn. You know how I feel about it. I don’t mess with fate biz. If the cosmos want to absorb this noggin -” he rapped on his dog skull. “-into their collective poo brain, then I’m not going to stop them.”
Silence fell between the brothers, which Jake punctuated moments later by resuming his game. They’d put some distance in since departing Ohm Zui’s side back at the space station, and at some point they’d passed back into the borders of Sweetzerland. The time had gone quickly - there was much to think about, gripe about, and do a walk-about...about. Finn must’ve rambled for a good half an hour before he’d even realized Jake wasn’t paying attention.
And yet, they kept moving forward. Like they always did.
Whatever bad biscuits baked up between the brothers they always de-bunked the bunk biz before it banged up their brotherhood. Finn knew this would be the same. Even cosmic biz couldn’t come between them, and squabbles were natural between roommates.
They passed the Junkfood Junction, mindful of the Snickerdoodle Schnauzers keeping guard whose wary gaze followed them along the way. After that, they pitter-pattered past the Cookie Batter Beach, full of candy folk beach-going merrily who seemed blissfully unaware of the general goings-on threatening their carefree futures. That very idea troubled Finn, though if the thought had strayed through Jake’s mind, he didn’t let it distract him from his handheld gaming.
The brothers pushed past the Push-Pop Peninsula, though they didn’t stray into it, and before long the Candy Kingdom was in sight. They could’ve made better time had Jake offered up his back to ride, but Finn was too grumpy to beseech his brother such a request, and Jake was too distracted to offer up any ideas that required more than a half-second’s consideration. A day’s march on foot had taken them right up to the gates of the Kingdom, and to the banana-man guards standing watch. There were two of them each with popsicle stick legs and arms, and they appeared engaged in an especially avid game of paper-rock-scissors. It didn’t escape Finn’s notice, though it did escape Jake’s, that they probably would have slipped right past the guards without their notice should they have half a mind to. Banana guards, while fiercely loyal to their matriarch Princess Bubblegum, were not known for the keen intellect.
“AHEM!” Finn announced himself, clearing his throat loudly.
The banana guards did not notice.
Finn slunk up to one until he was practically nose to nose with him and almost screamed, “AHEM!”
The banana guard looked at the human boy poised before him, looked back at his fist, at Finn one more time, then again at his popsicle stick fist.
“...hey, man. I was up a game,” the banana puzzled aloud, looking concerned, and confused. Then he looked surprised and appeared to remember something urgent. “OH! What, uh...what business do you have in the, um, the...Candy Place.”
“Kingdom,” Finn corrected gently. “We’re Finn and Jake, and we’re on mad official hero biz. Gonna slap the buns of some bad biscuits, man. Some reeeaaaally bad biscuits.”
The banana took a moment, processing...and then nodded. “Yes. Bad biscuits. Hero biz,” and he stood aside, bowing his head and ushering them in. “Proceed.”
Finn gripped Jake by the shoulders, as his snout was still buried in his game, and pointed him forward then gave him a nudge. The dog walked, and Finn followed. Once past he could hear the frantic pumping of popsicle fists - the game had resumed.
Further past the gates were the ritzy neighborhoods, cleverly built in the forefront of the Kingdom to deter tourists from poking past their thresholds and into the slums. The slums, however, were Finn’s destination. If there was cult activity activating in the innards of the slums, it would be easy to spot it. Candy folk were known for a few things - their need for attention, their need for affection, their craaaazaaaay personalities, and their lack of subtlety. Anything subtle going on in the slums would become decidedly un-subtle in contrast, and therefore become instantly recognizable as suspicious. In this way, Finn figured they'd be able to zero in on cultists. The little dawg, Ohm Zui, had put a bug in their ear on a kidnapping that had gone down...Finn, a lawful good adventurer, could not let such a slight slip now that he’d caught wind of it, lest he take a penalty for going against his alignment.
The slums were easy to pick out. The buildings were distinctly run down, and the candy folk within their loosely quartered dividing walls looked destitute. The fact that they wore class evident rags didn’t hurt, either.
“Psst. Jake,” murmured Finn, nudging Jake.
Jake had been nose deep in his game for hours, now - the majority of the day, in fact. He didn’t look up, regardless.
“Yeah, yeah. Bunk ba-nay-nay...biscuits...whatever,” he murmured, trailing off.
“I think there’s something going down over there,” Finn mumbled, pushing on regardless of his brother’s disengagement. He thumbed over at a group of candy people - a twizzler dude, a wafer lady, and a rather androgynous swiss roll - all of whom seemed to be sitting in a circle and chanting. “Let’s slank up into the slink-zone in the shadows over there and monitor the sitch.”
He pushed his brother, very overtly and not at all sneakily, into a large patch of shadow cast by one of the largest gingerbread houses within earshot of the suspected cultists. There the two hunkered down quietly, excepting the very audible clickety-clack of Jack thumbing down buttons on his game.
“Yeah, so, kidnapping,” began the swiss roll. “Never thought we’d kidnap. But like...we’re fighting for our spiritual lives out there. You know? Darkseid is the DANK side. Anything else is the DORK side.”
“Darn right, Swiss Mist Err,” added the twizzler dude, all garbed in a long, thin black robe that covered him from lengthy top to twizzled bottom. “And if we keep attending the meetings, maybe we’ll get to meet those two whizzbangs in charge!”
Finn’s eyebrows raised, and he stared at Jake with his mouth agape, though Jake didn’t notice.
“Whizzbangs,” Finn hiss-whispered. “In CHARGE!”
He shouted that last part on accident and the cult flunkies looked about suspiciously, but upon seeing nothing since Finn and Jake were lurking in the depths of the shadows they resumed chitter-chattering...but quieter, this time. Urged on by the knowledge that he was on the brink of a break through...or the break of a brinkthrough? One of those. He crawled to the edge of the shadows, and eavesdropped even harder, though it was hard to hear their hushed voices over Jake’s VERY audible button pushing. How the cultists themselves couldn’t hear Jake playing his game was baffling.
“...yeah, so, it’s pretty crazy that all you even have to do to get into the meeting, which is at the Candy Button Bazaar tonight at two AM, is wear a black robe. That’s all you’ve gotta do!” and this time it was the wafer lady talking in a comically high pitched voice, like a school marm or something. “The only thing! And we’ll just, like, accept you without question!”
Finn mouth-gaped again. “Jake!” he hiss-whispered one more time. “...TWO AM. That’s late, dawg. Do you hear me, dawg!?” he shout-whispered, this time, but didn’t actually shout.
“Right,” said Jake, in a normal volumed voice. “Shout-whisper. Got it.”
Finn shook his head scornfully, and glanced back at the cultists. They hadn’t noticed a thing, luckily. Mission Stealth-Cult-Kidnap-Victim-Reconaissance-Hero-A-Go-Go was still a-go-go.
“Focused,” repeated Jake, entranced. His thumbs were hammering away at a handheld gaming device as they walked. “Seriously...focused…”
“DUDE!” Finn shouted. He slapped the clickety-clack game right out of Jake’s hands, and it went tumbling across the lush grass. “What if this guy eats our planet!? Do you want our planet to get eaten!? Do you want to become one with some whacked out poo brain from the cosmos, corrupted for all eternity?”
The young boy leaned in until his black pupils were inches from Jake’s, and dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. “...cosmic poo brain. For all eternity, dude.”
Jake’s jowls had drawn back in a scowl, eyes narrowed, and he stooped to pick up his clickety-clack game. He leveled an accusatory yellow dog finger at Finn’s human face, which the boy’s eyes crossed to stare at in the correct perspective.
“That’s how YOU feel about this kind of thing, Finn. You know how I feel about it. I don’t mess with fate biz. If the cosmos want to absorb this noggin -” he rapped on his dog skull. “-into their collective poo brain, then I’m not going to stop them.”
Silence fell between the brothers, which Jake punctuated moments later by resuming his game. They’d put some distance in since departing Ohm Zui’s side back at the space station, and at some point they’d passed back into the borders of Sweetzerland. The time had gone quickly - there was much to think about, gripe about, and do a walk-about...about. Finn must’ve rambled for a good half an hour before he’d even realized Jake wasn’t paying attention.
And yet, they kept moving forward. Like they always did.
Whatever bad biscuits baked up between the brothers they always de-bunked the bunk biz before it banged up their brotherhood. Finn knew this would be the same. Even cosmic biz couldn’t come between them, and squabbles were natural between roommates.
They passed the Junkfood Junction, mindful of the Snickerdoodle Schnauzers keeping guard whose wary gaze followed them along the way. After that, they pitter-pattered past the Cookie Batter Beach, full of candy folk beach-going merrily who seemed blissfully unaware of the general goings-on threatening their carefree futures. That very idea troubled Finn, though if the thought had strayed through Jake’s mind, he didn’t let it distract him from his handheld gaming.
The brothers pushed past the Push-Pop Peninsula, though they didn’t stray into it, and before long the Candy Kingdom was in sight. They could’ve made better time had Jake offered up his back to ride, but Finn was too grumpy to beseech his brother such a request, and Jake was too distracted to offer up any ideas that required more than a half-second’s consideration. A day’s march on foot had taken them right up to the gates of the Kingdom, and to the banana-man guards standing watch. There were two of them each with popsicle stick legs and arms, and they appeared engaged in an especially avid game of paper-rock-scissors. It didn’t escape Finn’s notice, though it did escape Jake’s, that they probably would have slipped right past the guards without their notice should they have half a mind to. Banana guards, while fiercely loyal to their matriarch Princess Bubblegum, were not known for the keen intellect.
“AHEM!” Finn announced himself, clearing his throat loudly.
The banana guards did not notice.
Finn slunk up to one until he was practically nose to nose with him and almost screamed, “AHEM!”
The banana guard looked at the human boy poised before him, looked back at his fist, at Finn one more time, then again at his popsicle stick fist.
“...hey, man. I was up a game,” the banana puzzled aloud, looking concerned, and confused. Then he looked surprised and appeared to remember something urgent. “OH! What, uh...what business do you have in the, um, the...Candy Place.”
“Kingdom,” Finn corrected gently. “We’re Finn and Jake, and we’re on mad official hero biz. Gonna slap the buns of some bad biscuits, man. Some reeeaaaally bad biscuits.”
The banana took a moment, processing...and then nodded. “Yes. Bad biscuits. Hero biz,” and he stood aside, bowing his head and ushering them in. “Proceed.”
Finn gripped Jake by the shoulders, as his snout was still buried in his game, and pointed him forward then gave him a nudge. The dog walked, and Finn followed. Once past he could hear the frantic pumping of popsicle fists - the game had resumed.
Further past the gates were the ritzy neighborhoods, cleverly built in the forefront of the Kingdom to deter tourists from poking past their thresholds and into the slums. The slums, however, were Finn’s destination. If there was cult activity activating in the innards of the slums, it would be easy to spot it. Candy folk were known for a few things - their need for attention, their need for affection, their craaaazaaaay personalities, and their lack of subtlety. Anything subtle going on in the slums would become decidedly un-subtle in contrast, and therefore become instantly recognizable as suspicious. In this way, Finn figured they'd be able to zero in on cultists. The little dawg, Ohm Zui, had put a bug in their ear on a kidnapping that had gone down...Finn, a lawful good adventurer, could not let such a slight slip now that he’d caught wind of it, lest he take a penalty for going against his alignment.
The slums were easy to pick out. The buildings were distinctly run down, and the candy folk within their loosely quartered dividing walls looked destitute. The fact that they wore class evident rags didn’t hurt, either.
“Psst. Jake,” murmured Finn, nudging Jake.
Jake had been nose deep in his game for hours, now - the majority of the day, in fact. He didn’t look up, regardless.
“Yeah, yeah. Bunk ba-nay-nay...biscuits...whatever,” he murmured, trailing off.
“I think there’s something going down over there,” Finn mumbled, pushing on regardless of his brother’s disengagement. He thumbed over at a group of candy people - a twizzler dude, a wafer lady, and a rather androgynous swiss roll - all of whom seemed to be sitting in a circle and chanting. “Let’s slank up into the slink-zone in the shadows over there and monitor the sitch.”
He pushed his brother, very overtly and not at all sneakily, into a large patch of shadow cast by one of the largest gingerbread houses within earshot of the suspected cultists. There the two hunkered down quietly, excepting the very audible clickety-clack of Jack thumbing down buttons on his game.
“Yeah, so, kidnapping,” began the swiss roll. “Never thought we’d kidnap. But like...we’re fighting for our spiritual lives out there. You know? Darkseid is the DANK side. Anything else is the DORK side.”
“Darn right, Swiss Mist Err,” added the twizzler dude, all garbed in a long, thin black robe that covered him from lengthy top to twizzled bottom. “And if we keep attending the meetings, maybe we’ll get to meet those two whizzbangs in charge!”
Finn’s eyebrows raised, and he stared at Jake with his mouth agape, though Jake didn’t notice.
“Whizzbangs,” Finn hiss-whispered. “In CHARGE!”
He shouted that last part on accident and the cult flunkies looked about suspiciously, but upon seeing nothing since Finn and Jake were lurking in the depths of the shadows they resumed chitter-chattering...but quieter, this time. Urged on by the knowledge that he was on the brink of a break through...or the break of a brinkthrough? One of those. He crawled to the edge of the shadows, and eavesdropped even harder, though it was hard to hear their hushed voices over Jake’s VERY audible button pushing. How the cultists themselves couldn’t hear Jake playing his game was baffling.
“...yeah, so, it’s pretty crazy that all you even have to do to get into the meeting, which is at the Candy Button Bazaar tonight at two AM, is wear a black robe. That’s all you’ve gotta do!” and this time it was the wafer lady talking in a comically high pitched voice, like a school marm or something. “The only thing! And we’ll just, like, accept you without question!”
Finn mouth-gaped again. “Jake!” he hiss-whispered one more time. “...TWO AM. That’s late, dawg. Do you hear me, dawg!?” he shout-whispered, this time, but didn’t actually shout.
“Right,” said Jake, in a normal volumed voice. “Shout-whisper. Got it.”
Finn shook his head scornfully, and glanced back at the cultists. They hadn’t noticed a thing, luckily. Mission Stealth-Cult-Kidnap-Victim-Reconaissance-Hero-A-Go-Go was still a-go-go.