—ix. bouquet
Prez is currently being stared at by a small child. She can’t be more than six but her stare still unnerves him.
Normally, this wouldn’t bother him because he’s used to getting weird looks from people almost all the time, however the little girl has been staring at him with wide eyes for almost three minutes straight without blinking. He wonders where Marceline and her parents have gone and why the only people he knows at this reception have suddenly abandoned him at the table.
He gives a small, sort of awkward smile.
“Your hair is pink,” the girl finally says.
“Salmon,” he automatically corrects (why is this such a hard concept for people?).
She squints up at him. “I don’t really like salmon, but my mom says it’s good for me so I have to eat it whenever she makes it for dinner.”
“What—no I meant that—nevermind,” he says, silently admitting defeat, “So. Pink hair. It was an accident. My brothers did it without me knowing.”
She gives him an empathetic look. “That’s so mean!” she exclaims, “I don’t have brothers but this boy in my school sometimes does mean stuff to me too. He calls me mean names.”
Prez gasps, horrifically. “The villain!”
“And he broke my Spiderman lunchbox!” she tells him, her expression is a sort of pained one as she pouts adorably.
“Did you beat him up?” he asks and smirks.
She laughs. “I can’t do that! He’s older than me. He’s ten.”
“I can beat him up for you,” Prez offers playfully. He smiles wide as the little girl giggles (and a couple of fairies are born. Or something like that, that’s how the story goes isn’t it?).
“You’re really nice,” she says and then adds, “For a boy.”
He sighs dramatically. “I guess you’re okay too, for a girl.”
She smiles at him. “I like your hair. Even though it’s pink. And I like your eyes too. They’re weird…but nice.”
“Thank you!” he says and it is completely genuine, “I like your hair and your eyes too. So much prettier than mine.”
She smiles again, a big dimpled one, and then looks down at her lap so he can’t see her blush.
“Hey,” Prez says getting up and going around the table. He holds a hand out to her. “You wanna dance?”
She brightens visibly and then deflates as she says, “But I don’t know how.”
“It’s okay look,” Prez says as he gently leads her to the dance floor, “I’ll teach you. Stand on my feet.”
She looks up at him, sort of shocked. “Won’t that hurt you?”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s gonna help me lead you in the right direction,” he explains. The girl looks doubtful but does what he says anyway. He only winces a little bit as she steps on his toes and then looks up at him. Her small hands are eclipsed by his.
“Okay, ready?”
.
.
“You’re boyfriend’s great with kids,” Fionna comments. Marceline’s eyes widen and she nearly chokes on her drink, coughing uncontrollably until Marshall pats her back, with the most amused look on his face (Marceline does not notice this of course). Where had that come from?
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she says quickly (she denies only this half because the other part is true, he really is good with kids and okay it’s pretty attractive so what, it’s not like she’s thinking about how he’d be a great father to their kids—HIS KIDS—WHAT OOPS).
“Oh?” Fionna says a little surprised, “But the way you were looking at him I just thought—”
“Marce’s too mean to have a boyfriend. She’d probably eat him alive or something,” Marshall cuts in, putting his arm around his new wife, “Also she’s kind of a loser.”
Marceline hardly takes offense to this. “You’re a loser,” she says.
“A married loser,” he retorts and flashes his wedding band at her proudly.
Fionna and Marceline roll their eyes.
.
.
“I wish I could catch the flowers too,” Jade says a little sadly, looking out at the crowd of women who have gathered on the dancefloor for the traditional bouquet toss.
“Well why don’t you?” Prez asks. The two of them left the dancefloor a few seconds ago after it was announced that the bride would be doing the bouquet toss.
“I’m not tall enough.” She pouts again and Prez has to hold back a laugh.
“What if I put you on my shoulders? You’d be tall enough then, right?” he asks. She thinks it over and then nods.
“Okay!”
Prez picks her up with surprising ease.
“Don’t look up my skirt okay!” she tells him as he settles her onto his shoulders.
“Of course not!” Prez replies, just a little offended, “I’m a gentleman. Anyway, you okay up there?”
She nods quickly, remember he can’t really see her and then tells him, “Yeah. It’s kind of scary, but fun.”
“Good,” he says as he walks, “Now don’t worry about anything, I’ve got you.”
“‘Kay.”
“Looks like you two are having fun,” Marceline says, coming up from behind them.
“Hi Marcy!” the both say at the same time. The smile that graces her face is one of fondness.
“Jade wants to catch the bouquet. I’m helping,” he explains.
“What a gentleman,” Marceline says dryly, and then, “Look alive guys.” She nods towards where Fionna is up front. The bride turns around and, as the flash of a few cameras go off, tosses her bouquet high into the air and far behind her.
Jade holds her hands out as many of the other guests also scramble to try to catch the bouquet. It easily lands in Jade’s arms. She squeals with excitement and joy.
“I got it! I got it!” she exclaims just as Marceline’s parents come over to join them.
“You did!” Prez says, equally excited and Jade beams.
“You know, they say that the person who catches the bouquet will be the next to get married,” Marceline’s mother tells the little girl, idly resting her hand on her swollen belly.
She gasps. “Really?” she asks, eyes wide with awe, “Then—then I want to get married to Prez!”
The boy mentioned, smiles and Marceline’s father leans down towards his daughter and says, “Looks like you’ve got competition.” Her mother, hearing his words, nods in agreement.
Marceline splutters, at a loss for words as she tries to deny her father’s claims of any sort of romantic relationship she may or may not have with one Preston Lee. He just looks at his daughter with a knowing smirk and a twinkle in his eye. She huffs and walks away, leaving her parents to giggle at each other and plot her imaginary wedding with Prez.