Five days Marceline spent in the sick bay, ever tended to by Simon. After the third, she was able to sit up on her own, however laborious it may be; by the fourth, she was hobbling about, working life back into creaking and protesting joints. An amount of fleshy padding soon covered her skeleton, steadily gaining weight from the regular meals Simon brought to her from the galley. The first few days he brought her porridge, making sure her starved body was accepting such a basic meal before moving on to richer morsels, which on a ship at sea, wasn't much at all. Marceline was soon brought chunks of bread and cheese, and on the fifth, he deemed her well enough to join the crew up in the mess. So that evening, up the two went, making their way to where the rest of the ship were currently dining.

The time spent with Simon created a small bond between the two, Simon telling stories about his travels as a younger man and Marceline sitting and laughing quietly at his wild gesticulations as he recounted a run in with a particularly unfriendly group of nomads. Marceline never spoke much to the man, opting to gauge his behaviour and personality to deem him fully trustworthy. He seemed nice enough, sure, but she had been tricked before by the pale-men. She eventually began to return stories of her home, but never went into too much detail, avoiding unpleasant memories of screaming, smoke, and the fire-powder. Simon proved to be an amiable man, and Marceline soon decided she would keep him as a companion on this floating piece of hell.

The duo ambled up deck after deck and turned down a dim hallway, moving towards a door sitting wide open, light and voices streaming through into the empty corridor. Marceline suddenly froze mid-step, forcing down the rising bile in her throat. Simon kept walking and turned into the doorway, looking back when he noticed he wasn't followed.

"Hey, c'mon!" He called back to her. "Don't worry, they're all pretty nice guys!" But Marceline did worry.

The light and voices quickly morphed into a fog of memories, the good natured laughing within turning to malicious jeers and calls. The weight of the slaver's collar was heavy on her neck as she stood outside the mess on the ship that destroyed her life, the bindings around her raw wrists tugging at her as the faceless man pulled her into the room of sailors, most feeling particularly randy. Grabbing hands. Rough hands. No. No. Not again. There is a hand on her shoulder. Not again. Fist made contact with stomach and she backed away, leaving the attacker on the ground. Someone is growling. The man is getting up. Stay away.

"-arceline." Back. No. Back. "Marce-ne." Stay away. Cold hands on shoulders.

"Marceline!" Simon called to the woman, his gut still aching from the last attempt he made to touch her. "Come back to me." He pleaded, looking into dark eyes clouded by fear and rage. Teeth bared and ready to strike again, it was obvious something was wrong with his charge. This time, a foot came out and swept him off the floor, and the young woman backed away in a defensive crouch. Figuring it to be the best option, Simon stayed where he was on the floor, and let Marceline calm down on her own.

Heavy breathing slowed after a minute, tense muscles relaxing as she came back to reality, the haze of the memory finally passing. She looked over at Simon laying on the ground, registered the sounds that had sent her spiraling into the past. Apologetic eyes fixed on the man before her, not knowing what to say in either her native tongue or the ship's language. Instead, Simon gave a smile of relief and stood, speaking quietly.

"It's good to have you back. You had me worried for a minute there. Do you wanna go back to the bay?" His question met with silence as Marceline righted herself, her face a mask of stone, and walked past him to the door into the mess. The daughter of a chief would not bow down to something as trivial as fear. With a look back at Simon, her intent was clear, and the old man took the lead once again with a soft sigh.

The mess was noisy, as one would expect a ship of pirates to be. Men sat at tables carrying on loud conversations punctuated with hearty laughs and the occasional slap of hand against wood. Tankards of ale sloshed about with the movement of the ship, platters of meat subtly shifting on the tabletops. Candles lit the room from the walls, casting a warm glow as a single fiddle played in the back. The duo entered, and Marceline's mind was plagued with brief flashes of memories she wished she could forget. Though no one paid her any mind, she still felt a thousand gazes upon her person, quietly judging and waiting for their turn. She sucked down deep breaths and followed Simon through the room to a table near the back sporting empty spots on the bench before it.

"Just stay right here while I grab us dinner." Her guide told her, seating her on the bench. A wave of unease swept over her, a momentary pleading not to be left alone with these savages. But the feeling was gone as fast as it had appeared. Marceline merely squared her jaw, pushed back her shoulders, and surveyed the group before her as Simon walked away. Turning back to the group before her, she took in the faces that stared back.

A lanky, blonde woman peered at her curiously, a younger child sitting next to her looked at the newcomer with eyes sparkling in awe. To Marceline's left sat a scrawny looking fellow, almost glaring at her with a guarded glance. To her right, sat a stocky, older looking woman, maybe in her 40th years, who looked at her with a welcome and heartwarming smile. That left one other person sitting at the table. Blond hair fell into blue eyes as the boy almost vibrated in his seat from excitement. Oh good. The boy from the brig. But to her surprise, the silence was broken not by him, but by the woman to her right.

"Well hi there!" She started enthusiastically, though not overbearing, her slow voice and strange drawl soothing the nerves of the new woman slightly. "Simon's told us all about you! He's had all sortsa' things to say." Brown eyes crinkled happily in cheeks dried from the sun. "I guess we should introduce ourselves. I'm Theresa, but everyone just calls me trunks, on account of I'm just too stubborn to move. I'm one of the cooks. This here," she gestured to the woman sitting across from her, "Is Lady. She's our navigator, and a real sweetheart too." Lady gave a curt nod and wary smile, not sure what to think of the newcomer. The child beside her began to wave enthusiastically.

"Oh, oh! I'm Beemo!" Came the excited chirp. "I'm going to be a Shipwright when I get big!" Unruly hair jutted out in almost every direction, but never obscured the bright green eyes that peered out beneath the mop.

Trunks chuckled. "Bit of a queer one, but Beemo's one of the sweetest kids I've met." Marceline gave a small smile before the woman beside her continued. "That's Shelby over there." The scrawny man to her left giving a noncommittal "hey" in a surprisingly nasal voice. "He's our ship musician, but he tends to help me in the galley most of the time. And I'm willing to bet you know Finn." For his part, Finn nodded fervently.

"You're looking much better!" He chimed, "I knew you'd end up with us! I'm just glad you're feeling better." Marceline just looked back with a deadpan.

"So tell us who you are, sugar." Trunks prodded gently. Silence hung at the table as the young woman took a moment to take a deep breath, reminding herself she would not seem weak in front of such heathens.

"Marceline." She said, shoulders back in a silent challenge to anyone brave enough to speak against her. Starvation and beatings be damned, she was still princess to an entire peoples. "My name is Marceline."

Bottle green eyes lit up in recognition as Lady spoke up for the first time, her voice a musical lilt. "So you're the one Bonnibel's been talking about! She's been excited about having you in the crew for days now." The entire group looked between Marceline and Lady, when Finn piped up.

"Well, that would explain the tunic." Gesturing at the deep red tunic Marceline wore as the group nodded in silent agreement. All she knew about it was some excitable man came bouncing into the infirmary, plopped the shirt on her bed, and with a half-witted proclamation of "From Cap'n." and a loud chortle, turned and left. No explanation, but at least it covered her hide. A questioning glance at Finn was all he needed to explain his thought. "Cap'n wouldn't give just anyone one of her finer tunics. She must really be investing in you." The girl's brow furrowed in thought, mulling over what this meant. To be honest, it did feel pleasant against her abused skin and looked to be of higher quality than the fabric of her table mates' clothing. Trunks, in her aged wisdom, leaned over and muttered to her.

"She think's you'll do well with us. Only the best gifts for the Captain's finest. You have high expectations ahead of you, darlin'." A dark scowl crossed Marceline's face as she remembered the "conversation" she had with the fire haired woman days previous, an agitated scoff passing her lips. The clatter of a plate before her pulled her from her thoughts. Simon had returned with food. A tankard soon followed the plate, and the older man plopped down at the table between Marceline and Shelby.

"Here ya' go, Kid. Eat up!" He chuckled, turning to the group before him. "I trust Marceline was no trouble?" Mischief seeped through his voice like tar as he looked at the young woman beside him who stared at the slab of what looked to be meat on her plate. "It's salt pork." He gently urged. "It may not taste great, but food is food."

"Well, Jake cooked that bit, I'm guessing, so it may be a bit more edible than the rest," Trunks sighed, "The man's got a way with meats and making shoe leather edible." With a shrug, Marceline took a piece of meat and bit into it, eyes widening as the incredibly salty taste stung her pallette. Chewing being a great strain but necessary in choking down the bite, eyes and brow screwed up into a grimace, and a dark hand shot out to grab the tankard before her, hoping that whatever lay within would wash the flavour from her tongue.

The relief was only temporary, as brackishness was replaced with an equally unpleasant bitterness; just shocking enough to cause the suffering woman to choke. Simon carefully pounded her back, wary of the still healing wounds beneath and guffawed loudly. Marceline shot him a sideways glare as Finn spoke up.

"It's easiest if you swallow down the meat as quick as you can and then just wash it all down at once until you get used to the flavours." A thankful but still irritated look was sent his way and he beamed back. The rest of the meal passed in easy chit-chat, explaining to Marceline how life on the ship, The Saccharine, works and the general duties she would be expected to work, but not to worry: Finn would help her adjust. The group eventually disbanded and headed down into the births for the night.

Hammocks hung across the walls in the belly of the ship, some empty, others occupied by resting mariners. Moonlight streamed in through the hatching and into the large cabin, casting a peaceful glow onto the walls as Marceline settled into her birth, looking up at the ceiling as Finn bid her goodnight and slid into the hammock below her, Jake, who joined them as they entered the room, snoring like a boar in the hammock beside Finn.

Thoughts ran through her head as she thought about her life up to this point: growing up in the trees and brush of the forests surrounding her village, the time she and Keila had stumbled into the territory of a rather unwelcoming group of monkeys, her first trip into war, the successful homecoming and feast that followed, the raid on her people by the slavers. The fires. The screaming. The chains. It all danced before her eyes as she lay there, mocking her as she remembered the first night on the slaving ship. Her capture by that damnable woman and the torture that followed, Simon, Trunks and the small assort of the crew. The life that lay ahead of her for the next ten years. With a defeated sigh, she turned onto her side and curled into herself, resigning herself to what her future holds, and slipped into a dreamless sleep as the waves against the ship rocked her to sleep.