The King of Mewni

1 : It all Went Down Hill with a Dead Clown's Séance.

The castle walls that surrounded Marco were weathered and gray. There was moon light filtering through four tiny windows barred with black iron ornately curled and expertly crafted to look like flowers that barred any tampering. The floor was the checkered marble and much of it was cracked and white with age. At some point it must have been smooth, but that was long ago.

There was a rug that splayed out in the center of the room, made from some kind of fur he didn't recognize. It was white in the center in a small circle with the rest of the rug this old rust-red color with a small glimmer of golden stitching on its edge. The rug must have been as old as this room. Whoever stitched that border it must have painstakingly took months to get it right.

Marco could respect that, truth be told, he always wanted to learn how to stitch.

Too girly? Many things about his life reinforced it to him. Like, he wore ballerina shoes around the house. What? They were comfortable. His ring-tone was Space Unicorn. He liked the show when he was three but if anyone asks? It's ironic. He loved cooking, Dreamed of being a chef when he watched mom bake his birthday cake when he was eight until he burned the kitchen. Got nachos down pat before that luckily enough. He could appreciate a well-put together outfit. Color coordination was a thing he had fun with. He only had one guy friend and that was an emotionally unstable demon prince who loved Love Sentence. Yes, he loved love sentence to. Eh, who cares what people think, he's happy with himself.

The room was cluttered with old grand pieces of furniture. Bookcases stuffed the room with ancient hard-binded books. The range of topics was narrow: it was all about royal etiquette. No joke, there's a whole tome about the proper tea to use in every social function imaginable. It was kind of cool to learn some tea recipes, but not much else. He had a creaky four-poster bed stuffed in a corner that scratched him while he slept. He was pretty sure they use hay as the stuffing here. A massive fireplace that softly glowed with embers the fireplace itself was masterful sculpted dominated the right wall. The bevels were still strong and curves sharp. Perfectly symmetrical which was impressive if whoever made it just eyeballed it, such a pain to work with stone. He's tried before; his Dad was an artist after all. The room he was in oozed a special kind of passion. Someone poured his or her soul into this place many years ago and even now, it still held an echo of majesty.

Star recoiled at this place, but Marco saw something different. He saw the effort it took. The time to create something truly beautiful he appreciated. He's watched his dad paint and carve before, waiting for the one moment where all the splotches and marks start to make sense and you see the vision come alive. That's what this room was like to him, seeing the woodcarving of the bed, the metalwork on the candles, the solid leather binding of the books, the way the light played around the room. The attention to detail was staggering.

Star Butterfly just saw a bunch of gray, muddy brown, and pea green. She wasn't wrong in a sense. If Marco had one criticism about the room, not much care was taken to match colors together. He'd at least pair the black with some kind of rich purple or something now that would be exciting. Or perhaps some velvet burgundy on the bed, white on white was just too bland. Design though. Design was a consideration as well. The amount of stuff you could do with a fleur de lis here would be to die for... Mother Mary he really was boring.

A crunching side started to rumble throughout the room. A guard was approaching and Marco lifted himself from his bed where he had been lounging. Just in time to see the knob of his door start to clamor and the door swing open.

"Mr. Diaz." The reddish glowing eyes of a Bailiff Guard made eye contact with Marco. He spoke in a baritone rumble that suspiciously had an undertone of whirling cogs to it.

"Hello Bailey." Marco said. That was his guard assigned to him.

"St Olga wishes to speak with you." He cranked.

"Is this another lesson?" Marco asked. He's been trapped here for two weeks and everyday was another thing to learn about being a proper lady. He's learned to roll with it, actually was pretty good at it. At least until someone comes and rescues him, any day now… Hopefully

"As if you need anymore." He clunked sarcastically. "She is requesting you join her for tea."

"Tea?"

"Don't make me repeat myself. Now come on" He cranked and without even waiting he turned from the door and started stomping down the hall. Marco only had a few seconds to stare bug-eyed at the empty space before his legs decided to work.

"What?" He muttered, bolting upwards and out the room. Strange. This was a new thing. Bailey was waiting down the hall to his left, leering at him with crossed arms.

"Keep up." Bailey growled, he didn't have to speak very loud in order to be heard. Well, hard to be subtle when you're eight feet tall and built like a wall.

"Right- Sorry, just- heh- one moment." Marco gulped. Those guys were pretty scary and he knew there were a lot of them. As soon as Marco ran up to him the Bailiff guard turned without a word and continued through the academy. He kept his pace to a trudge and Marco soon found his eyes wandering.

Hard to believe just a few months ago saw rampaging delinquent princesses tearing throughout the halls here in a blaze of teenage spirit. The Bailiffs and Olga were ruthless when it came to putting the place back together. Not a single scratch was visible. The only sign was that if you passed by a window, you could see the crumbled remains of a solitary tower and the slight impression in the ground where the tower fell in the courtyard. Otherwise, the place was immaculate, if empty.

That's another thing, he was the only one here.

They passed through the teacup ballroom, and breezed through the avian duet singing grounds. Countless classrooms dedicated to formal kitchenware placement, proper posture, and the Greeting Hall Gauntlet was empty.

Bailiffs were a common sight, cleaning and dusting. Uncommon were the instructors whom all wore the same kind of serene expression and glided through the halls with an uncanny grace. The few who caught Marco's eye had given him a nod and glowing smile. Despite his situation, Marco felt a little proud of that. He prided himself on being easy to teach.

The pair walked outside and across the courtyard. The shrubs were black leaves with a sick yellow splash and the sound of clomping boots mixed in with the snap of hedge clippers as they passed by hedges slowly being reshaped into A feminine figure in an long flowing evening gown. Actually, Pony Head bit the heads and butts off of them if he remembered rightly.

A tower, grander than all the rest came into view. It was hard to miss as the door was made from a solid black wood and two bailiff guards stood at rapt attention with the arms folded tightly behind their backs. The red eye glow and permanent scowl they gave off was a deterrent in of itself.

As they approached the one on the right moved to open the door, his massive fist crushing the knob and the door opened with a aged screech. Bailey didn't stop moving and Marco picked up the pace to move past them as quickly as possible. The guards gave him the creeps.

They walked in and when the door closed the interior instantly was enveloped in an inky grayness. The only source of light coming from old candles that gave off a corona of orange. It was very unique how the candles gave off their light, a subtle craftiness that really drew out the fullest potential of every little flame.

A part of Marco wished he could do something like that...

"Go up the stairs. All of them and don't stop." Bailey pointed to the side, which had the beginnings of a spiral stair case. The tower was huge; Marco couldn't tell how many levels there were looking up.

"Think you could carry me?"

"What do you think?"

"Yeah… sorry, dumb question. Heh." Marco chuckled with a gulp. He walked up to the stairs and began to climb.

His pits stunk.

Marco was standing outside the top door, fanning his under arms. St. Olga was the head of the Academy and suffice to say, she was old school when it came to addressing her. She might actually outright refuse to talk to him due to his BO.

He began airing out his shirt, the little puffs of coolness more than welcome. He continued until he got his breath under control. Still smelled, but at least he felt ready. That had to count for something, right?

Marco drew in a deep breath and raised his hand, giving three short raps on the door. It had to precisely be three, by the way, and the resulting sound must not exceed point five seconds duration and must be loud enough to reasonably fill the space of the room to be entered into even if you never been in the room before. Also, guests must allow five seconds of silence so that the occupant can respond. In the event of the occupant not responding, two knocks shall suffice as a reminder and no more. If occupant is still not answering it shall be assumed either the guest is not welcome or that the occupant is incapacitated. Course of action is on the guest to try and break down the door or simply leave. If guest chooses poorly a gift basket or coffin is the proper apology gift. The kind of basket or coffin depends on the status of the occupant intruded or ignored upon-

Marco blinked… He knocked twice.

"Come in!" A shrill voice pierced through the wood. Marco opened the door and peered inside. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. "A lady glides into a room Mr. Diaz. Enter."

"Yeah- Well, I am not a lady." Marco said, opening the door fully. The room was large and richly decorated with old knick-knacks; picture frames of countless prim looking princesses each wearing the same expression.

St. Olga was attending a black-iron stove with a pipe top. A kettle was on and was softly whistling. St Olga was staring at him with a persnickety sneer. It didn't matter if it was morning or night; St Olga always, always wore a formal purple dress with dainty white gloves. The dress was trimmed with black, which matched her lipstick and eye shadow. He's never seen her without make up on and her hair done up in a bun.

"No… I suppose you're not." She sighed, turning to pick up the kettle. Marco took a few tentative steps into the room. That didn't sound like Olga. She sounded resigned which was such a foreign tone out of her. What was going on here? "Please, have a seat. I will get you some tea." Olga motioned to an easy chair, dark purple with a white floral pattern on the opposite side of the room, which faced a roaring fire.

"Suure…" Marco said, feeling an eyebrow begin to rise.

"Sass is a poor indicator of class." Olga snipped, opening cupboards to bring out teacups. Marco sat down, but still keep an investigative eye on her, keeping watch.

"Quiz. What brand of tea does one indulge in when partaking with royalty?" Olga said with a roll of the tongue, the clacking of china stopped for a moment and she gave a brittle hum "Partaking? That's not right… Hanging? Ugh! Such colloquial speech will be the death of Mewnian! Perhaps- perhaps enjoying? Worse! Vile connotation! Oh, where is Stein when you need him…" she viciously murmured to herself.

Good that her back was to him, Marco was shooting her such a look. What in the world is wrong with this lady?

"It's… Yellow Tail."

"Hm?" Olga started, snapping her eyes to him.

"The tea. It's called Yellow Tail." Marco said. Olga frowned, the creaky gears in her head turning.

"Oh. Yes, that is correct." Olga said, surprised. She turned back around and poured the tea, a golden caramel liquid that gave off plenty of steam. The tea must be strong because the slight scent of oranges and cream began to waft over to Marco.

Olga turned fully around with a saucer in each hand and tea filled to the absolute top. She never paused and walked confidently across the room. She had a tired look to her eyes, yet Marco was drawn to how the liquid never moved despite how fast she was. Not one drop fell out of the cup as she walked over and sat down in the chair next to Marco. She handed him a saucer and Marco felt his hand start to tremble as he took it, a splash of the tea riding over the side. A sneer returned to Olga's face as she watched him fumble. "Not perfect." She quipped.

"Oh come on." Marco said.

"A lady does not waste a single drop of tea."

"Once again. I am not a lady." Marco deadpanned. Olga stared at him, the sneer fading. "Now to what do I owe the pleasure your grace?"

"Correct Title." Olga said after a pause, but she didn't answer right away electing to take a long draught from her teacup. Marco did the same, an absolutely delicious sweet blend of oranges and cream with an undertone of lemon, of all things. Okay, he needed this recipe.

Marco kept his eyes on Olga whom had begun to stare into her cup. The sneer was gone entirely and what was left was almost a sad, bitter expression that made Marco almost regret his tone. This wasn't the crowing woman surrounding by clockwork guards bearing down on him and Star. This was a lady with like a weight roped to her back. "Out of all the princesses I've had a responsibility to. You are by far my greatest success." Olga said.

She said it quietly, but Marco could hear it. Out of all the things he was expecting Olga to say, he can honestly say that was perhaps the very last thing he expected.

"Um. Uh." Marco tried to say something, but what do you even say to that? Technically he knew he was being rude, but Olga didn't correct him. She was still focused on her tea with the same heavy expression.

"Why in the world is a boy my greatest success story?" Olga said to her tea.

"Uh… Sorry."

"You've been here for two weeks and you already mastered every lesson."

"Well, it was kind of easy. I mean, it's easy to hold tea at ninety degrees."

"Bird duet? Not just a duet but you started a woodland symphony. Your plating is exquisite and your posture immaculate."

"Whoa- Uh." Marco set his teacup down and raised an arm to stop her, yet she kept going. He was lost and Olga was talking to herself.

"To be oneself is a disservice to oneself. Why must girls find this lesson to be so difficult?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yet, you take to it like tea, or rather… what's the word… water?"

"Sure. Not like I'm here or anything."

"Why do you have such ease with it Mr. Diaz?" Olga finally looked up from her tea and Marco greeted her with a scowl. Whatever kind of pity he felt ended. Olga still was an old crow as far as he was concerned. The question she posed to him just made him mad, that wasn't him at all.

"I am myself." Marco began. Olga huffed and took another drink from her tea. "As for why I'm apparently good at this stuff? I don't know. I just like having structure is all I guess."

"Oh Piffles." She scoffed "Responsibility and expectations are not fun they are necessary."

"Honestly? I want some responsibility in my life." Marco said, not something he said everyday, but he truly did feel that way. He wanted more out of life. Anything really. The whole proper etiquette stuff while not really applying to him, he could still appreciate it for what its worth. He liked observing the little details to things. Dad was a pro with his artwork.

Olga looked like she was willing to challenge him on that point. When they locked eyes, Marco kept a hard stare and Olga remained silent, her animosity fading into that familiar bitter expression.

"A rare quality." She offered.

"Thank you. You still have yet to tell me why you wanted to have tea with me." Olga's eyes grew wide and she started.

"My apologies, I guess I got off rails." Olga stopped to sip her tea, allowing each of them a moment's rest. "I wanted to inquire about your relationship to Star Butterfly."

Marco's tea lodged in his throat causing him to go into a hacking fit. "Charming…" Olga sniffed, but the usual barb didn't come. Marco beat his chest.

"Y-You know about Star?"

"But of course, she is my niece after all."

"Niece?" Marco could hardly keep the surprise out of his voice. "You're her aunt?"

"Yes. Didn't you see me at her confirmation two weeks ago?"

"Uh no?"

"I was seated in the back." Olga tried to explain but began to rub her chin a frown crossing her face. "Then again I am not tall… no matter. I was surprised to see you in a place of honor."

"Well I wasn't expecting it." Marco said, but he still was floored by the fact that this old crow was Star's aunt. Like, didn't she notice Star when they were here all those months ago? It's not like her disguise was all that good. Maybe she did? It was just an eye-patch really, there's no way she didn't notice.

"And then there was the whole Farewell Tornado spell." Olga continued.

"Don't. Please. This isn't even answering my question." Marco felt a growl in the back of his throat. He's been doing a good job repressing all of it, was probably a major reason why he took so well to the rigid lessons. He didn't want to drudge up the recent events. It made his skin feel clammy.

"It is obvious to me that you and Star are… prospective." Olga said, but she brought a glove to her chin again, thinking. "Now I don't like that word… an item?" Olga spoke. Marco grit his teeth, he wanted to protest, but he just wasn't sure on what to say. With all that's happened he just wasn't sure just what to think even. He still didn't understand what happened. "Romantics? Starry-eyed? Lovers? Uck, too mature of a word, she's fourteen for proper's sakes."

"Could you please – Just quiet?" Marco snapped, causing Olga to reel back in surprise. That wasn't like him, but he wasn't feeling like himself lately. Olga's lip became stiff, but she didn't press the issue oddly enough.

"I guess we'll just stick with prospective then." She said. "Now Marco I ask because if you are to get involved I want you to be up to standards fitting of royalty." She continued, but after a moments thought she reconsidered. "Standards, which you seem to have… passed quite easily actually… Come to think of it it's Star who could use some lessons. If only Moon would reconsider my offer."

Marco let his back arch forward, breaking posture giving him a brooding hunch. He didn't even know where to begin with that statement. Too many assumptions being made.

"Olga, I don't know alright? Star and I aren't whatever it is you think we are."

"Well." Olga said. "If not prospective, then what is your relationship to Star? She didn't focus on anyone except you."

"She is my friend." Marco said. That he was sure of. Star and him had each other's back no matter what and he didn't want that to change. "At least… I'm pretty sure she is. ugh." He grumbled.

"Certainly sounds like more than friends."

"Okay. I don't need your opinion." Marco said.

"I'm old, alone, and no one asks me how I feel. Whether you know it or not Mr. Diaz, your relationship with Star has ramifications the universe over. I intend to figure out for myself what that relationship you possess will do." Olga said, leering.

"I am not talking about Star with you of all people."

"I am her aunt."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"Pah! Other people's relationships are the second most popular topic amongst royalty just behind ones own prospects." Olga said with a sour titter. Although the wicked grin spreading across her face quickly died when it saw the the glower on Marco's face. "Oh Piffles. Fine. I shall cut you a bait and switch."

"You're going to do a what?"

"A bait and switch. What? Is that not the right phrase?'

"I think you meant cut a deal." Marco said. The idea struck him as odd.

"… Ah. That is such a better phrase." Olga said, rubbing her cheek. She's been doing that a lot Marco noticed, like a nervous tick. "The deal." Olga said. "The deal is: You tell me about Star and yourself, in return, I shall consider you graduated and let you go home."

Olga sat back in her chair letting the deal float between them. She had an oily smile that crinkled the deep lines in her face. Marco had to admit, it was at least a deal with considering. Problem is though he was kind of enjoying himself here. There was something peaceful about this place he felt. Didn't have to think of anything. No need for emotions just rules, customs, and taut pinkies.

However, it has been two weeks. Deep down he knew he couldn't keep hiding forever even if he wanted to. He knew it had to end eventually. Frankly, Olga was full of it. It's best to own oneself rather than suppress oneself. Marco grunted. This was all a mistake. He shouldn't have stayed here for so long he realized.

Escaping the academy would be a simple matter. He was practically an expert, but one problem was that he didn't have any dimensional scissors. Star took them from him before kicking him back to earth. Sure he could slink around the academy easily enough, but what then? Olga must have one somewhere, but he hadn't the slightest clue where. Getting back to earth would be all but impossible.

Maybe it won't be so bad talking. Not like he actually cared in anyway what Olga thought. Who cares if he opened up to her? Talking about it might actually help him way more than dumb etiquette lessons. He should quit repressing this junk and air it out.

"Fine. I accept"

"Splendid. Simply splendid." Olga clapped her hands in what looked like genuine joy until a look of absolute horror crossed her face. "I mean- Very well." She clamped her hands back down to her lap.

"Uh-"

"You saw nothing."

"Okay."

Olga rubbed her cheek again, inspecting her hand when she pulled it away.

"Right then. I shall get us some more tea. Talk when have your thoughts in order." She said, getting up and plucking the teacup from Marcos hand. Marco leaned back into his chair. His insides felt like they were curdling and he could feel clammy sweat start to prickle at his brow again. Olga was absolutely the wrong person to talk to about this, but what else could he do? She trapped him.

"Well. I guess it all kind of started when Star went to have a Séance for a Dead Clown."

"… What is wrong with that girl?" Olga muttered to her teapot.