"Oh, you're adorable!" Treat cooed from her bed.
"Get bent," May grumbled.
Standing by the cheval mirror in their bedroom, May tried to ignore Treat's titters as she looked at herself in the Goetia-conjured girl's school uniform, wondering again if she had made the right decision.
On the insistence of Prince Seir, she had to wear this ridiculous thing, from necktie to uncomfortably high pleated skirt, for the duration of her "semester" there.
"Really!" Treat reinforced. "You look precious. You're going to fail, but you still look wonderful."
Grateful for being called from the mirror to answer Treat's comment, she turned to her. "I'm not going to fail. Why would I?"
"Because," Treat sighed. "You're a sad, fallen soul with a hero complex, at best, and a seditious little meddler with delusions of grandeur, at worse. But, your little patrons don't know you like I do. You do all of this for one reason."
"Which is?" May humored her.
"To keep your mind off the lie you believed so strongly while you were alive. The lie your parents taught you for so long. The lie that killed you. 'You've got to do good to get good.' How's that working for you, by the by?"
May's face darkened, and Treat could see the delicious conflict and regret brew behind her eyes like a newborn storm.
"Or maybe, it's just to stave off the existential dread of being damned," her doppelganger shrugged thoughtfully. "Either way, I'm flexible."
Suffering silently under reborn self-doubts, May wished she would cut loose and give Treat a blow that would shut this nuisance up and provide her with peace, if just for a little while.
Treat's smug expression hadn't changed, but it did take on a slight shade of disappointment. "What, no catfight? Well, as scintillating as this conversation is, you mustn't be late for your first day of school. First impressions, and all that."
With an irksome sigh, Mayberry went to grab her notebook-laden attaché from a nearby table.
"Have fun in school, dear!" Treat bade as May left their "dorm room."
"We're going to be great roommates. I can tell," she purred with satisfaction.
May trudged down the wide upstairs corridor of one of the mansion's wings to visit her first "classroom" for orientation.
Upon reaching the room's double doors, she noticed a note taped to them.
"You must fail to enter..." it read. "To enter, you must fail..." That raised suspicions.
She stepped into the large, curtained salon, which looked like it was used to store various odds and ends of the house.
On one side of the room were scattered cardboard boxes, some tall and wide enough to accommodate the shipping of refrigerators, water heaters, washing machines, and dryers. Among these were a few large, potted shrubs of various heights.
Spaced patches of bubble wrap littered the floor between the boxes and plants, and a jungle gym stood some distance behind it all, draped by a large tarp. Off to a far corner sat a sofa, side table, and a standing lamp in a group as if used as a small living room.
In a corner on the other side of the room was a wardrobe, a dressing table with a lighted mirror ladened with make-up and wig stands, and a stool. On the wall that dominated that side hung a blackboard and another chair facing a combo school desk with a white, conical object in its seat.
Apart from that, the room was empty of instructors.
"Prince Seir," May called out, her hoof beats echoing against the walls. "Are you here?"
She stepped further into the chamber and, on a thought, walked towards the boxes. Then stopped when she heard a loud tap echo from the opposite end of the room.
Going to it, she noticed that the object in the desk's seat was a white dunce cap, along with another note on the desk that read, "I hope it's the right size."
Standing confused, May was wide open for the slingshot-fired pellet that hit her square on her rear end.
With a frightful yelp, she turned around to see a grinning Seir standing by the boxes, sling in hand. "Gotcha! Love the uniform."
Reddening, Mayberry gave an annoyed growl, rubbing the sting away. "Y'know, it's not fair if you're going to move so fast I can't see you."
"You're right. That's why I didn't."
"Huh?"
"I gave my speed to the property, remember?" he continued as he approached her. "For the whole year, the only thing that's runnin' around here is my mouth. Now, pay attention. Lesson one-when hiding, distraction is your best friend. You might've caught me if you started snooping near the boxes."
"This is my classroom?"
"Yep. The objects back there are for you to practice hiding around. The wardrobe and dresser set-up is for you to learn how to wear disguises."
She tugged at her uniform, "And this get-up?"
Seir gave a puerile shrug. "'Cuz you're hot! Duh!"
May's eyes rolled Earthward.
Later that day, May, now clad in workout apparel and her hair ponytailed with a scrunchie, was led by Marchosias to another salon. Within was a gymnasium, filled from corner to corner with equipment.
Racks and shelves of dumbbells, barbells, kettlebells, and plate weights were arranged near padded workout benches. A large, patched heavy bag hung in one corner next to a worn strike dummy, and a mirror took up the length of an entire wall. On its opposite end, a wall held shelves for towels and refreshments, with cabinets and wall mounts for equipment storage.
Open space in the center of the room allowed for traditional exercises, katas, and sparring on mats, with a trampoline sitting a fair distance from them.
Realizing that the marquis often came here told May that the order of the day, and every day she was marched in there, was work.
"Discipline is strength, and both are what this room and I will instill into you," he began. "Because of my body, I created a fighting style that suits me well. The Gryphon Style. The perfect synthesis of beast and bird."
"What about your tail?"
"Quiet! Luckily, my fighting style is flexible enough to accommodate even you." Marcosias gave her a quick study. "Hmm...strong goat features and a barbed tail. Coupled with your claws, you'd make a... halfway decent lioness. A Chimera Style will do for you, Sinner."
"The Sinner has a name," May muttered.
"And with me, you will have to earn it again. Until then, you will answer to who you are and nothing else. Am I clear, Mrs. Mayberry?"
"Yeah," she shrugged.
"Twenty push-ups now!" Marchosias barked.
May perked up in shock. "Wh-What? What did I do?"
"You disobeyed your Goetia, Mrs. Mayberry!"
"But I didn't do anything!"
"An extra ten push-ups!"
"But, I-"
She suddenly threw a hand to her mouth. Her coach was playing a very harsh game of Simon Says, and she understood, at last, that she was losing.
Marchosias gave her an imperious yet satisfied glare as she lain prone on the hardwood floor, then shoved herself from it, counting off in louder and louder grunts between the occasional "Shit on a shingle" and the classic "Son of a bitch."
In the hall, outside the salon, Ms. Treat pleasantly watched her host learning her place through its open doorway.
A hulking shadow quietly padded to her side, curious at both her and the scene in the room.
"So, you and she are the newcomers here," he said. "I suppose it makes sense that he'd take you in. He's obviously bored with my company."
Treat took an appraisal of the figure. True enough, he was the shadowy, lupine half of the marquis. Still, his appearance was slightly different, somewhat feral in his reflection of his host.
Physically, he was the same; tall, powerful, and winged. Yet, his fur was as black as a starless, country night, and his wings were such a deep shade of red it looked as if every feather was bathed in human blood. He wore nothing except a thick, silver chain and an ornate loincloth that held Treat's attention for many seconds.
"Well, now that I can actually see daylight, maybe I can be your new playmate. Especially since we have so much in common. The emotional fall and psychological usurpation of our hosts, for instance."
"Hmmph! A game I've been playing for many a year, my dear. He's gotten quite strong. But, at a cost."
"Yes, he does come off as a bit brittle, but things are at their most fragile at that state."
"You speak from experience, I'd wager."
"I'm clever," she purred. "I know how to break things, and you know what they say, 'Teamwork makes the nightmare work.' Let's help each other with our mutual problem."
"Divide and conquer, perhaps? I'm...interested, Miss..."
"Treat, and I'll just call you...Dark Mark, to keep things casual."
"Fair enough."
"Ms. Treat's Plan"
(Miss Treat)
You can measure the clothes,
By the worth of the tailor,
The fouler the prisoner,
The stronger the jailor
The worser the storm,
The greater the sailor,
The worth of the hero,
By the depths of the failure!
(Dark Mark)
You say you've a plan,
That's the perfect arrangement,
To give both our hosts,
A delightful estrangement
(Miss Treat)
They'll bray and inveigh,
While we prey, like sadistic gourmets,
And amaze to our own entertainment!
(Dark Mark)
You talk a good game,
But, I still have a doubt,
What can you do differently?
What is your clout?
(Miss Treat)
Why, it's simple psychology,
Child or the mother,
To dominate one,
You must target the other!
(Chorus)
Conspire! Conspire!
Deceit is inspired!
Passivity's death,
And control is desired,
For seizing the helm,
Is the dream we aspire,
A mutinous act,
On our part, is required!
(Miss Treat)
So, trust me,
I sympathize well with your plight,
Your battle for dominance,
Morning 'til night
I, myself, am so sick,
Of her righteous dismissal,
She thinks she's Odysseus?
I'll be her Calypso!
She once was the teacher,
Now, she's being callow,
The brighter her light,
Means the darker my shadow
(Dark Mark)
Alright, you've convinced me,
So, what shall we do?
"It's easy," she said enticingly. "You stroke me, my dear, and I'll stroke you."
Thoughts of malicious victories and, more besides, induced private laughter from the two in the hall.