Marco stared blankly at the empty air outside of the Banquet Hall, the sounds of celebration continuing in muted suspension from beyond the door. If anyone saw him, they probably would have thought he was zoning out.
They would be right.
"Then, is different?"
Buff Frog had posed the question before leaving Marco alone in the hallway, and to the monster's credit, it was a very good question with a very not-so-easy answer.
Like most things, it felt gray. Ambiguous. Yes and no.
He and Star were different - that was a simple matter of fact.
But did that mean things between them had to be different?
They were older. After fumbling with their feelings for a little while, they started to date. They had lost a few battles but won ten times as many. Star had grown from the cute rebel princess that lived down the hall into a fearless Queen-to-be, as magnificent as the title but without any of the inherent arrogance.
If they were different, did that have to be a bad thing?
In some ways, Star was the same. She was silly, kind-hearted, and just the right amount of undignified. At night, her voice was a cherished lullaby; in the day, she outshined the sun, a star far more luminous and awesome than any celestial body could ever be. The world seemed to gravitate around her, and he was just lucky enough to be caught in her atmosphere, to feel her warmth and breathe her air.
But the changes were undeniable, too. Mewni had already begun to wrap itself around her reign, and she hadn't even ascended to the throne yet. Monster-Mewman relations had only been the beginning, and Star worked tirelessly everyday she was not on Earth to better the Kingdom - education, social stratification, food insecurity, infant mortality. All of it began to improve, little by little, as she chipped away at the system that had given her status in the first place.
Star was his favorite riddle, elusive and flamboyant all at the same time. She never made sense in the most wonderful sort of way. Really, Marco thought, she was perfect, but she had always been perfect.
So did that mean she was the same? Or was his idea of perfection changing with her?
Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Marco tried to slow his thoughts to processing one thing at a time. His head was starting to pound from the mitosis of questions that were metastasizing in his brain - each time he came to a thought, encouraging or frightening, it multiplied into fifty new anxieties and questions that then became a hundred more. A dizzying cacophony of insecurities and assurances and doubts and possibilities and hopes were starting to ache within his skull like the bass of the music beyond the doors.
The doors that separated him from the rest of his life.
Just... go in there and try to celebrate.
For Star.
With a deep inhale, Marco focused on the passage of air into his lungs, taking care to observe and appreciate the warmth of the castle; the chill from his earlier conversation had all but vanished. His hands no longer ached with latent numbness, his ears no longer burned with unforgiving exposure.
To be in the right headspace for these sort of things, he had to put on his best smile, stand up straight, and refuse to be bulldozed by the superfluous pomp and gaiety he had grown to expect from most of Mewni's royal celebrations. That is not to say Marco was ungrateful - quite the opposite, in fact. It was only because he was privileged in his fortune to know the Butterfly family (let alone date their only daughter) that he had attended enough of these to sort of social forums to understand the propriety and respectability expected of him… but that didn't mean they weren't a little annoying.
The elaborate displays and constant vying for the King and Queen's, and especially Star's, attention by so many disingenuous guests, the helpless loneliness that crept up from the pit in his abdomen when she was wisked away for some affair way above his pay grade, the whispers and stares that trailed behind him at the refreshment table about his relationship - or worse, his intentions - for Star.
Ugh… just, one thing at a time. His stomach seemed to growl at him in annoyance. Marco grimaced, but buried the anxieties in the pit in his stomach.
Through the exhale, Marco thought again of Bynar, and all of the Mewman who weren't going to sleep in a castle, much less a bed, tonight.
He rolled his shoulders backwards, finally feeling confident enough to enter the ballroom, to face his fears… or, at minimum, to at least find something to eat.
He was not, however, ready to crash right into someone when he opened the door.
"Oh, oh, man, I'm sorry - sorry." Marco rubbed the back of his head, having smacked his Hekapoo-bestowed bald spot against the door when he tried to stagger sideways. He was grateful to see a familiar face, though they would not have been his first choice of person to run into after accidentally having his first alcoholic drink.
"Marco, my boy, are you alright? Gave you a good scare there, didn't I?" King River was at least a head shorter than Marco, so the man's center of gravity had been less affected by their encounter.
He gave a firm pat-pat on the teen's back, which was received with a halfhearted chuckle.
Conscious of the smell of swamp water on his tongue, Marco pointed his head away from the man when answering "Ugh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, River. I wasn't paying attention. Are you okay?"
A bemused expression played on the man's face, and he thumped his own chest proudly. "Never better! It'll take a lot more than a scrawny human boy to scratch the surface of this ol' bear! ...No offense."
"None taken." Marco smirked, moving around the King to enter the Banquet Hall, pulled in by the uninviting music that poured into the empty hall.
"Hold on, hold on," River said.
Marco audily yelped as he was yanked back into the hallway, the door shutting firmly behind him.
Lips pressed together, a thin line formed along the teens lips as he tried to avoid the stare of the kind, though intense, man who had just derailed him further from an already plenty-derailed evening. River was nodding seriously, a hand running through his beard as he sized up Marco like he had never seen him before.
"I think I could use your help, actually. What do you say, why don't you take a walk with your King?"
Marco was hesitant for at least a handful of reasons. While he respected Star's father greatly, and they were quite close, Marco had his fill of detours for one night. And technically, he wasn't really a Mewnian citizen, so River wasn't really his King. Not to mention he really was hungry, and while he had only taken a big swig of the swamp water, he had enough cultural knowledge to know drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea.
"Actually, I - " Marco began, but he stopped when he tried to meet River's gaze.
There was a glimmer in the man's eye, a peculiar sort of look that Marco knew. It was special, kindred, spirited… a shine that lived on through the man's daughter. Severe and adventurous, it was a look rife with mischief - one that Marco had argued with a dozen times; he had tried to persuade those eyes before, to reason with the unreasonable, to think of consequences and rational decisions.
Tonight, the glint happened to take a more curious form, but he knew his will would falter. Might as well resign to it now.
Marco nodded at River. "Sure, let's do it."
"That'a'boy. Now come, I don't want Moonpie to know I've gone. Let's be quick about this business."
They exited the Main Hall at the Northern Gatehouse, moving towards a part of the castle that Marco was relatively familiar with. Even after having lived here for months at a time, it wasn't unusual to stumble upon an apartment or concourse that he had never noticed before.
The halls they took into the northern part of the castle were mostly dark until they made their way to one of the exterior passages that took the form of a long and elegant hallway.
The King was in an especially excitable mood tonight, for which Marco was grateful, as it saved him the burden of contributing much to the conversation. All he had to do was nod at the right moments, and "mmm," occasionally.
They passed portraits to their right, detailing important figures in Mewni's history, and spectacular windows to their left. These monuments to masonry were larger and more intricate than any Marco had ever seen on Earth, though there was something in the curvature and underlying magnificence that reminded him of the arched windows that decorated old churches.
But unlike those windows on Earth, these were not simple pieces of decorum, stained by color and religious imagery. These structures were flawlessly clear. If not for the castle's warmth, Marco would have thought each wall opened directly to the courtyards below for how brilliantly they shined.
The walk was breathtaking. Enamored with the clandestine piano keys that lined their path, Marco all but tuned out the King's conversation, instead focused on the fearsome shadows etched by moonlight that contrasted the prisms of milky light, laid out like a melody across the stone tiles. He had never seen Butterfly Castle like this before, all the hustle-and-bustle requisitioned to a single room, and he silently hoped to share this mystifying song with another Butterfly someday.
They slowed their walk upon approaching a stairwell - he recognized this place, but he couldn't tell where exactly they were. The inversion of light and sound in the castle made everything unrecognizable as it was in the day, sublime and surreal in the best kind of way.
"...interesting girl, that cutpurse friend of your's. Apparently, you can get a good price for a kidney on the black market if you get in touch with the right people. She said it only took the modest price of one Earth phone for a grown man's kidney. The knowledge of that girl! I do wonder how she knows such... Ah, here we are, this way."
Biting his tongue, Marco was regretting his decision not to pay better attention after all. What else had Janna managed to corrupt in the course of one evening? What was the likelihood that the phone she pawned was his cell phone? Why does she even need a man's kidney?
"I'm sure you've been in the Astral Tower before, we're nearly there." The King pushed open a door and started forward immediately, leaving Marco to catch it before it slammed closed.
"Astral Tower?" Marco repeated, walking through the door. He was glad for his honed fighter reflexes, because the moment he passed the threshold he felt his foot hover dangerously close to a ledge. The King had led them into an absolutely massive, cylindrical tower that was nothing but a winding set of stairs around a marvel of stone, smooth walls erected in the shape of a turret.
Marco swallowed at the lump in his throat, aware that he could have very easily just fallen to his death. He wouldn't blame Star if her first reaction to that news was to laugh.
Here lies Marco Diaz, Beloved Son, Friend, and Squire. He died doing what he loved - avoiding things.
Marco did his best to keep up with the King's strides, craning his neck as they descended the stairs, finally remembering this place… though it had a very different, much less pleasant sobriety to it at night.
"I guess I have been here. I didn't know that's what this is called."
He had taken this stairwell a handful of times. It was a large, mostly hollow monolith that was near to Star's room, and it contained a single set of stairs that descended deep under the castle. Towering windows lined the sides of the mausoleum, shaped like upside-down spades that invited cold air and crisp moonlight into the silent atmosphere, creating bizarre shadows across each step below the kingdom.
Marco put his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, a bit miffed that he had only just returned to a reasonable body temperature not ten minutes ago.
"Why is it called the Astral Tower?" Marco wondered aloud.
The King did not answer at first, looking skyward.
"That question has many answers, but the most likely story is simply that it leads to the tallest chamber in the castle. You can see Mewni for miles in every direction. It is excellent for studying the stars."
Marco thought about that for a moment, his curiosity piqued. "Most likely?"
"Yes, well," the King cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Yes, um. That is to say, well, legend is… maybe Star should be the one to tell you, actually. Not my place, you see, not being Butterfly by blood and all…"
"Oh," was all the response Marco could say to that. He took the King at his word that some stories are best left alone, lest he be forced to relive his first Stump Day. Marco shuddered at the memory.
After a few more minutes of walking in silence, the King breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the bottom landing.
"Here we are, ah yes. " He pointed at a simple, unassuming wooden door at the bottom landing.
"Wait, the laundry room?" Marco asked incredulously. He blinked a few times, looking between the King and the door to make sure he hadn't missed something.
"I figured there was like... a secret passageway we were taking somewhere or something. You made this sound really important and mysterious earlier."
"Oh, but Marco, this is important. Hurry up now, let's not waste anymore time." The King strode forward and wretched open the entrance, barreling into the room with characteristic fervor.
Marco tried not to sigh too loudly as he followed him in.
The pleasant smell of fresh linens and subterranean water immediately filled his lungs, comforting compared to the crisp dry air that penetrated the walls of the tower above.
"This is a… weird place to take a break mid-party," Marco commented as he closed the door behind them. There were no exterior windows here, so the light that illuminated the laundry room was muted and artificial.
River moved towards a few baskets of linens and immediately began tearing into the meticulously arranged pile. Aghast, Marco ran after him and tried to stop the destruction of such perfectly organized materials.
"River, wait! What are you looking for? Let me, or maybe we should just go find Sir Lavabo and ask hi- ."
"Hello, my liege." A distinctivly Spanish voice interrupted the chaos momentarily, and Marco reflexively jumped into fighting position.
The Knight of the Wash knelt at their feet, and Marco lowered his hands. "S-sir Lavabo! How did you…?"
"I sensed the need for my expertise amongst the textiles. Now please, how can I be of service?" He addressed his question to River, who dropped the shirts and socks he had just grabbed abruptly.
The King approached the knight with an oddly serious look on his face, and with a hushed tone he leaned forward towards Lavabo.
"Were you followed?"
"No, my King," he responded sharply. "I have come alone."
"... Very well. The Queen's Blue Calico?"
Lavabo looked up, met the King's stare, and nodded in the direction of an unmarked door to their left.
Marco, meanwhile, was watching the scene unfold before him, quietly wondering if he had actually fallen off the castle balcony earlier. This seemed more like an abstraction of a comatose dream filled with oddities and mysteries and unanswered questions.
"And the most recent deposits?" River asked as he made towards the door Lavabo had indicated, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"It would be here, my liege." Lavabo stood to his full height, moving towards one of the unsorted pile of clothes at the bottom of a labyrinth of chutes.
With a long pause, the King nodded and turned to Marco.
"If you would, Marco, help Lavabo find the Blue Calico. It is my wife's, and it is very precious to her," he said, giving the teen a firm nod.
Marco was naturally wary, but he had come this far. "Uh, sure… I guess, but, River, shouldn't - "
He was cut off when the King leapt through the doorway, calling over his shoulder as he went. "Then for the rest of this evening, I reinstate thee as temporary squire of The Knight of the Wash!"
With a final twirl of his kingly cape, River looked at the stunned teenager and the painfully proud knight before snapping the door closed.
Sir Lavabo turned his head towards the heavens, closed his eyes and whispered. "Godspeed, my King."
Marco stood in the middle of the room for a moment, utterly bewildered as he watched the knight dive headfirst into a pile of clothes.
"...Oooookay. Sir Lavabo, what the heck is going on?" Marco moved next to the jostling mountain of fabric, lifting up a random blanket from the pile. He cringed backwards when it revealed a pair of eyes looking back at him.
"Ugh, Sir Lavabo, that's creepy." Marco said, dropping the blanket unceremoniously at his feet.
Mostly to himself at this point, the teenager joined in the search. He inspected a sock before flinging it over his shoulder.
"What is this about, with the Queen's, um, handkerchief?" Saying 'calico' sounded weird and old-timey. "Why are we looking for it? And where did you just send River off to?"
The Knight of the Wash stood up within the clothes abruptly, causing Marco to jump a second time.
"Marco Diaz... I cannot confide the secrets of this kingdom, even to you, my most accomplished squire. Please, understand that I have a royal duty to uphold. Search for a white handkerchief with blue and gold embroidery, and reserve your questions for your King."
The curt statement took him off guard, so Marco backtracked."O-oh. Sorry. I guess I should have asked River for a better explanation, not you." Marco looked away, a little ashamed that he had been demanding. It wasn't Lavabo's fault he had been dragged halfway across the kingdom with no explanation. Really, it wasn't even River's fault - Marco had willingly agreed to come.
"Do not worry. Only one of the King's most trusted confidants could be asked to join him on this quest. I am grateful for the assistance." He gave Marco a kind nod before disappearing beneath an ocean of cotton. The appreciative smile on the teen's face went unnoticed, followed by a comfortable silence as the two embarked on their quest.
After a few minutes of sorting and and shaking out blankets to no avail, Marco's stomach growled loudly.
The Knight of the Wash turned in his direction with a brow raised, and Marco chuckled awkwardly.
"Marco Diaz, do you require sustenance? I need my squire at his best for this expedition," he said, rubbing his mustache dubiously.
"Um, I…" Marco was half-tempted to accept, but he didn't want to slow down things any further. The party would be over before he even gets there at this rate.
"No," he replied, stretching his arms above his head. "I'll be okay. I had some, uh, food at the party. The sav-qual? Thanks, though."
Much to his surprise, a minaret of robes began to shake, and a moment later it exploded outwards with a hurricane of laughter. The Knight of the Wash was in stitches, bent over and grasping his legs for support. Marco wasn't sure if he's ever heard Sir Lavabo utter so much as chuckle before, so when the man burst forth in hysterics, it was downright alarming.
"W-what?!" Marco demanded.
With a hearty sigh, Lavabo returned to standing and shook his head, moving towards the western wall of the room.
"Oh, my, that certainly explains it! I did not want to be rude, lad, but your… well, let me say, savqual? They are a delicacy here on Mewni for sure, for monsters! Most people would only accept such a punishment as a challenge against their manhood. I thought I detected something curious on your breath, but at risk of being rude, I did not mention it," Sir Lavabo said with a giggle.
"Oh," was all the response Marco could manage while the grown man was continually thrown into his laughter. At least The Knight of the Wash found the humor in it, though the confirmation of his swamp-breath was sufficiently demoralizing.
Eager to return to the task at hand, Marco forced a chuckle. "Well, that explains it. It tasted pretty awful." He didn't want to linger on him imbibing anything Monster related any further, lest the smell of West Mewnian Swamp Water becomes even more incriminating.
Yep. This has definitely got to be a comatose dream.
After the man seemed to regain his bearings, Marco watched as the Knight of the Wash returned to his work, almost immediately up to his neck in knickers. With a patient inhale, Marco turned and began to weave around different piles of wools and nylons and cottons, eyes scanning for a hint of blue and gold.
Cupping his hands together, Marco blew a stream of warm air between his fingers. They weren't as painfully cold as they had been half an hour ago, but any latent warmth from beneath the castle had fled through the open windows of the Astral Tower.
"So… how did you really know the King was coming here? I'm pretty sure if 'communicating through textiles' or whatever was on the list of requirements, I never would have been made your squire in the first place."
Without resurfacing, a voice answered. "Hah! A bright boy indeed. I was present at the party when… things happened."
Marco immediately thought of Star and stopped dead in his tracks. "What things? Did something go wrong?" Why hadn't River mentioned anything earlier? All he had told him was that story about Janna, but was Star okay?
Before Marco could send himself into cardiac arrest, Sir Lavabo spoke again. This time, his head popped through the top of a pile and he had a bonnet snug against his head like a second helmet.
"Oh, no, it was nothing like that. The item the King seeks is a treasure to the Kingdom. There are only two in existence. I cleaned one two days ago, and it is in the next room over, and the other is here somewhere. I watched some… mistakes be made in the hall from my post, and when I saw the King move towards the doors… I assumed the rest." His voice trailed off, surprisingly stern. It rang of the same mysterious scolding Sir Lavabo had given him earlier when asking of the calico's nature.
Marco's lips tightened into a doubtful line, but if nothing had happened to Star, he could reserve his curiosity for now. He squared his shoulders and resumed his squirely task.
The pair searched for another fifteen minutes, and Marco had to admire the man's deep, if not strange, passion for his work. At one point, Marco had stumbled upon a gown he recognized to be Star's, and it was collected largely with other gowns (although there were some ties and ascots mixed in). Thinking of Bynar and the chill that had slowly reclaimed their hold on his fingers, Marco then made the mistake of asking about the differences between the nature of "royal" wears versus commoner clothing, and Sir Lavabo took it upon himself to provide thorough explanation of every kind of fabric imaginable.
From silks and organza of nobles, to chainmail and leather of knights, and the wools and acrylics of the peasant class, The Knight of the Wash seemed to know everything there was to know about maintaining, repairing, cleaning, and tailoring every type of clothing. The litany of knowledge was only as impressive as it was mind-numbingly boring, and Marco thanked his lucky stars that he had not remained a squire here for long.
While the knight was nothing kind to Marco and he respected the difficult duty Sir Lavabo had been tasked with, it took a certain kind of person to be passionate about laundry.
Marco, as a knight-in-training, was definitely not passionate about laundry.
Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work, I guess.
Trying to ignore the aching in his stomach, Marco noticed a glint of color that caught his eye to the left of the tailoring station, squinting, it echoed of fine silvery skies and lustrous jewels.
"S-Sir Lavabo! I think I found it," he said, scrambling on his hands and knees towards the sewing table and recovering a crisp white handkerchief, with blue lattice lace on the inner border and lined by golden stitches. It was inexplicably lovely, bearing the typical blue-gold colors of the Butterfly family, but intensified. With resplendence appropriate for something belonging to Queen Moon, it almost sparkled under the lights, and it was much softer than it appeared. Marco delicately held it by one corner, afraid he might soil something so elegant.
The Knight of the Wash burst through a tower of ties and tassels nearby, springing lithely to Marco's side next to the workbench.
He scooped the napkin up by one hemmed corner and examined it with a critical eye, moving it around under different concentrations of light.
"You have found it - well done, Marco Diaz! A fine squire you would have made, indeed."
Rubbing the back of his neck, Marco tried to brush off the compliment.
"It's not a problem. Glad I could help. So... what's wrong with it? It doesn't look dirty. Or, er, if you can't tell me, that's okay. I could ask River."
The man answered by taking a seat at the station and securing the flawless piece of fabric with four tiny magnets. Moving a few things around, Sir Lavabo pulled a massive magnifying glass that had been rigged to the light above the table towards him, lowering it so that it hung inches away from the silky ashen surface. It sort of reminded Marco of the lights dentists would use on Earth during an examination.
Leaning forward, Marco squinted through the looking-glass like it was one of those illusion books, moving his head closer and further away in an attempt to reveal some hidden mystery.
It looked perfect from every conceivable angle.
"I normally would decline, but you are my squire tonight, and this sort of magical dye does not pass through these chutes everyday..."
His sentence trailed off, replaced by the sound of quiet tinkering as he adjusted some dials that were attached to the magnifying contraption. There was a small crackle and the room went entirely dark, all of the bewitched torches snuffed out immediately.
Before Marco even had a chance to let the fear arrive, he shielded his eyes from an oppressive blue light that illuminated the darkness strikingly. It was a bit like trying to watch television in the dark, only this light was much more intense.
Once his vision refocused, Marco realized the source of the light had been radiating from beneath the glass, magnified in its intensity through the refractions of luminescence. Chancing a glance within, the magic and mystery of this whole affair suddenly felt very real.
"Whoa. What is that?" Marco pointed at the phantom fabric, ignited like a bioluminescent under what he presumed must be black light. But unlike crime shows, this was not white and splotchy. It was a dazzling, if not hypnotic; shade of blue that seemed to oscillate mystically of its own accord. In the delicacy of the waving sea across the surface, weaving tones of cobalt and sapphire, the cloth looked almost alive.
Glancing towards the teen, Lavabo gave him a knowing smirk and flipped back on the normal lights, all of boring reality suddenly jerking back to the forefront. The illumination vanished more readily than a puff of smoke.
Oddly serious, the Knight of the Wash stood and offered Marco his seat. "You are a smart young man, Marco Diaz. What do you think it is?"
Marco had not expected that, and he continued to stare at the cloth as he wracked his brain for any plausible explanation.
"Well," he began as he sat at the station, drumming a few fingers across his cheek.. "If it is Queen Moon's, then it's obviously magical. And there's two… only two, you said?"
Sir Lavabo was standing beside him, a notched and curious brow affixed to his expression. He nodded.
"There's two, then. They're magical. They belong to the Queen. River didn't want her to know he was gone… so, I'm guessing River must have sent this one down the chute tonight. During or maybe right before the party. So something happened to between now and then that justified it needing to be cleaned?"
There was no response, so he continued.
"So… the question is not what this is exactly, but why River needed to hide it from Star's mom? And, Star usually only hides things from her if she messed up in a minor way. If it's something big and dangerous, she'd fess up. I can't picture the King being the best liar if it was super important, so I'm going to guess he's acting like Star on this one. Kinda a big deal, but not really. Not like… life-or-death, but maybe enough to make Queen Moon mad."
But… what did River do? It doesn't look like anything's wrong with it, but it needs to be cleaned. Is there something wrong with the… magic, then? I don't have a point of reference here.
Marco was quiet for a moment, trying to piece together a puzzle in which he did not have all the pieces.
If the King managed to sneak the calico away, then whatever had gone wrong must not have been a loud display - something secretive, maybe embarrassing?
"Are you any closer to an answer?" Sir Lavabo asked as he moved beside Marco, bending to look at the delicate fabric once again.
Marco pursed his lips and answered slowly. "I'm… getting there. think so. I think River did something wrong, and doesn't want the Queen to know. It's probably something personal, since it's not something that River wanted to acknowledge publicly, not like the wand. Maybe a gift from another kingdom, or something they're giving to Star for her birthday - her Day of Designation is clearly a big… deal… and, um… if, Star… well, no, uh..."
Marco's voice had begun to grow faint, and at that moment he was very glad to be sitting. He hadn't noticed it at first, thinking it may have been an after-effect of the illusionary dance of the dye under the lights, still burned into his retina, that had made the room start to spin. Everything appeared fuzzier than it had a minute ago, and the subdued chill had traveled from his toes to securing a hold round his windpipe. The pressure was increasing, as was his pulse, and the pounding in his brain had started to feel confused and heated, uncomfortable. Burning?
The Knight of the Wash straightened and looked over at the teen, a strange expression on his face. His eyes were dancing with life, but the frown on his face and furrow in his brow suggested some reservations.
"Are you alright? You seem…" Marco did not catch the word he used, but judging by the knight's tone, it didn't sound like it could have been good.
"Mm'fine."
"...aybe….would...ter? Diff..."
He blinked, wondering why Lavabo was talking as if through a old radio, crackley and far away.
Diff… diff... different…?
The sound of coughing roused him from his forgotten nightmare, and Marco was surprised to find it was him who made the sound. There was a hot prickling in his throat, like he had swallowed barbed wires that had been basking in the sun all day, and even more surprising, he found there was a wetness around his eyes.
"B-breathe, lad. Slow and steady, now. In… and out." A voice was coaching him nearby, but Spots. There were many, iridescent spots, and Marco couldn't identify the speaker. Either way, the voice was not hateful, so he allowed himself to be guided by their advice.
He was moved to a chair, although that confused him, because hadn't he just been sitting? And a glass of water was pushed into his face. Marco accepted and drank it slowly, marveling at how something so simple and pure could exist in spite of the chaos of the worlds and dimensions he's lived through and seen.
Color started to take shape again, and after another thirty seconds of breathing, Marco found the Knight of the Wash very close to him, examining every trace of his face.
"Uh, thanks for the water?" His voice cracked and he moved to set the glass down besides the Blue Calico, but he was no longer seated next to the tailoring station. This was a different desk, deep mahogany with intricate curves, and the seat was more comfortable than the one he previously occupied.
With a tight voice, Sir Lavabo drew back slightly. "Are you alright? You... may have fainted."
Marco realized his eyes were still streaming, so wiped the back of his hand along his cheeks to dry them.
"No, I'm fine. S-sorry about that. I think I… was dehydrated. I'm fine, though."
The knight looked dubious, eyes flickering to the glass of water again.
"Tonight, you have served your kingdom well. Our quest is complete, so drink. Did you eat anything besides the savqual earlier?"
Earlier? To Marco, it felt like it had been a week since he spit out the horrible appetizer at the party.
His brain still felt foggy, so his response came slower than normal.
"Um, no. I spit it out. It was… bad."
After a pause, Sir Lavabo cleared his throat and gently placed a hand on each of Marco's shoulders.
"Why don't you sit here for a moment and rest? I'll return swiftly."
Marco nodded and watched the knight go, moving across the length of the room and through an open archway, unhindered by any sort of door.
A new sort of quiet - uneasy, and all too familiar - settled in the room. It was the sort of shifting silence one felt when they were surrounded by others, but still felt alone. Quiet, and absent, but tangibly there and held together only by the laws of physics.
Marco rested his head on his arms, slouching across the spotless wooden desk. It was settled against the eastern wall, opposite the room of the tailoring table, and the air felt even colder. After a moment, he realized the room had not grown cooler, but that his face was covered in a film of cold sweat, causing the air to stick to him and for his shirt underneath the suit jacket to hug his lungs as they rose and fell repeatedly.
Marco moved his attention to the corporeal, at risk of receding into his panic if he did not get a desk he had decidedly sprawled out upon was a modest ensemble of dark wood with simple detailing along the legs. The chair matched, obviously a set, and the flat face of the desk was wide and perfectly clean - ideal for folding fresh laundry, Marco presumed. There were only two possessions on display: a small sign engraved with a quote and a piece of pink folded stationery.
The sign read, in masterfully crafted calligraphy, "Through muddled scent and stained shirt piles, the dirt of yesterday shall not be the enemy of tomorrow."
Well, you couldn't say the knight did not take his job seriously.
Unwittingly, Marco's hands had moved to pick up the rose-colored card on Lavabo's desk, not really considering the issue of privacy; to him, it looked like one of those office birthday cards that everyone signs disingenuously.
He nearly dropped the paper when he recognized the girlish scrawl.
Dear Sir Lavabo,
Thank you for accepting Marco as your squire for a day. I know I sorta just dropped in unannounced, and I didn't even ask if you needed or wanted a squire, so I really appreciate how willing you were to work with him. I… also didn't realize how crazy dangerous your duty was to the Kingdom, so I wanted to thank you for your service, too.
Incidentally, I also wanted to apologize about those two things as well. When I broke down the door and you thought I was going to kill you, I didn't realize how much of a jerk I was being. Pony was right - you were just trying to do your job, and I didn't treat you with the respect you deserve. I know you said not to worry about it, but I still feel bad. Please accept this plaque my way of saying sorry.
I also want to say sorry about Marco - he's the only squire to survive the quest of the Knight of the Wash and I'm already taking him away from you! He's my best friend, and while I know he would be a great squire to you, I really need him by my side. I hope you understand.
Sincerely,
Star Butterfly
Marco stared at the card, re-reading the sloppy handwriting and the cute way all the i's were dotted with tiny hearts. There was also a small yellow butterfly drawn next to Star's signature.
"The Princess is very kind," said a steady voice behind his shoulder.
Marco fumbled with the letter in his hands, nearly dropping it in his scramble to return it back on the desk. He cleared his throat and tried not to look conspicuous… which, incidentally, made him appear even more conspicuous.
"Y-yes, she is. I didn't, er, wasn't um... " he was trying to think of an excuse, feeling a bead of sweat appear at his brow. Instead, he slumped his shoulders in defeat and looked away; lying blatantly would just serve to make him look even worse.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
Cheeks burning, Marco intently studied the plate that had been sat in front of him on the desk. On it there was an entire loaf of bread, a bag of frozen Mewnian corn, and what Marco could only hope was lunch meat.
"Oh no, I am very honored to have such a letter. It is one of my most treasured possessions, to have a gift from Princess Butterfly. It would be unjust to hide away something so priceless."
The teen blinked repeatedly, looking stupidly in the knight's direction as if the man had insulted him. He hadn't, but there was a distinctive sting that settled somewhere in his navel.
He knew that feeling, though the onset this evening was strange and abrupt.
Guilt.
Marco loved each and every note, letter, and picture he and Star had shared over the years… but he had never appreciated them quite like Lavabo cherished his own modest little card. This man valued something Star had given him (and by the looks of it, years ago,) so much that he kept it out for everyone and anyone to see. He was proud of it. Marco, on the other hand? The things he and Star had shared like this were in a box he stored in under his bed.
He may have kept them all, but something about the situation now felt very wrong. Like those momentos to her gratitude, affection, and admiration deserved the top shelf of every surface Marco owned. That her kindness and strength should never have been taken for granted, even if it was in the form of small, private messages.
Internally, he added to his mental checklist to rearrange some things in his room when he got the chance.
Marco offered the knight a small smile and didn't really know what to say. "I… um, yeah. Star is amazing."
The man grinned in return and pushed the plate closer to him. "A whole Kingdom would agree with you, or rue the day they denied it. Now, eat. The corn is for your head."
That made Marco react, reflexively touching the area just to the left of his premature bald spot, tendering lingering over the swelling. At least his headache now seemed justified.
With a small sigh, he he built himself a sandwich with shaking fingers and prayed to Mackie Hand the meat and bread were in no remote way related to any sort of monster cuisine. To the teen's great relief, the meat was sort of like tougher chicken and did not taste remotely like swamp water or his own bile. It wasn't great, but he had grown ravenous after not eating almost the entire day, so the plain sandwich was a welcome treat.
"I am glad you are alright," the knight said after Marco finished his first sandwich, already working on crafting a second.
"Mmm…" Marco acknowledged. He wasn't sure if that was really true. In truth, he felt like he was still reeling from the shadows and shapes behind the veil of his mind.
In what was likely a good choice, he elected for silence instead.
With a notch in his brow, the Knight of the Wash stood up and went over to the tailoring table. He retrieved the Blue Calico and held it carefully for Marco to take.
"We never got to finish our conversation, my squire. This... is silk, enchanted with a charm to take the form most suitable to the wielder, much like the wand weld by the Princess. Magic thrives within the fabric, yes, but it is not powerful. It is but a simple cloth; it adapts to a singular use and when stained, it takes that form until cleaned. Tonight, the Blue Calico is a napkin. Tomorrow, it could be a cape, and the next, a pair of gloves. The fluidity within extends only so long as it is clean."
Justifiably, Marco was surprised - he expected there to be more riddles and games involved in this. The answer was… surprisingly simple.
"So it just changes to whatever the Queen needs it to be?" He tried to sound interested, but his disappointment shone through.
"Yes," said the knight with a grave nod. "It is more than it appears, but less than it could ever be. The possibilities are as limitless as the sky is blue or the grass is green, but it is confined to the molds within which it is needed."
Marco felt like he had a question percolating somewhere in his throat, but he swallowed it along with the lump forming there. The lining of his windpipe was still scratchy and hot, so he capped off the remainder of his water and placed the glass down with a contented sigh.
"It has been almost half an hour. I must check on the King. Will you… be alright?" Sir Lavabo stood up, but cast a worrying eye over his on-again off-again squire. Marco tried to speak but coughed again, before punching down his dehydration.
"Y-yeah, I'm good. Go check on The King. Please."
The knight stood poised for a moment, something flickering in his eyes that Marco could not quite identify, but he ultimately man turned and briskly strode across the room.
He stopped just shy of the door, calling over his shoulder. "If you need anything, help yourself."
Marco was truly grateful of the knight's kindness - he normally would have been embarrassed about collapsing like that, but Sir Lavabo's attitude lacked any sort of negative judgement.
"Thanks."
With a clink, the door opened, and closed again.
Marco stood up upon completing his second sandwich, hands still a little shaky but, overall, feeling significantly better. He slowly moved around the room, eyes ultimately befalling one of Star's gowns.
Red and pink, emblazoned with small white hearts and lace, Marco audibly gasped.
It was the dress she wore to the Blood Moon Ball, or its mirror image.
But why was it down in the laundry? Had she worn it lately?
Nearing the pile, Marco sat cross-legged and held the bodice of the gown delicately. After more than his share of times in a dress at St. O's, he knew these dressed to be a craft in themselves. Strings and holders in certain places, different ways to mold the fabric to the body so it did not stretch to tear, Marco held it with fragility.
The dress was felt like molten platinum in his fingers, running smoother than liquid and warm as a summer's breeze. Even only by proximity, Marco's nose picked up the presence of strawberries and sugar.
It smelled like Star.
He paused for a moment, and hoped beyond hopes he didn't seem creepy when he took a large inhale.
Tingling with the general lightness of Mewnian air, the garment reminded him of cookies and oatmeal, sweet and warm and familiar.
Star…
Marco held the gown in his hands with a small twinge of desperation, like the sand of the universe might fall from his fingertips if he let it go.
If he let her go.
How could he have let himself get like this? Star was the buzz that gave bees life, the pumping in his veins of adrenaline, and the melody of the city at night.
Marco was stupidly and totally in love with her, and he couldn't live without her.
A pang was set off, like a harmonium losing its tune, and Marco stood up.
He stared into the pile for what felt like a long time, the metaphysical guides of gravity and consciousness throwing him off course for a brief break from reality.
That… that was it. The problem. His problem.
He had finally managed to put a pulse on it, and now, it was speeding like a runaway freight train.
It was terrifying to think someone like him could, just by existing, demand the attention of the Princess of Mewni, but it was made all the harder when her kingdom was repeatedly put on the line. Magic and the crown, the wand and the life she was born for, or to give it up for his safety.
Twice now, after only four years, she had been forced to make that decision, and both times she chose him.
A question from earlier - or had it been a statement? Marco couldn't remember - resurfaced into the quiet air.
If Star Butterfly love Karate Boy as much as said, enough to risk her wand and crown, then what is Karate Boy willing to risk for Star Butterfly?
Buff Frog had been right.
Well, mostly.
Of course Marco was willing to risk everything for Star. He could even accept that Star would risk everything for him. But there was more to the problem then that - it wasn't just a matter of what he was willing to risk.
There was also a matter of what he was willing to accept.
Star didn't need him.
Marco was only a human. That turn of phrase had been marked against his name since the day he had met Star. He was only a human. He was just, almost, nearly, but never did his title suffice to situate him in the greater hierarchy of his life.
By basic physiology, he and Star could never be equals. She was built of stronger stuff, royal, Mewnian stuff, and her battles were much more abstract now compared to when they first met. Monster battles became political ones, and allies changed from friends to figureheads. Soon, Star would be Queen, with a literal Kingdom at her whim. There will be strong knights to protect her and diplomats to guide her, not that she needed it anyway. She was born to rule this Kingdom, magic and might all wrapped up in a whip of blonde hair.
Star had never really needed him, but before, that had at least been okay. They worked together to overcome their battles. Partners. 'Mess-up twins,' she called them. He could hold his own against Ludo's gang, but even if he mastered Tang Soo Do, (which he hadn't,) that still wouldn't get him very far against monsters like Mina or Meteroa. What good had he been against Toffee or Eclipsa?
It was luck, at best, that the consequences of both had only been minor. Marco looked at his blackened fingers for a moment, a flash of a memory from Eclipsa's rise, but tried to shake off the feeling. His own arms no longer resembled the Queen's, burned by the dark magic of a dark queen that had temporarily stained his skin, but sometimes the phantom of time crept back as a rude reminder.
He needed Star, but she didn't need him.
Star… Star was everything.
Marco felt a shudder run race up the length of his spine, and in a nearby river of red fabric, he extracted a supple blanket of crimson. The vermillion waves felt snug around his shoulders, warm against the stale air beneath the castle, though he felt a little guilty to be sitting here wrapped up in it after sweating into his suit… but it was in the dirty pile, so it was going to be cleaned soon?
That sort of worried him now that he thought about it… why was it dirty?
Biting his lip, Marco stood up but did not release his scarlet sanctuary, eyes lingering on Star's gown desperately.
He couldn't go on like this. Marco's rudimentary knowledge of Psychology was still plenty enough to tell him this sort of behavior and thinking wasn't healthy.
He would talk to Star about it. All of it. Tonight.
Making a silent vow, Marco stumbled over and wrapped himself further in the velvety covering when a huge voice burst into the silence.
"AhhHAh!" A call of victory came to hisleft, and a second later the King himself threw open the door and marched out, a twin of the handkerchief clasped in his fingers.
"Very good, my liege." The Knight of the Wash was panting, walking out after him with scrapes and bruises on his face. River had made a mockery of his royal wears, which set him out amongst the room of linens like a sore thumb.
Marco looked at them with a frown and arched brow, untangling himself with mild success as he stood up properly.
The grin slid off King River's face, and at first Marco began to fidget, thinking Sir Lavabo might have told River about his fainting spell. Really, the last thing he needed right now was to be teased further by his girlfriend's father.
"What... happened in there? Are you okay? Wh-why are you… looking at me like that?" Marco's voice was a waterfall, plummeting from a precipice of confusion. It tumbled into a downright flow of concern.
"M-Marco Diaz! What have you done!" Sir Lavabo scrambled forward, practically throwing himself at Marco and flinging him back into a tower of unsorted socks.
"W-what are you talking about?" Marco had nothing to leverage himself with, arms still tucked within the makeshift cape.
At least, he thought it was makeshift.
"Th-that is the King's Cape, boy!" The man whispered, trying to block him from River's sight by standing over him. Tugging, the Knight of the Wash jerked Marco around with impressive force, trying to extract him from the softness of his comfort.
"Oh, well - stop! I can do it! I didn't know, why does it matter?" Marco finally had his hands free and lifted the bottom up above his head like he was removing a very long shirt. It caught on the collar of his shirt, however, and settled over his shoulders like a cloak.
The Knight of the Wash looked aghast. "Itisacrimepunishablebydeath! YouareformallyimpersonatingtheKing!"
Marco's eyes went wide in realization, only to see thick fingers rest of Sir Lavabo's shoulder. A half-second later, a puff of blonde mustache and tattered blue robes appeared at the man's side, looking at Marco with scary intensity.
He hadn't seen the King like this since Ludo levitato-tato'd him, and that was almost three years ago.
Immediately, he began to wrestle with the crimson snake that had settled across his torso, regretting every decision he's ever made.
The King put up a hand, a single brow shooting high across the man's face. Marco and the Knight of the Wash both froze in their attempts.
"You know, Marco…" The King took another step towards him, sizing Marco up for a second time that evening. This time, he certainly looked like he knew who Marco was, and was instead debating which form of death would be most fitting.
It surprised them both when he smiled and flapped the corner of the cape, creating a billowing effect around Marco's ankles.
"Red really is your color."