Marx hated Grill. There was no other way around it.

She was annoying. She was persistent. She was always tagging alongside him like a lost puppy even after making perfectly it perfectly clear that he wanted her to go away, always so irritatingly happy and energetic and nice to him.

He hated her. He wanted her gone.

But she wouldn't leave. Every morning, she would come to his home – he called an abandoned tree stump filled with his few personal belongings 'home' anyways – and insist that they spend the day together like the 'friends' they are, even if their idea of spending the day is Marx reading his tome while Grill plays pranks on any Dreamlander passing by.

Tch, 'friends'. Yeah, right.

The purple jester grinded his teeth together as he struggled to tie his bowtie correctly with his teeth. That stupid oversized onion wasn't his friend; friends were only good for getting in the way, and he certainly didn't need any of those. He had lived just fine on his own until now, and he would continue to do so.

And he just couldn't let her hang around him for too long. She would ruin everything, she would sooner or later find out about his plans and ruin them-

"Maaaaaarx~!"

Speak of the devil.

…..Maybe if he kept quiet long enough, she would go away?

"I know you're in there, silly! I can see your hat through the window!"

Or maybe not.

Cursing under his breath, Marx dragged his feet towards the door. He would have to tell her now, tell her that he wanted her gone from his life before she became a liability. No buts or ifs; he would kick her out through and through.

I hate you. I can't stand you. Every time I see you my day is instantly ruined. You're ugly and annoying and your onion stench is disgusting. Your hat is tacky and it burns my eyes just to look at it.

Ah yes, any of those would do the trick for sure. With a wicked smile he finally got the door to open, but it quickly turned into a frown once he saw what the witch had brought along with her.

"Good morning, Marx~!" Grill sang, extending her floating hands for the jester to take a better look at the basket she was carrying with her, "I brought you something special, so I hope you haven't eaten anything today!"

"You…you brought me food?" Marx eyed the basket, and sure enough a sweet and warm smell wafted from it. His mouth watered almost instantly and his stomach started growling, but he ignored it and scowled at the girl before him, "What's in it, huh? Poison? Worms? Why would you cook something for me out of the blue?"

Much to his chagrin, Grill just laughed and completely ignored his insults, "Because we're friends, remember? And it's not poisoned or filled with worms, dummy; that would make the pie taste bitter!"

"I already know that, you stupid- Wait, you baked me a pie?"

"Yup, strawberry pie! That's your favorite, right?" Marx blinked at her question; how could she possibly know that? "I know because when we stopped at that market in Yogurt Yard a couple of days ago, you got this dreamy look on your face when we stopped by the fruit stand. For a second I thought you would jump right into that pile of strawberries and eat them in front of everyone!"

The Yogurt Yard market; he remembered that it had been her idea. She had grown tired of sitting around while he read his book, and had literally dragged him to Yogurt Yard to buy some food for her cooking, to do something she liked for a change (A cooking onion; how ironic).

Man, those strawberries had looked really good back then.

"It seemed to me that you haven't eaten strawberries in a while, so I thought you would like this pie!" Carefully, she reached into the basket and took out the pastry, and Marx's stomach did a flip; its crunchy pastry had a perfect golden hue under the morning sun, and the sweet smell of strawberries was just heavenly.

"B-but…why…"

"How many times do I have to say it? You're my friend, Marx! And I just know you would do the same for me, because I know I'm your friend too!" And she gave him another of his annoying smiles – which somehow didn't seem nearly as annoying now.

He swallowed hard; he had to tell her. He didn't want her tagging along anymore, she was going to screw up everything and he had to say something but the words wouldn't come out-

Ugly. Useless.

"Oh, I know! Pies taste waaaaaay better with some ice cream!"

Stupid. Go away.

"Wait, is it even OK to eat pie and ice cream for breakfast? Eh, who cares, right?"

I hate you.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have some ice cream, do you?"

I HATE YOU.

"….hey, are you OK? Marx?"

"….I'm fine" he stepped aside as if telling her to come inside, his voice suddenly hoarse; "I…think I might have some leftover milk in the kitchen. Not ice cream, though."

"Aw, that's OK! But that means we'll have to go shopping for ice cream later!" She stepped inside, humming to herself and heading for the kitchen and although the jester couldn't look properly at her face, he knew she was smiling another of her stupid, dumb, wonderful smiles; "I just hope you really like my pie! I prepared it with extra care, just for you~!"

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Marx's chest tightened almost painfully.

….

He guessed it wouldn't hurt to have her tag along, if only for a little while longer.