Chapter Text
"You aren't sure?" The Septarian repeated back to him. He spoke gently, like he was addressing a timid animal. It came across a lot more demeaning than comforting.
Marco was already sick of the questions, and they’d only just started. In truth, he was sick of this entire day. He’d woken up in a miserable mood, largely because Toffee still hadn’t returned, and everything had gone downhill from there. He’d spilled tea all over himself, and now his one remaining plan for the day—hiding in bed and sulking—had been completely ruined.
A handful of Septarians from the city had shown up. Apparently, Rasticore had ridden in yesterday after the rain cleared to let them know they’d found him.
And god, the doctor had been bad enough on her own. She asked too many questions, picked a fight with Ryrlit over her "questionable" care choices, and forced him to drink some liquid medicine that somehow tasted worse than the tea Ryrlit kept insisting on.
But what was proving even worse was this… psychologist. Or the Septarian equivalent, at least. Marco supposed it was standard procedure under circumstances like these. But it didn’t mean he appreciated the questioning.
"Yeah, not sure." Marco huffed, sick of repeating himself.
The man made a note on his pad where he sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, pencil scratching softly against the paper. He was a smaller Septarian, very academic in style and dress. His face reminded Marco of a skink in more way than one. The man's expression never shifted, always neutral.
"That’s alright," He assured him. "You’re not in any trouble. It’s no problem at all if you don’t remember."
He did remember. Sort of. The important parts, anyway. Every question so far had been about how Rasticore had found him, about how he’d ended up here. It just didn’t feel worth the trouble of explaining. He didn’t want to. They wouldn't believe him anyway.
"Do you remember where you were living before? A description is fine if you don’t recall the name."
"No."
"Alright." The man didn’t press. He never did. He studied his notepad in silence, tapping the pencil once, twice.
"Do you remember seeing Mewmans around?"
No. He’d been alone. Mostly. Aside from Hekapoo. And Brunzetta, maybe—but Marco wasn’t sure she counted as Mewman.
Marco opened his mouth to offer another useless no, but a sudden idea froze him in place.
He picked at the blanket draped over his legs and turned to stare out the window. He could be anyone if he wanted to be. And what did it matter what he told them? He could pretend, be someone more interesting. Less sad. More like the protagonists in the old Earth movies Hekapoo sometimes brought home.
She had a battered VHS player and a television that somehow worked despite the lack of electricity. The alternative for entertainment had been talking to Toffee, and Marco didn’t often choose Toffee.
"I—yeah," He said at last, nodding. "I mean—my dad didn’t really like Mewmans. So…mostly just in passing. I guess."
"Oh, your dad? What can you tell me about him? Is he nice?"
Marco shrugged, quiet for a moment while he decided exactly how he wanted his dad to be in this fantasy version of his life. He felt almost ashamed his mind didn't immediately wander to his real dad back on earth. But it just…it'd been a long time since he'd spoken to him. The only other reference he had to pull from was…
"He's annoying, mostly." Marco finally spoke up, "But he's nice, I guess. And smart. Knows a lot."
The man let out a short laugh, nodding his head. "I feel like all fathers can be a little annoying." He agreed. "He's a Septarian?"
Toffees words from a few days prior rang through his mind; "You look a lot like the few half breeds I've seen."
Marco nodded, "Well, yeah. Look at me."
The man nodded, scribbling something else down on the notepad.
"Tell me what you remember about your father," He continued, leaning in a little. "Did you two travel around much? Maybe he brought you to New Septarsis before?"
Marco hesitated, He was already regretting letting the conversation go this far, but it was too late now. "He said he would. Take me there, I mean. That’s how I knew it existed." He paused, then added, "But we were always caught up in something. He never really… got around to it."
The man didn’t speak, watching Marco as though he expected him to continue. Marco paused for a moment, thinking it over, before offering, "He was a general. When he was younger."
"A general?" The man’s interest sharpened. "That’s impressive. Do you know his name? I might recognise it."
Marco swallowed. "I don’t think it was his real name. Everyone just called him To—"
"Don't."
The way Toffee cut in was sudden and sharp, and it certainly didn't help he hadn't expected to hear from him anytime soon. Marco visibly flinched, breath catching.
"Are you alright?" The man beside the bed asked immediately, concern knitting his brow.
Marco didn’t answer. His heart was pounding now, too loud, too fast. He dropped back against the mattress and rolled onto his side, yanking the blankets over his head.
"You cannot tell people I am your father," Toffee continued, lower now, controlled but no less firm. "Trust me. It won’t do you any good."
He wasn't going to say Toffee. Probably. But of course the egotistical asshole would assume he was.
"We'll stop here for today, hm? I'll talk to Ryrlit about seeing you more regularly." He could hear shuffling beside him, the man getting to his feet. Questioning over, he supposed. Good riddance.
The door creaked as it closed behind him, leaving Marco in silence he didn't care to break. He didn’t feel like talking to Toffee—not right now. Two days. He'd been gone for two days and this was what he bothered to speak up over? It was…embarrassing…
"Are you ignoring me, or pouting?"
Marco let out a very loud, very exaggerated huff, making a show of not responding. Toffee seemed to take the hint. For all of two minutes anyway.
"I'm glad to see you awake, you weren't in a good way when I left."
"Yeah. You left." Marco’s tone was cold, bitter. "I think you'll find most people stay with their friends when they're hurt."
Toffee let out a sigh, "Thats what this is about." It was a statement, not a question."I'm sorry. It was important. There was nothing I could do for you anyway."
Marco’s jaw tightened. "You left me with Rasticore."
"He didn't recognise you, I stayed until I was sure of that much."
"I told him my name," Marco muttered, "My real name. I was hoping he'd remember…"
There was a heavy, stunned pause, the kind that had Marco regretting the fact the words had ever left his mouth.
When Toffee finally spoke, there was a sharp edge to his voice. Not anger, no, something tighter.
"Why would you do that?"
Marco only shrugged, curling in on himself, pulling his knees closer to his chest.
Toffee however, did not let it go.
"Marco? Why would you do that? Do you understand how dangerous that was? I know you are smarter than that. So why?"
He didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to get into it. He didn’t have the energy for this right now.
"I don't know!" Marco finally snapped. "Maybe I just—"
He cut himself off at the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his door. He froze, relief flooding through him as the door handle turned. Saved by the bell.
"Are you alright?"
It was Ryrlit who spoke, and Marco turned to peer over at her from beneath the covers. He couldn't say he felt entirely comfortable with her yet, but she'd given him no reason to be scared.
"I don't much like all these people in my house either, trust me. But it's necessary. They'll all be off soon."
"You don't have to speak Mewman for me." He murmured. He was still surprised by the fact that she understood it at all. He hadn’t even realised she knew both languages.
The Septarian doctor had asked which one he preferred when it came to communication, he'd told them Mewman at the time, easier that way. Ryrlit had looked embarrassed for not asking him herself.
"Oh, I'm not as good with it as my Septarian. But I'll manage."
"It's probably better I practice Septarian, anyway." Marco pointed out, more to himself than to her.
He'd be here for a while. He'd tried to ask to contact the Butterfly kingdom, Ryrlit had just given him an odd look and ignored the question. He'd have to figure out how to send a letter himself, then wait for a response. It could take weeks.
"You're lively today, despite the unplanned company. Your health is perking up, I'd say. Maybe I'll take you out with me tomorrow and show you around the farm."
"That sounds nice." He didn't mind farms, he hadn't really seen many back on earth and certainly not while living with Hekapoo either. It would be fun to look around.
"Good kid. They don't need you to talk to anyone else today, so you can rest up until dinner if you'd like. I've gotta go listen to this care plan the doctor wants to write up for you. Gods help me."
Marco smiled. "Is she still mad about the cattle medication you gave me?"
Ryrlit froze in the doorway and let out a short snort. Apparently she wasn't aware he'd overheard that particular argument. She turned around to point in his direction, playfully narrowing her eyes. "You didn’t hear that."
Marco let out a soft chuckle, one that quickly faded out once the door was closed. He pulled the covers back over his head, squeezing his eyes closed and holding his breath in an attempt to lay as still as he could.
He'd done this plenty of times back with…back when he had a reason to hide. A person to hide from. Sometimes people left you be, if you really seemed like you were sleeping. Sleeping was a respite from bad things. And this conversation with Toffee was certainly a bad thing.
"Its—We'll talk about it another time." Toffees voice cut through the silence, and Marco deflated in an instant.
"Do you want to hear about where I've been?"
"I'm still mad at you." Marco muttered, effectively shutting down the conversation right then and there.
Toffee sighed, "Fair enough."
Marco's legs felt like jelly, to put it lightly. He'd almost tumbled straight to the floor the moment he'd slipped out of bed, unprepared for his legs to just give up like they had.
After declining Ryrlits offer of help and traversing his way through the house by clinging to furniture or scooting along walls he'd eventually made it to the front door, stumbling out onto the porch and grabbing the railing before he could tumble down the stairs.
"Please be careful." Toffee had very unhelpfully chimed in.
He couldn't answer aloud with Ryrlit close behind him, so he settled on mustering up the most exasperated look he could instead.
It was a warm morning, all sun with not a cloud in the sky. The heat made things awfully humid in a swamp like this, but Marco found he actually sort of liked it. He wasn't miserably warm and sweaty like he usually would have been in weather like this. Just content.
At first glance, the farm looked rustic, though he couldn’t make out much of it. His eyesight hadn’t gotten any better. Things were clear enough up close, but anything more than a few meters away blurred into nothing. From what he could tell, nearly everything was wood and rusting metal. So yeah. Rustic.
There were birds chattering in the trees overhead—large mangrove looking things that seemed to thrive in the humidity. And in the distance he could hear some kind of animal bellowing, probably the cattle Ryrlit kept mentioning. It was noisy, but it was comforting too. Outside Hekapoo’s forge, the swamp had been eerily quiet, void of life, as though it were only an imitation of nature rather than the real thing.
"Watch your step now." Ryrlit’s voice pulled him out of his own head. She offered her arm, and this time Marco was wise enough to take it, letting her guide him down the porch steps before he quickly pulled away again and staggered onto the dirt path. Ryrlit followed close behind, arms folded, looking more amused than concerned.
"That over there is Ras’ place," She said, pointing to a cabin further down the path. "Anything else is free rein, as long as you’re careful. Just don’t get into the tools in the shed. I’d rather not test your regeneration abilities."
"Yeah, me neither," Marco agreed. He hadn’t actually had to regenerate anything yet. And honestly, he wasn’t convinced it was even something Toffee had passed onto him when they'd mixed together.
"Tail."
Marco glanced down at the ground, and sure enough his tail had draped itself in front of his feet again, he very cautiously stepped over it, shooting it a glare before he continued on his way.
He could make out a barn just across from the house, and a few silo shaped things that may or may not be exactly that. Further down the path there was something else—it almost looked like a coop. And of course there was Rasticore's shack. Really it hardly seemed the worst place to spend a few weeks. That was, of course, if he ignored the major elephant in the room where Rasticore was concerned.
"This place brings back memories. I used to have a good friend who lived on a farm like this—long ago, when I was your age."
Toffee on a farm wasn't something Marco could really picture. He'd never exactly seemed the type to enjoy a place like this. Too…academic? Then again you could be academic on a farm just as well as anywhere else.
A loud thud echoed from inside the barn, startling Marco and Ryrlit alike.
"Rasticore?!" She called. No answer. With an exasperated sigh, she trudged toward the barn. "What on Mewni are you up to?!"
Marco watched her go, then turned away, wandering farther down the path to keep exploring.
"This kind of reminds me of the farm from Babe," He spoke up. Toffee gave a short laugh.
"The movie about the pig? I suppose so."
"Hey. You can’t judge me for liking Babe when you were so into Bambi," Marco shot back.
"I never said I was judging you. That was your assumption. And Bambi was a beautiful human film. I appreciate the hand drawn animation. The artistry of it."
"Sure." Marco humoured him for now, mostly because he'd found something far more interesting than teasing Toffee. He hurried to close the distance— at least as fast as he could hurry without tumbling to the ground— catching himself against the fence of the nearest field.
There, half-submerged in the mud and basking in the morning sun, lay a herd of creatures that looked like a cross between cows and mudskippers.
Their hides were deep brown, some so dark they bordered on grey. Long, fish-like tails trailed behind them, each ending in a broad fin. Though their bodies were unmistakably bovine, their heads resembled those of fish, and where hooves should have been, they had wide, webbed feet. The sight was utterly mesmerising.
"What are they?" He asked, tilting his head. More importantly, if these were the cattle how on earth had Rasticore been milking them? He'd dropped some off to Ryrlit almost every morning. And they weren't exactly your traditional dairy cow.
"They're called Mudfen."
"They're so," Marco paused, barely stifling a laugh, "Stupid."
One lounged so close to the fence line that he was sure he could touch it if he just reached far enough. He slid his arm through the narrow gap between the boards, stretching until his shoulder ached. Still, he came up short.
The Mudfen lifted her head, studying his hand. He stared back, wiggling his fingers with a giddy smile. "Come on. I’m not gonna hurt you."
She let out a deep, throaty murp before extending an unsettlingly long tongue and dragging it across his hand.
He yanked his arm back with a startled yelp, grimacing at the way it was now completely soaked in saliva.
"Oh, come on…"
Toffee laughed—really laughed—like it was the funniest thing he’d seen in months. Marco’s face flushed as he bent down to wipe his hand on a pile of leaves.
"It’s not funny."
"You’re right. I'm sorry," Toffee snickered. He was very clearly not sorry.
Marco rolled his eyes, "You're such an asshole." He complained.
"Hey, it isn't her fault you stuck your hand in her pen. She was just curious."
Marco flinched, trying to scramble to stand upright so quickly he stumbled over his own feet landed flat on the ground. When he finally looked up, now smeared with mud, he found a Septarian boy staring down at him. He instinctively pressed himself back against the fence, putting as much distance between him and the stranger as possible.
"Wow, you're jumpy, aren't you?"
He looked about Marco’s age, but the first thing Marco noticed was how spiky he was. Slightly longer, jagged scales ran flat along the back of his head and neck, growing larger and more pronounced toward his tail. They were mostly a light tan in colour with darker browns mottled through. The scales gave him a sharp, almost dangerous silhouette. It made him look more like a dragon than a lizard.
He wore a simple green poncho over an off white high collar and worn brown trousers, a satchel slung over his shoulder.
The stranger tilted his head and flashed Marco a grin that was probably meant to be comforting. It had the opposite effect. Marco pressed himself farther back against the fence.
When a hand was offered, Marco narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I don’t know you."
"I don’t think he’s going to hurt you," Toffee insisted. "Ryrlit’s nearby. No need to cower like a rabbit, you poor thing."
Poor thing. Marco bristled. He wasn’t a poor thing—he was exercising a perfectly reasonable sense of self-preservation. Stranger danger existed for a reason.
"Mervem! Stop harassing the boy!"
The stranger—Mervem, apparently—turned toward Ryrlit. Marco could only make her out as a blurry shape coming down the path.
"I’m not harassing him, Miss! He fell—I’m trying to help him up!"
"What are you doing out here so early?" Ryrlit demanded. "Did your mother send you?" She gestured for him to step back, and Mervem retreated a few steps while she helped Marco up.
She took one look at him and sighed, shaking her head. Marco managed a nervous smile. He was filthy now, caked in mud. He had a sick feeling she’d be a lot angrier once they were alone. The thought made him pick at his sleeves.
"Soldiers rode through this morning," Mervem said. "From the city. They’re patrolling the outskirts again. There’s talk of a curfew around our part, too. Mum wanted me to warn you."
Ryrlit muttered a curse, worry creeping into her expression. "Then they expect trouble, and I'd wager it to be Mewmans."
"What's going on!?" Rasticore called, Marco couldn't see him, he was standing a little roo far away, but it seemed to come from the direction of the barn.
"I'll tell you soon! I ain't yelling it to you across the damn farm!" Ryrlit called back.
"Here." Mervem pulled an envelope from his satchel, handing it to Ryrlit. She turned it in her hand, squinting down at it.
"From the council?"
"Yeah, but it doesn't really tell us much. A whole lot of nothing is what it is. I should really get going, though. I still have morning chores. But it was nice meeting…uh…"
"Marco." Ryrlit answered for him, in the process of slicing open the envelope with her claw. "He's staying here with me for a while and you'll be polite when you visit."
"I was polite today!" Mervem insisted, throwing his hands up as he walked away.
Marco only relaxed once he was nothing but a blob in the distance, shuffling his feet before he looked to Ryrlit—who spared him a brief glance after skimming through the contents of the letter.
"What's got you looking so timid? Mervem? He isn't gonna hurt you."
Marco shrugged his shoulders. Really, it was her. He was still half expecting to be dragged back inside for making a mess, but she simply raised an eyebrow, gesturing off down the path.
"Go run along and explore. Just don't wander too far. I need to talk to Ras."
Marco nodded, setting off back down the path, ignoring Rasticore as he passed him by on his way to Ryrlit.
"Wait."
Marco slowed when Toffee spoke, hesitating mid-step.
"Try to linger. I want to hear what that letter says."
"I can’t," Marco whispered. He knew he didn’t need to, no one was close enough to hear him. But he really didn’t want to risk it. The last thing he needed was Ryrlit under the impression he had issues.
"Mewmans don’t come out this far. Not since—I need to figure out what's going on."
"She told me to explore," Marco muttered. "I don’t want to get in trouble."
The letter didn’t matter anyway. Whatever it said, it didn’t change his situation. If anything, the possibility of Mewmans was good news. They could take him to Moon. If they didn't freak out over his scales anyway.
"I wish you’d listen to me," Toffee huffed.
"Yeah? Well, I wish you’d shut up."
The words didn’t feel good after they left his mouth, not with how bitterly he grumbled them. The way Toffee went quiet didn’t feel good either.
Marco set back off, pausing as he passed by that coop-like building. Though, to be fair, it was more like a tiny, oddly shaped barn now that he was looking at it properly.
The windows were too high to reach, though he could hear movement inside. It sounded like an animal, or multiple animals.
He hesitated at the door, partly afraid of what might be inside, but mostly because he didn’t want to get in trouble for accidentally letting it out. He squinted up at the window. Maybe if he—
"Don’t even think about it."
Marco huffed, blowing a strand of hair from his face. "I just wanna know what’s inside."
"Then ask. When Ryrlit isn’t busy. You can barely walk straight, you’re not climbing anything."
Marco let out a long, exaggerated groan. He’d been about to complain about how boring not scaling the building was when something else caught his eye.
A colourful bird stood in the brush behind the building, away from the dirt path—large and gaudy, with a swan-like body and a head more like a macaw’s.
His attention was snagged immediately, abandoning the mystery of whatever the building contained to instead creep out closer.
"What’s that?"
"Oh, uh… some kind of—" Toffee stalled.
Marco snickered. "You don’t know."
"I do know! The name is simply escaping me."
The bird didn’t bolt when it noticed him. Instead, it watched him approach, head tilted and wings raised like it was ready to take off. Marco half expected it to—but no, it lingered even as he shuffled closer.
"Aww, it’s friendly."
"I wouldn’t assume—"
Marco screamed as the bird lunged, screeching and beating its wings. He stumbled, went down hard, and curled into a tight ball, hands over his head. For a second, he was absolutely certain he was about to be eaten.
Hardly a few seconds passed before hurried footsteps pounded somewhere behind him, accompanied by heavy breathing like whoever had come to his rescue had sprinted the whole way. There was a tired sigh, and then he was grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled to his feet.
The bird was still squawking, but it stayed a few feet away, unwilling to come any closer. In fact, it probably had never intended to hurt him at all.
"Why are you bothering the birds? Leave them alone."
Marco’s face flushed as he peered up at the speaker. Rasticore. He briefly considered just walking away, clinging to what little dignity he had left. "I wasn’t bothering them," He protested.
Rasticore rolled his eyes and pointed into the underbrush. For a second, Marco had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at—until he caught a blur of movement in the grass. Even then, it was hard to make out.
"I can’t—what?"
"The nest," Rasticore explained. "You can see her fledglings in the grass. Don’t go near them, and she’ll leave you alone. She’s just scared."
Marco frowned, glancing between the bird still watching him warily and the indistinct shapes he guessed must be her babies.
"Oh," He murmured. "Sorry, bird."
"You’re apologising to the bird?" Toffee remarked.
Marco shuffled his feet, his face heating even more.
Rasticore let out a low, gravelly snicker. "I think if she could talk, she’d forgive you."
Marco blinked, looking back up at him. The encouragement shouldn't have meant anything, not coming from him. So why was he struggling to bite back a smile.
"You don’t think it was stupid?" He asked quietly.
Rasticore raised an eyebrow, but before he could answer, Ryrlit finally rounded the corner. She shook her head at the sight of them. "I told you it was nothing," she said, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. "Didn’t need to run like he was being mauled by a Gririt."
Rasticore waved her off, muttering under his breath as he turned and trudged back the way he’d come.
"You alright?" Ryrlit asked, gesturing for Marco to come closer.
Marco nodded. Though he was more than ready to head back inside at this point. He'd been scared senseless enough for one day.
"We need to have a talk," She continued. "Why don’t you come help me fix something to eat in the house."
She must have noticed the way his expression immediately fell, the way he wrapped his arms around himself and gripped at his shirt, because she hurried to add, "You’re not in trouble. There’s just… some safety precautions we need to go over."
"What kind of safety precautions?" Marco asked. "Is this about the letter?"
"Sort of," Ryrlit replied. "What do you know about the last war?"
Far too much, Marco thought. He had Toffee in his head, after all. It seemed like Toffee was going to get to hear about that letter after all.