Jermaine can't resist rolling his eyes at the botched pomp and circumstance, feeling caught between embarrassed at his kid brother's antics or worried they were one faux pas away from being thrown in a Martian dungeon for the rest of their lives. He had no idea what kind of run-ins Finn had with this king, but he did know that half the people his brothers called friends had also tried to kill them at least once.

"Whoa." He says, those worries banished from his mind as they stepped into the Martian great hall. It was undeniably impressive, from the perspective of both a layman and an artist. Filling both rolls in this adventure, Jermaine found himself slowing down, staring up at the grand columns and relief carvings on the walls. They stretched up forever, depicting what Jermaine could only assume was Martian history. Comets rocketed around Grob-Gob-Glob-Grod, magic swirling into intricate patterns all around them. He could've stayed in here all day, doing studies, immersed in the history and craft of it all.

But then he heard his name and a tug at his arm. Did Finn even notice where they were right now? Did he feel any of this at all?