[Things have been more crowded in the smart house lately. Two Marcos and two Fiddlefords live here now, and while it's not difficult to tell who is who considering one set has been temporarily given horns and hooves it wouldn't be fair to say there haven't been problems.
The Marco that Fiddleford knows isn't the real Marco was already off from the day he arrived and it's only become more and more apparent that something is wrong in the time since. His hair has curled and gone darker at the ends. His eyes weren't the right green to begin with but instead of fixing themselves he's just grown more eyes. His voice stutters, blends, sometimes a man's and sometimes a woman's and sometimes both at once. His merman's coat is growing paisley patterns from the hem upward. Both of the people Fiddleford McGucket has married are here and neither of them are happy with him. It -- they ? -- they. They speak fragments of half-remembered conversations, like flipping through radio stations fast enough that it begins to sound like sentences all its own.]
I wananant -- d-dangerous-- I w-- hat's wr -- what -- want -- did he -t-tetell you-- divorce--
[He holds them at a distance with a broom as they claw at him. The hand that isn't metal is noticeably feminine. Not webbed. There's a ring on it that Marco never wore.]
I w-won't -- child -- he's a child -- [They grab onto the handle of the broom with both hands and try to pull it from his hands.] I have to put him first.
[Yeah. He's still... he's still having some trouble with that.]
cw: hallucinations, internalized ableism, u know the deal
[On one hand, it may be for the best that the Fiddleford that came out of Marco's head has been keeping him busy in his own way. Marco may not have liked to see himself in an off-centered funhouse mirror, may have been entirely too distressed wondering if the things that seemed off were actually off or if that's just how he comes across.
The issue, of course, is what has kept him busy.
It wasn't terrible at first. Sure, it clearly wasn't the real deal - and that, in its own right, was bad enough news - but he was harmless. About as sweet as the real Fiddleford, though probably not quite as smart. How could he be, if he came from Marco's head?
But then the gaps kept widening, dark and unsettling and cold, until the fake Fiddleford put his mouth close to Marco's ear and finished a fake sentence in a voice's stead. Since then, the situation has been steady, but relentless; the double seems content to stay at a certain distance from him - although, he's noticed, the distance has been shrinking, and now no more than an arm's length will do - reminding him of things he already hears every day in some form or another, but now in a voice that's all the more painful to hear. He's trying not to listen, trying to apply all he's learned about tuning it out - but the visual, spatial, tangible component isn't something he's used to.
He needs to help the real Fiddleford, instead. Maybe that'll be good for him too. Maybe he just needs to try harder to ignore it.
But hey, on the bright side, this is already so much to deal with that he barely blanches when he grabs the coat-turned-paisley to hold The Spouse back.]
You should-- You should get away.
[But he barely gets the sentence out and the fake Fiddleford is already snapping back:] What're you gonna do, talk to us both? Play the savior? You can't even pretend you've changed anymore!
[It barely even sounds like Fiddleford at this point, save for his voice. The awareness doesn't help.]
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backdated to during the loved ones plot
The Marco that Fiddleford knows isn't the real Marco was already off from the day he arrived and it's only become more and more apparent that something is wrong in the time since. His hair has curled and gone darker at the ends. His eyes weren't the right green to begin with but instead of fixing themselves he's just grown more eyes. His voice stutters, blends, sometimes a man's and sometimes a woman's and sometimes both at once. His merman's coat is growing paisley patterns from the hem upward. Both of the people Fiddleford McGucket has married are here and neither of them are happy with him. It -- they ? -- they. They speak fragments of half-remembered conversations, like flipping through radio stations fast enough that it begins to sound like sentences all its own.]
I wananant -- d-dangerous-- I w-- hat's wr -- what -- want -- did he -t-tetell you-- divorce--
[He holds them at a distance with a broom as they claw at him. The hand that isn't metal is noticeably feminine. Not webbed. There's a ring on it that Marco never wore.]
I w-won't -- child -- he's a child -- [They grab onto the handle of the broom with both hands and try to pull it from his hands.] I have to put him first.
[Yeah. He's still... he's still having some trouble with that.]
cw: hallucinations, internalized ableism, u know the deal
The issue, of course, is what has kept him busy.
It wasn't terrible at first. Sure, it clearly wasn't the real deal - and that, in its own right, was bad enough news - but he was harmless. About as sweet as the real Fiddleford, though probably not quite as smart. How could he be, if he came from Marco's head?
But then the gaps kept widening, dark and unsettling and cold, until the fake Fiddleford put his mouth close to Marco's ear and finished a fake sentence in a voice's stead. Since then, the situation has been steady, but relentless; the double seems content to stay at a certain distance from him - although, he's noticed, the distance has been shrinking, and now no more than an arm's length will do - reminding him of things he already hears every day in some form or another, but now in a voice that's all the more painful to hear. He's trying not to listen, trying to apply all he's learned about tuning it out - but the visual, spatial, tangible component isn't something he's used to.
He needs to help the real Fiddleford, instead. Maybe that'll be good for him too. Maybe he just needs to try harder to ignore it.
But hey, on the bright side, this is already so much to deal with that he barely blanches when he grabs the coat-turned-paisley to hold The Spouse back.]
You should-- You should get away.
[But he barely gets the sentence out and the fake Fiddleford is already snapping back:] What're you gonna do, talk to us both? Play the savior? You can't even pretend you've changed anymore!
[It barely even sounds like Fiddleford at this point, save for his voice. The awareness doesn't help.]