Marco's Heart

[peccatore]

You find yourself in a bright white, circular room. It's nearly empty; too bare, almost clinically so. But the bareness of it means that what is visible here stands out:

A podium in the center, where a familiar figure sits, head buried in his hands. Three paths running from the podium to three different spots near the edges of the room - not corners; circles don't have corners - where three doors leading seemingly nowhere stand with no regard for their complete lack of structural support.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where you are, does it? You only have to decide where to start.

Comments

[peccatore]

"... Attacked?" A slow blink. "By what, a wolf? But, but nothing hurts."

Behind Adrien, the Mother wails.

"Oh, you poor soul. Why are you trying to change the past? It's no use, my dear."

[eudaimoniac]

[he speaks to marco, not to her]

No. A vampire. I know we can't change the past. But let's go through it. Come to terms a little more.

[peccatore]

The voice turns almost shrill -- "Listen to me! Listen when I speak to you!" --

But Marco hesitates, and in the next moment, the look in his eyes is not the one of a confused, starving animal.

"Why? Why, Adrien?"

[eudaimoniac]

[he ignores her with practiced ease]

Because that's all there is. Your pain doesn't change anything. Your death wouldn't change anything. It's better in every way for you, for others, if you can learn to stand straight again.

[the words aren't necessarily the most delicate, but there's pure understanding in his voice]

[peccatore]

She is still saying something back there. The sound doesn't reach either of them.

"But..."

Marco hesitates.

"I used to think this was the worst part."

[eudaimoniac]

You met your husband after the worst part. Remember that. If you made it through the first time, you can endure this.

[peccatore]

"Did... I? I-- I must have. But... That makes no sense. That's not... No, how would-- Why would...?"

The confusion seems genuine. In the background, a shrill voice is breaking through.

"... liar!... sheep's clothi... ... isn't it?"

[eudaimoniac]

[calmly] You did. You've been alive for a long time. Your parents were dead before you were married.

[peccatore]

"..."

Slowly, he shakes his head.

"No. No, you don't... T-There's something else."

[eudaimoniac]

Ah. My mistake. All right, then. Let's see it.

[peccatore]

The Mother and the Father scream in unison:

"It isn't HERE!"

[eudaimoniac]

[fffforcing himself not to get irritated by that]

No, I'd think not. The road is empty. But I can get from one place to another.

[peccatore]

"Are you skipping? Are you skipping ahead?" Mother sounds strangely frantic.
"Does he think he's seen enough?"

... The look on Marco's face... It seems to indicate he's wondering the same thing.

[eudaimoniac]

I'm a guest here. I'll see anything you think I should see, Marco.

[peccatore]

After a moment's hesitation, Marco leans in and asks in a quiet voice:

"Were you... serious? About wanting to go through it?"

He is afraid, plainly and visibly - but there is something earnest to his eyes as well, miles away from the evasive, wooden placidity Marco so often seems to put on.

"I-I don't know exactly... how everything is laid out. It's all... splintered. You won't see everything here. I don't know if they're -" he glances above Adrien's shoulder "- counting on that, if it's by design. Whose... Whose design...?"

[eudaimoniac]

Of course I was serious.

[peccatore]

Slowly, he nods. Marco gives him one more earnest glance before that dazed, confused animal look settles in again, and he continues into the town.

The things Adrien is well aware are not Marco's parents will follow them both. Certainly he won't mind.

[eudaimoniac]

[following right along . . .]

[peccatore]

The road, as it turns out, isn't entirely empty. Perhaps Adrien's eyes have adjusted to it, or perhaps the surroundings have asserted themselves with more conviction now, but Marco is heading into a town densely populated with stone buildings. It's dark enough that most, if not all inhabitants seem to be indoors.

Marco appears to know exactly where he's going, turning corners and climbing steps with ease.

... But he seems distracted on occasion, too. The night sky above seems impossibly bright; he finds himself staring at it, after a pulsing, throbbing sound that he catches near a window makes him stop.

[eudaimoniac]

What are you thinking? What's that sound?

[peccatore]

Marco is quiet - not so much that Adrien can't hear him, but it's as if he's trying to talk to someone during a lecture. He isn't supposed to interrupt this.

"Everything feels so... strange. So different. I don't know how I didn't realize... That's the sound of a neighbor's blood, Adrien. Rushing through their veins."

Regardless, he continues, all the way to a house near a small, tilled field.

[eudaimoniac]

[quietly digesting that, not seeming particularly bothered]

This is your home?

[peccatore]

He nods. "I came straight here. I knew I had to come straight home."

The Parents choose to make themselves heard again.

"Lured by an unholy thirst... Our poor son!"
"Our wicked son."

[eudaimoniac]

[ignoooooooooring]

Anyone would want to go home, Marco.

[peccatore]

There is a hint of a trace of a shadow of a faint smile on Marco's face. He appreciates it.

However, the expression fades, and he knocks on the door - lightly, as though afraid to break something.

The one to open it is a man shaped very much like the Father. But he seems more real, too, more three-dimensional, more present. His features are clearer; he has Marco's nose.

"Marco! Goodness gracious, where were you?" He throws his arms around Marco, who doesn't embrace him back so much as he collapses into his arms. "Your poor mother was worried sick. Come in, let her see you."