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]

The girls, for their part, seem oddly contrite.

"Naw," Clover says. "I think... he's just a weirdly nice guy."

"There was, um... sort of a tournament going on." Sabrina chews on her thumbnail. "Clo made it to the finals, and so did I."

She hesitates.

"Marco doesn't really know... what was going on between us three, you know?" By which Sabrina means herself, Clover and Kaphlar; she gestures back and forth between the three of them. "So we have to guess at some things."

[turntoash]

[She nods thoughtfully. They are memories, after all. If Marco didn't have the full picture...]

Thanks. So what's going on here? This is the finals for the tournament, so why's Marco here? What makes this the place for Kaphlar to air his dirty laundry?

[peccatore]

This time, it's the creepier Kaphlar who chimes in first. The girls roll their eyes.

"Because he organized it, sweetheart. In secret, like the sneaky little bastard he is."

[turntoash]

I'm definitely not your sweetheart, and if you call me that again, we're gonna see what kinda damage I can do to you, you understand?

If we're clear on that, one of y'all - you included [she adds, glancing to Marco] - talk to me about why. I get that this is a turning point in Marco's life. Hard not to see how - you unmasked the guy in front of a live audience.

Why, though? Why is this happening? One of y'all knows something, and I'm going to drag it out of whoever I need to.

[peccatore]

He raises his hands in a manner that manages not to be placating in the slightest.

"Don't worry, Ash. I don't even really mean it~"

Effy steps forward. "Why? You mean, why he put this whole thing together? That's..."

Unfortunately, Kaphlar interrupts again, a grin on his face.

"You know, there's more memories here. Don't you wanna see more? You don't have to figure it out all at once."

Marco mumbles something too. It sounds like "I'm sorry."

[turntoash]

Marco - don't apologize. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this. But I promise you. No matter what you got locked up in here, I'm still on your side.

[Her mind flips to the memory of Marco hugging her. Stroking her hair. Being there when it felt like her world was collapsing. Admittedly, it was this morning, so it's fresh in her mind. Up to you, narration, if Ashwyn's odd magical nature means that the sheer importance of that memory is in any way relayed to Marco.]

[Then, to Kaphlar:]

You gotta do something about your interrupting problem. Didn't your momma ever teach you it's rude? [She waves a hand, as if to say "bring on the next memory".]

[peccatore]

Somehow, the warmth reaches Marco. It must.

Granted, it might be hard to tell, with Kaphlar's snide face getting in the way.

"Rude? Me? You're the one talking about my momma - inside the head of a guy who thinks I might as well have sprung up fully formed from Hell, at that!"

One way or another, their surroundings blur, rushing past. When they start to slow, they coalesce into the back alley of a rainy street at night, with buildings that stretch far into the sky.

This may not mean much to Ashwyn, but it looks kind of like San Francisco.

"Tch." Kaphlar crosses his arms, pouting. "This one's so vague. Are we leaving the best for last?"

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn completely ignores Kaphlar, which rapidly seems to be becoming her preferred solution. Instead, she gazes around, and up, and up and up and up, in awe. This is... these buildings are the tallest she's ever seen. What is this place?...]

[Then she shakes her head and starts paying attention to whatever's going on in the alley.]

[peccatore]

Well, Marco is a little further into the alley. He's leaning against a wall, looking... perhaps less put-together than you have ever seen him before. His hair looks like it was disheveled even before the rain flattened it down, and his tie is hanging on stubbornly under a collar that certainly isn't as high as Marco seems to prefer.

He looks exhausted. And sort of scruffy.

[turntoash]

Marco...?

[She moves towards him, reaching a hand out.]

[peccatore]

He doesn't appear to see her before he smashes his fist against the wall behind him, leaving sizeable cracks. Annoyingly, Kaphlar hovers behind Ashwyn.

"Heheh. He's mad."

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn just... withdraws her hand. Watches what happens next. An unreadable expression on her face.]

[peccatore]

He slams his fist into the wall again. Then a third time. Then he slides down until he's sitting on the ground, shaking.

"D... Damn it. Damn him...!"

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn sits next to him, not saying anything for now. She looks up at the buildings again, letting the raindrops hit her face. Giving Marco an opportunity to say what he needs to say.]

[peccatore]

But the next one to speak isn't Marco, and it isn't Kaphlar either. A woman's voice rings out instead, somewhere above them yet impossibly close.

"Damned son! Letting his thoughts sink into sin!"

"F-Forgive me, mother," Marco mumbles. "Forgive me, father--"

"Begging for forgiveness while his heart sings for a man's blood..." A man's voice, this time. "Oh, poor son. Oh, wretched son."

[turntoash]

Is that your parents? That's what your parents said to you?

[Her eyes are turning red in the most literal sense.]

[It's here that it's worth noting that Ashwyn was in fact disowned for adjacent reasons.]

[peccatore]

Something about that seems to momentarily break the spell on Marco - for a fraction of a second, he makes eye contact with Ashwyn, deeply regretful.

But it's Kaphlar who speaks to her. If she deigns to look, she'll find that he looks serious, for once.

"Can't blame you for getting caught up in his delusions, but no. They're fake."

[turntoash]

...ah.

[Another pair of pieces click together, including a corner piece.]

So this is what he meant. Gods above.

[She glances to Kaphlar. If he's going to be on good behavior, she'll talk to him.]

Any root in reality?

[peccatore]

"Hell if I know." He shrugs, the grin creeping back into his face. "You didn't see it, but there's only one thing he remembers about his real parents now."

[turntoash]

The second door... yeah, that tracks.

[She sighs and leans her head on Marco's shoulder for as long as the memory will let her before moving on.]

[peccatore]

"Yeaaah, this one's kinda boring. He just sits there thinking about how much he wants to kill me, then apologises about it. You know, I've got a better one!"

Their surroundings blur again, but not before Marco gives Ashwyn a grateful, tender glance. Once more, everything moves and shifts until the space around them coalesces into the living room of someone with more money than good sense. Marco stands off to the side, his movements restricted by ankle cuffs - made of silver, naturally - while closer to the center are Kaphlar and Sabrina.

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn grits her teeth. Would you believe this is a situation she's been in too? You should, Marco, because you visited that dream with her.]

So what's going on here?

[Said in the tone of voice of someone who knows there's not a good reason.]

[peccatore]

Kaphlar (the figment living rent-free in Marco's brain) would shush her spitefully, but for better or for worse, Kaphlar (the one from this memory) provides an answer of sorts before long.

"Marco, buddy, pal, so good to see you! Thanks for accepting my little invitation~"

To which Marco responds, tired and with a dry throat,

"Go to Hell."

(A woman's voice chimes in: "You'll both be there!")

[turntoash]

[All things considered, Ashwyn is doing a pretty good job keeping herself in check. Her fists clench, but she stays where she stands.]

[peccatore]

Kaphlar grins. For how much he does it, it's no wonder the look is burned into Marco's memory.

"Oh, come ooon, don't be so upset. Look, you want me to leave you alone? Well, today's your lucky day!"

"'Lucky day,'" Marco echoes. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"No, really! Sure, yeah, okay, maybe I was a little rude in my invitation, and, you know -" He gestures at the cuffs "- Gotta keep your rabid ass from tearing into me now that you're dying to stop repressing the real you, but I want to work out a deal!"

"I-- I am not..." Marco clenches his fists, expression torn between fury and terror without, in truth, looking very much like either. "Get out. S-Stop. I won't. I won't."

But his glamour is failing. He hisses through his fangs even as he speaks. ("He wants to tear him apart," says that voice again. "Our rabid son, our wicked son, our wretched son!")