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

[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."

[eudaimoniac]

[slipping through the door to watch, tenser now. this is . . . sad. hard to know there's nothing he can really do]

[peccatore]

So it goes.

Marco walks inside. Shambles inside. His mother, a woman shaped like one of the specters following Adrien, with Marco's eyes and cheekbones, rises from her bed to hug her son as well. The sound of two beating hearts grows louder and louder. And then--

Everything goes dark, as if the stage lights were abruptly turned off. Two bodies collapse; the scent of blood is overwhelming, in the same way that being surrounded by freshly baked bread can be. Marco, still perfectly visible - as is Adrien, if he cares to look down at himself - looks back, anguished.

"You... don't have to see it."

"Still hiding the truth?!" the voice of the Father bellows.
"All for the sake of charming another man!" The Mother, lamenting. "Oh, our wretched, deceitful son!"

[eudaimoniac]

[he shivers, nauseous from the smell, miserable and horrified—but still keeping absolute focus on The Point here]

I want to see it. I want to understand. Once I've seen it, you'll stop worrying that I'd abandon you if I knew.

[peccatore]

"... Adrien..."

Fearfully, Marco nods. The lights come back; instantaneously, his parents are on their feet again.

And now, as the sound of their beating hearts grows unbearably loud, it actually goes.

It's his mother that Marco tears into first, with all the grace and care of a starving animal getting its first kill in days. He seems to have the presence of mind to do cover her mouth and muffle her screams until her strength fails her, and to smack his father away (sending him crashing into a table) when he tries to separate them, but nothing else.

He drinks until there's nothing left to drink, and when his mother collapses, pale and drained, he goes for his father as well.

When he's finally done, he falls to his knees.

[eudaimoniac]

[adrien is going to schedule his freakout about seeing this kind of violence for LATER. NOT HERE. he's seen enough death by now to be capable of gritting his teeth and focus focus focus focus focusing for marco

watching through his fingers, covering his face, but still watching

afterward he joins marco on the ground. weeping a little, not quite aware of it]

. . . Here I am, then. Give me your hand.

[peccatore]

"You're... You're crying. Adrien, you're crying."

Marco almost seems more distraught by this than by the memory itself. But...

But here, in this place, he finds himself taking Adrien's hand without hesitation.

[eudaimoniac]

[gets the blood on his own hands too, paying no attention to it

he wishes he knew these people's names]

It's done. You didn't mean to. You have to keep onward now.

[peccatore]

yeah lol so does Marco buddy

"O... Onward..."

Adrien may be doing an excellent job of ignoring the specters following him, but Marco can't quite keep himself from glancing their way.

"I'm sure there's more. I'm sure they want to show you."

[eudaimoniac]

[drags himself upright, trying to help marco up too

closes his eyes for a moment, bracing, before looking up]

All right. Ready.

[peccatore]

Marco lets Adrien help him up; his eyes linger on their hands, longing.

... But their surroundings are starting to blur, as is Marco.

It looks like the scene is going to settle on a cobblestone street under a cloudy night, with a familiar blond man following a captivating scent, but it isn't long until the Father interrupts -

"No, not this one. Further ahead."

Unless Adrien finds a way to stay here, everything will blur and move on again. Maybe this memory is visible elsewhere, though.

[eudaimoniac]

[he doesn't try to fight the change of scene, just following along]

[peccatore]

In that case, Adrien, you are now in a back alley, where men in striped suits and hats are locked in a gunfight. It is, once again, night time.

The gunfight isn't terribly important, though. It's only when it dies down, two or three men left on the ground bleeding to their deaths, that Marco walks in.

He's looking a lot more put together these days. Dressed formally, in a style that marks him as a respectable member of society rather than a criminal like the other men here; hair combed neatly, with small sideburns. He wears glasses now, as well.

[eudaimoniac]

[what the fuck,

. . . despite the fact that he knows there's no point at all, he goes to try to render some aid to the dying men]

[peccatore]

"... Ah."

And just like that, Marco halts, looking directly at Adrien with an expression that isn't too far off from that of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"That-- That's going to make this more difficult."

[eudaimoniac]

You're going to finish them off?

[peccatore]

"It was the best way I found. In this time."

The Parents, relentless, see an opening.

"He thought he would sympathize!"
"Our poor, misguided, foolish son..."
"Life is life! Death is death! Why does it matter? Why would it matter where you steal life from?!"
"A sinner judging sinners. Does he think he's any better?"

[eudaimoniac]

[pained, looking down at the dying person he's knelt by]

I sympathize. Everyone needs to eat.

[slowly exhales] I know they're not real here. I know I can't change it. Go on, if this is how it went.

[peccatore]

"... I'm still sorry," Marco whispers before the memory resumes its course.

The affair is much more deliberate and controlled than what happened with his parents. One by one, Marco kneels at each criminal's side, bites down, and simply drinks until there's no more left to drink. Neat, silent and methodical.

He looks torn about it when he's done, all the same.

"He's USED to it," the Father says with open derision.

[eudaimoniac]

[only covering his eyes when everything's done]

I understand.

[though he's shivering]