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]

"... He... needed it."

The Agnes in this memory sighs, but there's no sign of exasperation in the sound.

"How long?" she asks Marco.

"Ah..." He is visibly trying to do the math in a language he doesn't have the most solid grasp on yet. The words take longer to come to him than the numbers. "Maybe, a... cccentury... Not exactly..."

She blinks. Surely, he must have the wrong word.

[mindmills]

[ Mark S snaps his head up at that. ]

A century? How do you not eat for a century--?

[peccatore]

Marco looks directly at Mark this time, whispering:

"Since I'd turned."

Agnes tips her head in thought.

"How curious. I'm almost certain I knew what he meant then, but everyone who has seen this made the same assumption."

[mindmills]

... That he must have eaten before? That you can't just not eat?

[ He keeps breathing in that blood smell. ]

It's so good. I couldn't keep from doing it when I was a vampire.

[peccatore]

"That he was either lying or confused, rather than talking about his age."

Agnes fixes Mark with a stare devoid of judgement.

"... Would you like a sample?"

[mindmills]

[ Mark S licks his lips. He's not a vampire now but? He can smell like one?? It would be so nice to repeat that feeling ... ]

Just - just a little.

[peccatore]

The memory around them seems to have paused for a moment. In the meantime, Agnes pours a glass for Mark S.

(A nervous frown crosses Marco's face.)

[mindmills]

[ This is such a bad idea. Mark S lifts the glass to his lips anyway. And just - touches his tongue to it, cautious. ]

[peccatore]

So, how is it, Mark? Is it exactly how you remember Marco's blood tasting, or is it just a gross iron-y sludge?

[mindmills]

I - uh -

[ he takes a deep breath. Trying to remember how Marco had tasted and bringing that to the forefront. ]

I don't know?

[peccatore]

"Know what, Mr. S?"

That was the narration, Mark.

[mindmills]

Nothing, just. Thinking.

[ Look, he's got weird severance bullshit going on, that's why he's responding to the narration out loud and definitely not Rho misreading -

Anyway. It does taste sludgy at first, but the more he thinks about his own memory, the nicer it gets, until he's ravenous. ]

... Not the same. But - close. I think.

[peccatore]

It's a perfectly understandable mistake to make. The narration just felt like being cheeky and indulgent.

"Interesting..."

This seems to be the other Agnes' cue to pick up where the memory left off.

"A century-old vampire wandering the streets in this state..." Despite the clarification regarding what exactly it has been a century since, she looks no less shocked. "Do you not know how to hunt? Where is your sire?"

For his part, Marco seems less eager to answer these questions, and not because of the language barrier; he doesn't even start trying.

[mindmills]

[ Mark S turns to him now, also curious. ]

... where is your sire?

[peccatore]

"... I don't know," Marco says. "I don't think I'll never know."

[mindmills]

Do you know who they are?

[peccatore]

"I... barely remember what they looked like. I never saw them again--"

Agnes places a hand on Marco's shoulder, gentle.

"This door isn't for you to dwell on such things. Remember me, Marco." And then, anticipating his reaction, she turns to Mark. "I understand you are curious. It's alright."

[mindmills]

... Right. Sorry, just - I'll watch again.

[peccatore]

They both offer Mark S a strangely tender smile. It really is alright.

The background blurs. When it coalesces into a solid shape again, Marco and Agnes are sitting at a table; he's gripping a book, staring it down intently. He squints at the words on the page.

He's not wearing glasses.

[mindmills]

What's that book?

[ he leans in to take a closer look. ]

[peccatore]

It's some manner of penny dreadful. Which, you know, might as well be the most sensational piece of horror fiction Mark S has ever read. It's difficult to say that Agnes looks self-conscious about it, exactly, but she is awfully quick to note:

"I had little to none learner-appropriate literature. Giving lessons to an illiterate man had never been in my plans."

[mindmills]

[ It IS the most sensational thing he's ever read. Man is starved for options even after having read a few things in Trib. Mark S is delighted. ]

What are you talking about? This is great.

[peccatore]

The Agnes guiding Mark S seemingly opts not to comment on this. The other, meanwhile, is fetching some glasses for Marco. This pair doesn't suit him terribly well, but it helps. While he does still read somewhat haltingly, he's no longer squinting.

"... It's an uneventful memory, but I suppose he cherishes it."

[mindmills]

Of course he would. I remember the first time I read a real book too. It's the little things that make life - well - life.

[peccatore]

"... Hmm."

This memory is fading already, though; it seems like there really wasn't that much to see here. The surroundings take a little longer to solidify this time, but once they do, Marco is sitting alone at a desk in a sparsely-decorated room. It looks like he's writing a letter.

"... Ah," Agnes says. "This is... after he set out on his own again."