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]

"It's a part of a computer," Marco helpfully explains. "But it does look intimidating, doesn't it? I agree."

Agnes is just watching, this time. Looking on fondly.

[queenamongrooks]

Have you figured out how it works yet?

[peccatore]

"I've been studying. I'd like to... Well, it's a lofty goal, really. Haha. But I'd like to make these machines easier to use. You know, for a common person. Granted, not a lot of people have one of these... But it would be neat if they did, wouldn't it?"

[queenamongrooks]

[She smiles. There's just something so genuine about how he wants the technology to be more accessible. Not for money, just because it would be neat.]

That it would, if they are capable of all you've told me they are.

[peccatore]

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, ma'am." He winks.

[queenamongrooks]

Right, of course you don't know yet. What are you trying to learn from this one?

[peccatore]

"Oh, I'm working on software for it, but, ah, that doesn't actually have much to do with why I'm looking at the board. I'm just admiring the craftsmanship."

He seems... just a little flustered.

"It's amazing how small they've gotten these things already. A little more work and I really think machines able to send people to the moon are going to become a lot more commonplace in regular homes."

[queenamongrooks]

On- on the moon?

In what year? Surely, at least a hundred from my day.

[peccatore]

"Just a few years ago." He smiles. "1969."

[queenamongrooks]

[Her jaw drops.]

In Forty five years? In my lifetime we make it to the moon?

[peccatore]

"That's right. Things have started happening so fast..."

There is a genuine kind of thrill that Mal might never have heard in Marco's voice before.

"... I want to be part of it."

[queenamongrooks]

I understand that sentiment, so much Marco.

[Look at this couple of pioneers. One in technology, the other social justice. Surely nothing could ever change their friendship.]

[peccatore]

Agnes has been quiet, but she is still here, looking on. She places a hand on Mallory's back, just to let her know...

"It is time for the next one."

The transition doesn't take long, this time. They're in Agnes' "establishment" once again; the building is either not the same, or it has been extensively renovated over the years, but there are certainly shelves stocked with blood in here. A few vampires seem to be dining, in fact.

But, most importantly, there is an Agnes who looks exactly like Mal's guide, and there is a Marco who looks exactly like this.

[queenamongrooks]

Well... that certainly is a different style. Most blonde men I know tend not to opt for the mustache...

[peccatore]

"I thought you said you wanted to see it," Agnes whispers. It's... unclear if she's serious.

The Agnes in this memory looks at a gift-wrapped box with the suspicion and skepticism of an adult who has been telling Marco that she doesn't need gifts for nearly a decade.

"Go on, it's yours," Marco tells her.

She relents and opens the box, revealing an absolute brick.

[queenamongrooks]

I did. And now I have... maybe if he were wearing a suit again?

What in heavens is that thing?

[peccatore]

"That, Miss St. Clair, is a cellular phone. One of the latest models, at the time."

[queenamongrooks]

Oh! I have heard of those.

Aren't they supposed to be smaller, and... frankly I don't see how this thing is supposed to do anything besides make calls.

[peccatore]

"... This was also a rather early model. It did only make calls."

Agnes and Marco aren't quite done talking, incidentally. Visibly stunned, if only barely, Agnes says:

"Marco, this must have been..."

But Marco shakes his head, smiling.

"Business has been going well. And I think this will turn out cheaper in the long run than booking a transatlantic flight every year just to see you."

[queenamongrooks]

[Mal makes sour a face at that.]

It might be cheaper, but wouldn't it be nicer to meet up in person. Even if you've talked on the phone?

[peccatore]

"A year isn't that long, Miss St. Clair." Agnes offers a tiny smile. "Are you worried? I believe he intended for us to meet, perhaps, a few years apart."

[queenamongrooks]

I am somewhat worried. I have enjoyed seeing these experiences, but I know that Marco goes through quite a lot worse once he is more... on his own.

[peccatore]

The smile faces, replaced by a far more visible sadness.

"You're... quite right, Miss St. Clair."

And everything blurs once again, for a while.

When the world clears up, they're in what appears to be the entrance hall of an opulent, but disheveled mansion. A half-dozen people aside from Marco are here, picking themselves up; a lanky man with dark green hair lies motionless on the floor.

Marco is in a strange position, half-kneeling, half-slumped forward. Agnes is there too, her small hands cradling his face.

[queenamongrooks]

[Mal rushes to Marco's side to check on his condition.]

Good heavens, what even happened here?

[peccatore]

Marco seems unhurt, but he's... tired. Dishevelled, too; scruffy, with a tie that's only barely hanging on and remarkably messy hair.

"There was... a battle of sorts here," Agnes tells her. "It's a rather long story. And, perhaps, not completely relevant."