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]

That question, at least, seems to remove a fraction of the weight from his shoulders.

"I could afford to buy blood by this point. Local, sometimes. Imported from a friend, when possible."

[turntoash]

...okay. Okay. That's- that's good to know.

[You can just... buy blood??]

[She tries to ignore that any other day, Marco would be the kind of guy she'd be chasing down - on foot, if necessary. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. She believes that with everything she is. But, seeing what Marco has in his past...]

[She thinks of a man named Marid Veladim. She shudders. It's different, when you're the victim. She knows Veladim deserved a chance at redemption too. But she can't square it.]

[She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.]

Still here, Marco. You're not scaring me off that easy.

[peccatore]

(Many things are possible when you have enough money, and at least a few connections.)

Marco's hands tense on his lap, trembling slightly.

"... Even though you've seen the last door?"

[turntoash]

What part? The part where you organized a tournament for reasons I still don't know, or the part where a guy put you in chains and you lost control?

[peccatore]

"... You're almost there."

You can feel the Parents' eyes on you, Ashwyn.

[turntoash]

[She closes her eyes.]

You made the world aware of supernatural threats. You funded a tournament for magic-users. You got dragged out into the light. Er, metaphorically.

I haven't seen everything yet, of course. But there's a thread here.

Something to do with the tournament entrants, I think.

[hesitantly:]

You were... planning on feeding on them. Or turning them.

[peccatore]

"..."

Marco frowns.

"Good lord. I'm not sure if that would have been better or worse."

"Why guess?"
"Why is she trying to guess?"
"There's still more."

[turntoash]

[She sighs. A relief, honestly.]

Right. Not enough information yet. Let's do it to it.

[She stands and readies to move on.]

[peccatore]

You know how it goes by now - though, as the memory starts to change over, Marco gets the chance to say...

"... This one should be quick. You already know. Then... Then there's just one more."

The world eventually coalesces into a highway on a rainy night. Something flickers off to the side, barely visible to anyone on the main road. Some smoke billows from that spot.

[turntoash]

[Yeah. She already knows. She goes to look over the car crash and see if there are any new details she can figure out.]

[peccatore]

The smoke is obviously coming from a fire - a small one, at least for now - burning from a car that veered off the road and only stopped when it hit a rocky protrusion.

One of the passengers, a short-haired businessman with blood dripping from a large cut on his head, is on the ground, not far from what must have been one of the side doors. The other is crawling out of the wreckage.

[turntoash]

[Yup. She's seen this before, and she's not in a hurry to see it again.]

[As she turns away from the wreckage, she says under her breath:] Sorry, Marco.

[And she snaps her fingers to move ahead to the last one.]

[peccatore]

Grimly, "Luigi" nods.

The last memory materialises very quickly; if the time they take to solidify has anything to do with their relative position on a timeline, then this one must not be long after the crash at all.

Ashwyn is now in a CEO's office - clean, but sparsely decorated. Impersonal. As usual, it's night time. This is obvious from the large glass window overlooking the city below. (Incidentally, it looks like it might be the same city she saw earlier, when she was in the alley...)

Marco - and he looks almost identical to the Marco Ashwyn knows - sits at the desk, which is lousy with notes and documents and files. He stares straight ahead, expressionless.

A Mother's familiar voice pipes up, but it doesn't seem to be coming quite from the same place as usual. It's simply in the office, somewhere nearby. Present.

"Oh, dear son. Finally."

[turntoash]

...

[oh she does not like this. The same little voice that tells her it's a bad idea to kick down the doors in abandoned buildings where a murderer is hiding is raising a red alarm now. Not that she ever listened much to that voice.]

[Nevertheless, she approaches the desk.]

Marco...?

[peccatore]

Marco holds up a hand in Ashwyn's direction. Just a moment. They can talk in a moment. They'll talk.

First, he needs to talk to Them.

"This is... your will."

"This is the will of the Lord," the Father says.
"God's will through us. Through you." The Mother.
"Can you do it? Will you do it?"

"I... have to do it. For my soul." Marco casts his gaze at the contents of his desk.

"For your soul."
"Then you will be saved."

[turntoash]

[oh no. nothing good ever starts like this.]

[She tries if she can see what Marco is looking at specifically.]

[peccatore]

Some of the files appear to contain news articles about mysterious phenomena. Part of them certainly sound supernatural in nature. Others could very well be talking about the weather.

Some of the documents appear to contain drafts for a 5-to-10 year timeline - a mission plan of sorts. They're full of handwritten notes. The year 2016 is circled and underlined on one of them. The word "PUBLIC" is right next to it.

The smaller notes are all handwritten, and quite hard to follow. They appear to be collections of thoughts.

[turntoash]

[So this is before the press conference.]

[Ashwyn squints. All four corner pieces are in place, and she's filled in a lot of the edge.]

You popped the lid off the supernatural threats as a way to atone... didn't you?

[peccatore]

"That... was the plan," Marco admits with a heaving side, slumping in his seat. "Part of it."

[turntoash]

[Her eyes gleam.]

Not everyone appreciated that, though, did they?

[peccatore]

"As they shouldn't have. I..."

He takes a deep breath. This is, perhaps, the last piece, the worst piece, but he owes it to Ashwyn to say it himself.

"I wanted to be the last one standing. I thought, somehow, I would accomplish that."

[turntoash]

[With an unreadable expression, Ashwyn leans on the desk and fixes Marco with a stare.]

Why?

[peccatore]

"I... would reveal myself at the end." He traces one of his drafted timelines with a finger, all the way down. "And if humanity made me pay for it, then... Everything would be made right."

[turntoash]

So your redemption was going to be to destroy anyone supernatural, one by one... ending with your own death.

That's why you organized the tournament, isn't it? And that's why Kaphlar hates you so much.

[peccatore]

"... The tournament was part of it." He nods. "Propaganda. A few of the participants were paid to be bad actors, but none of it was rigged, so-- so ultimately, the results were outside my control."

It all sounds insane to him now. He can't imagine how it sounds to Ashwyn.

"I don't know if that's why that man hates me. Maybe. It would make sense."