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]

"Hm... Let me think. Some fifty years, perhaps? Sixty...?"

It seems Marco has written a decent bit! He keeps at it, but even though he doesn't move his lips, his voice reads it all out...

Dear Agnes,

I believe I am finally settling, despite my wretched timing (as I mentioned previously). Even in this short time, I have hopes that the economy is starting to recover. Maybe unfounded? I have tried to read some theory, but I have to admit it's somewhat tedious.

Regardless, I have carved myself a little niche in this city. I work most nights as a pianist. The pay is enough, and I am getting by, so please don't worry. (You are worrying! I know that you worry.)

I do miss your company and, yes, your supplies. As of my writing, I have worked out a method. Much like the piano playing, it is working, and I am getting by...

[voidofhearts]

A method to obtain blood?

[peccatore]

"One that he deemed... acceptable," Agnes explains.

She seems reluctant to elaborate.

[voidofhearts]

[taps her foot anxiously]

That's... ominous.

[peccatore]

"I am not sure if it's my place to share..." Agnes is seriously pondering this. "But then again, they would be far less kind about it..."

[voidofhearts]

Are uh... "they" going to bring it up...?

[peccatore]

Her eyes narrow. "Unfortunately, yes."

[voidofhearts]

Mmmm...

...You... you know Marco best. Like, definitionally you kinda have to. So I... I trust whatever you think is the right call here. You said I should listen to you, and you seem trustworthy... so that's what I'm gonna do.

[peccatore]

"... Very well. Perhaps if I..."

Agnes guides you to the window - this room is two floors above ground level, but she points your eye to something that looks like it should be happening under the cover of a back alley. In truth, it was, but in showing you this memory herself, Agnes has to make some concessions.

In any case, down there, men in striped suits and hats are locked in a gunfight.

[voidofhearts]

Huh...

[creeps closer to the window, looking out at the scene]

...Just like something out of one of Mal's stories...

[peccatore]

"Indeed," Agnes says. "This is very close to her time period."

The gunfight isn't terribly important. 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.

Also, the Marco writing a letter up here is still right where he was. Don't worry about it.

[voidofhearts]

[Void has to look away from the violence itself. The killing and the spilling of blood... it's so horrifying... she hates it seeing all that death. Those real, human lives simply going to waste. But at the same time, part of her simply wants to join in. All that blood... all that life, going to waste...]

[She can't let herself think that way. So she looks away until the gunfire dies down, and Marco appears. She glances back at him.]

Marco...?

[peccatore]

He looks up at you, frankly a little confused. Are you supposed to be all the way up there?

Well, er, no matter. The viewing angle is, perhaps, not that important. He's here for dinner.

It's a rather deliberate, controlled affair. 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.

[voidofhearts]

[The blood isn't going to waste. Void gasps, stumbling back a few steps from the window. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. The red rings in her eyes are quivering as she covers her mouth with both hands.]

[peccatore]

Agnes stops you - gently, with a hand on your back.

"Are you all right, Miss Void?"

[voidofhearts]

[...very slowly, she shakes her head.]

[peccatore]

She nods, apparently not shaken.

"May I offer you a drink?"

[voidofhearts]

A drink...?

[peccatore]

"Yes. We can return to my establishment, if you would like."

[voidofhearts]

...I don't dislike blood, but it's not quite the same for me as it is for a... regular vampire. Mostly whets my appetite...

[peccatore]

"I see..."

She looks somewhat troubled. Not by your words, but by her inability to help.

... Somehow, you get the impression that's coming from Marco, moreso than Agnes herself.

"My apologies. I am... not sure what else I can offer."

[voidofhearts]

I just...

[there are so many thoughts swimming through her head]

Those men were his... h-his prey. They were already going to die, but they were prey. That's— that's what that was...

[Her voice quivers, but she honestly doesn't sound quite judgmental. She sounds quiet and distant... like she's in a far-off place.]

[peccatore]

"... Yes," Agnes says. Her own tone is neutral, or close to it. "It's... a necessity. A vampire cannot survive on bagged meals alone. ... Not without growing listless and uneasy."

[voidofhearts]

[A slow, small nod]

...I was just... I...

A hungry part of me was... was thinking just how much of a waste them dying like that was. Obviously no one should ever die like that. A life snuffed out is an awful thing, every time. But that's not... that's not what I... that's not why I was...

...And then to see Marco actually do it...

[peccatore]

"... Then, you can rest assured. Their blood did not go to waste."