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

[turntoash]

Mostly... mostly the crime. But he didn't deserve his diet either.

[She meets Agnes' face; hers is easier to read: she clearly has affection for Marco. This hurts.]

[peccatore]

She's silent for a moment.

"... Shall we move on?"

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn breaks eye contact]

... sure.

[peccatore]

And things move forward again.

When the world settles, 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."

[turntoash]

[She nods.] Thank you.

[She approaches the desk to see the letter closer.]

[peccatore]

It seems he's already written a decent bit! Marco keeps writing, 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...

Ashwyn might notice this Marco looks about the same as he did when he fed on those men after the gunfight.

[turntoash]

[Ah... yes, that makes sense.]

[She argued with the parents about it, but it still unsettled one part of her. But, pragmatically, she understood.]

[She circles the room, taking it in and letting the memory continue.]

[peccatore]

This one is already fading, too... Agnes frowns, but it seems there's nothing she can do to stop this.

When things slow down, Marco is at a different desk, in a room that looks more like an office; a small, messy one, the kind that looks repurposed from an otherwise unused room. His hair is longer now, his glasses significantly chunkier, and he is staring at some kind of metallic board with traces and doodads like it's a precious treasure.

[turntoash]

[Now this one, she can't make heads or tails of - Marco has talked to her about things that were hard to understand before, so maybe this is related...]

[How does Marco look here? Happy?]

[peccatore]

He sure does! He appears to be cheerfully talking to himself while he examines the board closely.

"It really is amazing how small they've gotten these things already...!"

[turntoash]

It's moments like this, [Ashwyn says, glancing to Agnes,] that I want for him. This is who he should have been.

[peccatore]

Agnes considers this.

"I understand, but... I hope you understand, too, that he could never have been this if he had lived a normal, human life. Today, the man calling himself Luigi Evangelisti is somewhere around 250 years old. He never would have made it here on a mortal lifespan."

[turntoash]

Yeah... I know. I can want all kinds'a good stuff for him, but it doesn't make it possible.

[She sighs]

Sometimes life's just gonna kick you in the teeth and all you can do is take it.

[peccatore]

... She nods.

"Are you going to speak to him?"

[turntoash]

... yeah.

[She approaches Marco and sits near him.]

Hey, Marco. How's it?

[peccatore]

"... Afraid I don't know who Marco is, ma'am." He... winks? "I'm Luigi Evangelisti. Don't tell you're a customer."

[turntoash]

[She smiles.]

Right, must'a been thinking of someone else. Whatcha selling?

[peccatore]

"Well, we're not quite ready to sell you, I'm afraid. You're a little early. But-"

He slaps a hand down on the desk. It doesn't look gentle, but in truth, it is.

"I'm working on software for these little machines. I'd like to make something anyone can work with at home."

[turntoash]

... the kinda thing that would make people's lives better, huh?

[peccatore]

"Well, that's... a bit lofty." He laughs, apparently flustered. "But it would be nice."

[turntoash]

You're a smart guy. I know...

I know you can do it, no matter how lofty it is.

[She glances back towards Agnes.]

[peccatore]

"We... are nearly done. Nearly."

She nods. It's time to move forward.

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.

There is also an Agnes here who looks almost exactly like Ashwyn's current guide, and a Marco who looks exactly like the Luigi Evangelisti that was in Tributary not long ago.

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn wipes at her eyes a little bit. It's getting to her. She gets closer to Marco and Agnes so she can hear what's going on.]

[peccatore]

... Ashwyn's Agnes gently places a hand on her back.

The other one, the one 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.

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn has no idea why Marco gave Agnes a rectangle, but it's probably a very nice gift. She's pretty sure. She gives the other Agnes a grateful smile, then keeps watching, not eager to interrupt.]