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]

"Yes, well. He had to make do for some time."

Already, this memory is fading. It seems there wasn't that much to see...

Their 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. He's writing a letter, apparently.

"... Ah, this would be..." Agnes says, "... after he set out on his own again."

[reddenedgalaxy]

...how long... was he with you?

[peccatore]

"Hm... Fifty years or so, perhaps...?"

[reddenedgalaxy]

[for a 16 year old that is SUCH a long time.]

You helped him... mor than I thought.

[peccatore]

"I suppose... he had grown tired of wandering for so long. But then, he wished to seek new opportunities."

[reddenedgalaxy]

You gave him the strength... to live on his own again.

...He thinks very fondly of you.

[peccatore]

"I... would not be here if he didn't."

Are you going to read the letter, Mordimort?

[reddenedgalaxy]

[Of course she's going to take a peek! This is what she's here for. To help.]

[peccatore]

It seems he's 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...

[reddenedgalaxy]

I didn't know you played piano...

[peccatore]

Marco glances back at her and whispers, "Oh, I-- I'm just decent."

[reddenedgalaxy]

I'd like to hear you play...

[peccatore]

"... Not right now, I'm afraid. Maybe one day."

[reddenedgalaxy]

I'll look forward to it... mor.

[peccatore]

Marco smiles back at her - faintly, but he does - and, again, everything blurs together.

When things regain a solid shape, 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.

[reddenedgalaxy]

[Mordi's never seen anything like this before, and she moves right up next to Marco to get a better look at it. It certainly looks like a precious treasure.]

...What is that?

[peccatore]

"This is a circuit board! This one, specifically, is part of a computer--"

Marco looks at her, really looks at her, and leans in to ask:

"Remind me, do you know what a computer is?"

[reddenedgalaxy]

[she shakes her head]

[peccatore]

I-- I need to break character for a bit. Alright, er-- Has anybody in Tributary shown you a smartphone?

[reddenedgalaxy]

...Metawing's shown me some... weird things...

[peccatore]

Okay, okay. Like what?

[reddenedgalaxy]

...Weird things... that she plugs into her body...

[peccatore]

"She-- What?"

[reddenedgalaxy]

She has implants... I don't understand how it all works...

[peccatore]

"Wow. I'll, uh, have to ask her about it at some point. Er, well -"

He taps the circuit board.

"This doesn't plug into anybody's body. It's just part of a machine that can run calculations very quickly."