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]

[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.]

[peccatore]

"It's a cellular phone," Agnes whispers to her. The memory continues.

Visibly stunned, if only barely, Memory 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."

[turntoash]

[Agnes' clarification does not help. In Ashwyn's home they just have to make do with mail sent through the local teleportation system. Like plebs.]

[But Ashwyn gets the gist. Marco doesn't have to be alone. It's a warm thought in the freezing sea.]

[peccatore]

... And, for the last time, everything blurs.

When the world clears up, Agnes and Ashwyn are 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.

Hey wait.

[turntoash]

[YEAH, HEY WAIT! she's seen this before!]

[Before anything else can happen, Ashwyn snaps her fingers to pause the memory. A fierce look rises in her eyes.]

[She kicks Kaphlar in the nads again.]

[Okay, the memory can go on again.]

[peccatore]

Even when the memory resumes, Kaphlar doesn't react. It looks like he's unconscious. Deeply, deeply unconscious.

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

"Marco," she says. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," Marco tells her. He doesn't seem all... there.

The two of them are silent for what feels like a long time, until she says with a gentleness that very few have seen:

"... It's okay. You will be okay. I'm here, Marco."

Marco's face is trembling. You get the impression that something like a sob is struggling to break free from his chest.

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn... kneels beside Marco. Gently rubs back. She can't change it, but he shouldn't have to relive the memories alone.]

[peccatore]

"I thought... A-Agnes. Agnes, I thought I couldn't talk to you. I thought you would... I thought... thought, they said... God said..."

She throws her arms around Marco and squeezes him tightly. That sob expels itself, and Marco is shaking, and somehow, he seems lighter.

... The memory seems to linger here.

[turntoash]

[Ah. God again... religion is fucking this guy up. She needs to introduce him to her pantheon.]

[Ashwyn looks back to Agnes.]