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]

"Really? That's... disappointing."

He abruptly shakes his head.

"Ugh, what am I thinking?"

[sangwhine]

How sweet it might be to taste your foe?

[He gestures with the blade]

Go right ahead.

[peccatore]

He hesitates, but takes a step forward. It's remarkably difficult to tell if the mild disgust on his face is aimed at himself or at the body.

"Dangerous thoughts."

[sangwhine]

Hardly. I only knew him for a moment and he seemed the sort who deserved it.

[peccatore]

"Well-- Well, yes, naturally." He gets down on one knee, extending a trembling hand towards the bleeding wounds. "But I don't... I don't like thinking of myself as someone who... wants to taste their enemies."

[sangwhine]

[He clicks his tongue in disapproval]

How dull. Is there anyone else here you need me to murder for you?

[peccatore]

"Don't-- Don't make it sound like I sicced you on him!"

Defiantly, like he just wants to get it out of the way, Marco dips a finger in and has a taste of that blood.

... It just tastes like Ambrose said now. He huffs in frustration.

[sangwhine]

Darling, how else would you describe what just happened?

[peccatore]

"... Fine." He sighs. "I just thought-- I-I suppose I thought, if you were going to kill people in here, you might as well do it to someone who deserved it."

[sangwhine]

If you ask me, I rather thought the specters of your parents quite deserved it.

[He looks around]

So what else is there to do here?

[peccatore]

"... I'm... not sure. I was feeling miserable about... about something that I've remembered. Right now, thanks to you, I'm not sure how I'm feeling anymore."

There is one more door, still.

[sangwhine]

What had you remembered, exactly?

[peccatore]

"I, I remembered..."

Hesitantly, Marco looks around. The ones who would have shown Ambrose the answer to that question are gone now. If anyone is going to say it, it has to be him.

"... The worst thing I think I've ever done. I hope it's the worst."

[sangwhine]

And? What did you do?

[peccatore]

"... I tried to take every single non-human down with me."

[sangwhine]

Tried to? How?

[peccatore]

"Through propaganda. Fear. I let humanity know about the sorts of creatures, the, the magic all around them that they never knew was real. I... 'warned' them of the danger they were in."

[sangwhine]

And? Did the masses bend to your beck and call?

[peccatore]

"Of course not. But... But enough people did listen. I made sure of it. I had the power and the means."

[sangwhine]

And how many died because of your self-flagellation?

[peccatore]

"I don't know," he says, very quietly, before sitting down on the ground curled in on himself, like before.

[sangwhine]

[He snorts a little]

Gods, you are the worst.

[peccatore]

After a moment, Marco just sort of... arches his back, runs his hands down his face, and leans aaall the way back, lying down straight with his eyes shut.

"Ugh, I can't just wallow right in front of you."

[sangwhine]

No? You seemed to be quite adept at it.

[peccatore]

"I mean I'd rather not keep doing it, regardless of how I'm feeling. You may not be my-- my personal Greek chorus, but your commentary isn't all that pleasant either.