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]

[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.]

[peccatore]

"This is it," she tells Ashwyn. "This is the last memory I have to show you."

[turntoash]

Then... I guess I gotta go talk to him.

Thanks for your help. He's... he's lucky to have you.

[peccatore]

"He is well aware of this."

Agnes says this with the utmost seriousness.

[turntoash]

I'd like to say "be seeing you", but I doubt I will.

So... goodbye. And thanks.

[peccatore]

"... Goodbye, Miss Vincent." She bows politely. "Thank you."

[turntoash]

[Ashwyn heads back out to the main room. Finds Marco again.]

Hey.

[peccatore]

Marco is still sitting on his podium. Though he looks a little more disheveled now, he isn't curled in on himself quite as tightly; he's just leaning on his own knees, head low.

"Ashwyn..."

[turntoash]

[Assuming there's room on the podium, Ashwyn will sit next to him. Otherwise, she'll sit on the ground and lean on the side of the podium.]

How're you feeling?

[peccatore]

There is a little room, but it's not the most comfortable. Up to you, Ashwyn.

"... Afraid. Not as much as before, but... Afraid."

[turntoash]

[Then she's on the floor! Suddenly, there's a wind whipping up from somewhere... Ashwyn's hair is falling over her eyes. If Marco looks down towards her, he won't be able to see her face.]

Afraid of what?

[peccatore]

"You've... seen a lot."

[turntoash]

"Yeah. I have."

Ashwyn stands, and Marco is finally able to see her face. Her eyes are glowing - not with their usual gold, but with a pure white, so bright that it's strange that it doesn't burn.

"I've seen what happened to you. Beginning to end. I've seen your friends, your family, your foes, your victims. I've seen what you've done, and how you torment yourself over it."

She holds out a hand towards him.

"C'mon, Marco. You've got judgment to face."

[peccatore]

"Wha... What...?"

Well, now he definitely looks scared.

[turntoash]

Ashwyn takes his hand and pulls Marco to his feet. It's a gentle motion, despite everything.

"Do you truly want to repent?" she asks, her eyes still shining.