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

[voidofhearts]

Lots of things. All the time. But I... need to help Marco right now.

[peccatore]

After a moment, she nods. "Then, if you wish to move on..."

Once more, everything grows blurry.

Then 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 look it's Luigi. It's Luigi without the moustache. You know him.

He is staring at some kind of metallic board with traces and doodads like it's a precious treasure.

[voidofhearts]

[A breath in and out. Time to move on. Hunger and feeding are an awful and messy fact of their lives... she can figure out her feelings on them later]

[She steps forward towards... Luigi at this moment, she assumes, tilting her head]

...You really love technology. You always look the most alive when you're talking about it.

[peccatore]

"... Alive?" He smiles sheepishly. "That's a funny way to put it."

[voidofhearts]

Maybe not biologically. Maybe not enough to... to escape this feeling. But whatever animates you... it shines brighter.

[peccatore]

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, young miss," he says, winking, "But I appreciate it."

[voidofhearts]

You're... happy, right? Doing this?

[peccatore]

"I am. I was just thinking... I'd like to do this for the rest of my life."

Behind them, Agnes smiles fondly.

[voidofhearts]

I'm... glad you remember this feeling.

[peccatore]

"As am I," Agnes mutters. "Brief as the memory may be..."

Indeed, it's already fading away, giving place to another one.

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 that looks almost exactly like your guide, and a Marco who is still very much Luigi.

[voidofhearts]

[Even if she can't taste the blood, can't get subsist on it like these other vampires, something about it... she can't help but lick her lips. The moment she does, the moment sure notices... she turns away from the meal with frantic energy, focusing wholly on Marco and Agnes.]

[peccatore]

That's probably a good call. The memory itself has little to do with the venue.

The Agnes 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.

[voidofhearts]

...Oh that's...

...That's really cute.

[peccatore]

"Cute...?" Guide Agnes wonders quietly.

Meanwhile, the other one - visibly stunned, if only barely - 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."

[voidofhearts]

This way he can talk to you whenever...

[tilts her head]

... Why is it so big?

[peccatore]

"It was a rather early model. Have you never seen an older cellular phone?"

[voidofhearts]

[shakes her head]

[peccatore]

"It could only make calls. I'm sure it sounds positively archaic to you."

Is Agnes smiling...?

[voidofhearts]

Only calls? Whoa. I mean, I do suppose every technology has to start somewhere...

[peccatore]

"... Well, it could also receive them, I suppose."

[voidofhearts]

I'd hope so...! One-way calls with no way to recieve them sound pretty dire, hehehe.

[peccatore]

"Is that not what radio is...?"

Ah. It looks like this memory is fading already, too. When Agnes notices, she casts her gaze to the floor, an oddly resigned expression on her face.

[voidofhearts]

[Already? She looks over to Agnes, a little worried]

Is everything alright...?

[peccatore]

"We are... reaching the end, Miss Void."

And everything blurs for the last time in this door.

When the world clears up, you and Agnes 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.

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

[voidofhearts]

[She looks at the man on the ground]

...K-Kaphlar? The awful boyfriend guy???

[She looks around at all the new figures. This is entire scene looks... bizarre. Not on its own, but there's a strange sense of a lot of missing context]