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]

"But not a lot of people have one of these, that's the thing. Mostly because computers have been awfully big and cumbersome for most of their lifetime."

He waggles his eyebrows.

"But. They're getting smaller and smaller."

[reddenedgalaxy]

Really...? It's already small...

[peccatore]

"Oh, see, this is just a part of a computer. You'd need to put a few of these together, and then put them in a box, more or less... But you're right, it is already pretty small compared to what it used to be like." He smiles. "Which is just one the reasons why I really, really want to see how these things keep evolving."

[reddenedgalaxy]

I want to see mor...

[peccatore]

"Well, you're young!" He smiles. "I'm sure you'll get to see plenty. What I hope for is that I can share all of it with people like you."

... But this memory is starting to blur at the edges now, and the spark vanishes from his eye.

"... I do hope I get to show you, Mordimort."

[reddenedgalaxy]

You will... I'm sure...

[peccatore]

Agnes places a hand on Mordi's shoulder as the memory fades. She may or may not get the impression that the gesture comes from Marco, in actuality.

The transition doesn't take very long at all 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.

But, most importantly, there is an Agnes who looks exactly like Mordimort's guide, and there is a Marco who looks exactly like this.

[reddenedgalaxy]

Mustache.

[peccatore]

"Mustache," Agnes whispers grimly.

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.

[reddenedgalaxy]

[Mordimort stares at the thing in the box.]

What... is it?

[peccatore]

"That is a rather early cellular phone," Agnes explains. The other one, just barely visibly stunned, 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."

[reddenedgalaxy]

He really cares...

[peccatore]

Agnes raises an eyebrow directly at you, Mordimort.

[reddenedgalaxy]

[oh no]

Did I... say something wrong? It's good... that he wants to keep in touch... isn't it?

[peccatore]

"... Of course it is. I only thought the wording was peculiar."

[reddenedgalaxy]

What's peculiar... about saying he cares...

[peccatore]

"The fact that you felt the need to say it, I suppose, is what's peculiar."

[reddenedgalaxy]

[Mordi takes a moment to consider.]

Sometimes... hearing someone say it... helps mor.

[peccatore]

"... If only this was what he needed help with..."

It looks like they're about to move into a new memory. There's a definite touch of sadness to Agnes' expression.

[reddenedgalaxy]

It's not...?

[she thought she was getting to understand Marco better, but this is only one small piece of the puzzle...]

[peccatore]

"... My apologies."

When the world clears up once more, they're 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. 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.

[reddenedgalaxy]

Marco...

[Mordimort crouches next to him]

...What happened...?

[peccatore]

Agnes, rather than Marco, is the one who answers.

"There was a... battle, of sorts."

[reddenedgalaxy]

[she glances over at the guy with the green hair.]

...what kind of battle?

[peccatore]

"I... don't remember the details yet. Not really." Marco takes a deep breath. "But I don't believe I did much of the work, myself."

Sadly, neither Agnes nor Marco are familiar with the concept of a JRPG Final Boss.