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

[mindmills]

[ It IS the most sensational thing he's ever read. Man is starved for options even after having read a few things in Trib. Mark S is delighted. ]

What are you talking about? This is great.

[peccatore]

The Agnes guiding Mark S seemingly opts not to comment on this. The other, meanwhile, is fetching some glasses for Marco. This pair doesn't suit him terribly well, but it helps. While he does still read somewhat haltingly, he's no longer squinting.

"... It's an uneventful memory, but I suppose he cherishes it."

[mindmills]

Of course he would. I remember the first time I read a real book too. It's the little things that make life - well - life.

[peccatore]

"... Hmm."

This memory is fading already, though; it seems like there really wasn't that much to see here. The surroundings take a little longer to solidify this time, but once they do, Marco is sitting alone at a desk in a sparsely-decorated room. It looks like he's writing a letter.

"... Ah," Agnes says. "This is... after he set out on his own again."

[mindmills]

[ Mark S creeps forward again to peer at the letter. ]

Where did he go next?

[peccatore]

"The United States, which..." Her brow furrows. "... is where I assume you come from."

Marco has written a decent bit already! He keeps at it, but even though he doesn't move his lips, his voice reads it all out...

Dear Agnes,

I believe I am finally settling, despite my wretched timing (as I mentioned previously). Even in this short time, I have hopes that the economy is starting to recover. Maybe unfounded? I have tried to read some theory, but I have to admit it's somewhat tedious.

Regardless, I have carved myself a little niche in this city. I work most nights as a pianist. The pay is enough, and I am getting by, so please don't worry. (You are worrying! I know that you worry.)

I do miss your company and, yes, your supplies. As of my writing, I have worked out a method. Much like the piano playing, it is working, and I am getting by...

[mindmills]

I mean, probably. Odds are good.

[ Mark S still doesn't know though soooooo...

Anyway, he leans over to read it. ]

... I didn't know he could play piano.

[peccatore]

Marco actually replies!... He seems flustered, though.

"I-I'm just... decent."

[mindmills]

Decent's still better than anything I've ever heard.

[ A shy little smile. ]

Maybe you can play for me sometime?

[peccatore]

"I--"

If Marco was actually writing, rather than reliving the memory of doing it, he probably would have forgotten everything else he wanted to include in the letter on the spot.

"I, maybe. M-Maybe."

[mindmills]

[ ALAS he'll just have to repeat the expression later. ]

When we're not in your heart, anyway.

... Sorry uh, I keep interrupting.

[peccatore]

"I don't mind."

Something heavy and sad and remorseful flashes across Marco's expression then -

"... I'm so sorry. In, in advance. I'm so sorry."

- and everything blurs again, even as Agnes frowns in the background.

When things slow down, 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 - think Luigi without the moustache, pretty much - and he is staring at some kind of metallic board with traces and doodads like it's a precious treasure.

[mindmills]

[ Well the office puts Mark S at ease at least, and so does the appearance of this Marco. He leans in to get a closer look. ]

What's that...?

[peccatore]

Agnes encourages him with a nod. She's taking a backseat on this one.

"Oh, hello! This is a part of a computer." Marco pauses, pondering something. "Not sure how, ah, technical I should get with you. You're new to all this, I'm assuming?"

[mindmills]

I mean, I've used a computer plenty of times. But never seen - uh - the insides?

[peccatore]

"Right, right. End user, not an enthusiast. Which makes me wonder what you do, since not a lot of people own personal computers yet."

Marco winks. You're talking to a memory AND to Marco, just roll with it.

[mindmills]

[ well okay, he can work with that. ]

I work in Macrodata Refinement actually. So - uh - yeah, it's a lot of computer work.

[peccatore]

"Macrodata Refinement! Sounds futuristic." He smiles. "To be honest, I've only just started fiddling with these machines myself."

[mindmills]

... Yeah? What's so interesting about them?

[peccatore]

"How small they've managed to get them, for starters! Just a few years ago, you'd need a machine taking up practically an entire room to get things done in any reasonable amount of time. Now..."

He holds up the circuit board in fascination.

"You can get practically the same result with just a few of these boards in a box."

[mindmills]

[ A bit of a blank look - he's only seen the box after all. ]

A whole room?

[peccatore]

"Pretty much! Of course, I'm talking about machines with big workloads. The kind of computer that could, say, put someone on the moon."

[mindmills]

[ ??? ]

Physically? In person? ... is there air up there?

[peccatore]

"Haha! No, there is not." His smile is... fond. Very, very fond. "But that's a bit outside the scope of..." Vague gestures. "This setup."

[mindmills]

Right, no, sorry. It's still very interesting.