M A R K O V A L D I
F I R E ◼ J U L Y 2 0 T H ( 1 8 ) ◼ M A L E
"Evidently I've made some poor choices."
There are two things someone will notice about Marko from the drop. His size, and his scar. Broad shouldered and big boned, the solitary titan that is Marko would stand out in a room even without the assistance of his injuries. He has a long, angular face and a hawkish nose, his expression often set somewhere between dour and tired. His hair is black as soot and rests short cropped and uncared for atop his head. On most days, a light, barely there stubble tickles his chin. Meanwhile, his attire is best described as being something that someone else cared a great deal to pack him off to school with, but that he cares very little for maintaining or making presentable. His good arm, the one not covered in burns and riddled with nerve damage, can most often be seen ending in a black gloved hand. That hand is usually holding a cigarette, when he can get away with it. Always he wears the thick, heavy coat gifted to him by his grandpa. He can’t stand being cold.
He doesn’t talk about the scar much, so neither will we, except to acknowledge that it is there and that it is not very pleasant to look at.
Marko was raised by his grandparents. His dad was never really in the picture and his mom… She really did try. Until he was five he remembers a blur of rotating couches and rotating men. That, and the winter nights spent shivering to sleep in the passenger seat of the car that was his home most of the time. He’s never forgotten that feeling, of the cold seeping into his bones so deep he would scream if not for the fact that his mother was right there, shivering alongside him. If she wouldn’t scream, then why should he? Those days ended when a traffic cop found Marko sitting alone inside that beat up old car, his mother nowhere to be found. He didn’t know where she went, and he never found out. Eventually the system put him in touch with the grandma and grandpa he didn’t know he had, and they took him in without a second thought.
That old couple did everything right. They weren’t millionaire socialites, but they were well off and they put that money to use with Marko. Despite his stunted education early in life, he was actually found to be quite intelligent, and quickly caught up with his peers. They provided access to a child therapist to help him sort through the complicated life he had and set him on a good path. They themselves visited regularly with a counselor to educate themselves on how best to care for this child. Grandma and Grandpa Valdi weren’t going to let Marko go the way of his mother. Perhaps most importantly, they loved him. Plainly and simply.
Yet, the challenges were numerous. He was scared and confused most of his life, but suddenly being safe enough to let those feelings out into the open was a difficult thing to manage. There was a lot of resentment and frustration as he grew up over the fact that his mother was still alive, but that he wasn’t allowed to see her. His dad was alive too, but he didn’t want to see Marko. It’s no surprise he was an angry child, and used petty acts of delinquency to blow off steam. He took up smoking as a freshman in high school and began to run with a group of older boys that got their jollies throwing bricks through car windows and storefronts. That part was fun. Watching his “friends” push around the smaller kids at school? An activity best enjoyed from the sidelines, simmering in discomfort at his own inability to do the right thing.
Things changed when the group began targeting people that Marko actually knew. For Marko, the one positive outlet he had was always writing. Private diary entries, collections of poems, and fantastical narratives covered the pages of his journals. Maybe he didn’t talk much in poetry club, and he certainly never shared any of his own writing, but he was there. Every meeting, for one hour a week, Marko was able to lose himself in the creative thrill of like-minded individuals that spoke their truths without shame. So when this group of nasty, discontent boys began to have run-ins with the people from poetry club, being a bystander wasn’t an option anymore.
He graduated from throwing bricks to throwing punches.
He won some fights, and due to numbers being against him, lost a hell of a lot more. Still. He didn’t mind if it got them off the poetry club’s back. Besides, breaking glass was starting to lose its edge. But these guys? He let his rage out on them. Every black eye he inflicted was deserved. Every split lip he got in return felt equally fair. After all the times he hung back and did nothing? He wore his bruises with a grim kind of pride. Thinking, like a stupid teenager might, that the hurt he endured now somehow made up for the hurt he failed to prevent in the past. It didn’t.
He never hit a point where he felt “atoned”. He just got less discriminate in who he fought and what he fought them over. His adoptive parents tried to reach him, and though he would nod and clench his fists and promise to do better, the anger had a hold of him now. Even his dreams didn’t seem safe. Every night his mind was embroiled in roiling heat so intense Marko swore he’d smell smoke upon waking. Sometimes he wandered through burning forests. Other times he was trapped in a house that had gone up in flames, and too often he would be shivering in a car in the middle of winter, freezing to death until the vehicle would burst into an inferno.
The event that disfigured Marko was less of a climax in a dramatic narrative and more of a full stop at the end of the entire novel. There would be no falling action, no resolution. Life doesn’t work that way. Although, there is a certain amount of ironic flare to the moment itself.
Marko, staring at his bruised reflection in the bathroom mirror, felt feelings bubbling up that had been simmering for months and years. He was sick of feeling guilty. Sick of feeling angry. He missed his mom. He wanted to know why his dad never called. And staring back at him was the face of a young man that apparently only knew how to solve his feelings with violence. Brave enough to fight four people at once but too cowardly to share his poetry. So he punched the mirror. He expected it to shatter. Not to explode.
That summer, spent almost entirely in the hospital, Marko broke down to his grandparents. He came clean to them. About it all. When he shared his strange dreams, that all but confirmed suspicions. His grandparents forgave him, they reassured him, but they were extremely firm with him. Attending the Merryweather Institute was not a matter for debate. Marko understood. He had a long time to sit with himself and think about what kind of person he wanted to be in his life. He was eighteen now. There wasn’t going to be another do-over. Full stop.
Marko is fatigued. He takes on the burdens of life with a sort of weary acceptance, as though unable to consider that he ever deserves anything more or less than what he gets. This numbness towards the woes and joys of life does not necessarily mean he is a passive participant, however. His rational mind prevents him from slipping any further than he already has. Though he doesn't see how, this school, at its best, is a real opportunity for Marko to find some way through the miasma he wades through. He tries to keep that in mind whenever the school confiscates his cigarettes.
When interacting with others, it becomes apparent that the dry wit he wields in conversation is the remnant of some far more fiery personality that has long since burnt out of him. While still running the full range of human emotion, there is a restraint to his behavior he didn't used to have. Still, he's not a cold person. There is tenderness and kindness to be found within him. There is a creative young soul that loves poetry and misses his mom and loves his grandparents. That's still him.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
While Marko is strong and knows how to fight, these days he’s much more willing to take a punch than throw one. Intellectual pursuits got him through his time in the hospital. Reading and writing were a lifeline to a calmer and more centered version of himself, and while not necessarily practically applicable, to him re-doubling his interest in literature has been a lifesaver. As far as his fire powers go, the most he’s comfortable attempting so far is smoking up without a lighter.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Marko is at a major turning point in his life, which is important because I don't want to play as a violent/unstable bully. He still has a lot of growing to do and isn't doing the best but I think that comedy and light are just as important for a character as darkness and drama. I am looking forward to fleshing out Marko within the context of a game and how he bounces off of other characters. Romance is okay with me if it makes sense and develops naturally. Not sure if Marko is anyone's cup of tea though, haha
Member
Inertia,
Neziul,
Chrys,
Ducksworth
