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Despite what other people may think, Marcy is not oblivious. Reading social cues has never come naturally for them, not like it seems to for Anne and Sasha and pretty much everyone else. But they can be observant, sometimes. And when your people ignore your ramblings about things you love time and time again, you eventually begin to realize that they aren’t actually as interested as you thought. But Anne and Sasha do try. They really do. Probably harder than Marcy deserves. Much harder than their parents do, at least. They let them ramble on and on some days. And sometimes, they even listen.
Marcy never thought to ask for more than that, even if it does sting sometimes, the way even they sometimes lose interest.
As a child, Marcy wore their heart on their sleeve. They felt everything, it seemed, ten times stronger than everyone else. This could be a good and a bad thing. Good feelings felt so, so good. These feelings would consume Marcy entirely. The only way Marcy knew how to let it out most days was through movement. Spinning, bouncing, wiggling, humming. It was like soaring through the sky, that feeling. Like going supernova.
Marcy does not like to think about the other feeling. The feeling of not being understood. The soul sucking emptiness of loneliness and despair – comparable to a black hole. Since their death and subsequent possession, that feeling has become much more common. It’s an exhausting feeling, only fed by the things that the core tortured them with while they had no control of their body.
It’s been a long time since they’ve felt that carefree joy in its full capacity.
It’s a surprise, when Anne and Sasha drag them out of their cave one day to go to the movies. The film adaption of the first Cynthia Coven book just came out. They’d wanted to go, initially. But between physical therapy, school, and needing more sleep than usual for whatever reason (Not Depression.), they just hadn’t made it out yet.
So here they are. Since it's just the movies and they'll spend most of their time sitting, Marcy decides to forgo their rollator. There are seats at the theater anyway, they reason. So, date money in hand and hidden drinks in Anne’s backpack, they all go to the movies. Marcy doesn’t have high hopes for this film. All too often, movie adaptations are a real letdown and Marcy much prefers their own vivid imagination to a bunch of boring actors who probably won’t even live up to their roles.
But despite this, Marcy can’t help but get sucked in. They stare at the screen avidly the entire movie, occasionally grabbing onto SashAnne’s arms to make sure they are paying attention during the exciting parts. The quips are funny, the acting is good, and the cinematography is beautiful.
Unfortunately, though, the movie doesn’t fully follow the plot. Which does bother Marcy quite a bit.
“How’d you like the movie, Marshmallow?” Anne asks as they leave the theater, ruffling Marcy’s hair with fingers covered in butter.
“It was. Good.” Marcy says, looking down at the floor – partially to ensure they don’t trip, but also because –
“C’mon, Mar. I know that you have more to say than that. It’s your favorite book, dude.”
Marcy bites their lip, “Well, the effects were good. The acting could was nice too.”
“And?”
“… They didn’t follow the plot. Entirely.”
“Really?” Sasha asks.
Anne gently pokes their shoulder, “C’mon, Marcy. Tell us how you really feel.”
Marcy takes a deep breath.
“Well, if you really want to know–it drove me crazy that they took out the scene where Cynthia meets–”
And they’re off. Unbeknownst to Marcy, whose gaze is still locked on the ground in an effort to not trip over the obnoxious movie theater carpet, whose hands are dancing in the air, Sasha and Anne lock eyes and give each other a conspiratorial grin. They’ll get their passionate Marcy back, one infodump at a time.