Despite wearing her distinctive red dress—which she must keep on a rotation—RAQUEL toils away with something manually, a light sheen of perspiration glistening on her cleavage.
She wipes her forehead on the back of her arm and bends over – revealing the moustachioed MARVOLO sitting behind her, who lowers his newspaper and raises his eyebrow lasciviously.
Yes, that’s right…
He licks his lips as Raquel wiggles side-to-side.
Marvolo can’t wait to spread his seed in that!
Raquel pops back up, holding a trowel in one hand and a small pot of soil in the other.
Marvolo shuffles his newspaper indignantly.
Get your minds out the gutter.
He addresses Nobody In-Particular while Raquel busies herself in the greenhouse.
It’s no surprise you’d jump to that, however, given that Marvolo’s opponent this week thinks of nothing but that.
#1 lowers his paper and puts his reading glasses down.
That’s understandable. We are all—men especially—driven by an instinctive need to procreate, passed down to us by our randy ancestors. When dinosaurs roamed the plains, humanity needed to keep its numbers up to survive. Remind Marvolo which one of us is extinct, again?
He holds up his hands and smiles pompously.
Our base desire has evolved alongside us. These days, it’s not as much about self-preservation as it is leaving a mark on the world. Through life experience and personal fulfilment, the patriarch of a bloodline can offer much in the way of wisdom and guidance to his offspring. As he grows old, so too does his legacy, advanced by young blood. They accrue knowledge of their own, to be passed on just as it was to them. Even in death, the elder generation provides the necessary nutrients for the soil on which its family tree thrives. Not everyone is so lucky.
Marvolo gets up and walks over to the workbench to stand next to Raquel.
He looks down at a particularly dry-looking pot of soil in the corner, with the tip of a yellowing shoot barely poking through.
Deprived of sunshine and rain, this little fella hasn’t grown at all.
Ethan Rose may dread receiving a Father’s Day card, but his obsession with copulation is powered by that same subconscious thirst to spawn a dynasty. But what exactly does he have to offer his bastard children?
You cannot teach them a skilled trade, for the only thing that your soft ladies’ hands have crafted is the perfect bedhead. The only sage words that you could impart is about the importance of contraception, which seems counter-intuitive to establishing a legacy. Why, even in death, Marvolo reckons your family tree would fair better in salted earth than your barren compost.
Scattered to the four winds, your many illegitimate children lack any semblance of a patriarchal figure. As a result, the Rose name is doomed to mediocrity for aeons.
Raquel places another pot in front of Marvolo, this time bursting with life.
That’s better! Here we have the product of proper nurturing in idyllic conditions. Yes, this is something special, alright…
Marvolo admires the beautiful roses he now holds in his hands, their delicate petals the same shade of red as his mask.
Look at Marvolo, Ethan. This—
He points at his aforementioned mask.
Is his legacy. This mask, and the Marvolo name, command respect. From Marvolo the Great, to Marvolo the Hun, to Marvolo Khan, we Marvolo men have birthed empires from our loins. Leaders; conquerers; gods among men. Every stitch of this mask is imbued with that lineage. When Marvolo inherited it from his old man—who inherited it from his old man, and so on—he absorbed their collective knowledge… and a few centuries’ worth of stale sweat.
He takes a big ole whiff, though it’s unclear if he’s smelling the roses or his sweaty old mask.
When Marvolo finds the right mate—
Raquel lets out a small yelp that sounds like a barcode scanner at the supermarket, though it goes unnoticed by Marvolo.
—He will personally deliver Marvolo Jr. into the world, who will one day assume the Marvolo mantle himself and take it to even greater heights.
Marvolo places the pot of roses next to the pot containing the dying shoot.
At VHS, Marvolo is going to show everyone the results of generations of tender loving care, when he pulls that stump of a family tree of yours up by its roots.
#1 flashes that gold-toothed smile of his.
And he’s going to come up smelling of roses.
Raquel cuts the head off a wilting rose.
Marvolo es numbehr wahn.