#pulling mercutio back and telling him that they should not fight today.

[subtle-knife]

thinking abt benvolio starting the play as part of a trio and ending it alone

[fallinfor-youreyes]

If I can prompt you one of these for Rosvolio, I'd love to see what you'd do with No. 6 or 11.

6. “No, don’t cry, I hate it when you cry”

11. “Oh god, you’re bleeding”

There’s too many of them to count.

When it was just the three of them,her, Livia, and Juliet, it was easy. When all hell would break loose,Rosaline could could the two of them and herself as they wererunning, a mental list keeping them together.

But now there’s six. Somehow theMontague boys (Mercutio counts okay) had joined their tiny troop ofsurvivors, so now Rosaline not only has to count more heads to makesure everyone is safe and accounted for, but she also has to dealwith the Montague’s on top of the zombie apocalypse.

They’re looting a convince storefor any supplies they can when everything goes to shit. And of coursethe undead are inside the store, and of course the second everyone isout, they scatter, and then the screams start.

And then the gun shots.

As far a Rosaline can tell, there’sa heirarchy to what’s left of the world. There’s the zombies, thepeople trying to survive, and the people who see it as an opportunityto be as violent as they want, against both the living and thereliving.

This specific instance seems to be amix of all three.

She can’t count. All she can seeis the flash of Juliet’s hair and Livia cursing and it’s dark.Too dark for her to know the difference between zombies and peopleand she’s just running, but she can’t count.

Rosaline liked when there was three.Three is easy to count. Three is easy to keep together. But theMontague’s had more guns and ammo and food, and an actual plan onhow to get out of Verona. And if there’s anything Rosaline learnedfrom watching too many movies, it’s you never split up.

“Capulet!”

Rosaline spins, following Mercutio’svoice, and she can see him, signaling toward a house and then shesees Juliet, and Romeo, and Livia with Benvolio’s arm wrappedaround her shoulder, and it’s six.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

She sprints toward them, counting,running over their faces in her head.

“Did you check inside?” Sheasks, out of breath as Mercutio and locks the door and goes to grabsome chairs to secure it

“I did a perimeter check, andRomeo and Juliet are doing the inside of the house now.” Mercutiotries the light switch, and miraculously some of the lights flickerto life.

“Clear!” Romeo yells fromsomewhere inside of the house, and Mercutio jams the chair under thedoor before collapsing into it.

Rosaline relaxes slightly, but herhands are still shaking, and she’s still counting in her head, hereyes flitting around the each person, even more relief settling n herbones once Romeo and Juliet wander back into the living room.

Benvolio still resting most of hisweight on Livia, and she moves them toward the couch, gingerlysitting him down.

“What’s wrong?” Juliet says,spying them. Everyone centers around the couch, their eyes scanningover the two of them.

“I fell on the street. Pretty sureI ran into a branch. Livia was kind enough to save my life.”Benvolio shoots them all one of his signature smiles, and groansslightly in pain when he tries to get more comfortable.

Rosaline finishes her scan of Liviaand moves her eyes to the Montague.

Her eyes travel down his face, overhis chest, each arm -

“Like something you see, Capulet?”he says, eyes full of mischief. He’s insufferable, always jokingwhen they should be serious, picking on her nerves relentlesslybecause they always get stuck together for patrol, making decisionsbased on heroics rather than survival at times.

“No.” Rosaline shoots him aglare but keeps up her scan, making sure that branch he ran intodidn’t do more damage than a bruise. She’s dragging her eyes downhis left arm when he coughs, and then groans, and she suddenly feelslike something might actually be wrong.

He shifts again, and Rosalineglances at his chest when she sees it. The tiniest bit of red peakingthrough the gray of his sweatshirt.

“Oh god,” She says, her handsscrambling to tear his shirt up. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” His eyes brows knottogether in confusion, and then Livia is on the ground next to her,her hands already ripping through her first aide kit. “I’m notbleeding. I would know if I was bleeding.”

Mercutio and Romeo are lifting hisarms and pulling his shirt over his head and Juliet is grabbing hotwater, and Benvolio is still protesting, until Livia’s hands brusharound the area, and he just, sways.

“Get him on the kitchen table.”Livia orders, her two years of training kicking in.

The boys listen, and Juliet comesback in with towels and water, and Rosaline is on wash duty, and themore they move, the less Benvolio Benvolio becomes.

“I think he was shot.” Liviasays. She’s pulling various things out of her bag, and then liftinghim slightly  to see if there’s an exit wound.

“I would know if I was shot.”Benvolio says weakly, trying to sit himself up before Romeo shoveshis shoulder back down on the table.

“Not if the shock kicked infirst.” Livia dunks her hands in the water before turning to him.“You need to stay as still as possible okay.”

Benvolio stares at her a momentlonger than needed before nodding and dropping himself back down tothe table.

Everyone who is not operating onBenvolio is grabbing what they can to secure the doors and windows,making the house as safe as they can.

Livia makes quick work of pullingand sewing and wrapping, and by the time she’s done, Benvolio ispale and too weak to move by himself, but he’s alive. For now.

“I don’t think it’s safe to doa blood transfusion here, and I don’t have the tools I need to doone.” She worries her lip through her teeth and cracks herknuckles. “We need him to make it through the night.  Hopefullythis place is safe enough that he has time to get some strengthback.”

Romeo wraps his arm around hershoulder. “Liv. You did good. You did great. You need to sleep now.We all do.”

Rosaline counts everyone off as theynod, the toll of the last few hours on their faces.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Her eyes fall to the couch whereBenvolio is propped up by pillows, looking to pale and too close todeath for her liking. As if he can tell everyone’s looking at him,he slides his eyes open, and forces a smile onto his face.

Six.

It’s technically Mercutio’s turnto be on watch, but she can’t sleep, and there’s no point to himstaying up as well. Rosaline sneaks her way into what used to be theliving room, Benvolio sprawled out on the largest couch, his headresting in Mercutio’s lap as Mercutio plays on a nitendo Switch.

“I thought the whole zombieapocalypse thing would garner necessities only,” Rosaline says,tucking herself in the smaller single person chair, Mercutio’s eyessliding from his game to Rosaline’s face.

“The switch is a necessity. Youdon’t want to see me when I’m bored out of my mind.”

“Ah.” Rosaline pulls her kneesup to her chin and watches them for a moment, Benvolio breathinglightly, covered in almost all the blankets they could find aroundthe house.

“What are you doing up?”Mercutio asks once he’s finished his game.

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I wouldrelieve you of your duty so you could.”

Mercutio watches her closely andusually she would stare right back, angry and defiant, but today tooksomething out of her. This is the first time any of them have gottenseriously hurt. Benvolio could die. Or be too weak to move forward.

Or be even more susceptible to theinfection and she knows they are literally fighting for their livesthrough the armies of the undead, but she hadn’t thought of theprospect of actually loosing someone.

“If you’re sure.” Mercutiofinally says, stretching from his position. Benvolio stirs, and hiseyes snap open.

“Woah.” Mercutio grabs himbefore he sits up, stopping him from jumping. “Hey, we’re okayBen. Ros and I are just switching positions.” Mercutio signals herover and tells her to slip into his vacated seat, gently movingBenvolio’s head onto her lap.

“Ros?” Benvolio’s eyes roll upso he can look at her, and there’s the smallest of smiles on hisface. “She has a nicer lap than you.” He says shooting a looktoward Mercutio.

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of my soccerthighs.” Mercutio pats Benvolio’s shoulder and then grabs theswitch and the charger. “Holler if you need anything,” he says toRosaline, and then he’s disappearing out of the living room, andit’s just the two of them.

Benvolio’s already halfway back todreamland, so Rosaline gently takes her hand and cards it through hiscurls, working out the knots and dirt and the clumps of blood.

There’s all messy and dirty andbarely just hanging on, but she can’t lose him. She can’t loseanyone else.

“You’re not allowed to die onme, Montague.” She says, more of a whisper than actual words. Hestirs gently beneath her hands, and she pauses, but that only causeshim to grumble until she starts running her hands through his hairagain.

As much as she originally dislikedthe idea of the  Montague’s joining them at first, she’sbegrudgingly become attached to them. And Benvolio was annoying forsure, but as things worked out, she had spent a lot of time with himin the past few weeks. Enough to know that most of the time thearrogance is a front, and underneath it all, he’s scared, worriedabout his family, worried about everyone’s safety.

And she’s seen him transfer thatprotectiveness to her sister and her cousin, even throwing himself infront of Livia once when her gun ran out of ammo, and the zombieswere closer than any of them had thought.

“I can’t lose you.”

Maybe it’s how quiet the room is,or maybe it’s because she’s never actually told him that she’sstarted to care for him as well, that he’s part of her collectionof people, 5 instead of 2, more people to protect, more people tocount, more people to keep safe.

Out of nowhere she feels the stingof tears prickling behind her eyes, the thought of losing any ofthem, of losing him, causing the emotions she’s beenbottling up for weeks now to start to bubble out of her.

“I can’t be the one to put abullet in your head, okay. And if you turn into a brain eatingcorpse, you know I would have to be the one to do it. And I can’t.I can’t do that.” Her hands are shaking now so she pulls themaway from his hair, and ever so slowly his eyes open.

“No, don’t cry,” he says,reaching backwards so he can catch one of her tears on his thumb. “Ihate it when you cry.”

“You’ve never seen me cry,”she says, instantly defensive. Because they are snark and sarcasm andchildhood rivalries that rolled into adult indifference. Because shedoesn’t cry in front of anyone, not even Livia. Because you can’tshow weakness in the zombie apocalypse, because the monster can smellit.

Benvolio rolls his eyes, and she cantell he is weak because it is nowhere close to it’s typical levelof annoyance.

“When Escalus broke up with you atthe Verona Winter Ball. It might have been dark by the drinks, but Ihave very good eye sight.” He holds up a finger, and she realizeshe’s going to list all the times he’s seen her cry. Which isslightly mortifying, but also in some way endearing. “When Romeoasked you out in front of the entire senior class. You hide them verywell, but that back alley behind the gym was my treasured broodingspot.” He coughs, and she’s instantly tense, ready to call forsomeone but he reaches out and stops her, his hand colliding with herknee.

“I’m fine. Relax.” He shiftsuntil he’s comfortable again, and takes a deep breath. “When wewere five and I pulled on your braids because I was fascinated by thebeads, and being five had no concept of being gentle or knowing thatpulling on someone’s hair hurt.” His eyes finds hers upside down,and he’s covered in dirt and blood, and a few hours ago he wasalmost dead, but Rosaline stupidly finds him beautiful. “So I’veseen you cry. And I hate it. Especially when it’s about me. You’rethe strongest person I know, Rosaline. You’re like the main reasonwe’re still alive right now. So don’t you waste your tears onme.”

Before she even knows what she’sdoing she’s folding herself over and pressing her lips against his.It’s a terrible position to kiss someone in.

It’s an even more terrible time tokiss someone.

The movies and shows and the booksalways make the whole zombie thing look like one great adventure, butit’s just lots of walking and never having enough food, and always,always being afraid.

So maybe that’s why she kisseshim.

Because she’s crying and she’sterrified, and she almost lost him today, and he remembers them fromwhen they were five and in kindergarten together, even though it wasover two decades ago.

“Oh,” he says when she pullsback.

He’s so pale, but she can see theslightest bit of color in his cheeks, which she takes as a good sign.

“Just to clarify, was that becauseyou think I’m going to die? Or because you have a thing for guyswith bullet wounds and amazing memories about the history of youremotions.”

“Not entirely sure,” she says,because she’s not. She’s never thought about kissing a Montaguebefore, especially not this particular one. It took a gunshot woundfor her realize she doesn’t hate his company. And ocne she realizedthat, she realized that she likes him. As a person. As someone shewants to keep around, even if they get out of this mess alive and inone peace.

He starts to push himself to hiselbows, but she shoves him back down before he can get to far.

“What are you doing?”

“Maneuvering myself so I can kissyou properly. If I am going to die, I’d like to die knowing whatproperly kissing you is like.” He glares up at her, the effectmostly lost in the fact that he looks exhausted.

“You’re not going to die.”Rosaline stuffs a pillow where her leg was and slides off the couch.“Promise me.”

His eyes follow her as she settlesinto the carpet, leveling herself close enough to him that he doesn’thave to move much.

“I promise you, Rosaline Capulet,that if you let me kiss you, I will not die, tonight.”

“Good.” She slides her fingersacross his cheeks, and he moans quietly, before her lips even touchhis.

And then, they are kissing properly.

She hasn’t properly brushed herteeth in a gross amount of time, and his lips taste a little likeblood, and she has two guns strapped to her body, and there could bean entire hoard of zombies right outside the door, but for thismoment, she’s just a girl, kissing a boy.

A boy who is slipping his handaround her jaw and tugging her closer and kissing her for real.

Like he’s going to die and this isthe last thing he is ever going to do.

The weight of that makes her pullaway. Because she can’t let him kiss her like that. Because he isnot going to die on her.

Rosaline pulls away, and gentlyuntangles them.

He’s quiet as she moves herselfback onto the couch. Quiet as she runs her hands through his hair andhums the lullaby her mother used to sing to her. Quiet as the sunstarts to peak through the makeshift walls they built in front of thewindows.

So quiet, that for a moment, shestops hearing him breathe.

“Benvolio!” She grabs hisshoulder and he slowly blinks his eyes open, a yawn over taking hisbody.

“I promised you,” he says, morea whisper than anything. “Now you just have to keep kissing me andkeep me to my promise.”

Livia pokes her head into the livingroom before Rosaline can answer, and then before she knows it, thereis six of them again.

Mercutio is fumbling with the radioto see if there’s any news, and Juliet is furiously pounding alaptop, begging it to work, and Romeo peaks through a window.

Livia re-wraps Benvolio’s chest,and for a second there is peace.

Benvolio catches her eye and winks.

And then, all hell breaks lose.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 42: The Show Must Go On

Becoming The Mask

It felt so good to jump back into his usual routine on Monday morning. Jim hummed as he diced vegetables for omelettes. He'd need to go grocery shopping after school, or maybe shop tomorrow and do coupon clipping today. How much leftover pizza did they have? Enough for dinner?

Maybe dinner for one, he confirmed, checking the fridge, so he really should pick up something more substantial. Unless …

Yes, there were cans of mushroom soup in the cupboards, so if they had that for dinner tonight, Jim could put off grocery shopping for one more day.

He brought Barbara's breakfast upstairs. She'd remembered to take off her own glasses last night. Jim kissed her forehead on reflex, and then froze.

Barbara didn't stir. He let out a whisper-soft sigh.

For the past week, Jim and Toby had been brushing their teeth side-by-side, since the Domzalskis only had one bathroom and there was only so much time in the morning before school. Jim had started checking on Jay-Jay using his cellphone instead, even after Toby learned he was a Changeling. Today, brushing his teeth alone, he spat on the mirror again.

Toby deserved something special for lunch, Jim thought, considering how well he had been handling all the strangeness and stress that Jim dragged into his life. Let's see, there were still more eggs …

Jim went through the first few steps of making French toast, but as soon as one side of the bread was finished and flipped, he put cheese on top to melt. He was frying thin slices of onion and tomato and some diced red peppers as well.

Toby loved Chef Jim's Famous Ultimate Grilled Cheese.

Jim left Barbara's lunch in the fridge, like usual, and left to bike to school with Toby, like usual.

It felt wonderful to cook in his own kitchen again.

+=+ 

Jim seemed chipper, Walt noticed. He hoped that meant the boy was in positive contact with his Familiar's mother again, not that Jim was putting up a façade.

Of course he wanted Jim to be able to hide his feelings well, especially vulnerability. Such thespianism was a vital life skill for any Changeling. But he could hope for Jim to genuinely experience whatever positive emotions the young Changeling expressed as well.

"I've got some worrying news," Jim announced, popping into Walter's office after school. The words were at odds with his tone, grin, and bouncing step. "We have a ticking clock, of sorts? The kids want to tell their families trolls are real. Mom hasn't met them but she knows they exist and she's given us a month to do it before she starts trying. So, they're trying to persuade Vendel it's a good idea. Thoughts?"

Walter just gaped. Jim had barely gotten the door closed before he started bubbling out this very disconcerting information. He was still adjusting the piano stool.

"I suppose the possibility of a troll being photographed or filmed and spread by social media could make it worth attaining human allies who are beyond adolescence."

Mrs Nuñez was a local politician, and Mr Scott was a police officer. The scope of damage control they could truly offer in the event of a secrecy breech was limited but existent. Truly, Dr Lake would probably be the best 'respectable figure' to calm the public, if it came to that, since many humans assumed their politicians and law enforcement were corrupt in any case, but first it would be best to try discrediting the evidence and minimizing its exposure.

"Yeah, Mary pointed out basically every human has a camera at all times now." Jim turned idly side-to-side on the rotating stool. "I'm worried about Enrique, though. If Claire exposes him to their parents … He can't 'stay with a friend' like I did while they cool down. But if they're only letting him stay for appearances and don't get a chance to calm down –" He spun all the way around. "D'you think we can talk her out of it?"

"You know Ms Nuñez better than I. Do you?"

Jim made a whining noise high in his throat and spun the stool again, in the opposite direction this time.

"If it's any comfort," Walter offered, "I've seen Ms Janeth's rehearsal and performance schedule for this week, and I imagine Ms Nuñez will be too thoroughly occupied with the Montague-Capulet feud to want to create additional family strife off-stage."

There was a rehearsal for the first three afternoons that week, with the full dress rehearsal Wednesday, opening night on Thursday, and with Friday and Saturday performances to follow.

He should tell Jim about his own worrying news, his plans to leave Arcadia once he found a deputy who wouldn't be subverted or murdered, but Walter hesitated. Face to face with Jim, he found himself wondering if he ought to leave at all. His presence offered some token protection; Otto knew, even if the Polymorph survived a fight with the Trollhunter, Walter would bring about consequences. But if Walter were gone, Otto would have time to disappear.

But Jim was an excellent fighter in his own right, Walter chided himself. The boy had successfully stabbed Bular and lived to tell the tale! And he'd be safer still if – when – Walter's plan succeeded.

Still, he hadn't found a deputy, so perhaps he needn't add to the boy's worries yet.

+=+

"There's a school play," said Jim, apropos of nothing, at dinner on Tuesday night. "Later this week. I'm not in it, but, do you want to go anyway?"

"That sounds nice," said Barbara. "I'll try to clear my schedule."

"It's three nights. I could get tickets for all three. You know, school fundraisers, they're not going to turn down extra money."

"What's the troll school system like?" Barbara had decided to try to ask this sort of thing casually whenever a conversation seemed like it could flow in that direction, to get Jim used to telling her things about trolls and get herself used to hearing it.

"I have no idea. I've never seen a school in Trollmarket, though, so they might do an apprenticeship instead of general education? I'll ask Blinky. Or you could ask Blinky."

Barbara hesitated. She wasn't sure she had the nerve to go back underground yet. "You should invite him to dinner some time."

Jim laughed. "I don't know if you'd want that if you knew what trolls ate." He gasped at his own words. "I meant garbage! The stuff trolls eat is usually really unappetizing to a human. Smelly socks are tasty snacks. I mean, we've – Changelings – we've found some stuff that tastes good in both forms, but I don't know how good they'd be to an unaltered troll."

+=+

"Where have you been, young lady?"

"Dress rehearsal?" Claire frowned at her parents. "The school play, remember?"

Enrique made a happy noise from his doorway-mounted baby-bouncer. Sometimes that dispelled the tension. Tonight it didn't.

"We're very proud you're keeping your commitment to the school," said Javier. "But you have to call us when you're going to be out late. We were worried."

"I told you when you dropped me off this morning!"

She had. Enrique had been in his car seat right behind her. He hated that thing. It was cushioned, and his Familiar's parents had been very fussy about making sure the straps weren't too tight when they noticed he always cried when they put him in it, but that wasn't the point. He hated not being able to move. He couldn't wait until he got big enough not to need it anymore.

"You at least remembered you promised to come tomorrow, right?" Claire continued, narrowing her eyes.

Ophelia checked her phone. Behind the parents' backs, Enrique winced.

"Of course. For opening night."

+=+

"Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance," said Logan – Mercutio – to Steve.

"Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead, so stakes me to the ground I cannot move."

"Steve's a better actor than I thought," Toby whispered to Darci. He and Nana had ended up beside her and her parents. Darci's dad was a huge, muscle-y guy who had given Toby a suspicious look when the teens greeted one another by name, but hadn't tried to stop them from sitting next to each other.

Steve seemed utterly woebegone, being dragged by his friends to a party to make him forget the girl Romeo liked before meeting Juliet. Toby hadn't known Romeo had a past love – he'd never actually seen the play, but he'd thought part of the point of it was that first love made the characters reckless?

Mercutio launched into a speech about some fairy queen creating nightmares until Romeo interrupted him – "Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing!" – and Benevolio pointed out they were missing the party they'd planned to crash – "This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves. Supper is done, and we shall come too late."

Toby had to choke back a laugh, midway through the next act, when Romeo approached his priest friend and Friar Laurence fretted that young people didn't tend to be awake so early, and so Romeo must not have slept.

"The last is true. The sweeter rest was mine."

"God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?!"

Who knew Shakespeare had snuck so many raunchy and risqué stuff into his work? When Mary, as the Nurse, thought Juliet was simply sleeping in as opposed to faking her death, she teased that Juliet's arranged marriage would be keeping her up late soon and so it was best Juliet got as much sleep as she could before.

"Why, lamb! Why, lady! Fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! Madam! Sweet-heart! Why, bride! … What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now. Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, the County Paris hath set up his rest, that you shall rest but little. God forgive me," she added idly, in that way that meant she was only apologizing because it was expected, not because she was truly sorry.

There was a curtain across the stage, dividing Nurse from Juliet's 'bed' while the audience could see both of them.

"Marry and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam!" Mary pulled the curtain back. "What, dressed and in your clothes, and down again? I must needs wake you." She started to shake Juliet, growing increasingly frantic as Claire appeared limp and unresponsive. "Lady? Lady! Lady!"

Mary's last cry was a full-on scream that made everyone jump.

It wasn't really all that different from a soap opera. Even with all the death and tragedy, Toby was quite enjoying the play.

At least, he was, up until the last scene.

"What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. Oh, churl – drunk all, and left no friendly drop, to help me after? I will kiss thy lips. Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make die with a restorative."

Juliet leaned over Romeo. Toby had heard, once, somewhere, that the hardest role in theatre was a dead body, because the actor would feel the urge to move or laugh. Steve let out a brief little "ha!" at the kiss, and then went back to being dead.

"Thy lips are warm … Then I'll be brief. Oh, happy dagger," drawing it from Romeo's scabbard, "this is thy sheath!"

Toby, and several others in the audience, gasped as Claire pressed the prop weapon to her stomach.

"There, rust … and let me die."

"What?" Toby whispered. "Juliet dies in this? No!"

The curtain closed, and Eli came out to deliver the epilogue. "A gloomy peace, this morning with it brings. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; for never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo!"

The audience applauded, and cheered, and whistled, and Claire and Steve got up and started bowing. But all Toby could see was his friend collapsing from a stab wound.

"Toby?" said Darci, putting her hand on his. "You okay?"

"I can't believe Juliet died …"

Jim kept warning them that troll stuff could get them killed. Toby had tried to take the warnings seriously, he really had. This, though, actually seeing Claire die – even a staged death she got right back up from, like Juliet's first, fake death with sleeping potion – this hit Toby harder than all of those warnings all at once.

He forced himself to his feet, forced a congratulatory smile onto his face, and forced his hands into applause.

+=+

Previous Chapter (Vendel is reluctant to let more humans learn trolls exist)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Toby has an emotional breakdown)

Whee, I figured out a way to make Romeo and Juliet plot relevant!

I actually read a transcript of 'Romeo and Juliet' to prepare this chapter. I really wanted Mercutio's Queen Mab speech, but couldn't justify quoting the whole thing, so I just referenced it happening on stage. (No, I didn't study this play in school. The Shakespeare plays we studied were Twelfth Night, Julius Ceaser, Hamlet, and the Scottish play with the cursed name. You know the one.)

Logan is the guy partnered with Mary in the flour babies episode. Darci mentions, "Logan and Mary already killed theirs. They gave Dwight D. Eisen-flour a bath and he turned into mush." Based on screenshots of the classroom, I think Logan is also the unnamed boy seen in the seats at play tryouts.

My high school typically did three performances of the school play, on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Arcadia Oaks High School seems to do only one performance, but I think that's because the first half of the first season ends on opening night and the writers were done with that plotline. The next episode starts a month later, according to Toby's dialogue. That's plenty of time for more performances.

In other news, I’m thinking of doing a podfic for this story. My computer has a decent microphone, but I can’t seem to convert M4A files into MP3s, except by using external websites. I’ve followed the tutorial for doing the conversion with Windows Media Player exactly and it doesn’t work. I need MP3s if I’m going to post podfic on tumblr because tumblr can’t accept M4A uploads.

Apparently I’ll need to have the files hosted on another website, because AO3 can’t accept audio files downloaded directly or works imported from tumblr. SoundCloud sounds like it would work? Do people have recommendations or suggestions? 

[sparklyjojos]

[THE CHILDISH DARKNESS Recaps, Chapter 7]

[tw: gore, child abuse, bad things happen to a dog again]

-------

SEVEN

Saburou never had to use his imagination to describe what violence would look like in his books. Personal experience was enough. He’d been living with the storm of violence called Jirou under one roof for years.

Once when Saburou and Jirou were on their way home from school, they were attacked by a gang of three boys. Jirou barely broke a sweat severely beating them up. Naturally, as someone who enjoyed playing with his victims he wouldn’t just let the three go. Instead he brought a small dog with him, some kind of a small brown terrier wearing a collar, and had one of the hapless attackers do an unspeakable act to it. This event resulted in serious injury to both the boy and the dog. Jirou didn’t even glance at the terrified group as he picked up the wounded animal and took it to a vet clinic, even if he’d been the one at fault. In the end, the dog survived, and Jirou returned home laughing that he should have used a horse instead.

Saburou was confused by the shape of violence in his house. After beating Jirou, Maruo would often cry alone, and Jirou always had tears in his eyes when lashing back. No doubt Jirou loved and hated his father at the same time, the father who wasn’t able to outwardly show his love towards Jirou.

When Jirou was in middle school, he once beat up another student so badly that his furious father drove to the Natsukawa house. But before he could even enter the house, Jirou immediately pounced upon him and beat him savagely while straddling his chest, the same manner of violence that Maruo always used. This time, Jirou wasn’t laughing at all. He only snapped out of it and stopped the assault once the man’s son arrived and desperately threw himself between the two. Maybe only at this moment did crying Jirou remember that this was someone else’s father, and not his own. After that, Jirou got into less fights, claiming that they were a bother.

What is love? Why does it give birth to violence? Why does it sometimes make us hurt the ones we love? Maybe Maruo and Jirou wouldn’t stop their conflict until one or both were killed or until someone else died.

Then again, Saburou had a thought that if he were to die, he’d just get instantly forgotten. Poor Mercutio in the middle of a greater tragedy.

--

By the time March came around Yurio seemed happier, even if she still sometimes had a spell of apologizing to her dead boyfriend, or stood by Saburou’s bed in the middle of the night telling him to die. Maybe it’d be better if she left this cursed house. That being said, when Saburou contacted her parents, they said that they’d rather have her go to a good institution than have her stay at their house in that condition. Saburou didn’t want to hear about that possibility. He wouldn’t give up on Yurio. Atena and Shirou had already been taking good medical care of her, and besides, Yurio surely wouldn’t feel good in an institution full of strangers.

Or maybe he was mistaken and really just pulling Yurio into the vortex of his own emotions instead of doing what would be the best for her.

Yurio would cry and say “I love you, Saburou” while beating him so badly Shirou and Atena had to restrain her. But Saburou felt as if it was his duty to get beaten up by her. After all, he was the one who kept dragging her into his own emotional turmoils. The crime and the punishment. Every punch sparked a little joy inside him.

Maybe he really shouldn’t be comforting her after each time she lashed out. Maybe he shouldn’t say that since he loved her, it was alright.

One night, she broke his finger while laughing and crying uncontrollably, but Saburou refused Shirou’s proposition to go get some rest in a calmer place for a few days. This was a punishment he had to take.

--

One day, Shirou said that Saburou really should try to catch whoever had killed Yurio’s boyfriend Hashimoto. No doubt the girl had been hoping all this time that Saburou would be able to bring the killer to justice. She was still thinking about poor Hashimoto, whose body had been found tied to a ping pong table in the middle of a school courtyard, his legs, arms, and head cut off, a note about the “Death God Jawakutora” attached.

Saburou retorted that there wasn’t anything he could do, to which Shirou told him to try, goddamit!, and that people often repeated they couldn’t do something that they just didn’t want to try. During the argument Shirou punched him so hard that he lost consciousness.

When Saburou woke up, Yurio had been in the middle of carving bloody letters into his chest:

LOV

“It’s alright,” he told her when she tried to run away in tears. “It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright.”

Was it really alright? He had to start moving. He’d have to catch Hashimoto’s murderer before Yurio tried to pull out his still beating heart.

--

Shirou had already gathered useful data for him and spread it on the kitchen table.

“Before I share my thoughts about the case, I’d like you to look at the evidence and tell me what you think of it. Someone who wrote a bunch of stupid mystery novels can’t be that bad at figuring things out. Do your best, Ehimegawa Juuzou.”

The victims, all found naked and with a note saying ‘Death God Jawakutora’, all in Nishi Akatsuki or nearby towns:

-- Hashimoto Takashi – as mentioned, his body had arms, legs and head cut off. Marks of strong impact on the body. Cause of death: decapitation. The body parts were wet with tap water. Lack of blood suggested Hashimoto had been murdered in a place different than the schoolyard where he was found.

-- Ogata Shuuichi (43) who had been impaled from mouth to bottom with a wooden pole, which was then stood vertically by an elementary school near the victim’s house in Imadate. The body showed marks as if it had been tied with rope several times around the chest. Cause of death: impalement. Like with Hashimoto, the murder must have been commited in another place.

-- Amaya Yoshiaki (31) and Ogaya Masayuki (32) who were killed by hitting a concrete parking lot in Takefu many times in a row, each time landing face down. It was estimated that each time they had fallen from 10 m, probably from the window on the fourth floor of the elementary school the parking lot belonged to. The victims’ arms and legs bore rope marks.

-- Sakamoto Rio (27) -- found with most his bones broken, the resulting internal trauma being the cause of death. Once again found in Takefu by an elementary school (but a different one than the two victims above). Near the body stood two poles usually used to support the bar in high jump.

-- Nanbu Takahiro (18) – found next to a middle school in Imadate, impaled with a pole from bottom to top. His arms had been cut off, and investigation concluded that his severed head had been violently pushed onto the end of the pole several times. The cause of death was blood loss.

Saburou noticed that all the bodies were found near a school. The note “Death God Jawakutora” could come from its follower, maybe someone calling themselves Jawakutora, but it could also be a proclamation: “death TO God Jawakutora”. Saburou proposed that if Jirou really was connected to Jawakutora, then the murders could be his doing (Shirou was for now staying silent with his own judgment).

Next, Saburou wondered if there was mitate involved. Every murder scene could symbolize a different historical execution method. He couldn’t find any execution methods that would resemble exactly what happened to Hashimoto, however. The boy’s torso had been cut into several pieces like a squid tentacle cut into rings.

Thinking about Hashimoto, Saburou figured out the source of the water. The victim’s body had been frozen so that the body slices wouldn’t spill out their contents. The murderer must have wanted to keep those slices in shape for whatever reason.

Another confounding thing was the first impalement. The pole had been driven through the body in the other direction than in historical executions, with the sharp end stuck into the ground. And what about the unexplained rope marks? Saburou thought that maybe the rope was used on many victims to hide its significance in a single crime scene (“hide a tree in a forest”), but quickly dismissed it as a stupid concept from ridiculous mystery novels.

Next, the two victims who had been thrown out a window. Why do it more than once? Why have the victim always hit the ground face-down and never with their back or side? Maybe the murderer wanted to make sure the two would die, but then why not throw them from somewhere higher like the school’s easily accessible roof?

Then there was Sakamoto, also considered to have hit the ground many times in quick succession, but from relatively smaller height, almost as if somebody performed a wrestling move on him over and over again until all his bones were broken.

As for Nanbu, why would the murderer repeatedly push the head onto the pole?

Saburou didn’t get it at all, so he raised his head to ask Shirou, but Shirou had already fallen asleep on the couch.

“The hell, figure something out first before you wake me up!” he complained after being shaken awake.

“Why should I be the only one here who’s actually trying to think?!”

“Because Yurio wants you to think. Today at the therapy she said stuff like ‘Saburou isn’t serious about doing a single thing!’, ‘He won’t even face me properly!’. If a 13-year-old girl’s roasting you like this, then it’s over, bro! Wake me up when you find something, OK?”

Saburou tried, but couldn’t think of anything more. He went to the kitchen and sunk into the darkness of the storage again, thinking, thinking, thinking. Just like he had closed himself off in the darkness of the warehouse after Runbaba’s death.

Tired of thinking, Saburou fell asleep and had a dream.

--

Saburou and his three brothers were still children, playing outside the Nishi Akatsuki elementary school. Yurio showed up, somehow older than them, and proposed that they play jump rope. When they said they didn’t have any rope, she pulled out a knife and asked the kids to hold Saburou down. Saburou felt uneasy, but his brothers were all laughing cheerfully, so he smiled too. Yurio sliced his abdomen open and pulled out his instestines, and his brothers used them as their jump rope. It didn’t really hurt, although Saburou was a little concerned how they’d put everything back later. But his brothers and Yurio were all laughing, so he laughed too.

--

Saburou woke up and returned to the living room. Shirou didn’t appreciate being stirred awake once again, but Saburou was really at the end of his rope with the case. He related what little he had figured out.

“I think we should forget about the execution methods idea,” Shirou said. “Let’s try to look at it from a different point of view… hm?” Suddenly he brightened up. “I know! I know what the murderer did! Ha ha ha!” But he refused to tell Saburou anything before leaving. “I’ll swing by the crime scenes to make sure!”

“Wait, Shirou! Just give me a hint!”

“It’s a child! Children play! And children’s games are sometimes cruel!”

--

A few hours later Shirou stil hadn’t come back home and didn’t answer the phone, so Saburou decided to check the crime scenes and find him, taking Yurio along as it was better than leaving her all alone in the house. The two headed to the Nishi Akatsuki middle school. Saburou had Yurio wait outside and entered the staff room. Despite the late hour, three teachers were still there. They instantly recognized their former student Saburou – then again, it’s not like there was a single person in Nishi Akatsuki that didn’t know what the Natsukawas looked like, especially after the Nozaki case. According to the teachers, Shirou had shown up some time ago claiming to be looking for footprints.

When Saburou left the staff room, Yurio had disappeared. He quickly spotted her alone in the schoolyard, shaking all over. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to take her to where her boyfriend had been killed. But as Saburou came closer, he realized it wasn’t Yurio.

The ghostly pale girl was standing there.

Saburou closed his eyes in fear.

“You’ll protect me, right, Saburou?”

He opened his eyes. Yurio was standing in front of him, crying, and he had a sudden feeling that she’s going to hurt him. He took a step back. She took a step forward.

“Saburou. Saburou. Saburou.”

Her face morphed into the ghostly pale girl, her eyes completely black.

“Don’t run away. Protect me.”

He tripped and fell together with her, closing his eyes on instinct. When he opened them again, it was Yurio looking down at him, crying in despair.

This time he found himself only able to embrace her after a long moment.

“I’m sorry, Saburou, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a child.”

A child. Didn’t Shirou say…

Saburou realized just what Shirou meant. ‘Children’s games are sometimes cruel’. The murders didn’t symbolize execution methods, but different games. Now that he thought about it, didn’t he have a dream about a bloody edition of jump rope? It’s like his mind actually had figured the truth out and attempted to tell him! Just like his body in the dream, the victims’ bodies all served as toys for the murderer:

-- Hashimoto – daruma-otoshi, a game in which a daruma doll is placed on top of several round pieces of wood, and the player hits the pieces out with a hammer trying to get the doll to the ground without it falling off. That’s why the murderer had to freeze the body and make sure the round pieces wouldn’t fall apart. The limbs were cut off so they didn’t get in the way, and the severed head played the role of the daruma.

-- the reverse-impaled man – a spinning top. This explained why the sharp end of the pole had to face the ground. The victim was additionally tied to the pole with rope to keep balance while spinning.

-- the couple in the parking lot – menko, in which one player throws a card on the ground, and the other tries to throw his own card in such a way that it overturned the first one. The victims’ arms and legs were bound with rope so that they could be thrown flat on the ground like cards.

-- Sakamoto – served as a pachinko ball. He was sent flying multiple times like from a slingshot using a rubber tape stretched on the two poles. Repeatedly hitting the ground and other objects broke most his bones.

-- Nanbu – kendama, a variant of the cup-and-ball game in which the player tries to catch a ball onto a spike or into cups… or in this case, tries to catch a head onto the sharp end of the pole or the wounds where arms had once been.

There was no doubt that the murderer had used the victims as toys. But what child could play with toys that giant?

--

Shirou still didn’t answer his phone, and quick calls to all the other schools proved that he hadn’t showed up at any of them lately. Atena and Shirou’s various friends didn’t know where he had gone either. No way Shirou was just laying low trying to catch the murderer, he was the type of guy to go around loud and flashy at all times. Had he been the one to be caught instead this time? He’d said he would examine the crime scenes once more…

Saburou remembered a line from The Silence of the Lambs.

Clarice, does this random scattering of sites seem overdone to you? Doesn’t it seem desperately random? Random past all possible convenience? Does it suggest to you the elaborations of a bad liar?

Was it the case here too? Could this revelation lead Saburou to find the murderer’s hiding place?

What is the first and principal thing he does, Hannibal Lecter also said, what need does he serve by killing? He covets. (…) How do we begin to covet, Clarice? (…) We begin by coveting what we see every day.

Hashimoto had been killed first. A student of this school. Probably murdered somewhere in the school grounds. What person had had the ability to see him every day? The killer had to be someone living in Nishi Akatsuki, and since Shirou hadn’t gone to any other crime scene, it’s likely he and the murderer ran into each other somewhere near the school. Could a student be killing people?

Saburou along with Yurio returned to the staff room and asked for a list of all the people that had been at the school that day. Saburou’s former physics teacher Kamimura Tetsurou, who had only just entered the staff room too, quickly wrote down all the names for him, claiming he remembered them perfectly.

The list consisted of 38 people. None of them was Shirou’s. Maybe the old teacher just forgot about him, but how on earth do you miss someone so obnoxious?

“I think I’ll head to your house next, professor,” Saburou said.

Kamimura moved like lightning, but Saburou was faster. He wrenched the knife out of the teacher’s hand. Yurio picked the knife up from where it fell and before anyone realized what was happening stabbed it into Kamimura’s neck.

--

“I’m sorry, Saburou,” Yurio cried as they were escaping in his car, “I’m sorry, I thought he hurt you so I stabbed him, I thought you were hurt…”

Saburou was silent as he pulled up by Kamimura’s house. Never in his life would he think that it’d come to this. That he would kill his own teacher.

That he would kill?

Yes. Even if Yurio was the one holding the knife, things she did were things he did too. Her actions were his actions.

Shirou. Where’s Shirou? Was he still alive or already turned into some grotesque toy? To think Shirou could possibly be dead, this cursed and smart and obnoxious and always blunt and wonderful little brother of his, to think Shirou could never again criticize his books or tell him to go fucking die…

No. He couldn’t lose Shirou. He didn’t want to be left alone in the darkness.

He bolted out of the car. Shirou’s Bentz had still been parked by Kamimura’s house. The house itself was dark and quiet. Saburou entered it yelling Shirou’s name again and again.

“Dad?” came a quiet voice in response, in childish tone but an adult pitch.

Someone was in the storage under the kitchen floor. Who was that? Would Saburou open the trapdoor only to find himself there, curled in the darkness?

“Dad, let me out!”

Saburou opened the trapdoor and saw a long empty room with a ladder leading further underground.

“Dad!”

The voice came closer, but there had to be yet another wall between them, so Saburou felt safe going down the ladder. A sound of something hitting against something else echoed.

“Dad, let me out already!”

Saburou started climbing down another ladder.

“Dad, let’s go and play already!”

This room was empty too, but in the light of a few lamps Saburou could see another trapdoor surrounded by a puddle of fresh blood. If it belonged to Shirou, then Saburou was more than ready to enact a terrifying revenge upon whoever hid there further down. He opened the last trapdoor.

From the darkness climbed out a monster. A giant naked man – four meters tall and even more in width -- with his head big and round, skin as white as a snowman’s, and fingers as thick as Saburou’s wrists. The monstrous man was dragging Shirou’s bloody limp body behind him.

Saburou’s world turned on its head.

He moved back to the house, found an axe in the garage and wielding it returned underground. Shirou was now lying discarded and completely still on the floor.

“What are we going to play today, dad?” The giant was smiling.

“Let’s see -- a game of murder out of love!”

A moment of wild flailing with an axe later the giant became little more than a bloody pool, but before Saburou could completely pulverize the body, he heard a noise and turned around to find Shirou had regained consciousness. Axe forgotten, Saburou pulled his brother up all the way to the kitchen. His warm, living brother.

Shirou said later that the child from under the floor had grown so big because he had been raised in an ozone-rich atmosphere, much like vegetables that grow better in that condition. [Whatever you say, Maijo.] Kamimura must have experimented on the child for whatever reason.

--

When Saburou had used the axe, his chest was bursting with a feeling of love. For whom? Shirou, Yurio, someone else? He only realized this later, but with every swing of the axe he had been chanting ‘It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright”. Who was he saying that to? Maybe to himself. To remember he was still alright.

Maybe that love he had felt was directed at that giant kid. Maybe, in a way, Saburou saved him by taking his life.

Wasn’t death the best option for someone who only hurt people, and didn’t really know anything, and spent his days alone in the darkness underground?

--

 “I love you, Yurio,” he said. “I’ll protect you. Please finish writing what you started.”

Yurio hesitated, but after his reassurance took the knife and carved the rest of the phrase into his chest:

LOVE ME TENDER

[>>>NEXT>>>]

[tveckling]

This is 100% Tycutio too : “please don’t do this, don’t act like you care.”

The minute he walked into the room and spotted Mercutio Tybalt saw that something was off. Mercutio was sitting still on the bed, back pressed up against the wall and arms wrapped around his knees, staring into the air. He didn’t seem to notice Tybalt, even as he carefully inched closer. The empty look on Mercutio’s face was disturbing him; a pricking sense of wrongness, because this wasn’t Mercutio.

Faced with such a strange scene Tybalt didn’t quite know what to do. Something told him it would be safer to just turn around and leave, but even as he thought it he knew he couldn’t just leave Mercutio in such a state. That didn’t mean he actually knew what he was supposed to do, gentleness or empathy being far from his virtues. Still, he had to try. “Mercutio?”

Slowly Mercutio’s gaze moved, those dead eyes landing on Tybalt, and a shiver went down Tybalt’s spine. Mercutio didn’t seem to see him, or else know that it was him, looking at him like he was a stranger. A cold hand took hold of his heart at the thought. Never before had Mercutio looked at him like a stranger; even at their first meeting there had been a sense of recognition, a thought of ‘oh, you’ shared between the two of them. The feeling had been animosity, curiosity, malice, affection. There had never been nothing.

Then Mercutio frowned, his eyes clearing. “Oh, Tybalt,” he said simply, with no inflection to give a sense of his feelings.

He shouldn’t be so relieved simply to hear Mercutio say his name, Tybalt thought and gritted his teeth, immediately relaxing his face as he realized what he was doing. He had gotten Mercutio’s attention, he didn’t want to seem angry, not before he knew what was wrong with his—whatever Mercutio was.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, cursing himself as he heard the clumsy words fall out. Why couldn’t he have some more tact, just for once?

Mercutio blinked slowly, looking at him with his brow lightly furrowed for a long moment before life filled his eyes and face—but not the sort that pleased Tybalt to see. He crawled up from the bed, movements graceful but filled with restless energy that wanted to be directed at a target; he stared at Tybalt, the sneer on his face deepening with each second. “Oh, please. Don’t do this, Lord Tybalt. Don’t act like you care. It’s so beneath one such as you, this pretense.”

Tybalt wanted to flinch at the poisonous tone, but he focused on pushing down the anger always ready to erupt. Mercutio wasn’t in a good state of mind, he had seen that so clearly, so this had to be some sort of anger that simply needed a target, any target. Tybalt was familiar with that sort of anger. Still, it was hard to keep any bite from his voice. “I have never pretended anything with you.”

Mercutio laughed, harshly, studying Tybalt with a predatory look, like he was looking for a weakness. “You never do anything but pretending, my dear, dear Prince. You deceive everyone around you, day in and day out, every moment you are awake and when you are sleeping. You cover behind that mask of yours, that rage, and you use the name of your lady aunt as a shield to hide behind, even though it’s not actually yours to use. You pretend, every day. You are the dutiful son to parents long gone, you are the grateful and loving nephew, you are the protective cousin, the honorable man fighting for your family. But nothing of it is real, nothing! You do nothing but pretend.”

Tybalt gritted his teeth and let the words rain over him, watching the wildness creep into Mercutio’s eyes, the way he tensed as if preparing for a fight. “I am not pretending,” he bit out, fighting to keep each word at a normal volume.

For a moment Mercutio looked confused, uncertain, but then the sneer appeared again and he looked almost disgusted. “You are. Or do you mean to tell me your beloved, oh, so loving family knows what you’ve been up to? Do they all know you’ve been fucking the Prince’s mad nephew for years? Have you been telling them about each time we meet, everything we get up to when no one else is around? Have you really? Then, maybe next time we should just meet at the Capulet house, since they know all about this side of you. Why, maybe we’ll invite whoever’s interested to join us, wouldn’t that be a great way to deepen those familial bonds?”

“Stop it!” Mercutio’s grin was more teeth than lips, and he looked ready to get bloody, but Tybalt forced himself to only grab his shoulders. He breathed in deep, pushing down the fury, but he couldn’t completely keep the growl out of his voice.

It didn’t seem to be what Mercutio wanted, however, as he simply struggled to get out of Tybalt’s grip. The sneer slipped off his face like it had never been there, and despite the way he turned away his face Tybalt could see the desperation on it clear as day. Why he was acting like he did, what he was desperate for, Tybalt had no idea, and with his attention divided on keeping Mercutio and his own fury under control he didn’t have enough of a mind to think about it.

“Stop it already! What’s wrong with you today?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing is ever wrong,” Mercutio spit out with a pretense of a cheeky grin, though it disappeared almost immediately. “Or is it the other way around? I can never remember. Everything, nothing, nothing and everything. It changes when you look around, when you ask others and see their faces change as they look at you, it changes when you look at yourself. Nothing is wrong. Everything is wrong. Every person is wrong, don’t you see?”

Tybalt sighed and cupped Mercutio’s face, stopping him in whatever tirade he was getting stuck on. Mercutio’s slack face and wide eyes was enough to bring a small smile to Tybalt’s lips, part relief that Mercutio could also do such expressions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he admitted. “So just… stop. Okay?”

Mercutio only blinked at him, speechless for once.

“Why don’t we,” Tybalt looked around, “why don’t we lie down? Not to do anything, just to, uh, relax? That might not be such a bad idea, don’t you think?”

Mercutio was quiet for so long that Tybalt almost feared he had gone back to that dead state he had been in at the beginning, but then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Tybalt’s shoulder. It took a while before Tybalt realized the muffled sounds were laughter, but once he did he wrestled with being relieved or being annoyed. Insulted. Should he be insulted?

“Yes. Yes, let’s- let’s do that,” Mercutio finally said as he dislodged his face from Tybalt, though his hands retained their grip in his shirt.

Without asking he went back to the bed, pulling Tybalt with him, and unceremoniously dropped himself in it. Tybalt didn’t have much of a choice, either risk his shirt being torn or let Mercutio pull him in, but he did his best to avoid landing directly on Mercutio. Instead of any kind of gratitude he received a scoff, right before Mercutio pulled on him, shifting them both around on the bed until they lied in the position he wanted them: Tybalt on his back with Mercutio cuddled close. Tybalt felt at first awkward, with his arm around Mercutio, right where he had put it, but after some time he found that Mercutio’s soft breath hitting his collarbone every time he breathed out had a hypnotic quality to it. When Mercutio yawned Tybalt wasn’t far behind.

[cookieswriting]

Just Thought I’d Check in on My Beloved - Pt 3

“Capulet would be wise to admit the truth to the Prince about that damned cathedral,” Lord Montague muttered under his breath as he looked over his ledgers. “His Grace will not wait forever to see his decree obeyed.”

Benvolio, sitting across the table from his uncle, smirked to himself.  Unbeknownst to the heads of both houses, it was likely that some part of the Prince would allow the betrothal to be delayed indefinitely if given the opportunity...considering he himself had given Rosaline a way out and she had declined.  

In the weeks following the Prince’s revelation to him regarding his dear deceased cousin, the young Montague had often thought on Rosaline’s actions.  She’d revealed to him how the Prince had treated her, how he’d told her he wanted to marry her instead...and how she’d turned him down for the sake of the trust she’d come to find in Benvolio.  Where they’d once been so keen on finding a way to end their betrothal, neither of them had yet revealed the possibility to their families, and Benvolio counted himself lucky.  Rosaline had become a friend to him, and he was not foolish enough to think that his uncle would ever allow him to marry for love now that he was the sole remaining heir to the Montague house.  Love or not, he too had come to trust his betrothed and, as he had realized that horrible night in Romeo’s crypt, relied on her to keep him grounded.

That particular thought struck him as morbidly amusing.  Benvolio had always prided himself in being the level-headed one amongst his brothers...tease as he might, he would never be the one to initiate the festivities that oft found the trio in some form of trouble.  Trouble that it had seemed only Benvolio was typically clear-minded enough to get them out of relatively unscathed.  

The night that they lost Mercutio haunted him, as did Rosaline’s early accusations regarding the fight.  Perhaps if he hadn’t drawn his own sword when Tybalt provoked them - no.  The man had been out for blood, and even Romeo’s words were not enough to discourage him.  Had he not drawn his sword, perhaps all of them would have been lost that night.  And had he not fought the other Capulet in the fray, Romeo would have been left vulnerable.  

Perhaps it was the loss of a call to be the steady anchor that left him adrift.  Without the need to keep his cousin and friend out of trouble, he’d begun to struggle to keep his own emotions controlled...like his rage toward the Prince for his actions towards Rosaline.  He’d known that challenging the sovereign would not end well...but he could not bring himself to care, so long as the injustice had been addressed.  What more could be done to hurt him? What more could he possibly lose?

And yet, there was Rosaline.  Pulling him from the darkness, drawing his mind to happier times, for no other reason than to ease his pain.  Not politics, not obligation...neither of those would tether them any longer if she simply spoke the truth to her uncle.  No...she’d been a true friend to Benvolio, and that gave him something to fight for once more.  And together, they had spent the weeks since that day working to uncover the true culprit behind the attacks and unrest in their fair city.

“Benvolio!” The young man startled at the sharp bark of his uncle.  He looked up to see Lord Montague glaring at him.  “Whether you like it or not, this will be your duty once you are married.  If you spent half as much time fulfilling your familial responsibilities as you do in the taverns and whore-houses, the name of Montague would be far more powerful than Capulet.”  His eyes narrowed, and a snarl twisted his face.  “Perhaps if you had been more attentive to your family than your vices, Romeo would yet live.”

Benvolio’s hand tightened subconsciously.  He knew it would be useless to tell his uncle that he hadn’t been to the brothel since the betrothal was publicly announced, or that he hadn’t been to the taverns in weeks...nevermind that he had been spending much of his time away from the House with his betrothed.  No defense was enough to satisfy Lord Montague’s wrath towards his nephew, as Mercutio and Romeo had learned long ago.

“One would have hoped that the risk of destroying an innocent woman’s honor would be enough to keep you from your foolish ways, but I suppose even that is too much responsibility for you to manage.”  

“Forgive me, my lord, but any lingering exhaustion or distraction is of my own doing.”  Both Benvolio and his uncle turned at the new voice, and Benvolio pushed to his feet respectfully.  “Following a rather unpleasant encounter with a right scoundrel, I asked my betrothed to teach me to defend myself should the need arise once more.”

“Lady Rosaline, what a pleasant surprise,” Lord Montague greeted, pointedly ignoring her story.  “What brings you to our house today?”

Rosaline turned her eyes to Benvolio for a moment, before curtseying to his uncle.  “I just thought I’d check in on my beloved,” she replied lightly.  The corner of her lip twitched, and Benvolio couldn’t help a grin.  He never expected to have something special for himself and Rosaline...but this phrase had come to be significant between them.  Encouragement, support, a way to say ‘I know your heart and I will stand beside you’ without overtly admitting positive feelings.  “We ended my lesson last night after I accidentally caught ‘cross the side of his head with the hilt of my knife.”

Shaking his head, Benvolio chuckled lightly.  He felt his uncle’s eyes turn to him suspiciously, so he reached up to rub against a phantom bruise and winced against a phantom pain.  “The lady speaks the truth...startled me, she did.”  His amused glance turned back to his betrothed.  “I am well today, I assure you dear Rosaline.  I am grateful for your concern, but it is unnecessary.”

“Bested by a lady?” Lord Montague scoffed bitterly.  “I should not be surprised, considering you were unable to stop a Capulet from slaying Mercutio.”  Benvolio was horrified to feel tears burning in his eyes, grieved as he was by the repeated barrage of blame from his uncle this morning.  He dropped his chin to his chest.  Rosaline did not need to witness his weakness any further than she already had.

“Lord Montague, I must request that you refrain from insulting not only my deceased kin, but my fiance as well, in my presence.”  The younger Montague’s eyes snapped to her face, shocked that she would speak against a Lord on his behalf.  She had stepped closer to him, face alight with fury.  “Your nephew has ever been loyal to your House, following an order to marry someone he scarcely knew and liked even less with no true attempt to refuse.  And of Benvolio, Romeo and Mercutio?  All of Verona knew well of their unshakeable bond.  All knew that when together, they were a force to be reckoned with...and all knew of Signor Benvolio Montague’s role in their relationship.  I might even speculate that this was why Tybalt provoked Romeo and Benvolio as he did, without Mercutio and by drawing your nephew away from your son.”  She turned her eyes to meet Benvolio’s, and it was all he could do to keep himself from going to her side.  It would not do them any good to have him lose his composure and kiss her.  Particularly considering there would be a considerable chance that she would (rightfully) strike him for being so forward.  “My heart grieves with you for your losses, but place blame where blame is due, not on those undeserving.”

Lord Montague was stunned into silence, and Benvolio knew his wrath was soon to follow.  He stepped around the table quickly, settling his hand at the small of Rosaline’s back.  “If you will excuse us, Uncle, we have a meeting with the Friar this afternoon and I would like to speak with Lady Rosaline beforehand.”  Without waiting for a response, he ushered Rosaline out of the room.  She looked up at him quizzically, but he did not speak until the pair were out in the streets of Verona.  As he led her away from the house, he finally met her eyes.  “Thank you.”

“You lied to your uncle,” Rosaline commented, expression unreadable.  Benvolio smiled and ducked his head.  

“Yes, well...my intent was two-fold.  If there is one thing to which Lord Montague is not accustomed, it is being dressed-down by a woman.  Had we lingered, I cannot say how he would have responded, and I am not of the mood to raise a sword to my uncle today.”  Rosaline raised her chin defiantly, and Benvolio found himself resisting the urge to claim her lips once more.  “Also, having to sit through my uncle lecturing about trade and the family name should be considered some form of torture...so I chose the lesser torture of parading around the streets with my betrothed,” he teased with a wink.  Rosaline laughed heartily, swatting his arm lightly before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow.  As they walked through the local market, Benvolio found that the heaviness of guilt instilled by his uncle became lighter and lighter the longer he spent in her presence.

[theonewithwaytoomanyfandoms]

My First Fic Ever!

Well guys, here it is! My first foray into the fanfiction world, in response to a prompt by the lovely @marilita , who requested Rosvolio talking about books in some capacity. I hope that this is what you were looking for my friend!

          With all of the madness about in Verona as of late, it occurred to Rosaline, newly lady of House Capulet, that there was nothing better to escape the rabble than the pages of her favorite books.  Rosaline had been an avid reader since she was a child, as her parents had raised her to be a lady of Verona and thus educated her as such.  Even after her father had been killed and her mother dead of grief shortly afterward, Rosaline kept on reading.  She was the first to admit that books had a world of their own in order to escape the worst times in her life.  This week was no exception.  Therefore while the rest of House Capulet seemed to be in utter chaos, Rosaline slipped away from her (Juliet’s actually, and didn’t that just shake her to the core) room and found a quiet garden fountain just away from the city center to settle down and continue reading.

        Today she had chosen an epic Greek tale to take on her respite.  Homer’s Odyssey drew Rosaline in with its mythical creatures and gods and goddesses.  Yet the thing that intrigued Rosaline the most was Odysseus’ determination to get back to his wife, even after many years of delayed travel.  She was nearly done with this epic tale, but was waiting on tenterhooks to see if fair Penelope would recognize Odysseus as her husband after he slayed all of the greedy suitors around his wife. She could not help but to compare the couple’s situation to her own, even if they were nothing alike.  She wished for a love as strong as Odysseus’ and Penelope’s, and silently scoffed at herself for ever thinking that this would happen in her present situation.

        Maybe if Escalus- I mean the Prince-had declared his love before a week ago, I could have a love that strong. Rosaline thought in vain. Yet, after Escalus had showed his true intentions and motivations toward her the morning after the royal dinner, she had very little faith left in him.  Which left her to think of the other man that had come bursting into her life, Benvolio Montague.

       Benvolio was harder to sort out.  Rosaline hated the man, of course, as he was a Montague and the Montagues were unforgivable after what they had done to tear their family apart after her parents died. Although she supposed she really only had Lady Capulet to blame for her and Livia’s fallen status.  Animosity of the Montagues still ran strong however, making her less than benevolent toward Benvolio at best.  He was not as notoriously rash as Mercutio and Romeo had been, yet he still had a reputation for being a noble Montague cad. Yet he seemed much more open to their proposed union than she had ever been.  Just a couple of nights before at the royal dinner, he had approached her and seemed to be almost resigned to the task of a life together, while she had blatantly denied any agreement on her part before Escalus had betrayed her.

     "I know some things about you,” Benvolio had said to her. “Not enough to build a life together, but we’ll get there.” 

     From this alone, Rosaline felt a bit ashamed that she was not as willing as he to compromise and save Verona from bloodshed. He had lost nearly everyone he had ever loved, and yet was still willing to be loyal to their betrothal.  Could he be the Odysseus in her life, always fighting for her protection? And if so, could she be his Penelope, willing to wait while he gave himself in service of House Montague and Verona?

      She was pulled quite suddenly out of her musings about the current state of her life and the Odyssey by the man she had been contemplating so diligently for the past hour.

     "Well look who it is! I cannot imagine anyone I would be less likely to find around here than you, Lady Rosaline, yet here we are,” Benvolio smiled, that twinkle in his eye irritating her as he seemed to know something that she did not. 

      "And

why, pray tell my lord, should I not be here?” she answered, wanting to take back everything she had said in her mind about his maturity, for he could not even start a conversation with her without making some sort of stab at banter.

     "My lady, the fountain you are sitting at is on the outskirts of Montague property.  Mind you, you probably won’t be faulted for it, but it is rather odd to see anyone remotely near Capulet blood here. Actually, you would probably not find any Montague here either. Except for me.”

     "Is that so?” she retaliated. “Do you often find yourself lost on your own family’s property?”

     "No, my lady. This is where I came to think after the sickness took my mother and father both,” he said, growing more somber and open by the second.

     "Oh. Oh my. I am sorry, my lord, I should have never-…”

     "It is alright, Rosaline, really. As my betrothed, you are more than welcome to do anything you wish here.  If anyone attempts to bother you about it, have them take it up with me.  Although like I said before, you really should not encounter anyone else here disturbing you with your books, your- what are you reading, anyway?”

     Rosaline was touched that he would share his most private corner of his family’s property with her.  It was obvious that he still greatly disliked her, but he was giving her the benefit his betrothal and allowing her the status of a Montague bride-to-be.  She was so overwhelmed that she forgot to answer Benvolio’s query, only answering when she was startled out of her thoughts by his questioning gaze, one that had been on her face far too long.

      "Oh!

It is the Odyssey. I know men such as you most likely prefer the Iliad, with its account of the war and all that, but I quite like the adventure that Odysseus and his crew brings.” She smiled thinking of all the travels the poem had taken her on in her imagination.

      She

looked back up from her contemplation to see him smiling. “Actually, my dear beloved, the Odyssey is quite my preferred choice when it comes to Homer’s epic poems.  As silly as it sounds, I quite like the idea of Odysseus’ strength coming from a place to call home.”

     "You mean in Penelope? Oh yes, I completely agree! The way that they are devoted to each other even throughout the hardest of separations, fully even gaining the gods’ favor to be reunited, why it is absolutely incredible! I can only wish-!” Here she broke off, for he was truly smiling now, and it was radiant. She flushed with embarrassment.  She always became too giddy when speaking about her favorite literature, and now she had gone off about one of her favorite stories, tearing down her walls to her loathed fiancé himself. Yet he did not seem to belittle her for her strong opinions on the literature, but was rather encouraging and open himself. He was the one who shared a deeper opinion of the story first, after all.

     "Perhaps, if you are agreeable to these types of stories, my lady, I could lend you some of my own? I know not of the stock the Capulet library has, but I do know the Montague library like the back of my hand, and I could find some epic adventures for us to discuss further. A starting point for our life together, if you will? Literature is the cornerstone of all intelligent discussion, after all. What say you, Rosaline?” he grinned.

     Rosaline was fully cheery herself once again, something that she never thought would happen in this man’s presence. “Yes, Benvolio. I would like that very much. Thank you, truly, for thinking of me. I know this is difficult for the both of us. But perhaps literature really can be our starting point, as you say? At least we know it is something you can be civil about,” she bit at the end.

     "Just as I thought we were getting somewhere!” Benvolio joked. “But yes, my lady, I shall see what books I can find for us. Shall we meet here again in two days’ time to read together? I am sure your family would not object to you spending time with your betrothed, even though we do not intend for this to be a courtship.  Call it a reprieve from the madness together, if you will.”

     "I think we can both agree we need that, my lord,” Rosaline said.  This was not the end of their dislike for each other that was for certain.  But it was a good start on what would hopefully lead to a successful society marriage. And if Rosaline was lucky, perhaps even a friendship. 

     Although, life plans certainly never did pan out the way Rosaline wanted them to.