(no subject)

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

Yo. Mercutio is sitting crosslegged by the fireplace, staring into the fire. One hand is tossing and catching a dagger - he doesn't seem to even be looking at it.

He's humming very quietly, a Veronan children's song.

Comments

[calderon-crow.livejournal.com]

Even with his sense of balance, he almost spills the food as he settles it on the table near the fire.

Axel had been absolutely right to say that the Bar was a bit of a Mother Hen. Even Max didn't usually pile his plate up so much. He knew he'd been a little lax at eating of late (so much work to do so much) but this was ridiculous.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

Mercutio glances up, the dagger still flashing into the air and down again. The man looks a little... Latin. Hmmmm.

[calderon-crow.livejournal.com]

Black hair, green eyes, a certain slant to the features... he's from the North, but he's still an Aleran.

And while he doesn't move to do anything about it, his eyes watch the dagger.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

"God gi' good e'en."

The dagger doesn't stop moving.

[calderon-crow.livejournal.com]

He blinks.

"What was that?"

He'd been trained to pick up in dialects and accents as part of his Cursor's work, but that slipped by him.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

"God gi' good e'en."

He frowns.

"It is a greeting."

[calderon-crow.livejournal.com]

"I'd figured that," he says plainly. "Though most people don't mention the gods much where I'm from."

The ancient Romans had had their gods, but they were largely considered to be ridiculous now.

[aka-casanova.livejournal.com]

Giovanni is from Venice, not Verona, but who can say how the song might have travelled in 200 years? He can hear Italian, anyway, if archaic, and it draws him to drift closer.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

Mercutio glances up and smiles, a little sharply. He's in a sharp mood.

[aka-casanova.livejournal.com]

The young man's steps slow a little, more cautious than before, and he offers a wary smile in return.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

"God gi' good e'en." He nods.

[aka-casanova.livejournal.com]

"Good evening to you", he responds after a second to parse that. "Was that an Italian song I heard?"

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

"Veronan."

He smiles a little.

"A cradle song."

[yuppie-trash.livejournal.com]

The door.

The door shouldn't have opened to permit him entrance. And yet it does.

If someone were to disregard the unnatural pallor of his skin, the way his cyanotic lips part into a incredibly radiant and unearthly smile--they might--no, there was no way to imagine this man as being anything other than

dead

.

He approaches the fireplace, and takes a seat at one of the chairs, allowing his coloring to adapt to something closer to human. "Evening, Mercutio. Rather warm, isn't it?"

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

Mercutio looks up and raises his eyebrows. "Long time no see, my friend."

He catches the dagger.

[yuppie-trash.livejournal.com]

There are advantages to not being able to breathe or blink, although his eyelids twitch with the instinctual urges to do so.

He stares. At the dagger.

"Oh, my, where did the time go? Has it past as well for as it has for me...?" He asks, flipping his hand out for the dagger.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

"It has passed slowly."

He grins, and snatches the dagger out of reach.

"Say please."

[yuppie-trash.livejournal.com]

"Slowly. I understand. Not only what the word slowly means. But the state of mind. To be slow. As if moving through smoke and darkness so thick as to be molasses, or perhaps, clotting blood. Cold. So, very cold. And heart-grippingly slow."

He pauses, if only to flick his fingers at the dagger again.

"But. That's passed now. So. You will need to forgive me if I say fuck off to saying

please

."

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

Mercutio nods. "I remember."

He knows why it's been so long, now.

"How did'st thou die?"

[no-sin-but.livejournal.com]

It is the dagger that catches Marlowe's attention. Up and down, flash into the light, and he's done it often enough himself.

But not here, so his eye moves to the young man in question.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

Mercutio has staredar. He glances round.

[no-sin-but.livejournal.com]

And there is a round-faced man watching him. Late thirties, straight brown hair down to his collar, and if his left eye is wide and bright and black, the right is covered by a velvet eyepatch.

And those clothes are, well. Circa the turn of the 1600s.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

And familiar enough, if separated a little by nationality.

"God gi' good e'en."

[no-sin-but.livejournal.com]

And that, that gets a smile.

"And consider the same to thee." Soft voice, English, not quite a peasant but not a noble, either.

[singlesoledjest.livejournal.com]

Mercutio sheathes the dagger in one smooth movement.

"Mercutio of Verona."

He bows shallowly from the waist.

"Of the Prince's household."

Rank is rarely important when meeting people who do not understand its import, or to whom it is not relevant due to separation of time and space. But this man, if Mercutio reads aright, understands.