milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Mercutio is cooler than you, and you, and you. In fact, he's cooler than all of you. AHAHAHA!

He doesn't look awe-inspiringly cool at the moment, though. In fact, he looks kind of amusing. He's on the rug in front of the fire, curled right around with his head on his arm, still reading the Italian guidebook, sounding out the words as he goes, with a contemplative frown.

He'll squeak if you poke him.

[ooc: i have three essays to write tonight. so this entrance post is going to be live for... a very long while.]

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"From what I've heard, Shakespeare had any number of sources. Mostly sources, in fact, and not so many original plots."

He doesn't say it like it's a bad thing, though.

"People's lives are not a plot, my friend who cannot roll his 'r's correctly. Nor a literary device."

His legs come down with a thump.

He spreads his hands apologetically.

"I stand corrected and chastened."

He sits up, and looks carefully at Charles.

"Good. Forgiven. So, how long have you been here?"

"Not too long. I can't come as often as I'd like."

"Oh, you are not trapped here?"

He gestures to a chair with a raised eyebrow.

"No, I can come and go. Yourself?"

"Trapped."

The word drops heavily from his lips.

He frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It cannot be helped. This is what happens when one dies."

He shrugs.

"So I've heard. I've met one other here who's in the same situation."

"And he is enjoying it?"

"I'm. . . not sure, exactly, how she feels about it, honestly."

"I hate it. There is not enough space."

[ooc: can i beg slowtime?]

[OOC: You surely may.]

He nods, head a little on one side.

"I can see that."

"Truly? You are the first. Most point out that there is plenty of space, but space with limits is a terrible thing."

"Truly."

He nods towards the lake door. "I've wandered around some. It's big enough for some, I suppose."

"It might be big enough for me, if I did not know that I could go so far and no further."

He smiles slightly.

"You are not so bad, for all your arrogance."

"It's a fault I'm well aware of," he says, with a rueful smile in return.

"Avoid correcting native speakers' pronunciation, and you will go far."

It is said solemnly.

"I'll keep it in mind."

He's hiding a grin.

Not hiding it terribly well, and Mercutio's mouth curls at the corners.

"Particularly not me."

"I wouldn't dream of making the same mistake twice."

The grin breaks out. "I consider myself lucky not to have received a tonguelashing from such a famous wit."

"Oh, you would have done, had you not been... a little correct."

His own smile widens.

"But your 'r' was atrocious."

"At least I was a little correct. I'm not sure I could train my tongue to correct the 'r'."