open: the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow boy's butt shaft

[bymyheelies]

For those that care to spend time with Mercutio; they may note that today he is conspicuously hard to find. He is still reeling from the recent news of Romeo's fate at the end of their story, and not entirely sure how to proceed with it. Ideally, at home, he would find some way to take his mind off of pressing matters: spend time with his friends (friend, now, singular) or find someone entertaining to harass about the town and make merry. If he was in a particularly snappish mood he would invariably end up picking a fight with Capulets, one in particular.

That is not the case today. Someone attuned to the general sounds of the mansion might hear a steady sort of thunking noise coming from an out-of-the-way bar. It is there that Mercutio can be found, various bottles of alcohol open at his side. He has clearly been there some time by the looks of it, and is currently engrossed in throwing a small selection of daggers at the wall. Despite his intoxication, he is doing a reasonably good job at it; but judging from the stormy look on his face, he does not entirely wish to be bothered.

Comments

[greentara]

For all her stiffness both in carriage and in speech, the way that Constance lines herself up and throws a knife is surprisingly languid. Her style of knife fighting is that of Italian street fighting, after all, studied with individual masters rather than a strict lineage of moves and techniques. She throws a knife and it hits the notch.

[bymyheelies]

He eyes Sagramore somewhat sulkily. "Dost not believe me?"

[sagramore]

Sagramore grins at him. "Not a whit, sirrah."

[bymyheelies]

Mercutio looks intrigued, and nods. Whether or not he is sober enough for this is entirely beside the point, explosions are always fun. “Ay, I shall certainly try.”

[bymyheelies]

He pouts a bit and takes some more contemplative bites of his pancakes. "Wherefore? I am grown."

[bymyheelies]

"O, ay? Perhaps not, some might say 'tis too argumentative."

[futaille]

"And if they do, you argue the point."

[bymyheelies]

He manages a very slight smile. "Ay, lady."

[tallyyoungblood]

"I kind of like when you call me that. It makes me feel fancy."

[sagramore]

"To a certain height, aye."

[bymyheelies]

“Thou’rt quite fine indeed, I think, with thy tattoo and all.” He’s not exactly flirting; but he does appreciate it.

[bymyheelies]

He snickers a little. “And a certain length as well.” Sorry, Sagramore.<sup>1


1</sup>Is he???

[tallyyoungblood]

Tally laughs. "I got it to be rebellious," she says. "It represents a scar I had to get erased. So, not very fine of me."

[sagramore]

"And hath it aided thee in aught but lengthy trouble?"

[bymyheelies]

“‘‘Twas certainly a good sort of trouble.”

[sagramore]

Sagramore gives him a pointed look: getting dead doesn't seem like good trouble.

[bymyheelies]

He shrugs. “Fine enough, lady. I hath scars.” Certainly he does, a few of them at least.

[tallyyoungblood]

"Any particularly bubbly ones?" she asks. "I wanna see."

[bymyheelies]

He considers this a moment and shrugs again, unbuttoning his shirt to show her the scar from his duel with Tybalt. It is not so deep as a grave, but it —is certainly deep, though cleanly healed. “Will that suffice?”

[tallyyoungblood]

Tally's cheeks turn pink. "Um, yeah." She gets a little closer to peer at it, but doesn't touch it. "Crim," she says approvingly. "Very bubbly."

[bymyheelies]

He nods and buttons his shirt up most of the way up. “The others are —ah, on my arms and face. Nothing so interesting.”

[tallyyoungblood]

"They still show you have a good story to tell," Tally says, thinking about David telling her the same thing about her scraped-up cheeks from hoverboarding through trees. "That's what's important."

[temnota]

"How are you at aiming at moving targets?"

[bymyheelies]

Mercutio's movements are languid, too -- they look careless at first, but he is well-accustomed to street fighting, even if it doesn't generally end in knife throwing. He gives her a nod of approval and moves to throw his own, coming very close to hitting where Constance's did.

[bymyheelies]

"In sooth, my lord," he says wryly.