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

[futaille]

Grantaire wasn't necessarily looking for Mercutio in particular, but he was certainly drawn to the thunking noises. He stops in the doorway of the bar, looking at the tableau before him. The vibe makes perfect sense to him, to be honest.

He enters, not to bother Mercutio specifically, but instead to make a beeline for the bar, making sure to keep a wide berth from the path of dagger throwing, and grab himself a drink.

[bymyheelies]

“I shall not hit thee,” he says, sparing Grantaire half a glance. “I am not so far gone.”

[futaille]

"I wasn't particularly worried you were," he says, opening the bottle he grabbed, labeled only with faded sharpie. "But best not to distract you regardless."

[bymyheelies]

“Mmn,” Mercutio agrees with a nod, and settles back into his knife throwing routine.

[futaille]

Grantaire leans against the bar and drinks as he watches Mercutio throw his knives.

[bymyheelies]

Eventually, Mercutio tires (for now) of his knife throwing and turns to search for the nearest open bottle of liquor. Does he know what's in it? Does he care? The answer to both is negative.

[futaille]

He extends his own dubiously labeled bottle to Mercutio. "Here."

[bymyheelies]

He nods and takes a swig of that one, too. "My thanks."

[futaille]

"Always willing to share."

[bymyheelies]

He raises his eyebrows. "Ay, so I have heard." That may or may not be a pun; depending on his mood.

[futaille]

"Oh, clever."

[bymyheelies]

There's a dry grin, and he toasts Grantaire vaguely. "I am quick with my tongue indeed."

[futaille]

"Oh, that much is clearly evident."

[bymyheelies]

"Why good sir, we scarcely know each other."

[futaille]

"I was simply agreeing with you!"

[bymyheelies]

"Were you?" It's half-teasing, though he's clearly not much in the mood for it.

[futaille]

"Certainly. A rare event."

[bymyheelies]

"Oh, art thou so argumentative?"

[futaille]

"Quibbling is in my nature."

[bymyheelies]

He grins a little, though there is very little mirth in it. "And in mine."

[futaille]

"A fine nature to have, truly."

[bymyheelies]

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

[futaille]

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

[bymyheelies]

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

[futaille]

"Oh, I am no lord."