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

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.

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

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

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

"That was not the trouble I was speaking of, sirrah," he replies, sipping absently at his water. "An that Capulet were to trouble me with his length, I should refuse him."¹

¹Would he though?

"Look, I'm the last person to warn thee away from erotic swordplay, but typically one does try to get stabbed in only one sort of way."

“I was not trying to get stabbed in the …larger sort of way.¹

¹Debatable. Extremely debatable.

"But thou wert careless," softer. "Or thou wert seeking hurt. Which?"

He shrugs. “I was careless, ay; but I would not have got hurt had Romeo not been in the way.” It’s a bit more of the first option than the second; but he is not being entirely truthful.

"Thou didst not care. It was a dare, a goad, for God or whatever thou believest looks down upon thee. 'Let me be hurt, then, I care not.'"

Edited 2024-09-18 17:28 (UTC)

“I cared for my friend’s honor, little for my self.” He takes a few more bites of his pancakes.

"Of course. I know how thou didst."

He shrugs, and -- it's probably a good thing that Sagramore has taken him away from the alcohol, really. He takes another sip of water as a substitution, but he's not exactly pleased about it.

"I've done that, know thou. Put myself in harm's way, done my best to see whether there's anyone who'll call the bluff. It's not something one does when one's happy."

He takes another sip of his water and settles back in his chair, arching an eyebrow as he tips back on the back legs. "I am not happy at the moment," he agrees, knowing full well that's not what Sagramore was getting at.

"And?" quietly.

“What else am I meant to say? It cannot be fixed.”

"Does it anger thee?"

“Romeo being a fool angers me. Mayhap I should have expected it.”

This time he waits again, though he takes a seat at the table with Mercutio.

He sighs and continues cutting up his pancakes. They’re probably in incredibly small pieces at this rate; but he does intend on eating them at some point at least.

"Eat," Sagramore says. "Or thy head will ache worse tomorrow."

"I am eating," he says a tad sulkily, and proceeds to eat a few more bites.

"Very good," with a touch of amusement. "Don't stop."

"Ay, ay, I know." He takes another few bites.

"Thou art a good lad," gentler.

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