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Post by Mercutio on Mar 28, 2009 17:09:52 GMT -5
Mercutio caught it easily, barely moving to do so. He took a large bite, the crunch of it loud in the otherwise quiet room.
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Post by László on Mar 28, 2009 17:18:34 GMT -5
László wandered back over, apple in hand, and sat down on the edge of the bed, half-turned toward Mercutio.
"So, last night considered, are you always that much fun?" He asked with a small smile.
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Post by Mercutio on Mar 28, 2009 17:28:12 GMT -5
Mercutio gave him a long, slow, lingering look, and a little smile around his apple. "Absolutely."
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Post by László on Mar 28, 2009 17:33:35 GMT -5
"I'll keep that in mind."
He gave Mercutio a wink before taking another bite of apple.
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Post by Mercutio on Mar 28, 2009 17:37:31 GMT -5
"That'd be just peachy of you. Hey, what streets do you work?"
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Post by László on Mar 28, 2009 17:46:14 GMT -5
László rattled off the area he considered 'his' territory, a couple of the streets over in the red light district.
"I think it goes without saying, I'm there most nights."
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Post by Mercutio on Mar 28, 2009 17:48:56 GMT -5
Mercutio filed this away, already making plans to steal László away one night when he was bored. "Yeah, okay," he said, a little distractedly.
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Post by László on Mar 28, 2009 17:58:48 GMT -5
László made his way through the rest of the apple, throwing away the core when he was done and then picking up his boots.
"As fun as it was, I have to get going."
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Post by Mercutio on Mar 28, 2009 18:07:07 GMT -5
Mercutio was carefully licking his fingers, already having eaten all of his apple and chucked the core out the window, but he looked up to waggle said fingers at László in an exaggerated, fopish sort of fashion. " 'Twas a pleasure, László, a pleasure and a delight. Do hurry back to see me before I miss your company too much."
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Post by László on Mar 28, 2009 18:25:03 GMT -5
Finished getting dressed, László stood up, raking his fingers through his hair as a way of combing it. "I'm definitely I'll see you again sometime." Giving Mercutio a little wave, László turned and headed out .
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Post by Tybalt on Sept 22, 2009 8:38:39 GMT -5
**NEW NIGHT**
Of course, although Tybalt was quick and efficient in the business of planning quick and efficient tasks - he had gotten Mercutio, pinned and punched him, made his point, and gotten out again at brisk pace with considerably less damage to himself than could have happened if he'd been more spontaneous, although only if one meant "physically;" surely his ego had gotten the worst of it - he rarely gave thought to the psychic aftereffects of anything.
Or the concept of grudges.
In Verona, of course, the Montagues and the Capulets were always fighting, and so there was no need to worry about having burned bridges; that had been done by their fathers, thank you very much, ages and ages before, because of some idiot Montague folly or other than no one really remembered anymore (and which the Montagues were likely to tell you had been a Capulet folly. This was a lie). But he'd come to need, hadn't he, and now it was the middle of the night and it had been two weeks and sometimes, not even joking, as though Mercutio was a laughing matter to Tybalt no matter what a jester or a fool he was, sometimes his fingers shook if he were distracted enough to be unable to concentrate on anything but what he'd lost.
He had to see him. He had to have him. And any way possible.
Tybalt left his room abruptly somewhere around the middle of the night, went straight to a bar, and then went to Mercutio's room in a sort of madness. It had to be madness, of course, because if he had started to think on it he'd have thrown himself into the road without thinking. And he had to get himself drunk first, as quickly as possible, both because he couldn't stand what he was doing, what he had to do, to get into Mercutio's bed - and because, wretchedly, he thought it would improve his chances with the man. He'd be vulnerable, easy to have one's way with. Indeed he was approached several times on the way there by shady-looking figures, and might have been murdered or at least robbed except that there was something startling about him.
They think I'm mad, thought Tybalt with a bitter laugh, rubbing his arm uncomfortably the second time this happened. They're probably right. I am mad. I have got this madness from Mercutio and he can damn well - take it back, he can...
Somewhere around this point, it started to drizzle. He was damp by the time he made it up to Mercutio's foreboding door. The way there was mostly a blur to him, which made him think he was drunker than he actually was; it didn't matter, did it, how drunk he was. He wasn't in any position to test his own senses, was he.
And what if he was that, so drunk he couldn't recall the details of this night... it would be all the better for him. And as long as he knew it had happened, he'd have gotten his fix for the time being and would be able to sleep again.
Now, let's see about that door... He thought of Mercutio pressed against his own door, the night still and silent except for his mock-pleading voice through the wood.
Tybalt could not act worth a damn. He would truly be begging. He did not knock. He threw himself heavily at the door as though he could break it down, or was trying to split his head on it, and then with a nearly-inaudible groan pushed both hands roughly through his dampened hair, tousling it, unable to believe he was reduced to this, and wondering if the morning would ever come, and hoping, praying, that if and when it did he was being shoved out of Mercutio's bedroom by a smirking red-haired joker with contempt in the line of his lips...
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Post by Mercutio on Sept 22, 2009 10:27:42 GMT -5
(( Oh, the poor tormented dear. This was the wrong place for him to come. ))
Tybalt might've abused the door all he like, but it would have gained him nothing, as Mercutio was not home. So it was lucky timing that there came almost immediately a heavy bounding tread at the end of the hall as Mercutio came up the stairs. The red haired man stopped dead at the sight of the Capulet at his door. He was slightly damp also, and when he saw Tybalt there flared a look in his eyes not unlike the wild one Tybalt wore all over.
And then the pause was over, and he strode forward at a slower, more predatory pace. As steady as it was, Mercutio was very excited; it was the slow timing of one who is controlling himself not to leap. There was the sword at his hip that he'd taken to wearing since Tybalt had left him in that alley, and Mercutio's hand went to it now, eagerly, as he sneered. "Wanting a fight, Tybalt?"
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Post by Tybalt on Sept 22, 2009 10:46:15 GMT -5
Lucky timing - if Mercutio had not been home perhaps Tybalt could have come to his senses and fled before he'd ever seen him. But it was too late now, and Tybalt was at possibly the greatest disadvantage he'd ever been.
Not saying much, as this was almost entirely deliberate on his part, really - he'd brought no weapon on him, had gotten deliberately drunk before he could even stomach the thought of coming down here, and when he straightened and turned to face Mercutio he lifted his hands, palms up, as though surrendering, not even likely to flinch if approached.
Well. No more than usual.
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Post by Mercutio on Sept 22, 2009 10:55:09 GMT -5
Mercutio stalked closer. There was the faint schiiick of his sliding the sword out of its sheath to bare a few inches of steel. "Well? Don't you want another alleyway tryst? If I throw you out that window, there is an alley beneath, and then we will be there much faster."
Oh, he was angry. Oh, he was excited, too. Tybalt better say something before Mercutio ran him through.
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Post by Tybalt on Sept 22, 2009 11:10:14 GMT -5
Tybalt's heart leapt at the prospect - either that was fear, not an emotion he knew well, or the slightest, sickest sign of hope. And he took a step back against the wall, almost warily but for the drunkenness. His palms were still turned outward, almost in supplication, although he supposed he could grab Mercutio with his hands like this if for some reason or other he could move well enough with his limbs feeling heavy like this.
"Well?" he said, raspily, voice disturbingly soft. "Why don't you run me through, then. I know you're thinking... I deserve it."
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