Disclaimer. I don't own any of William Shakespeare's characters, obviously. But I do own my oh-so-amusing obsession with Mercutio, and I own this plot.
Summary: In a new day and age, Mercutio is given the chance to save his dear friend, and to tell Romeo what is in his heart.What will come of this? Even I don't know that. So don't ask.
"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In Fair Verona, where we lay
our scene,
From ancient grudge break to
new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of
these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."
This is how the age-old story begins. The tale of Romeo and Juliet. The story of my best friend's death, of his wife's, and of mine.
I hate it.
It is comedic, tragic, beautiful, poetic . . . and every time I read it, or see it performed, I hear my own final words. "A plague o' both your houses!" That's how I died, cursing friend and foe alike.
Friend. Yes, Romeo, you were always my friend. I loved you in a different way than that, but you never knew. You didn't even know it when I died. . .died for you, died for your honor. . .
Died cursing your name.
Had you not stepped between us, Tybalt and I, would I have died? No way to know. Perhaps I'd have won, and perhaps I'd have lost. Still, I never forgave you that, the moment when you placed your body between Tybalt's and mine. Never got over the moment Tybalt's sword thrust under your arm and pierced into me.
And then I was shouting, cursing the both of you, hysterical with pain and fear and anger, and you, Romeo; and Benvolio, frantic, asking if I was hurt . . . of course I was hurt, I'd had a blade in my chest . . .
"A plague o' both your houses!"
I died defending you, Romeo. And so foolish were the both of us that I died hating you, as well. Hating you because I loved you and you wouldn't . . . you wouldn't let me prove myself. And how was I to know Tybalt was your kinsman? How was I to know you'd gone and married her, that mere child, whom you'd known for . . . how long? A day?
O foolish, fickle love . . . she wasn't yours to have, she was too young, and besides, she was of that house. Didn't you know how much trouble it would bring? Romeo, if only you had seen!
I was yours, you know.
"And in this state she gallops night by night through lovers' brains, and then they
dream of love."
You're not the only one Queen Mab visited, those nights.
But you never saw, did you? We tried to save you from destruction, Benvolio and I. From your own traitorous heart. You didn't want to be saved.
Now, centuries late . . . I'll save you, I will! This time I won't let you destroy yourself. Star-crossed lovers, they called you. Fated to die. Romeo . . . defy fate this time, I beg you. Turn your back on destiny, and together we'll make our own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New York, Present Day
Romeo sighs, leaning back against the brick wall of the alley. His eyes are moist with the evidence of his melancholy, and a fine sheen of sweat covers his forehead. "I don't get it," he complains. "She won't even talk to me! What did I do?"
"Nothing," Mercutio responds. He frowns, pushing back a few wayward strands of hair. "She's an ice queen, she's like that with everyone." He doesn't like seeing his friend like this, brooding over a girl who will have nothing to do with him. "There are others, you know," he reminds Romeo.
He only sighs again. "Not as far as I'm concerned . . . she's beautiful. There's not another woman that can compare."
Really? Mercutio asks him mentally. And what about a man? Of course, Romeo doesn't hear. He never hears, because as of yet, Mercutio only asks in his head. His lips cannot say what his soul tells them to. "Ben," he says instead.
"Yeah?" Benjamin, or 'Benvolio,' as Mercutio calls him, glances up. Ben is Romeo's cousin. When the three had first convened as friends, Mercutio had insisted upon completing the infamous trio.
"Tell him," Mercutio says, "That Emily, his Rosaline, is not the only woman on this earth."
"It's true," Ben tells him solemnly. "There are many, many others. And they're just as good."
Mercutio stretches, and his hand slides across the bricks, making contact with a sheet of paper taped there. He glances up, jade eyes scanning the flyer. Suddenly, a smile spreads across his lips. "Hey! I have an idea."
Romeo groans. "I hate it when you get ideas."
"Shut up, okay? There's a party tonight. Open invitation. We're going."
After a moment's consideration, Ben agrees, but Romeo is adament. He shakes his head. "No. Not now. I need to think about things . . ."
"No," Mercutio tells him, "You need to forget about things. You'll come with us, and you'll see, there are other things to life than some woman who won't look twice at you."
Still, his dear friend refuses. "I love her. There's no such thing as forgetting, for me."
Benvolio and Mercutio exchange a hopeless look. "Listen to him, Ben. He'll die before he gives up on her!"
"We can only hope not," Ben says gravely.
Romeo watches them both, silently, for a moment. Then, "I'll go," he says. "But you'll see. I don't want anyone but Emily." There are ill tidings whispering fearful messages inside his mind, and unease gnaws at his stomach. But Romeo, fool that he is, puts it out of his mind.
~End chapter one. Yes, I'm insane. Yes, I'm obsessive. Yes, I'm aware that I'm a terrible, terrible person. :D I'm happy this way.~
Summary: In a new day and age, Mercutio is given the chance to save his dear friend, and to tell Romeo what is in his heart.What will come of this? Even I don't know that. So don't ask.
"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In Fair Verona, where we lay
our scene,
From ancient grudge break to
new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of
these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."
This is how the age-old story begins. The tale of Romeo and Juliet. The story of my best friend's death, of his wife's, and of mine.
I hate it.
It is comedic, tragic, beautiful, poetic . . . and every time I read it, or see it performed, I hear my own final words. "A plague o' both your houses!" That's how I died, cursing friend and foe alike.
Friend. Yes, Romeo, you were always my friend. I loved you in a different way than that, but you never knew. You didn't even know it when I died. . .died for you, died for your honor. . .
Died cursing your name.
Had you not stepped between us, Tybalt and I, would I have died? No way to know. Perhaps I'd have won, and perhaps I'd have lost. Still, I never forgave you that, the moment when you placed your body between Tybalt's and mine. Never got over the moment Tybalt's sword thrust under your arm and pierced into me.
And then I was shouting, cursing the both of you, hysterical with pain and fear and anger, and you, Romeo; and Benvolio, frantic, asking if I was hurt . . . of course I was hurt, I'd had a blade in my chest . . .
"A plague o' both your houses!"
I died defending you, Romeo. And so foolish were the both of us that I died hating you, as well. Hating you because I loved you and you wouldn't . . . you wouldn't let me prove myself. And how was I to know Tybalt was your kinsman? How was I to know you'd gone and married her, that mere child, whom you'd known for . . . how long? A day?
O foolish, fickle love . . . she wasn't yours to have, she was too young, and besides, she was of that house. Didn't you know how much trouble it would bring? Romeo, if only you had seen!
I was yours, you know.
"And in this state she gallops night by night through lovers' brains, and then they
dream of love."
You're not the only one Queen Mab visited, those nights.
But you never saw, did you? We tried to save you from destruction, Benvolio and I. From your own traitorous heart. You didn't want to be saved.
Now, centuries late . . . I'll save you, I will! This time I won't let you destroy yourself. Star-crossed lovers, they called you. Fated to die. Romeo . . . defy fate this time, I beg you. Turn your back on destiny, and together we'll make our own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New York, Present Day
Romeo sighs, leaning back against the brick wall of the alley. His eyes are moist with the evidence of his melancholy, and a fine sheen of sweat covers his forehead. "I don't get it," he complains. "She won't even talk to me! What did I do?"
"Nothing," Mercutio responds. He frowns, pushing back a few wayward strands of hair. "She's an ice queen, she's like that with everyone." He doesn't like seeing his friend like this, brooding over a girl who will have nothing to do with him. "There are others, you know," he reminds Romeo.
He only sighs again. "Not as far as I'm concerned . . . she's beautiful. There's not another woman that can compare."
Really? Mercutio asks him mentally. And what about a man? Of course, Romeo doesn't hear. He never hears, because as of yet, Mercutio only asks in his head. His lips cannot say what his soul tells them to. "Ben," he says instead.
"Yeah?" Benjamin, or 'Benvolio,' as Mercutio calls him, glances up. Ben is Romeo's cousin. When the three had first convened as friends, Mercutio had insisted upon completing the infamous trio.
"Tell him," Mercutio says, "That Emily, his Rosaline, is not the only woman on this earth."
"It's true," Ben tells him solemnly. "There are many, many others. And they're just as good."
Mercutio stretches, and his hand slides across the bricks, making contact with a sheet of paper taped there. He glances up, jade eyes scanning the flyer. Suddenly, a smile spreads across his lips. "Hey! I have an idea."
Romeo groans. "I hate it when you get ideas."
"Shut up, okay? There's a party tonight. Open invitation. We're going."
After a moment's consideration, Ben agrees, but Romeo is adament. He shakes his head. "No. Not now. I need to think about things . . ."
"No," Mercutio tells him, "You need to forget about things. You'll come with us, and you'll see, there are other things to life than some woman who won't look twice at you."
Still, his dear friend refuses. "I love her. There's no such thing as forgetting, for me."
Benvolio and Mercutio exchange a hopeless look. "Listen to him, Ben. He'll die before he gives up on her!"
"We can only hope not," Ben says gravely.
Romeo watches them both, silently, for a moment. Then, "I'll go," he says. "But you'll see. I don't want anyone but Emily." There are ill tidings whispering fearful messages inside his mind, and unease gnaws at his stomach. But Romeo, fool that he is, puts it out of his mind.
~End chapter one. Yes, I'm insane. Yes, I'm obsessive. Yes, I'm aware that I'm a terrible, terrible person. :D I'm happy this way.~
