Energy pulses in the air outside of the large house, the taste of alcohol and cigarettes saturating the oxygen entering Mercutio's lungs. Even out here, the bass beat reaches them, sending tremors through their bodies. Yet somehow, this does not touch Romeo. He is still sullen,unreachable . . .
"Tell me you won't be like this all night," Ben groans. "It's depressing."
Mercutio nods. "You're going to have a good time, and you're going to forget about things, all right?"
"It's easy for you to say," Romeo replies. After a moment, he asks, "Have either of you ever been in love?"
". . . No," Mercutio lies. "But I thought it was supposed to make things better. Isn't love supposed to be uplifting? You should be happy."
"You're wrong," he says. "It hurts. It the most painful thing in the world."
Sometimes, thinks Mercutio, you can make a guy want to go slice his wrists, you know? "Maybe you're only making it hurt. You do seem to have a masochistic edge, some days. You shouldn't let it do this to you." He steps back from the crowd, gesturing dramatically. "If love be rough with you, be rough with love;

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.'"
Benvolio laughs, recognizing the lines.
Romeo only glares. "Not everything is a joke, Mercutio. And I don't think this party is a good idea, either."
"Oh? And why is that?"
He sighs. "I dreamed a dream to-night."
"And so did I."
Romeo's eyes snap up, locking onto Mercutio's. "Well, what was yours?"
The corners of Mercutio's lips twitch with the telltale signs of mischief. "That dreamers often lie."
"In bed asleep, while they do dream things true."
These words . . . centuries old, and yet how easily they come!
Mercutio stands atop the low garden wall, now, gesturing wildly as he speaks. "O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes

In shape no bigger than an agate-stone

On the fore-finger of an alderman,

Drawn with a team of little atomies

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;

Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,

The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,

The traces of the smallest spider's web,

The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,

Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,

Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,

Not so big as a round little worm

Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut

Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,

Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers." He spreads his arms out wide, leaping from the wall top so that the hem of his long leather coat flares out behind him like a cloak. As he lands, his foot twists beneath him, but he continues on, laughing.

"And in this state she gallops night by night

Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;

O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,

O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:" The sickly glow of the streetlights illuminates his features, hollowing his cheekbones, the area about his eyes . . . he looks wild, strange like this. His eyes gleam with a strange light, his voice echoing through the streets.

"Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;

And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail

Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,

Then dreams, he of another benefice:

Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,

And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon

Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,

And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two

And sleeps again. This is that very Mab

That plats the manes of horses in the night,

And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,

Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:

This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,

That presses them and learns them first to bear,

Making them women of good carriage:

This is she- "
"Mercutio, stop!" Romeo's hand is clasped tightly about Mercutio's wrist, bringing him back to the world, to reality, to now. His lungs heave, throat dry from these rantings, the pain in his ankle only just surfacing.
"You're going on and on about nothing . . . nothing, do you hear me?!" There is genuine worry in Romeo's gaze, bewilderment breaking in a wave upon his features.
"Nothing," Mercutio breathes. "Yes, nothing . . ." He pulls his arm from his friend's grasp, stalking back toward the crowd outside of the house. "Remember that, Romeo! Dreams are nothing. Nothing at all."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
People are crowded together, bodies thrashing wildly, as the three enter. Limbs clad in PVC and fishnet slam into them as they pass, and more than a few women try to catch Romeo's gaze. He has no eye for them, however.
Unamused by his friend's gloom, Mercutio slips away. Soon, a lithe arm is wrapped about the back of his neck, drawing him near. "Dance with me," whispers the girl, her voice a sultry rasp, breath warm against his face. Her body is long, lithe, and dark, like a panther, and her hair falls like silk about her face. Full lips speak seductions to him, but they fall upon deaf ears. What have you done to me, Romeo? He wants nothing, no one else . . . perhaps now he understands how his dear friend feels. Love is a strange thing, and he has had quite enough of it for the night. When the song is over, he makes his excuses, and goes in search of his own sort of amusement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There is a girl. A beautiful girl, reluctant to be here as Romeo is, eyes full of wishing. Wishes for the quiet of her bedroom, for the happiness that control over her own life would allow, for a book or for a pen. Her dark hair falls silken over her slim shoulders, framing an ivory- pale face, offsetting those beautiful, wistful grey eyes. Romeo sees her standing there, in the corner of the smoky room, and he cannot drag his gaze away from her.
Reaching out, he grabs the sleeve of the nearest dancer. Once he has the man's attention, he questions him. "That girl . . . over there, see her?"
"Yeah?"
"Who is she?" He asks.
The guy shrugs and turns back to his date, and Romeo is left with nothing more than before.
"She's too lovely . . . too beautiful for this world." Romeo's voice has become a whisper, filled with the pain of love once more. "Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
Hearing Romeo's voice, one member of the crowd whirls to find the source of the sound. Through the tangle of bodies, he can barely make out the intruder's shape. "Romeo!" He hisses.
He begins to push his way through the crowd, but is stilled by a strong hand. "Where are you going, Devon?"
He is forced to meet his uncle's eyes. "There's- Romeo, he's here. He has no right! I was going to . . ."
"You were going to fight him."
"Yes, I was," Devon says defiantly. A black strand of hair slides from its short ponytail to obscure his vision. "He's here to laugh at me. Someone needs to teach the little bastard a lesson."
Capulet sighs. "What am I to do with you, Devon? No, don't answer."He eyes his nephew sternly. "You will not fight him in my house, do you understand that? I could have refused to let you have this party in the first place- I had a mind to, you know. It's too loud for my aging ears. And, from what I've heard, this Romeo is not nearly so bad as you say."
"But he is. I can't let him stay here!" Devon starts to pull away, but Capulet's grip on his arm tightens. While the man is aging, he is still strong.
"Oh, you can't? You'll have to. You won't be starting a brawl in this home, boy."
"It's an embarrassment!"
"You won't see me blush," says his uncle. "My, but you're troublesome. Calm yourself or leave, Devon. Agreed?"
Sullenly, he agrees. "I'll let him go . . . for now, at least." Capulet releases him, and Devon disappears into the crowd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Romeo has found her, his Juliet. "Hey." He lifts a hand in greeting, aware that it is trembling slightly.
She peers up at him through her eyelashes, soft mouth parted slightly. "Oh! H-hello." A faint, rose-colored blush rises in her cheeks.
"Why are you alone here?" he wonders. Her slender shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. "I wanted to be, I guess."
"Oh." Romeo frowns. "I can leave, if you want. I know I'm not the best company."
"No!" She exclaims. Then, embarrassed, she softens her voice. "I mean . . . you're too hard on yourself. I mean- I don't mind having you here. . ." Her voice is reduced to embarrassed mumbling.
He has barely heard her. He is staring at her delicate, heart-shaped lips. "And would you mind if I kissed you?" he murmurs, one hand drawing her close almost subconsciously.
"You shouldn't," she whispers.
"People do lots of things they shouldn't," he replies.
"I suppose they do- "she is cut off mid-sentence as Romeo presses his lips to hers. Startled, she does not respond, but makes no move to break the kiss. When finally Romeo pulls away, it is clear that his charms have done their work.
"Oh . . ." Her eyes are wide, bright with surprise, her breath coming quicker.
"Sweetheart, your mama's looking for you!" The speaker is a plump woman with greying hair, wearing a faded black dress and an apron.
"Wait!" Romeo calls after her. "Your name! I didn't catch your name!"
"Colette," she yells back. "Colette Capulet. You might know my cousin . . . Devon."
As Colette is pulled through the raving crowd, Romeo falls back against the wall with a groan. "Devon!"
But then Ben is there, grabbing his wrist, dragging him towards the exit. "Come on! Let's get out of here!"
"What's going on?"
"Mercutio!" The one word, his best friend's name, is quite enough information for Romeo. He dashes for the door, heedless of the bodies he collides with on his way out.

A/N: ^-^ Nice, long chunk there. I'm happy with it. Next up: my take on

the balcony scene. Should be interesting. And maybe we'll actually find

out what Mercutio did at the party, sooner or later . . . hm. And yes,

I'm calling my Tybalt 'Devon.' It means poet. I thought it was amusing

and/or ironic. Yeah . . . whatever.