Author's Note: This was inspired by Shakespeare, real life, and thank you "Xena: Warrior Princess" for the title and more. Don't own XWP or OITNB, not even Shakespeare.

Note to the first part: Where the Prologue spoils it all. Then in Act I the story it told starts to unfold, we meet some of our characters, and move closer to our location.

Prologue

Six characters, not alike in eccentricity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From starting strangeness grow to new complicity,

Where imperfect knowledge arise desire keen.

From forth the misfired arrows of a certain bow

The pairs split up, their feathers all a-ruffled;

Whose misadventures caused by fatal blow

Do with their swift appearance Love leave puzzled.

The young meetings and the novel romance groove,

And the stain of its disruption on Valentine's glory,

Which, but for Cupid's intuition, nought could remove,

Is now the five acts' business of our story;

The which if you with patient eyes now read,

What here's unclear, will later find its heed.

ACT I

Scene I

Somewhere between America and Europe, over international waters

Love was in the air.

He was less than mid-flight on a very long flight, now over the vast watery expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Pff. Finally," Neri leaned against the seat.

"Yeah," Cal whispered back. "But this late it was impossible to find the optimal departure time for her circadian cycle."

"Mh-m."

The work assignment had come just a few days before. Four years since he had started and it was always like this, unpredictable and last-minute.

"Have you told Piper?"

"Not yet. Gonna contact her when we get there."

Neri sighed. "Okay. I really hope this has nothing to do with her."

"Yeah, me too... Hearing her with the ex that time was bad enough."

Neri grimaced; she had not witnessed anything, luckily, but Cal's tale had been vivid and scarring. She did not envy his job.

"Try not to think about it anymore," she said. "I'm gonna sleep too. Don't wake me up till we're at least over the Alps."

He nodded, they exchanged a peck over Goodall's lightly snoring form between them, and she closed her eyes.

Cal took out his thermos cup from the bag under his seat, gestured to the flight attendant and got it filled with some barley coffee; he glanced at Neri - eyes still closed, yay! - it probably wasn't organic but they couldn't die of thirst. At least he had remembered the cup and was avoiding caffeine, kudos to him!, he gave himself a mental high-five.

"Thank you," he murmured to the woman, who smiled.

Most passengers were asleep, his wife and their three-year old included.

He fiddled affectionately with the oversized bow keychain dangling from his belt; whoever had invented this scaling method for easy transport was a genius. The object was with him at all times, even though it wasn't used nearly as much as common folks would think: only in extreme cases did he actually have to act and interfere with circumstances, nature, chemistry, fate, whatever it was.

"Would you like a refill?" the flight attendant motioned to his cup.

"No, thanks."

A nap sounded great. Cal pocketed the keychain.

On a summer day of four and a half years before he had been contacted directly at his trailer by a strangely dressed figure (the current Hermes, he'd learn) and told he'd been chosen for the position; it took ages to realize it wasn't a weed-induced dream.

Neri mumbled something in her sleep. She was still better at him at shooting, just like when she had started training him; that was how they had met and… well, it all happened quite quickly afterwards.

Yes, this was the ideal job: he sometimes had to see or hear things he'd have happily gone without, but alas - generally there was not much to do, good pay, lots of benefits, transfers were easy.

But not for babies, they had tried: the previous year the trip had been super fast, but Goodall had felt sick all the way to Paris and then the first two days there. Hence their decision to take a normal plane this time.

Scene II

Paris, France

A hotel room

"You could have said before."

"Why? We finished up our business long ago here, and you would have only been pissed for longer," Fahri smirked.

Alex paused her task to toss a bustier at him with an accompanying glare, then went back to packing.

"Hey!" he protested when the thing hit his nose. "This is a real weapon, girl."

"Serves you well," she chuckled. "I begged you to leave Paris for Valentine's Day, and what d'you do? Tsk."

He gave her back the dangerous piece of garment. "I bought us plane tickets!"

"Yes, to another 'City of Love'! And it's small, I bet it will be impossible to escape the 'romantic' atmosphere there."

Alex put some more clothes in the suitcase with force.

"Don't be a grinch. You'll have to open your heart again one day," he mocked her.

"Ha!" she threatened with the bustier. Sylvia had not been in the picture for almost a year now, but Alex was still reluctant to let herself go with women.

"Okay, fine. We'll have work to do anyway, plenty of distractions from the finer things in life for you."

"Mmh." She zipped the bag closed, dubious. "Are you sure it would be a sound investment?"

"Seems so. Location in town's good, the town itself is in a strategic position. But we'll have to see for ourselves."

"Right. But you gotta brief me on all the data you have before we get there."

She had that small glint in her eyes, the entrepreneurial cogs in her mind had started working. He smiled. "'Course. Now! You ready? Let's go and flood the transalpine market with our magic stuff."

They laughed, picked up the luggage and left the room.

Scene III

Verona, Italy

A cannabis store

The store was almost empty at that early hour; on the small side, dark spare furniture and soft lights created an intimate but stylish atmosphere.

"Dude! It's later that people come to stock up for the evening."

"A'right man, if you say so!" Cindy replied to her friend Martin, who worked there.

Flaca was perusing through the shelves. She was ambivalent about the place, it brought back bad high school memories... but sure this was just weed and not even real one and as long as it was for occasional fun…

"What's this!?" Cindy indicated a weird-shaped pipe.

"This is new! I ordered it for my anniversary."

"What anniversary?"

"It's been a year since I came from Nigeria. Lemme show you how it works -"

"Good for you! Congrats," Flaca said. "But Cindy, we gotta go in a bit."

"What if we get in a bit late?"

"Where you goin'?" Martin was preparing the pipe.

"The Club."

"Haha still! Really!"

Flaca gave him the stink eye. "So what? We're doin' something nice!"

"Aand it gives us easy university credits, yo!" Cindy and Martin high-fived, and Flaca shook her head.

The two went back to chatting some.

Cindy didn't take their volunteering very seriously, Flaca sometimes felt. Just like with her studies, she seemed very laid back about it all. How she had managed to get a scholarship to come here for this year, she would never know; when she had to work so darn hard for it instead. But maybe one of her Jewish friends had found her a spot, who knew; they had contacts everywhere. Well, good for her.

The semester had just started and the Latina was already juggling back and forth between Media Arts and Philosophy lessons, her major and minor, respectively - but the system there was just completely different from back home.

Vrr. Vrrr.

Hava… Nagila Hava...

The two girls looked at each other, and took out their phones.

"It's -"

"Lorna."

Both went back to their messages.

"Yeah," said Flaca.

Lorna: Where R U?

Lorna: P-boss here and shes PISSED!

"P-boss?" Cindy's eyebrows rose. "She ain't the boss of me!"

"Why can't she learn to spell right..." Flaca complained.

Vrrr. Vrrrrrr. The phone in her hand buzzed again.

Hava… Nagila Hava…

Cindy kept on looking at the screen. "Mh. They gonna make me change my ringtone. Not much rejoicing to do with these two!"

"Would be about time," Flaca commented, but frowned at the message.

Piper: You are almost late.

"Girl, this ain't right. What she writing about, we ain't late yet!"

"But we're gonna be."

"Well. She don't know it yet though! It's called prejudice, that's the thing."

Flaca shrugged.

Cindy slammed her palm on the counter. "Fine. We gotta go man."

"Aww why? Y'all just got here! And I just got this prepped up for you," Martin showed the newly-filled pipe.

"Duty calls. Next time."

Flaca picked up her bag. "I can just see her when we get in, with her crazy toothpaste ad smile..."

"And then all business-like, and, Girls, I know you realize this event is of the utmost importance," Cindy started imitating one of their colleague's inspirational speeches.

"Yeah," her friend chuckled, "and, like, it is such an honor to collaborate with the municipality and other renowned organizations…"

"Absolutely! We cannot let them down."

"And we will not, my captain!"

They were still joking when they greeted Martin and left the place.

But they were actually pretty excited to be in the middle of this thing; it was kinda like in that film with the blondie, the one Flaca refused to admit she'd seen. Except for life being less of a stereotype of spaghetti and sunshine all the time there, and for hookups in a new land to be less romantic than she'd expected. Or such had been her experience, to that day.