Lord Charles Capulet had been having a particularly disagreeable day thus far. He only hoped that something might come along to turn the tides of his misfortune. Lord Capulet poured himself a consolatory flagon of brandy as he mulled over the day's events. Two of his servants had provoked another fight in Verona's marketplace, and now their prince had decreed that death would befall him if it ever happened again. Livid, of course, Lord Capulet had dismissed the two disobedient servants.
His blood boiled at the thought of the Montagues, the "cold ones". They were no more than woeful monsters, spoils upon the beautiful expanse that was Verona. He sighed at how much more tranquil life would be for the people of Verona, if only those horrible ivory ghosts would disappear. It was the solemn duty of all Capulets, Europe's most ancient and prestigious line of purebred werewolves, to scourge good homes of vampires. Every son of the Capulets knew it, and carried out that duty well.
A knock at the heavy door interrupted his reverie.
"Com'st hither," he called out, putting down the brandy. The door opened, and a tall blonde young man of about twenty entered the study, eyes bright. "God den, my lord," he said, bowing and removing his feathered cap with a flourish.
Lord Capulet laughed. "Ah, my good Lord Michael, thou art a welcome relief in such a weathered day. To what purpose do I entreat thee?"
Michael smiled and sat down upon the plush cushioned seat beside Lord Capulet. "Word hath reached my ears of the fray at the marketplace. 'Tis a pity you lived at odd so long with the Montague clan."
Lord Capulet nodded heavily and sighed. "'Tis but the folly of our impassioned young. 'Tis not so hard for men as old we to keep the peace." Michael nodded brightly, eager to be in Capulet's favor.
"My good lord, what say you to my suit?"
Lord Capulet groaned inwardly. This subject again. There was no doubt that Michael was a fine young lad indeed, but his daughter was hardly old enough to be married.
"Another year, good sir. Giv'st my fair daughter another golden summer to blossom into the bride for whom thou desirest. But if, come another year, she protesteth not to your suit, then I shall agree to let you have her." He poured himself another glass of brandy, and offered some to Michael. "After all, the noble line of the wolves, we the great protectors of Verona, must continue. Juliet is my only hope for that continuation." He raised his glass. "In the meantime, I am holding a ball this eve, of which I wish thee attend'st. Perhaps another young flower shall capture thine eye there."
Michael scowled slightly but raised his glass to the older man. "Indeed, it shall be as thou wishest, good lord."