Flynn landed down on slippery cobblestone that instantly made him lose his balance. He planted face-first onto the ground; the rancid smell of shit and piss filling his nostrils. He almost vomited right then and there.
When he looked up, he was face to face with a pig.
Flynn yelped and jerked back, immediately bumping into a man walking through the tight alleyway.
"Watch it," the man grumbled.
Flynn stood up, wiping the filth from his clothes.
The man eyed him over. "What kind of garb is that?"
Right. Flynn was still in his modern-day clothing. But instead of being in New York City, year 2023, he was currently in London, year 1599.
The man standing before him was clothed in a black and red puffy shirt and breeches. Flynn really should have done more research about the clothing of this time period but honestly, he really didn't care. The one thing he knew for sure was this – he wasn't going to be caught dead wearing one of those frilly neck things he knew people wore in this time. Powdered wigs and frilly neck things were where he drew the line.
"Can you tell me where I can find a good tailor?" Flynn asked.
The man grunted. "A good tailor or a cheap one? You're in the filthiest part of the city. With your pretty boy looks, I'd suggest you get out soon or some fella is going to be looking at you for a good time." He gave Flynn a wink before sauntering off.
Flynn shuddered.
He quickly left the tiny alley he was in and entered a much larger street that was bustling with people. He was used to New York being crazy but this… man, London in the 1500s was no freaking joke.
There were people selling wares, people running past other people, people getting into brawls with other people, and the worst of all – people throwing their shit out the windows of the tightly-packed homes all along the street… onto other people. Flynn had to jump out of the way before he was blasted with shit.
"Careful," he shouted up to the woman leaning out a window who had just dumped her shit on the ground. She shrugged like she didn't care at all that she almost pelted him with her feces. "Man, London is horrible," he grumbled, continuing on his way. Flynn thought everyone around him needed a serious bath. Hell, he'd gladly bathe everyone himself if it meant the stench in the air went away.
But he wasn't here to complain about the smell.
No, he was here for something much more valuable.
To steal an original copy of one of Shakespeare's plays.
After he said goodbye to Rapunzel, he set the time and place for London, 1599. He wanted to put his thieving days behind him but what was the point? Rapunzel was gone. Off to the Palace of Versailles. She was going to die again and again. There wasn't anything he could do to stop it.
So, he figured he'd go back to his old thieving ways. Get his private island after all. He had watched Rapunzel die and he had watched her leave in her tower after saying goodbye without saying anything, knowing she was going to her death.
To put it frank: Flynn was fucking miserable.
He didn't have his girl with him. Was Rapunzel even his girl? It's not like they had kissed or anything. Even though he thought about it more than once or twice. Ok. Maybe more than three or four times too.
Since he was nursing a wounded heart, he wanted to drown it in a good robbery.
But first, he needed to find good ole' Shakespeare himself. Seeing Rapunzel's copy of Romeo and Juliet had given him the idea. If he was destined to never be with her, just like Romeo and Juliet, then he'd at least make the most out of the situation.
Like, grabbing an original Shakespeare play for himself and selling it for millions of dollars in the 21st century.
Flynn, after asking around, eventually found a reputable tailor so he could at least fit into the time period. He noticed the strange looks he was receiving on his walk over there.
After getting an entire new wardrobe, Flynn left the tailors in a jerkin (a blue colored vest of some sort), new black pants, new boots, and a white shirt underneath. No frilly neck things for him. He had to ask the tailor what everything was called and the man had looked at him as if he was crazy. Maybe Flynn was a little crazy. But he knew he looked good.
The thing was – he had no idea where Shakespeare would even be. But he had an idea.
It took him a little bit of time to find The Globe Theatre but once he did, it was unmistakable. With its distinctive shape and white and brown coloring, there was no way Flynn could miss it.
It was mid-afternoon and Flynn found a line of people waiting outside to get in.
"Just a penny!" shouted a man near the doors. "Just a penny to see the work known as Romeo and Juliet!"
Flynn groaned. Of course it would be that one today.
He waited in line like a good boy even though all he wanted was to run inside, find Shakespeare, befriend him, and steal one of his plays. Simple.
But instead, he had to wait.
The people in front of him were dressed much more shabby than him. Dirt grimed their faces and their hair was in disarray. Behind him was a man and woman in much more finery. The dichotomy between the two types of people amazed Flynn. He guessed the arts really brought people together.
Too bad the arts couldn't bring him and Rapunzel together. Dammit. He needed to stop dwelling on that. He'd hopefully see her again but… who knew? Time travel was a fickle thing. It could be years for him before he actually met her again. And when he did, she'd know him less than she did before. The thought was achingly sad.
He made it to the front of the line and paid two pennies for a bench seat in the bottom of the theatre. He knew he could afford a better seat but he also knew where he belonged – with the riffraff. As an orphaned kid growing up with no money, Flynn never really experienced wealth until he started stealing it.
Even though a part of him wanted to sit up in the taller sections of the theatre, another part of him felt guilty about it. He got his wealth from stealing and he was going to steal again. Rapunzel instilled some morals into him and he didn't know what to do about that.
Entering the theatre was one of the coolest things he'd ever experienced. He wasn't one for reading Shakespeare much in school (in fact, he actively avoided it) but he knew how iconic and surreal this was. It was the original Globe Theatre. And it was fucking Shakespeare.
People bustled in and the show started while people were still talking. Two people walked on stage talking about hating the Montagues or something. Flynn was only half listening. He had his eyes focused, searching for the Bard himself.
The crowd was wild, shouting things back at the actors. People threw things on stage. People cheered. People screamed.
Flynn, who really wasn't exactly a people-person but loved chaos, settled back and watched.
Once the show was over and Flynn was actively trying not to feel anything after he watched Romeo and Juliet die in each other's arms, people started milling out.
He turned to the random person next to him. Some guy in his mid-thirties with wavy hair and a mustache and beard. "Hey, do you know where I can find Shakespeare?"
The man smirked. "I take it you liked my play."
Flynn blinked. "Wait. Are you…" He squinted at the man, trying to see the resemblance from the photos he'd seen online. "You look nothing like Shakespeare."
He opened his arms wide. "And yet, here I am. We are not all we appear."
Flynn stifled a sigh. "Buddy, I just need to know. Are you Shakespeare or not?"
"William Shakespeare at your service." He bowed. "And who, may I ask, are you?"
"Flynn Rider. So, I was-,"
"Flynn Rider." Shakespeare's eyes widen. "That's a good name. I should use that in a story I am writing."
"I mean, if you want. Anyway, I-,"
"A tale of a man who's father is killed by his uncle. Quite tragic really. Flynn could be the name of that man."
"…Right. So, anyway. I was wondering-,"
"Flynn Rider. The man who has to go on a journey to avenge his father's murder. I love the sound of it already."
Flynn sighed. "Do you want to get out of here?"
Shakespeare's eyes lightened. "And go where?"
"To a tavern?" Flynn scratched the back of his head. "We could talk more about your works."
"Sounds perfect. I love talking about my plays. Especially the ones I haven't written yet."
They left the theatre and walked over to the nearest tavern. Nobody even seemed to recognize Shakespeare. Flynn was honestly amazed how easy it was to get Shakespeare along. Celebrity life back in the 1500s was drastically different than the 21st century.
"What is it like being a famous writer and yet no one knows your face?" Flynn asked. They found a table near the back of the tavern.
Shakespeare wrapped his hands around the glass of ale a waitress dropped off. "A blessing and a curse. But I don't care about that. I only care about the writing. The storytelling. The imagination. It isn't easy being a playwright. Coming up with stories all the time. People demanding and expecting more and more. I'm not even sure I'll be able to finish the one I'm working on: the one about the man seeking revenge."
"To be or not to be; that is the question," Flynn murmured.
Shakespeare pointed at him. "Ooh. I like that."
Flynn shrugged. "You can use it. But credit me, ok?"
"You speak so… strangely."
"I'm American, buddy. We all speak strangely."
He frowned. "A…American?"
Flynn sipped his beer. Shit. That's right. America wasn't America yet. "Uh, the New World," he explained.
"The New World," Shakespeare said with awe in his voice. "What is it like?"
Flynn's mind went straight to modern day New York city with all it's skyscrapers and cars and subway stations. "Not like how you're thinking, that's for sure."
Shakespeare placed his chin in his hand. "Tell me."
Honestly, Flynn had no fucking clue what America was like back in 1599. He had never visited. The more he thought about it though, the more he realized he should. Probably tons of gold he could find.
"It's uh… covered in… dirt." He shook his head. God, he sounded stupid. Normally he wouldn't care but he was sitting across from Willian fucking Shakespeare himself.
Shakespeare looked disappointed by the answer. "Dirt? We have dirt here."
Flynn snapped his fingers. "Mountains. Uh, lakes. You know… trees."
"You're not very good with your words, are you, Flynn Rider?"
Flynn almost choked on his beer. "I'll have you know that I am incredibly amazing with my words."
"Right."
Flynn realized that Shakespeare just insulted him. "Women never seem to complain about how I use my words."
Shakespeare leaned in closer to him. "Ah. You have a way with women?"
"You could say that." Normally Flynn would be puffing his chest out over that fact but he was still missing Rapunzel. When it came to her, he didn't think he had a way with her at all.
"Men too?" There was a twinkle in his eye.
Flynn straightened. "Uh… don't really swing that way, buddy."
"Shame." Shakespeare shrugged and took a huge gulp of his beer. Was… Shakespeare flirting with him? Flynn couldn't deny it – he found that exceptionally flattering.
But he wasn't here to flirt with Shakespeare. No, he was here to nurse his wounded heart and steal an original Shakespeare play. Of course, it would be so much more simple if Shakespeare just gave him one.
"Hey, Shakey," Flynn said. "Feel like getting drunk?"
The grin that spread across Shakespeare's face was a little sneaky, a little happy, and bit demonic. "For you, Flynn Rider, I'd do anything." He took a huge swig of his drink.
Flynn clanked his glass against Shakespeare's before taking a drink himself.
"If music be the food of love, play on!" Shakespeare shouted into the crowded tavern, nodding at a man in the corner, strumming a guitar. Everyone in the room cheered.
"Woah there," Flynn said, catching Shakespeare as he stumbled backwards.
"I need to remember that," Shakespeare said, looking around. "I need paper. I need a quill. Ink." He pointed at Flynn. "You are a bad influence, Flynn Rider. I don't normally drink this much." He burped.
"I can tell. Let's get you back to your place."
"My place?"
"Yeah, where you live."
Shakespeare nodded so emphatically, Flynn was worried his neck would snap off. "My place. Yes. Where I sleep. Where I write. Let's do that." He patted Flynn on the back.
They started heading for the door when a young man with dark brown hair and a tiny mustache and beard entered. Flynn thought the guy was stealing his look.
"William," the man said. "To who do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
Shakespeare frowned. "Kit. I was just leaving."
"No, no. Stay for a drink. I'd love to hear how the performance of your play went today. What was the name of it again? Romeo and… Beatrice?"
Shakespeare roughly pointed a finger against Kit's chest. "It's Romeo and Juliet. You know that." He paused. "Though, Beatrice is a wonderful name. I'll have to use that." He turned to Flynn. "Hurry. I need to write this down."
Flynn tried maneuvering Shakespeare around Kit but Kit wasn't budging.
"Why don't you come down from your high horse, William and join the rest of us? We can share story ideas."
"Just so you can steal them," Shakespeare said.
Kit huffed. He looked over at Flynn. "Will, who's your friend?"
"This is Flynn Rider. Glorious name, isn't it?"
Flynn figured he'd amp up his charm. He extended his hand to Kit. "Flynn Rider. New best friend to William Shakespeare."
Shakespeare laughed and clapped him on the back. "Very so."
Kit grimaced and ignored Flynn's outstretched hand. "Charming." He turned back to Shakespeare. "Well, if you get tired of spending time with your pretty boy here, join us later." He sauntered off.
"Who was that?" Flynn asked as they left the tavern.
"Christopher Marlow. My rival. And it makes me ecstatic that you've never heard of him." He almost tripped over the cobblestone street.
"Trust me, he doesn't become as famous as you."
Shakespeare frowns. "What do you mean?"
Flynn winced. He can't make slip-ups like that. So, he changed the topic of conversation. "Let's just get you home so you can sleep off the alcohol."
"A very good idea indeed."
Shakespeare was taking them down a quieter alleyway, which shocked Flynn. Since coming to London, there were no quiet areas. As they walked farther down the alleyway, Shakespeare stopped, muttered under his breath, and turned back around. Then he stopped again and turned back the other way.
Flynn sighed. "You're lost, aren't you?"
"Of course not. I just… seem to have forgotten how to get home." He scratched the back of his head. "It's the drink, you see. Do you know where I live?"
"Buddy, why would I know where you live?" He hadn't thought to look that up but now that he was thinking about it, that would have been a really smart thing to look up.
"Well, we'll just have to find it, won't we, Flynn Rider?"
A figure walked out of the shadows, startling Flynn. Until he saw that it was just a woman. Not Rapunzel, he realized. But a blonde woman nonetheless. She was very conventionally pretty but she only made him realize how much he missed Rapunzel.
"Lost, are we?" the woman asked in a crystal-clear voice. It almost made Flynn want to go over to her and get lost in her eyes. He shook himself. Where did that come from?
"No, I'll figure it out," Shakespeare said.
"I can help you," she responded in such a soothing voice, Flynn couldn't stop himself from walking closer to her. "And who are you?"
"I'm Flynn," he said.
"Flynn Rider!" announced Shakespeare. "The best name I've ever heard."
"Flynn Rider," she repeated. Her pretty lips said his name so perfectly. He wanted to hear it again and again. "I'm Marcella."
"What are you doing out here at this time of night, Marcella?" Flynn asked, leaning in closer to her. He wasn't even aware he was doing it. It was just… her voice sounded so much like music. Bells. Ocean waves. It was mesmerizing.
"I was looking for him." She pointed at Shakespeare. "But I've run into you instead."
"Funny. I was also looking for him. Small world, huh?" He didn't know why he was rambling.
Marcella smiled so prettily, it hurt his soul in the best way possible. "Indeed. Come closer, Flynn Rider."
And he did.
His eyes were transfixed on her lips. He needed to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. He needed to…
He leaned in close, until their lips were barely touching. Flynn didn't even notice Marcella raising her hand. She was gripping something in her palm.
Flynn was about to kiss her…
…when Marcella grunted and jerked back.
That broke Flynn out of the spell he had been under. He stepped back, watching in confusion.
Marcella was standing before him one moment and the next she was lying face first on the ground.
And standing in her place was Rapunzel.
Rapunzel knew there was a witch on the loose. More specifically a siren-witch hybrid. She had been tracking the witch for a couple of hours now – London in 1599 didn't have the best road signs – when she finally found the witch.
And to her surprise, she saw Eugene about to kiss the exact same witch she had been tracking.
It didn't hurt her feelings. Rapunzel could tell when a man was under a spell and Eugene was definitely under a spell. The way his eyes were clouded over signaled that. Rapunzel was also positive he wouldn't cheat on her. Ok, more like ninety-percent positive he wouldn't. She knew this Eugene was a younger version than she knew, meaning she wasn't sure if he thought they were in a relationship yet.
After the surprise of finding Eugene, she started running over when she saw the witch bring up her hand over his head. There was a knife in her hands.
Rapunzel grabbed a rock from the ground and hit the woman in the head with it. She didn't feel bad at all.
The witch fell straight down onto the ground.
Eugene stared at her with his mouth a-gape. "Rapunzel?"
She dropped the rock. "Who else would save you from a siren intent on killing you?"
His eyes dropped down to the witch. "Huh. So that's what she was trying to do. I gotta admit – I'm a little insulted. Most women love to kiss me. They're not out to kill me."
"Well, this one was." Rapunzel bent down and picked up the knife from the witch. "But don't worry. I'll still kiss you once this is all over."
Eugene actually looked bashful for about one second before he put his charm on. "I wouldn't say no to that."
Rapunzel stepped over the witch and leaned in close to him…
…when a man threw his arm around Eugene's shoulders and exclaimed, "What is all this talk of witches? I, for one, love a good story about witches." He paused. "I might have to write a story about witches one day."
Eugene stepped away from Rapunzel and she tried not to be hurt by that. But she did just leave him before when they were together in Italy, so she didn't have a right to complain.
"Shakey," Eugene said, "You couldn't maybe give me and Blondie here a few minutes alone?"
The man's eyes widened. "Oh. Was I interrupting something?" He looked at Rapunzel. "Nice to meet you, friend of Flynn Rider." He began to bow. "I am-,"
"William Shakespeare," Rapunzel said breathlessly.
Eugene did a double take. "You recognize him?"
"I'd recognize him anywhere. Though he does look a little different from his portraits. A lot more handsome in person." She didn't care if she was rambling.
Eugene scowled while Shakespeare puffed his chest out. "Not that handsome," Eugene grumbled.
"I love a compliment from a fair lady." Shakespeare kissed her hand. "You too are very handsome. A beautiful woman indeed."
Rapunzel couldn't help it. She blushed. She blushed hard. "Shakespeare just kissed my hand," she said to Eugene, practically bouncing up and down on her feet. When she came here to track down the witch, she had no idea she'd run into Shakespeare himself.
"I can see that," Eugene said, sounding none-too happy about that.
She smoothed her hands down her pink dress. She could have tried to dress like a peasant to be less inconspicuous but she wanted a flashy gown. So, Rapunzel went the full nine-yards with this outfit.
Long pink dress, large sleeves, a beautiful stomacher with a flower pattern that went from the top of her bodice down to her stomach, and a high-back white collar. She honestly felt like a princess in it. Her hair was in an up-do, surrounded with ribbon.
"So," Eugene said, nodding down at the witch, "what are we going to do about Marcella?"
"Well, Marcella tried to kill you," Rapunzel said. "She's a witch siren. She was enchanting you with her words. But the question is – why? I was tracking her because I caught wind of a witch that was up to no good. But what was her intention?"
"She said she was looking for Shakey over here."
Shakespeare stood up straighter. "Everyone is looking for me tonight it seems. I'm quite popular." He burped.
Rapunzel squinted at him. "Is Shakespeare… drunk?"
"Are you going to be mad at me if I say yes?" Eugene asked.
"Why would I be mad at you?"
"Because I made him that way."
They both looked over at Shakespeare who was now staring intently at his shoes and trying to have a conversation with them.
"Eugene, why would you do that?"
He grabbed her arm and leaned in closer. "Because I was trying to get a first edition of one of his plays, ok?"
"Why?" Her heart picked up its pace every time he was this close to her.
He just looked at her with a slightly chagrined expression.
"Were you… trying to steal it?" she asked.
"No!"
She raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"Maybe." He sighed. "Fine. Yes. Do you know how much that would go for in the present day?" He paused. "Ok, I'm not sure exactly how much it would go for but I know it would be a lot."
"I thought you were passed stealing. You told me so."
"I was," he hissed. "But then-," he stopped suddenly.
"Then?"
He looked away from her. "Never mind. It doesn't matter now."
"Eugene," she said, placing her hand on his cheek. "You can tell me."
He gazed down at her with… pain in his eyes. It was a type of pain she had never seen from him before. "I just wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again, ok?"
She sighed and dropped her hand. "Where are you at with us?"
"It's still new," he admitted.
That terrified her. If things were still new for Eugene, that meant she was getting closer to the day he wouldn't recognize her. And she wasn't sure she'd survive the pain of it.
"Ok," she said, pulling away from him. He reached out a hand but dropped it quickly before she could get her hopes up. She glanced over at Shakespeare who was bent over. "He's throwing up now."
Eugene looked over and groaned. "Come on, Shakey. Learn how to hold your liquor."
"We should get him inside somewhere," Rapunzel said. "And away from the siren who wants him for some reason. If she wanted to kill you, then I don't know what she wants to do with Shakespeare."
"Good idea." He walked over to the Bard and helped him stand up straighter. "Let's get you home."
"As long as the both of you join me." He winked in Rapunzel's direction. She tried not to blush again. Eugene looked put out until Shakespeare winked in his direction. Then, Eugene just looked confused for a second, flattered for another second, and then confused again.
"Let's just go," Eugene said with a shake of his head.
Flynn was relieved when Shakespeare walked over to a door and proclaimed it was his house. After fumbling with the doorknob, Shakespeare led them inside.
It was a quaint room with a bench for sitting and a desk for writing. Flynn could see into another room where the bedroom was. A wood-burning stove and a counter top were against one wall where a table was situated before them. Everything was lit with candlelight.
"Make yourselves at home," Shakespeare said, sitting down with a huff in his desk chair. "I need to write." He grabbed a piece of paper, a quill, dipped it in ink, and began furiously writing away.
Rapunzel wandered over to the bedroom and Eugene followed. He tried not to eye the bed too much but he couldn't deny that his heart began to beat faster being alone in a bedroom with Rapunzel.
"I can't believe it," she said, looking around. "I'm standing in the place where Shakespeare sleeps."
"Don't think about him in bed too much," Flynn muttered.
Rapunzel flashed him a smile. "Jealous, Eugene?"
"Flynn," he reminded her. Then he remembered that all the times he had reminded her to call him Flynn where in her future. It was pointless though. She had a habit of calling him Eugene, whether he wanted her to or not.
"You don't need to be jealous." She leaned in to him and kissed him on the cheek. It was sweet and chaste but it still sent a fire over his entire body.
He cleared his throat. "So, what the hell happened out there? With Marcella?"
"She clearly wants Shakespeare for a reason. We need to figure out what reason that is before she does something to him. It's only 1599. If something were to happen to him now… just imagine how many plays will never be written. It would undoubtedly change the course of history and we can't have that."
"She probably wants to kill him."
"Why do you say that?" She walked over to the bookshelf against the wall that was filled with manuscripts.
"Because in my experience, there's always someone wanting to kill someone else."
"Not always. Sometimes people need something that has nothing to do with death," she replied.
"Uh, news-flash, Blondie. Creepy siren witch out there just tried to kill me. She probably wants to do the same with Shakey."
"You're probably right." She kept her eyes glued to the bookshelf before she gasped. "That's…" She reached out to touch a stack of papers that were hastily bounded together.
"What is it?" Flynn walked over.
"I probably shouldn't touch this," she whispered.
Flynn shrugged. "I say touch away. It's not your fault Shakey just leaves things laying around."
With a deep breath, Rapunzel picked up the stack of papers. "It's Romeo and Juliet. It looks like Shakespeare's first draft of it. This version hasn't even been published yet. This is an original version of the play. Oh my god."
Flynn's heartbeat picked up. He recognized that version of Romeo and Juliet. He saw it on Rapunzel's bookshelf in her tower back when they were in New York. But he didn't think Rapunzel was one for stealing so he wasn't sure how it got there.
"When you say original version…"
"I mean," she said, "original. His plays were printed in folios. But this? This is his writing. This hasn't been printed. I'm touching the original version of Romeo and Juliet. Eugene, I'm shaking."
She was. He couldn't help it - he chuckled. "You're cute when you're shaking." Those words were out before he could stop them. He was a master at flirting and normally, he wouldn't care if he said those words to a woman. But Rapunzel wasn't just any woman. She was… special. He didn't want to lead her on if he wasn't sure how he felt about everything. He still had the memory of her death in his mind.
Rapunzel set the play down and turned to him. "How did you find me?" she asked in a soft voice, staring up at him with her big green eyes.
"Well, technically, you were the one who found me."
"You know what I mean." Her fingertips brushed his and that spark flashed through him again. "How do we keep running into each other everywhere we go?"
"Aren't you more the expert on that than me?" Why did he feel suddenly breathless? He was always so calm and collected around women but Rapunzel left him feeling dizzy. Maybe she was really the siren, messing with his mind. Because ever since she entered his life, he hasn't been able to think properly. Flynn's entire world is upside down.
She smiled and it lit up her entire face. "I just wanted to hear your thoughts on it."
"My thoughts?" He leaned his head down, inching closer to hers. "My thoughts are…"
A scream came from the other room.
They immediately jerked away from each other. Rapunzel's eyes widened. "That was Shakespeare."
They ran back into the main room where Shakespeare, instead of writing at his desk, was on the ground, writhing and screaming, his face contorted in pain.
Rapunzel dropped down beside him. "Shakespeare? Oh my god. Will?"
The Bard only screamed louder. He was clutching his stomach. "It hurts. It hurts."
"What hurts? Will, talk to me."
If Flynn weren't so worried about Shakespeare in that moment, he would have felt the tiniest bit jealous that Rapunzel was now calling Shakespeare 'Will' instead of… well, 'Shakespeare.'
"My stomach," Shakespeare groaned out. "The pain."
The door burst open. The gust of wind made Flynn stumble back.
And there was Marcella, standing in the doorway, chanting words in a low ominous tone, and holding onto a doll in one hand. Except this was no Barbie doll. This was some sort of cloth doll, stuffed with something. Flynn wasn't a fucking expert on dolls, ok?
Marcella lifted a pin and jammed it into the stomach of the doll and Shakespeare screamed even louder.
"Holy shit," Flynn muttered. "She has a freaking voodoo doll."
"Not voodoo doll," Rapunzel said, moving past him. "A poppet." She stood before Marcella. "Stop this. Now!"
Marcella smiled wickedly and continued to chant. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." She kept repeating it over and over again.
Shakespeare groaned. "Flynn Rider! Come help me."
Flynn kneeled beside him. "What do you need?"
"I need" – he gasped – "you to write down" – he winced – "those words."
"The ones Marcella is saying?"
Shakespeare nodded through his pain.
"Why?" Flynn demanded.
"Because" – he groaned – "it would sound perfect" – he panted – "in a play I am working on."
"Oh for fuck's sake," Flynn muttered.
At that moment, Rapunzel ran over to Marcella and punched the siren in the face. Marcella stumbled back, dropping the poppet.
Rapunzel grabbed it and ripped the pin right out of the doll. Shakespeare immediately stopped screaming. He laid curled into a ball, breathing heavily.
"No!" Marcella shouted, lunging for Rapunzel but Rapunzel dodged out of the way. Rapunzel thrusted her foot out, making Marcella trip and land on her face.
"We need to get out of here," Rapunzel said, motioning for Flynn to help her get Shakespeare up. "Come on."
The three of them made their way out of Shakespeare's house. Rapunzel slammed the door behind her and grabbed a barrel on the street and placed it directly in front of the door. The door jerked as Marcella presumably began pounding on it.
"That won't hold her for long," Rapunzel said. "We need to go somewhere Marcella would never guess so she can't hurt Will."
Flynn groaned. "Where would that be? That could be a million different places."
Shakespeare started laughing.
Flynn looked at The Bard like he was insane. "What's so funny?"
"I know a place we can go. But the man there isn't going to be happy to see me."
"As long as Marcella can't figure it out, let's go," Rapunzel said.
They hurried through the streets of London, bypassing people selling random shit and throwing their own shit out the window. Kids played in mud with pigs. Men shouted with thick accents. It was chaos.
Flynn was really missing his private island he hadn't bought yet.
They reached a row of houses, all with black striping down the front and large windows with wooden frames around them.
Flynn pounded on the door of the home Shakespeare pointed at.
The man who opened it was…
…Christopher Marlowe, Shakespeare's rival and the man Flynn met back at the tavern.
He eyed them all over, his gaze lingering the longest on Rapunzel, which Flynn hated immensely. He looked back at Shakespeare. "If it isn't my favorite poet," Kit said, leaning against the doorframe. "Come to finally grace me with your presence?"
"I'm-," Shakespeare started to say when he tipped forward and fell face-first on the ground.
Rapunzel gasped, kneeled down, and checked his pulse.
"Is he dead?" Kit asked, sounding strangely hopeful.
"No," Rapunzel responded, shooting Kit a look. "He's alive. We need your help. Please let us inside."
"Help from what?"
"Help from me," Flynn said, "if you don't let us inside. Otherwise, my fist is going into your face. And I particularly like my hands and don't want to ruin them. So, if you don't mind." Flynn looked pointedly at the door.
Kit sighed and opened it wider. "As you wish. Come inside."
"Flynn," Rapunzel said, "pick Will help and carry him inside."
"Why do I always have to be the one carrying people? You know, Blondie, you could offer to help once in a while."
She frowned which only made her look cuter. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Dammit. That's right. What happened in New York hasn't happened to her yet. Flynn was both relieved and sadden by it. Relived because she was one step-removed from dying in Versailles. And sadden because it was just another reminder that they weren't traveling on the same timeline.
"Never mind," Flynn muttered as he placed his hands under Shakespeare's arms and hoisted the guy up. Thank god he wasn't that big. He had to shuffle/walk his way into Kit's house, dragging Shakespeare with him. Rapunzel followed.
Kit watched them with an amused expression. "This is going to be interesting."
He shut the door behind them.
Kit Marlow died in 1593 at age 29, so he wasn't alive in 1599 but this is a fantasy story so I changed some things around to include him. Until next Saturday!