desperatefans | Introducing: Mercutio

Mercutio is lying on a very plush couch. It is not where he was, that is clear enough. This is nothing like a tavern, certainly nothing at all like Verona. Even the lights are strange-looking, not flickering or dancing like flame. Is it some kind of faerie-land? Without doubt, it is not any sort of heaven or hell he has read of, though he knows well he should be dead. The lingering blood on his extremely thin, gauzy shirt is proof enough of that. Strangely, he is no longer bleeding, but that only makes it easier to rise from his bed and proceed to look about the room.

Eventually, he makes his way through the house, poking in various rooms until he finds his way to the main foyer. He opens the door and stands in the entrance, examining the gardens and forest beyond; before deciding that it is unreasonably cold outside. There's more proof, then, that this is not Verona, it had been the middle of summer when he had been fighting Tybalt. He shrugs, and proceeds to rifle through the papers at the table, not exactly reading or retaining anything on them. Clearly there are inhabitants, but he hasn't seen any of them yet. A queer faerie-land, indeed.

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Well, that's another Arthurian or Shakespearean. The vibes say Shakespearean. "Did you die before you got here? It happens to the best of us." Not to Janet, of course. To other people.

He looks a little ruefully amused, and nods. “Is it so plain?” Well. There is the large bloodstain on his see-through shirt, that does give it away.

"Oh, yeah, you look very..." Janet gives him a fake exaggerated once-over. "Stabbed. You look very stabbed. I'm Janet, by the way."

"Thou hast the right of it, lady," he says, with a sheepish grin and a bow. "I am Mercutio."

"Mercutio!" Her eyebrows shoot up before she can quite stop them. Claudius, Laertes, and... Mercutio. Talk about a Shakespearean grab bag. At least this probably gives her the satisfaction of being right. "You named after anyone?"

He considers this politely for a moment. "'Tis a derivation of the god Mercury, as I am told," he finally says, somewhat amused. "Wherefore? Hast thou read of me?" Dionysus has, unfortunately, already made him aware of the play. It was a little unsettling.

Oh, are we doing this now? We're just telling the fictional people that they're fictional? Janet doesn't roll her eyes, since that's not Mercutio's fault, but she thinks about it. "Yep, I've read of you. Nice death speech, by the way."

She's more than welcome to roll her eyes at Dionysus, if she wishes. Mercutio was certainly unsettled, having his last words spouted back at him by someone who wasn't even there. This is --still odd, but a little easier to accept, and he gives her a brief nod. It does seem odd to say 'thank you' to that, but it would also be rude to not acknowledge it. "'Twas truth. Both Capulets and Montagues are fools."

"Fucking morons," Janet agrees, easily and with a low laugh. He probably doesn't know how the play ends. She probably shouldn't tell him. Hastily, she banishes all thoughts of Laertes and the problem of Ophelia. "It's pretty dramatic around here sometimes, but not as bad as all that. You'll be okay."

Indeed, he does not. He is still under the impression that Romeo's lady is Rosaline, and assumes they have made up and Romeo is back in good spirits because of that. (In his defense, it has also only been like three days since he was making fun of Romeo before the party.) He nods genially, giving her a cheery enough smile. "An I like it not, I shall find ways to entertain; fear not, lady."

Janet laughs, low but sincere enough. Fucking Mercutio from Romeo and Juliet. "You're the life of the party, right?"

"Ay, sweet lady," he says, with a laugh and a slight bow. "Or I try for it."

"Oh, you'll fit right in," Janet assures him. It's a little dry, but that's also just her natural tone of voice. "Remind me how old you are?"

"I am nineteen," he says, looking briefly curious. "Why?"

"Just wondering how bad I'll feel if-slash-when I serve you booze." Janet gives him a little thumbs-up, only slightly mocking. "Not bad at all, turns out."

He laughs. "Why wouldst thou?" Drinking ages? What are those? They sound lame.

What the hell. He's probably going to find this out eventually. "So, I'm from the year 2009. By then, people don't really think it's a good idea to give alcohol to younger people."

At least Dionysus hadn't mentioned anything about the future being stupid. Mercutio tilts his head and gives her a skeptical look. "I am a man grown, 'tis foolishness."

"At nineteen? Yeah, I agree it's bullshit." Janet shrugs. "Drinking age where I'm from is twenty-one."

“Where art thou from, then?” So that he knows to avoid it. (Not that it matters, in any case.)

"California," Janet says helpfully. She's ninety-nine percent sure he's never heard of it.

"--Where is that?"¹

¹Technically if we're going by PBs, he is from Verona Beach, California. But let's ignore that.

"Uh... America. The New World?" she hazards.

He squints a little, but nods. "Ay, I know of it."

"There you go!" Janet snaps her fingers. "That's where I'm from. It's a big desert and you can't drink until you're twenty-one. How's my pitch?"

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