Introducing: Mercutio

[bymyheelies]

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.

Comments

[futaille]

Grantaire wanders near the entry and stops, taking in the leftover blood on Mercutio's shirt. "Well. That looks familiar," he says, leaning on the doorframe. "Welcome to the strangeness."

[bymyheelies]

Mercutio looks up from whatever pile of papers he's midway through, and gives Grantaire a long look. "Ay, 'tis strange indeed, sir. Who is master here?"

[futaille]

"If you see one, you'll be the first," he says with a shrug. "Although we're fairly sure there are one or more. We just call them spirits, though."

[bymyheelies]

"Spirits, the fairies, 'tis one and the same." He sets his papers down and heads over to Grantaire, smiling like he wasn't just recently dead on the floor in an unknown building in Verona. "Hast been here some time?"

[futaille]

"A few months. It's a very interesting place."

[bymyheelies]

"Say on, interesting in what way? Art--beasts that do a man's work, or unicorns, or something far greater? To pull a man from the grave is grave matter indeed, and yet I am proof of 't."

[futaille]

He laughs. "Oh, I'm proof likewise, although I'll say that most people here are not. As far as in what way it's interesting... Well, one of those that got brought here is a dragon, so there's that. But the house provides food, drink, and shelter... and occasional strangeness, in the interest of completeness."

[bymyheelies]

“Ay, I have seen. Lights that do not burn, fineries fit for a prince…and yet ‘tis not a heaven or a hell? Strange, indeed.”

[futaille]

"Oh, that's only the very beginning of the strangeness, I assure you."

[bymyheelies]

He laughs and tilts his head. “Go on, pray, you cannot tell me ‘O, ‘tis strange’ when I can plainly see that. How, and in what way?”

[futaille]

"I mean, I can." He laughs. "But I won't leave you with that, no. Every month or so, something even stranger happens to a lot of the people here. For example, most recently, I switched bodies with the dragon."

[bymyheelies]

“Thou’rt a wise and giving gentleman, sir,” he replies, with an overly dramatic flourish of his hand. “Truly, a dragon? Like some child’s tale?”

[futaille]

"Truly, a dragon! If I was not the most fortunate in the switches, I was at least very close to it."

[bymyheelies]

“I cannot say I should wish to be so switched about; though seeming this place will not take it to account.”

[futaille]

"It was quite a delight to have wings for a day, I'll admit, but I can see ways in which I could have been much less lucky in it, yes."

[bymyheelies]

He purses his lips and motions to his side. “Thou saidst thou’rt dead as well? How, an I might inquire? Mine was a duel.”

[futaille]

He shrugs. "It's hardly a secret. I got caught on the wrong side of a revolution. Got executed."

[bymyheelies]

"Marry! How did that come to be?" He's definitely intrigued -- and alright, Grantaire is a little easy on the eyes, so he is willing to follow this line of conversation as far as it will take him.

[futaille]

And that would be another shrug. "My friends wanted to bring back the republic, so, France being France, there was an attempt at revolution."

[bymyheelies]

“Ah. An honorable way to a grave, then.”

[futaille]

"If you say so. Certainly an early way to a grave."

[bymyheelies]

His lips quirk in a wry grin, and he motions to himself. "And dueling is not?"

[futaille]

"All roads lead to Rome," he says wryly.

[bymyheelies]

“Ay,” he laughs. “Though ‘tis a week’s journey from Verona.”

[futaille]

"And a longer one from Paris, I assure you."