Room 303, Thursday Morning After Classes

[bitchprince]

Arthur had had to put on spandex for class. It had taken work. It had taken effort. And it had become completely impossible to get rid of, which explained why he stomped into 303 still in his suit.

Red and gold spandex looked nice on him, yes, like many things, but Up With It he would not put. He sat down on the bed and got to unlacing his boots as soon as possible while he waited for Merlin to show up and help him out.

Once the boy was gone, he'd be far more comfortable.

[[ for the ears, at first, and then open to anyone after now that he's back to being dressed properly ]]

Comments

[withoutverona]

It struck Romeo in the forehead before his arms got up for a block, and he totally bitchfaced at Arthur as he settled it behind him. Best to stockpile ammunition.

"I'll tell my father that when I'm home," he said, grinning again. "I think he'd take advice from a Capulet first, mind. Are pillow fights part of your training regimen?"

Never mind that he'd thrown the first one.

[bitchprince]

"They don't need to be," Arthur said, idly. He still had plenty of his own stockpile left in the shape of his own set of pillows. "I've been trained to kill in hundreds of different ways. It's merely a matter of choosing different ammunition."

He smirked. "It's hardly my fault you can't handle it."

[withoutverona]

That had two answers. First, the surrender of Arthur's pillow with a hard throw in the direction of his bed, because Romeo was about six sometimes. "I'm quaking, truly."

He probably wouldn't be so blithe if Arthur really were angry with him, but that was a separate issue.

Second ... "There are hundreds of ways?"

[bitchprince]

"Thereabouts. Actually counting them is a waste of time, but there's quite a bit."

This, after ducking sideways, and catching the pillow across his knee. "Why?"

[withoutverona]

"No particular reason. You just sounded as if you'd thought about it rather frequently," Romeo answered, frowning a little. He could think of five, a few more if one was considering trivia about how you held the gun.

[bitchprince]

Arthur blinked at him. "I am a knight," he pointed out, "I'm expected to know how to kill with a variety of weapons. Of course I think about it."

[withoutverona]

"I know that, Arthur. I did it once and I don't think about it if I can avoid it." And suddenly Romeo's shoes were much more interesting. "That's all."

[bitchprince]

"You killed someone?"

Arthur supposed he shouldn't actually sound surprised, but the fact Romeo hadn't know how to throw a proper punch had kind of thrown him off.

[withoutverona]

The surprised tone made Romeo give him an evil look before he remembered that, in most of the world, this wasn't actually something to brag about and tempered it. (And if anyone in Verona could throw a decent punch and stop there, Romeo wouldn't be in this situation.)

"It's a very long story," he warned, before glancing down again. "But yes. He killed my closest friend first, when the fight should have been mine from the start. It was -- I could claim it was about honor, but anger had more to do with the day."

[OOC: ... and this is where we have to go to SP, I'm afraid. I lose at timing.]

[bitchprince]

Where Arthur came from, it was sort of a thing to brag about, so the evil look was probably actually warranted. Or maybe Arthur had just spent too much time around people who were weird about the concept of killing anyone, lately.

"Was it a duel?" he wanted to know. "Because if he murdered your friend, you were well within your rights to demand one, anger or not."

This kind of logic was why it was generally a very, very bad idea to kill any of Arthur's knights back home. It... got his attention.

[[ sp is actually fine, as I am five minutes from crashing myself! ]]

[withoutverona]

"Not precisely, but you're on the path," Romeo said, weirdly grateful Arthur had asked a reasonable question.

"Tybalt challenged me to a duel. I sought to keep peace with him, because of ... personal reasons. Another very long story." Though, going at this rate, he'd probably get through it too. He drew a breath. "And, too, our households were under an order from the city not to fight. But Mercutio -- and I cannot blame him -- hated my cowardice and took the part in the fray that ought to have been mine; he was stabbed. I chased Tybalt and he fell." Bitterness crept into his voice. "My punishment was to be banishment. They thought it an act of mercy."

[bitchprince]

To Arthur, the progress of events as Romeo described it made a fair bit of sense, although Romeo's own cowardice in the midst of it was not particularly encouraging. Still, the boy wasn't a knight, or even much of a warrior; and there was something to be said for mercy.

"Forcing a man to leave his people is never a kindness," he said, simply.

A moment, as he considered it again. "Why'd you deny the duel?"

[withoutverona]

Romeo shook his head, equally simply, as he thought. He knew Arthur would not, could not, understand this next bit, though it wasn't as if it could be too terribly shocking, considering -- well, considering this was Romeo.

"Kinship. I'd been secretly married to Tybalt's cousin for all of a morning. The priest was to talk to our parents, but he had not yet, so I could not tell him." He glanced up.

"If I had, he would have found yet more joy in killing me, for the dishonor to his house." And there was that bitterness again.

[bitchprince]

"But your friend knew none of this?" Arthur lifted his head in some thought; no, it wasn't exactly a shock, considering the source, but it was also not exactly a story to mock. "Mercutio." He repeated the name for clarity.

[withoutverona]

Romeo shook his head. "No. If he had, he would have --"

He would have called Romeo a moron and congratulated him on getting laid in a single jumbled paragraph, is what he would have done, and then found a way to send Tybalt away with a sharp word before any blood was shed. Though perhaps not. Mercutio was never easy for Romeo to predict, especially with the distance of death and time between them. And, too, Mercutio was never known for sense.

"He might have done exactly the same thing even if he'd understood my reasons," Romeo finally concluded. "He had his own quarrels with Tybalt. My cousin might have made a difference, if he'd known, but it all happened so very fast."

[bitchprince]

Arthur pursed his lips. If anything, this reminded him of his own father, and the looks he got on his face whenever he spoke of Ygraine and her death. One of many reasons why the whole 'love' issue caught him a little difficult across the chest.

"But he intervened in the quarrel in your name, by the sounds of it," he voiced, thoughtfully. "And then you slayed Tybalt. It sounds like a spiral of irate tempers and rash actions; no offense intended."

Pause.

"What became of the girl, then?"

[withoutverona]

"No offense taken; it's what it was." There was some excuse Romeo used to have, one that absolved him, but time away from Verona had worn much of that down. It was all a matter of tempers, ideas of honor, and ammunition.

And people wondered why Romeo didn't find most violence cathartic.

"The girl has been dead a long time."

[bitchprince]

Arthur nodded, once, and offered a sedate, well-meant, "I'm sorry."

Even if it hadn't been but a week since he'd seen his own father's dead body, that would've required some solemnity, something. The lines in his features had set. "Has any of this brought some peace to your families?" he asked, after a moment of consideration as to whether pressing about the girl would suit any purpose at all beyond potentially upsetting Romeo.

[withoutverona]

Romeo shook his head, brushing off the condolences and any urge to explain further. Suicide, lovesick or not, damned you to hell; he didn't like damning Juliet (and himself, for that matter) further through his words. She deserved the peace of whatever death Arthur could imagine.

"She's at rest," he said instead. "And it has, in its way. For now."

A tiny smile. "In a few years I get to go home and try to keep things that way."

[bitchprince]

In return, Romeo got a smile that was somewhat equal in size, but different in sentiment - an encouragement. "And you'll do a fine job of it," he said, "When the time comes. You seem to have laid the past to rest."

Which wasn't all about Romeo, but that didn't mean it didn't apply.

"That doesn't mean I won't wish you the best of luck."

[withoutverona]

"You'll hear how it goes, if there's a way to keep in contact," Romeo said gratefully. "I think being here made it easier to move on. Fewer ghosts rattling about, most of the time."

Which didn't make it easy when the dead walked (and shot him, thank you, Tybalt) or a child with his wife showed up, or his best friend and his love were undead, but ... easier.

[bitchprince]

"And if they choose to rattle again, I'm sure you can hurl a pillow with some dexterity," Arthur said, lightly. "Although I wouldn't want to talk it up."

He smirked briefly, then sobered again. "Have you any idea what you'll do once you return to Verona?"

[withoutverona]

"Ah, I hadn't heard of the pillow-fight method of exorcism. I'll have to give it a go," Romeo said, grateful again for the lightness.

He resettled himself on the bed, thinking about the question. "Keep the peace, mainly. We had a hundred years of fighting; it may take a hundred more years for the habit to be entirely broken. I'm lucky to have Ben to lean on."

[bitchprince]

"Try not to hurt yourself doing it," Arthur advised, resettling himself, but not nearly as comfortably. The whole conversation had struck him something hard, and his mind had gotten itself stuck in a pensive place. "Remember not to think of every stranger as an enemy," he said, finally, "You'll end more wars with pardon and mercy than steel or threats."

It was most likely a good thing that Romeo didn't know about his father's policies, or he would've known what this meant.

[withoutverona]

"And I can hardly ask for a blank slate if I do not start afresh myself," Romeo said, quiet and sober. "It will be hard. There are some who will like the brawl, even when they see where it leads. And, well -- in some of their heads I'll forever be 16 and off with a notebook writing poetry."

He was now 18 and off with a notebook. This was ever so much wiser.

... and, describing this, he was starting to wonder why he felt so driven to go home.