(Untitled)

[sanemontague]

Enter a young man, dressed well, but in a fashion long past, a sword at his waist, but not with the worn look of a fighter's sword.Good morrow, good men and fair maids. What manner of place is this, so strange and unnatural? There are all manner of things that my eye does not know

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[sweet_madman]

*POUNCE. TACKLES.*

[sanemontague]

*laughs as he's tackled* What madman has come unto me... *twists so he can see who it is* Mercutio? Has Pluto released thee to the world once more? I saw thee dead.

[sweet_madman]

Hast thou many madmen who do come unto thee? I should be jealous. *pokes at* You still talk like an old dead guy.

[sanemontague]

Since thy killing, I have been happily upright, for none is so mad as thou art, my friend.

Genius is oft undiscovered until the grave, so mayhaps I am uncovering mine early. Thy speech, though, is uncouth as I remember, friend Mercutio.

[fair_hero]

*curtsies very prettily* Good morrow, sir! I know not what ist the name o' this place, yet 'tis not cruel, though strange. *smiles shyly* You are welcomed, an you would be.

[sanemontague]

*bows politely* Good morrow, in truth, milady. I would gladly be welcomed, especially if the welcome of the morrow is as fair as it seems. But I know not thy name, but 'tis an honour to make thy acquaintance.

[fair_hero]

*curtsies again, blushing slightly--people keep asking her name here, and she won't get used to it--* Hero--my name is Hero, sir. Leonato's daughter, o' Messina.

[sanemontague]

*kisses her hand* I am honoured to have met thee, Hero of Messina. I hope that we might perhaps be friends?

[moderatelymad]

*bemused, but polite* Hello.

[sanemontague]

*offers a hand* Good morrow, young sir. Have you a name by which I might call you?

Typist: Still a child, isn't he?

[moderatelymad]

*is quite willing to handshake; looks up consideringly for a minute, before a well-stifled grin sparks* What would you do if I hadn't?

(indeedy. and like to remain so for a little while yet. XD amuses me far too much.)

[sanemontague]

*handshakes, then* Then I would seek one which might fit thy person, for every man, maid and youth must have a name, or else by what might we be hailed but the sky?

[thefoodoflove]

Welcome, sir. *stately bow* A solider you? An you are not, a full welcome yours without change.

What of this place? 'Tis not my fair Illyria, and yet 'tis also not so stale with the long-released breath of woeful lovers.

[sanemontague]

*bows in return* A soldier I am not. I am a mere son of the house of Montague, nephew to the lord of that house. Who have I the honour of addressing, my lord?

The lovers I know would rather they breathed not, if their aspects speak true. If thy words are faithful, then perhaps this place will be fair indeed.

[thefoodoflove]

*kindly smile* You live the happier, for more oft do young lords live. Orsino, Duke to my lands and he who doth aim to call you friend.

All my hopes 'tis so; so oft here have unhappy lovers found themselves content, with naught of death to taint their bridal beds.

[sanemontague]

Would that it were so, for young lords from my own home have oft preceded their fathers to Persephone's embrace. I wonder if perhaps they might have been safer as soldiers.

*bows again* 'Tis an honour to meet you, your grace, and your desire for friendship flatters.

Then perhaps I have reached the Elysian in truth, if such a thing is true. I know for sure that I have found here friends who I believed long dead.

[prince_ofcats]

*grudging bow, because it is Benvolio, and he secretly likes him because he's sane* Good Benvolio.

[sanemontague]

*bows, but not an inch lower than Tybalt* Tybalt. I had not thought to see you here.

[prince_ofcats]

*slightly amused* And why not?

[sanemontague]

*grins* Would a Montague expect a Capulet to win his way to the Elysian?