Editing DbS (section)

== TEN ==
⚇乂⚇

'''HANGIN’ WITH MY HOMIES AT A MURDER PARTY''' 

PEOPLE WERE REALLY STARTING TO stare after that. Their stares bored into the back of my head, but the courtyard looked nice. 

It was brightly lit, and the sound of laughter drifted around it as if it were an ever-present noise. It was a warm night with the moon shining down on the courtyard, the sky freckled with stars. Look at me, sounding like Shakespeare. (Someone help. I’ve been stuck here for too long. Help.) 

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an agent in possession of good fortune might be in want of a mission. However, it is in question why on earth this particular agent was chosen for this particular mission. Thus, life is a mystery, and the sun is going to explode.  

(Again: help.) 

Anyways, the sky was flecked with stars. Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, and I walked about, sticking together (for fear that Romeo would do something rash). Benvolio’s brows crinkled. “Hey, Romeo, put on the mask,” said he authoritatively as we drifted back in the general direction of the drumming-and-dancing area.  

Romeo sighed and held his hand out to me for me to give him the mask. Out of my bag and onto his face is went, successfully hiding his identity. Or, at least, the eye part of his face.  

As I was saying, we all walked over and soon it was time for the dance. Romeo was carrying a drum (because Mercutio said it wasn’t fair to me not to hold it and also evidently, Romeo and himself wasn’t trustworthy enough to hold the torch) that looked as if you’d see in a marching band. Benvolio walked to the middle of the little clearing stage area, for, that was where some other dancers had danced before and it was our turn.  

(Somehow) we got through it alright. We hadn’t had a plan, but Romeo had pounded out a steady beat and we danced. By “we”, I mean Benvolio and Mercutio. They did a sort of jig, and Romeo’s drum pounding got the people to clap. Near the end, Benvolio looked to me in a “yes, I know you don’t want to, but you’ve got to dance” sort of way. I sighed, and after a few seconds of thinking, to my utter shame, I dabbed.   

Moving on from ''that'' fun moment, after our dance gig, we got a couple of claps on the back, and a girl with fluffy hazel-colored hair came up to me, flipped her hair out over her shoulder, and said, “Why, that was the strangest dance I’ve ever seen.” 

“Thanks,” I said, shrugging, not knowing what to say, standing a little awkwardly and rubbing my arm.  

“You know, some people may think that was a silly dance—” 

“They do?” 

“Yes, they do. But I don’t.” 

I frowned as she flounced away, puzzled by our conversation. I hoped it wouldn’t bug me the rest of the night- I had a story to take care of. 

Later on, I glanced over to see Mercutio with a crowd of ladies around him, shamelessly flirting with all of them. Benvolio was standing near a few people, having a spirited conversation about cheese. Romeo was… well, actually, I had no idea where Romeo was. I couldn’t hear his usually loud voice either, which was weird. So, I began to walk around, looking for him, listening in to random conversations to get clues. 

I caught bits and pieces of them:  

“Did you hear about Friar Thomas?” 

“—and then he said he would eat it, too!” 

“Oh, I saw the most beautiful green yesterday—” 

“By the honor of my family, it won’t be a crime to kill him—” 

“Lethia did the silliest thing yesterday! You should’ve seen her!” 

Wait. What was that one? The one before the last. I tuned back into this conversation, quietly getting closer to whoever was having it. My heart hammered against my chest as it usually did when I was on a mission and I was sure whoever was having the talk could hear it beating loudly. But of course, that’s what I thought every time when I was sneaking about, in the heat of the moment, so I didn’t pay much attention to the thought.

There were two men standing there, talking in hushed tones. They wore red, one of them in a red hat similar to Benvolio’s and a cape similar to Robin Hood’s. Tybalt. Beside him was Capulet, his uncle, if I recalled correctly.  

“Why do you need your sword? What’s going on here?” asked Capulet, hands on his hips, glaring at the shorter man.  

“That… ''guy'' is a Montague. He’s come to ruin your party, Uncle,” accused Tybalt, pointing at a person in a red and yellow mask similar in shape to the one I wore. Romeo.  

Capulet gave a sigh. “Is it the young one—Romeo?” I frowned, looking at Romeo. Of course, he was a Montague. He was wearing a blue outfit, with a medium-hued cape, the rest of his clothes navy blue. There wasn’t an inch of red on him. I looked around and saw mostly reds and a couple of blues—that would be Mercutio and Benvolio. Evidently, Shakespearean characters didn’t know how to differentiate between red and blue. Strange.  

Tybalt was scowling at Romeo. “Yes,” he muttered darkly. “That rat is the villain, Romeo.” 

Capulet stroked his graying beard. “Calm down, gentle cousin—” that was a bit of a stretch “—leave the boy alone. Look, he’s carrying himself with dignity. Besides, in all truthfulness, all of Verona says that he’s very mature and well-handled. I wouldn’t insult him in my house for all the gold in the land. So, just ignore him. Also, stop frowning because this is a feast. At a feast, you smile. Like this.” Capulet gave Tybalt a tight-lipped smile.  

“Try again,” he advised when Tybalt gave him a scowl. Tybalt gave him a grudging smile and Capulet nodded, a bright smile of his own on his face. “Perfect,” he said. “Now go show that off to the ladies and we’ll be marrying you off tomorrow.” 

Tybalt rolled his eyes. “That’s not the way you should be acting when there is a villain in our midst.” 

Capulet frowned. “You’re ''going'' to tolerate him so help me.”  

Tybalt started off to Romeo, ready to stab him right then and there, but Capulet grabbed his shirt sleeve. “You will tolerate hi—” 

The red- had started off again, ready for attack. “Tybalt!” hissed Capulet. “You’re going to tolerate him, if it’s the last thing you do. Stop that—” Tybalt had started to pull away, annoyed and ready to start a mutiny “—you’re going to cause a riot. And you’ll be the one to blame!”  

Tybalt gave a sigh. “That is, of course, the meaning of “you’re”. If you’re going to do something, you, yourself will do it,” said he sarcastically.  

Capulet scowled. “That’s enough of you, boy. You’ll tolerate him.” 

“But Uncle, we’re being disgraced,” Tybalt whined.

I watched the two of them, ready to jump out and possibly knock Tybalt out if he were to try to attack Romeo. Not because we were exactly close friends, but as a rule of thumb, you don’t let someone die—especially in a story. I didn’t know what would happen if all of a sudden Romeo was ''blegh'', dead. Maybe all the Romeo and Juliet stories would be changed or maybe just this one in particular. I hoped if worst came to worse that it’d be just this one. 

Capulet glared at Tybalt. “Is that right? Go on, go on, plan a battle strategy. How many men will we need? A hundred? A thousand? Go on, go on, if you’re so great,” Capulet said, exasperated.  

Tybalt sighed at his uncle’s doing… whatever he was doing. “No, no, really, I’d just ''love'' to hear what you have to say. That’s right. Boy, you’re getting a bit big for your britches. You should be ashamed of yourself, leave the boy alone,” said Capulet.  

Tybalt scowled and stalked off in the opposite direction of Romeo, towards a large table heaped with fruits and small tarts and other foods.  

I gave a sigh of relief as Tybalt passed the place I was hiding, and got up, looking to see where Tybalt had pointed to where Romeo was. Romeo wasn’t there anymore, but the door to a tall tower where the two had been standing a few minutes earlier was slightly ajar and I could hear two soft voices coming from inside of it. So, using my very incredibly important and special spy skills, I casually strolled over to the door, and leaned against the wall beside it, not quite peering in. I could hear Romeo’s voice in a low tone inside the room.  

“You have a beautiful hand that my own hand is unfit to touch. If my hand touches yours and it offends you, my lips are here like two blushing pilgrims, ready to make things better,” said Romeo and I imagined him to be holding Juliet’s hand in his own, petting it like he might pet a small chicken. Ew. 

Juliet gave a laugh. “Good pilgrim, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You see, you’re showing devotion by holding my hand in your own. After all, pilgrims touch the statues of saints. Our palms touch, which is like a kiss.” 

I peeked in through the entrance, to see two figures holding hands, one, much, much, shorter than the other. Juliet. The other, standing tall, the torchlight playing off of his red and gold mask. Romeo. The two were both smiling, and their forms cast long shadows across the floor towards me, thanks to the torches. They leaned close together now, noses nearly touching. A slight smile crossed my face as I watched them. And then it didn’t.

Two hands clamped down on my shoulders and I sucked in my breath, face draining of the blood that’d been there. “That’s it, you’ve had it.”