Editing DbS (section)

== THIRTEEN ==
⚇乂⚇

'''HAPPY LITTLE… WELL, ACTUALLY, THE TREES ARE QUITE DEPRESSING TODAY'''

HAVE YOU EVER HAD SUCH an awkward conversation that you’ve wanted to melt into the floor and just disappear from existence? Yeah, me too.

I was taking a walk with Benvolio, as he’d told me he often did in the morning, and we were just chatting, having a laugh, when we ran into Mercutio (nearly quite literally, as he was walking in our direction, looking at the sky for some reason), who quickly joined our conversation, continuing the rest of our walk with us.

We were talking, or, Mercutio was mainly talking, and we got onto the topic of Abigail. If I had a nickel for every single time someone mentioned Abigail to me, probably to set us up, I’d have… two nickels, which, granted, that’s not a lot, but it’s kind of weird it happened twice.

Mercutio kept talking, not stopping at anything, and we kept walking through the town. Its winding streets were seemingly normal to Mercutio, while to me they were like a labyrinth. You went this way, and you ended up at the same place you’d been five minutes ago.

Of course, Mercutio being completely used to the streets was supposed to be expected, as he’d lived in this fairytale Shakespeare world since… always, but it was still really weird how he knew the streets so well. It was like a maze and he had completely memorized how to get out.

We approached a place with colorful tents and carts and peddlers, all of them yelling about their different products. Looking around, I could see different vendors, all dressed in olive greens, browns, faint blues, and light reds (not pink), all trying to get a reaction out of the people in the square, marketing their stuff. We kept walking, getting further and further into the marketplace, and before I knew it, we were in the thick of it.

It seemed to me that the people in the Shakespeare world had no grasp on colors at all. I mean, the Montagues all wore varying shades of blue, and the Capulets wore anything from burgundy to firetruck red. I assumed that was the only reason people hadn’t called Benvolio, Mercutio, Romeo, or myself out at the party. Maybe the colors were added as an afterthought, or, maybe Shakespeare just didn’t care and was possibly colorblind himself.

Of course, when we finally got deep into the marketplace, that’s where I began to have some problems. The marketplace itself wasn’t the problem, it was more what happened there. In other words, Mercutio (unsurprisingly). 

Actually, the stalls of the place were quite nice, there were a couple places where merchants were selling their different things, and then there was a butcher’s stall, where a few butchers were skinning a pig and two rabbits. There were other places, too, like multiple fruit stalls, and a few indoor shopping places, too, which, I wondered whether or not they might cost more than the places outdoors.

We were just randomly walking past, and Mercutio suddenly stopped, examining some cream-colored candles. ''Normal enough,'' thought I, waiting for him to finish his examinations. After a couple of minutes, Mercutio straightened up, starting off again towards a stall where flowers were being sold.

Once we were out of the vendor’s earshot, Mercutio leaned over to me and said, “Ah, those candles were so romantic, just the type one might find at a table for two.” I knew ''exactly'' what Mercutio was doing. Giving him an odd look, I decided to play dumb, wondering if my suspicions were right and if this would really play out the way I thought it would.

Finally, we reached the flower stall, but turned a sharp right, passing some sweet-smelling roses with a particularly strong smell. The ones that caught my eye were these very full-looking ones that were a snowy white color.

Mercutio picked up a red one, twirling it between his index finger and his thumb.

“These roses—oh, they’re so beautiful. They remind me of love, the young type. They would be found at… I think a table for two, or perhaps a man would hand it to his wife—” here, he snuck a look at me with a sly grin “—or a boy to his beloved.”

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m not, you know, following after Abigail, okay?”

“Ah, so he admits it!”

“No, I’m not admitting anything. I was just saying—”

Benvolio chimed in, “You know, acceptance is the first step to getting over your crush.”

I sighed. “Guys, I do not have a crush on Romeo’s sister,” said I, very matter-of-factly. And if I had, it wouldn’t be logical to admit it to Abigail’s brother’s best friend ''and'' her cousin. It would only ensure teasage. 

“Ah, denial. The third stage of grief,” said Benvolio, nodding as if he understood everything.

“Actually, it’s the first stage—”

“Ah, an alchemist,” said Mercutio somewhat dramatically. It occurred to me that an alchemist was probably a scientist back in Shakespeare’s time, so maybe this was a Shakespearean character’s way of saying “Ah look, we have a genius on our hands”, or something like that.

I shook my head. “Not an alchemist, just someone with some sense in their head.”

Mercutio gasped at this. “You dare question my sense!? Guards, chop off his head,” he ordered, clearly joking, whilst Benvolio laughed at his joke.

“Sure, Mercutio, when you become the king of a kingdom, tell us that we might be your jesters. I mean, after all, what is a king without his clown?”

I rolled my eyes at the two of them. “You two are absolutely crazy,” said I, which I figured probably translated to “Thou art utterly crazed”.

Continuing on with our walk, Mercutio changed the topic back to Abigail.  “You know,” he said, a smirk on his face “those candles back there also reminded me of the night sky—”

“Don’t even start that again, Mercutio,” said I with a frown, desperately trying to change the subject. We were ''not'' going there again. And even if, by some small margin, I had stumbled upon feelings, it wouldn’t’ve worked out. Different universes and all that. Alas, Mercutio kept talking over me, not intending to stop at any time soon.  

“—over a couple of star-crossed lovers.”

“Eh,” said I, trying to remain calm and recollect myself. “I mean, I guess so.” Mercutio narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what to respond to this with. He could, unfortunately, not bring the conversation back, so continued to talk about the most random of things. 

We walked upon the cobbled path up to the castle, chatting, well, Mercutio doing most of the talking, Benvolio and I politely listening and sometimes joining in. Out of nowhere, Mercutio glanced at the sky and exclaimed, “Egad! A half-moon! The hags must have gathered last night to discuss their plans to take over the kingdom.”

“Hags?” I questioned, wondering if magic was actually real in this Shakespeare world. If it were, it might turn into a horrible spin-off of ''Harry Potter'' where Harry marries Juliet or something. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

Benvolio gave a sigh, then slung an arm around my neck, making us three probably look like the three musketeers but without the hats and the swords for everyone and… never mind, we didn’t exactly look like the three musketeers.

“The hags are said to live near the trees in that huge forest—”

“No way! Trees!? In a ''forest,'' of all places!? How unusual,” Mercutio couldn’t help putting his two bits in.

Benvolio ignored him. “The hags meet at moon high on the nights of the half-moon and cast spells, making potions… but it’s all superstition,” said he with a shrug.

I nodded. “Right,” I said as if this made perfect sense (which it did because Shakespeare).

“Right,” agreed Benvolio.

“Oh look, we’re here,” said Mercutio, stating the obvious as we reached the fortress castle home of the Montagues.

“Mhmmm,” Benvolio said, walking through the arched opening and underneath the large portcullis casually.  

We walked into the castle’s library, expecting nothing but some empty chairs and couches and whatnot, but instead were greeted by Romeo looking bored out of his mind, who stood up quickly. “Guys! I’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

“Just taking a walk around,” said Mercutio shrugging, as if taking a walk for a couple of miles every single day was normal for people who could be reading or writing or doing something more productive and brain-stimulating like a Rubik’s cube or something like that.

Romeo gave a long sigh and nodded his head once, accepting this as the truth. “Okay, well I’ve been looking for you for hours. We have a ''lot'' of catching up to do.” And with that, he led us to the library, where I had been talking with Abigail only twelve hours earlier.