Editing DbS (section)

== TWENTY-SEVEN ==
⚇乂⚇

'''MY FRIEND KINDLY KEEPS ME FROM GOING TO COURT (THANKS, FRIEND *PAT, PAT*)'''

HERE’S A TIP: WHEN YOU’RE half-asleep, don’t choose a tree to end up in! It worked for a certain character in a certain series who had a certain bright orange backpack, but other than that, no. Don’t do it. It’s tempting. But don’t. Bears/Romeos could eat you.

I mean, also, in general, trees aren’t the most trustworthy things to be hanging- literally- out in. Like, a stick pokes you in the eye. What’s up with that tree? We got a problem?

Anyways, I was in the tree. Big deal. Except it actually was, because apparently people were going to riot.

“Apologies, my liege, my wife, Lady Montague, fell ill at hearing of Romeo’s exile. She died of sadness—” oh, by the way, I forgot to mention that my hearing had gone back and forth- so I guess I’m a translator now “—only a few hours ago. —” Abigail stepped forward, no sound coming from her mouth, eyes shining with grief. She looked like she could break down into tears at any moment, but held them back, if only barely, taking a leaf from Benvolio’s book. Montague gave her a meaningful look before setting his jaw as Benvolio had and continuing “And so, it seems as if we may have a problem.”  

Montague’s eyes went from Capulet to his red-haired wife, who was fanning herself with her hand almost non-stop. “It seems,” he began slowly, dragging out his words “that the people are crying out ‘Juliet’ or ‘Romeo’ or ‘Paris’ and now they’re on a crash-course to our- ah- tomb.” Look, I never said it’d be an ''accurate'' translation. Let’s leave that up to the professionals.

Paris raised a brow. “And?”

“And?” A flash of confusion flashed over Montague’s face.

“We’ll simply re-route them. Find something else to make them excited about.”

Abigail gave a small huff and Benvolio frowned at this suggestion.

“My liege,” he began, stepping forward before being barred by one of the Watch. It was the tall and fat one, the one who had exiled Romeo.

“Do not move unless he says to,” he said stiffly, arm out, glaring at Benvolio.

Benvolio shot him a look. “Sir,” he said testily, “if you would like to retain your arm and your good looks, I would highly suggest moving away from myself and the honorable Lady Montague, for if you do not, I shall have to resort to violent measures that are not fit for good company.”

This, of course, caused the man to step back, a brief look of alarm crossing his face. “Fine. But when the Prince declares your execution, do not come crying to me for mercy.”

Abigail muttered something under her breath, rolling her eyes. I could almost tell out what she was saying- and I was pretty sure it was something about how the guard dude couldn’t do that even if he had wanted to- but I was just a little bit too far away to hear.

“Your highness,” Benvolio begain once again, addressing his words to Prince Escalus.

“I propose a compromise.”

The Prince raised a brow at the blue-cloaked Benvolio. “Speak,” he said, giving a small nod.

“It seems that the people are upset over the death of the Montague and Capulet heir, and, indeed, Count Paris.”

There was no objection here.

“I propose we bring out the story to the public—” the corners of Escalus’ mouth twitched downwards, a displeased look growing over his face “—by an unbiased perspective. Perhaps, flyers would do the trick?”

“And whom,” began Escalus dramatically, escalating things… as he was known to do, “would you propose, Benvolio, son of Morsire, sister to lady Montague, be this unbiased perspective?”

“Ah—” Benvolio began, giving a glance to me in the tree. I could faintly hear the sounds of rioters and my vision was going weird, so I gave a slight shake of my head. Benvolio, who had, in his wisdom, expected this, nodded, continuing on. “I propose a committee. If we have a committee, who can gather the witnesses’ testimonies, it would, I believe, be easier to gather an unbiased view.”

The Prince stroked his beard. Within the span of five seconds, several emotions crossed his face. First, a flash of anger at Benvolio’s suggestion—perhaps he believed this was a step to overthrowing the monarchy? Then, a thoughtful expression, laced with contentment. Finally, an I-have-come-to-a-conclusion face, and a slight nod.

“Very well. You shall be in charge of this committee. We begin tomorrow.”

Benvolio stuttered, searching for words.

''“Me?'' Your highness, you know I am less than qualified, and besides I have business to attend to—”

The Prince raised a brow. “Business? Perhaps the Lady Portia of the neighboring town?” Escalus gave a vague gesture. Benvolio’s face went red.

“I—ahem—” (yes he really did say the word “ahem”, isn’t it incredible?) “—I uh- no- sort of? I’m kind of helping her—with, like, her father’s um—estate—”

It was very clear that Abigail was freaking out on the inside. And, to be honest, I was too. These two were probably perfect for eachother… or not. Shakespeare was weird.

Benvolio cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Yes. I shall indeed organize this committee.” A new air of I-can-do-this was about the man and he gave a nod, scratching his face, where his Mercutio-envied beard was.

Balthasar popped out of nowhere, blinking in slight confusion at all the words that were being said and the things being arranged. “Benvolio,” he began, looking from the Prince to the Watch to the Capulets to Montagues. “What have I missed?” It was more a statement than a question.

“Quite a lot, quite a lot,” said Benvolio. “… Speaking of missing things, I believe Romeo missed a letter?”

Balthasar’s eyes went wide. ''“That’s'' where that thing went! I’ve been looking around all night—well, day, now, I guess—for it!”

''That thing? Bro, you could’ve saved Romeo’s life!'' A hot anger swelled up in me as I fought to keep it back. ''Not. Right. Now. Must. Find out. What happens. Next.''

And so I did. Benvolio handed Balthasar the letter. Balthasar handed Escalus the letter. Escalus read the letter. And thus he handed it back to Benvolio.

“It seems,” spoke he, regal air about him “that your two families, who aren’t really two any longer, as you’ve been joined through Romeo and Juliet’s marriage—” he pointed to Montague and the Capulets “—brought about this. And so, Benvolio, I decree they shall be the first questioned and put into jail if found guilty.”

Benvolio lookd slightly alarmed. “Your highness, let’s not jump there- surely, the people will love you more for fair trials?”

It sounded like an insult to me, but the Prince stroked his beard. “Hm. Indeed. Very well, then.”

Capulet seemed to be overwhelmed with emotion. “Montague… ''brother''—” the word struck me weird, as the once-enemy reached out to his rival “—here. Take my Juliet’s dowry, for it’s all I can give you.” He put his hand in his pocket once again and took a small sack of jewels and gold and whatnot out of his pocket. His wife, Lady Capulet, reached for it, but drew back, frowning to herself.

“Ah,” said Montague sadly, taking the money sack. “But I can give you much more. Juliet will forever be loved and honored, among all women.”

“And… your daughter,” said Capulet, glancing over to Abigail, who gave him a curt nod.

“No need, sir. The past is past, the present the present. And I am, in fact, present.”

Lady Capulet’s eyes teared up. “Oh, child!” And she flung herself at Abigail, wrapping her arms around her. “That’s just something my Juliet would say!” Sniffles followed, the slightly awkward Abigail slowly relaxing and awkwardly patting her new “mother” on the arm in a comforting gesture.

Capulet and Montague were still boasting of the gifts they’d give eachother in honor of Romeo and Juliet.

“And I, I shall create a cathedral! It shall be called Saint Romeo’s Cathedral!” the man in scarlet declared, a fierce, bright, look on his face.

The Friar recoiled in offense. “I say! You can’t do that!” He was promptly ignored.

As my vision faded, to a dizziness I hadn’t experienced before, I heard Benvolio utter a simple few lines, all rhyming, although he was not in any way a noble character. (That is, rank-wise. Mom-friends are usually quite noble.)

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings.

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head,

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.

Some shall be pardoned, and some punished.

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”