Editing DbS (section)

== SEVEN ==
⚇乂⚇

'''WHAT (Pt. 2)'''

TO THE PAIN, HE SAYS. It’ll be fun, he says. Nobody’ll get hurt, he says. Wouldn’t hold my breath on that one, friend. 

In all honesty, I think Romeo was in his edgy phase, and he reminded me of a picture of Oscar Wilde I had seen once, where he was holding a cane-looking thing and casually sitting on a chair, cosplaying as a boyband in the wrong generation. If I recall correctly, his condition was stable throughout the rest of my visit.

For those of you who don’t know what “to the pain” means, I’ll explain, in as brief a way as I can. Everything you could possibly need is cut off, all bloody and gross. Only your ears are left, and that’s only so that you can hear every child who screeches at the sight of you. Moving forward.

“No, Romeo. Hamlet, not to the pain. You would duel with wooden poles the same length of normal swords. No one would get hurt—” a pointed look at Romeo who had a smirk on his face “—it would simply be a ‘practice duel’,” Benvolio explained hurriedly, upon seeing my moderately concerned face. Not panicked, just concerned. I’d thrown daggers at goats and gone on missions with blow darting llamas. I’d be fine. I hoped.

I felt my shoulders untense slightly, but only because I was in the process of figuring out a strategy. I gave a somewhat-forced grin. “Right. I knew that.”

“Sure, you did,” said Romeo, the smirk on his face replaced with a subtle smile.

“I did! And I accept,” I said, sweeping my cloak dramatically behind me, a faux indignant look on my face, the plastered smile having disintegrated. “We duel now, right?” I said, just to make sure. 

Benvolio massaged his temples, clearly trying to let the stress of watching after Romeo and making sure he didn’t explode dissipate. “Yes, now you duel. In the courtyard, where there’s plenty of space,” he said, matter-of-factly, nodding, pleased at the idea of fencing with very sharp swords outside and not breaking anything. 

“Alright then,” I said, walking towards the door, hoping the other two would just follow. I glanced back to Romeo, whose chest was puffed out with pride and the idea that he’d win this duel. I did not feel confident in my fencing abilities.

One long flight of stairs (since Romeo’s room was on the second floor), a failed conversation starter by Benvolio, and more awkwardness than a business meeting with a blow darting llama, and we arrived at the courtyard. It was large and square, cobbled with stones, and I was trying to figure out a strategy to disarm Romeo. Neither of us were talkative.

“Here,” announced Romeo, leading the way down the stairs and to the huge area, which was packed with nothingness.

He picked up a medium-length pole that seemed to be of bamboo, or some material similar to it. “Here,” he said, handing it to me.

Taking it, I decided to give it an examination. It was of a fine wood, that much I could tell. It wasn’t very heavy, it was rather light, actually. It had no cracks in it, which led me to believe it was solid all the way through. From examining it, and knocking on it with my knuckles, I was around ninety percent certain that it was, in fact, solid wood.

“Ready?” asked Romeo, starting off in a position any fencer would be proud of. I think. I’m not a fencer, remember? I’m a secret agent who’s saved your life more times than you could count. Probably. I don’t keep tabs on my numbers.

“Sure,” said I. My eyes flicking about the courtyard, trying to figure out how to beat Romeo. My eye caught something- rather, some''one''—a girl, similar looking to Romeo, with ambery eyes like his and dark brown hair that flowed down her shoulders.

This all happened in a second, and after a heartbeat, my eyes were back on Romeo. We were circling each other, around and around until finally Romeo striked (Stroked? Stroke?), feigning a jab to the left, but actually jabbing at the right, catching my cape. If it had been a real sword, it would’ve been sliced in two.

“Watch your side,” said Benvolio, who was supervising, making sure nobody died or passed out from head trauma.

In a heartbeat, I don’t even know how, I was on the ground, Romeo’s staff at my neck.

“He said to watch your side,” said Romeo, stretching out a hand to help me up.

“You pointed at my neck,” I stated flatly. Benvolio shrugged a little bit and went back to spectating the “epic battle”, giving no comment at my accusation. 

Romeo rolled his eyes at his friend, then focused his attention back on me. “Okay, round two.”

After helping me up, Romeo walked back to where he first started getting into his stance again. I tried to copy him but found the stance somewhat troublesome and I decided to scrap the idea and come up with something on my own. I heard a giggle, and turned to see Romeo’s sister—Abigail, I think—brushing a lock of her dark hair away from her face.

“Hey, Hamlet,” said Romeo, tapping me on my shoulder with his staff as if getting ready to knight me. “You ready?”

“Of course,” I said, trying to block out the image of the girl watching me like a hawk, ready for me to fail. It was fine, and I’d do fine. I was determined.

Romeo gave a little smirk, and without a second guess, darted in to jab at me. I jumped out of the way in the nick of time.

“Good, you’re learning,” observed Benvolio, circling us, trying to get the best view.

“Yes, I’m learning,” I said, taking a stab at Romeo, who leapt back with almost cat-like agility.

“You’re getting good,” said Benvolio nodding as if he’d taught me all I knew. Honestly, I was winging it at this point.

“But not good enough,” said Romeo leaping in to land a blow.

“Mhm,” said I, parrying, jabbing the staff back at him. “Right back at you,” said I.

Romeo gave me a weird look and tried to strike again. I barely stopped it this time, shoving the stick back at him with my own.

“Romeo…” Benvolio trailed off looking a little unsure.

“Yes, cousin? What’re you trying to—”

In a split second he stopped talking. His attention had been dragged to Benvolio for a couple of seconds, providing me plenty of time to get in a hit. Or, rather, put the point of my stick at Romeo’s neck.

“Gotcha,” said I, a slight smile on my face.

“That you did, friend. But you forget the first law of real-life dueling: there are no rounds,” said Romeo, and in a split second, his staff was at my neck, completely turning the tables.

“Yes, you got me. Good game,” said I, walking forward and giving Romeo a fist-bump (a sure sign of good sportsmanship). Then I remembered I was in the Middle Ages and promptly regretted my life choices.

After a few minutes of Romeo and Benvolio talking, I caught Abigail’s eye. She quirked an eyebrow at me in a way that clearly said ''Wow you’re not very good at dueling, are you?''

I tried to give her a look that said something along the lines of ''And you’re better?'' although it probably translated into something more similar to ''Are you a chicken?'' because she gave a little laugh at that. Girls are weird like that.

I felt Romeo nudge my arm. “My sister,” he said, pointing to Abigail.

“I know,” said I. “You two look alike.” At this point I was done with human interaction and wanted to lay down in a dark corner and hide, but Romeo was an extravert.

A moment later, Romeo’s face fell. “She reminds me so much of my ex,” said he. Remember, this is translated Shakespearean English, not the actual thing.

“Really?” asked Benvolio, having heard this comment. Romeo had a look on his face that read ''Oh no not another lecture.'' “Then we had best be going,” said his older cousin with a matter-of-fact nod.

“Going where?” I asked, not completely sure what he was talking about. It had been a while since I’d read the play- and for good reason, I’d been seven when I last heart it.

“Going to the Capulet’s party, of course,” said Benvolio with a shrug as if it were obvious (he wasn’t being very obvious, by the way).

“Why?” More confusion.

“Because what better way to find a new betrothed than going to your father’s arch enemy’s party?”

Benvolio was being sarcastic when he said this. I think.