Sword Crossed Lovers

Conjuring a Love-Mad Fairy

Exhausted from last night's revels, the Montague and Escalus plop down on the street curb.  Their legs feeling like rubber, the two appear conjoined as they lay together.
"Romeo, my cousin Romeo! Romeo!" calls Benvolio, his drunken slur making the words difficult to pronounce as they pass from his lips.  Mercutio laughs and pats his friend.  "On my life, he hath stol'n him home to bed from such a ball as that.  He had no interest for what we went for."
"Oh, call to him good Mercutio. He shall come for you, know I," urges the Montague, patting the side of Mercutio's cheek as he leans his weight upon his shoulder.
"O you tempt me, Benvolio," moans Mercutio, gripping his friend tighter as he nuzzles into his neck.  "Alas, I'll conjure him by his many names: Romeo, madman, passion, lover!  Appear thou! Cry but, 'Ahhh,' and I am satisfied."

Hearing no response, Benvolio begins to rise and Mercutio pulls hard on him by the belt loops, pulling him back on top of him.  "Or call to the goddess of love, bid her son Cupid shoot thee full so that I may relieve thy pains," waits Mercutio, his eyes scanning the dark streets for anyone.  Finding nothing, he sighs, "Alas, he heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not for the likes of me, nor for my form."  Benvolio pulls his friend to his feet and Mercutio extends a hand to him in return.  The Montague grasps it and together they rise, only to return into each other's arms once more.

They exchange a drunken look of stupor and Mercutio continues, his eyes alight with a new idea.  "Perhaps I conjure thee by Rosaline's form: her bright eyes, by her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, which did so quiver against thy name.  But leave not what is there adjacent to such thighs, what lies there like the fruits of Cupid's labor."

Still hearing nothing or seeing nothing stir around them, Mercutio moves apart from Benvolio and throws himself to his knees, tipping his head back, and yells into the night, "Gods mend all, that in thy likeness I command thou appear to thy loves!"
"Such words wilt anger him!" snaps Benvolio, placing a tender hand on the Escalus' shoulder.  Mercutio shoves it off and crawls forwards, his eyes narrowed with disappointment.  "This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger him to raise a spirit in the manly shape for him to lay down against, that wilt anger him.  For, my invocation is fair and honest.  In his mistress' name I conjure only but to raise him in such an excited manner as any good youth would will upon themselves."
"Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, to be consorted with night's pleasures to himself.  Blind is his love and best befits the dark," groans the Montague, tossing his legs sloppily before him as he walks towards his friend.
"If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark, say I Benvolio," speaks Mercutio, popping up off the ground as he sits up abruptly.  Moving his hands before him as though moulding fair Romeo from the air, he breathes, "I can see him now, sitting under a medlar tree, wishing his mistress were that kind of fruit as maids call when they laugh alone.  -O Romeo, that she were!  O, that she were an open arse, and thou a Poperin pear to 'pop it in.'"

Mercutio laughs at his own crude joke and sighs.  "Romeo, alas, good night. I'll to my own chambers. For this field-bed is too cold for me to sleep- Benvolio, come, shall we go?"
"Go, then, for 'tis in vain to seek him here if he means not to be found," he replies with a smile.  He kicks Mercutio down as he tries to rise and Mercutio sets his annoyed drunken gaze on his friend.

The two hold a tense stare for a few moments before laughing with smiles all around.
"Aye, tis true," whispers Mercutio, a twang of his heartstring setting his mind to clarity from the multiple haze of drinks he had consumed at the ball.

Together in arms the two close friends sway as one through the cobblestone streets leading the way to the main part of town.  Enough drink in their bellies, they head to the tavern to stir up a tale of their provocative night at the Capulet Ball to anyone who might lend and ear.