#3 in Othello
#26/ 145 in Shakespeare
#33/ 172 inJuliet
#50/ 236 in Romeo and Juliet
#50/ 378 in Multiverse
#265/ 1.5K in History
The houses of Montague and Capulet have always been at war until the star crossed lovers Romeo and his Juliet were foun...
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Stepping quietly into the shower, Tybalt Capulet looks down at his blood-soaked body. He brushes most of the caked blood off of his bare chest and slips his hand into the waistband of his breeches. He swipes his hand by his crotch and wipes away the remnants of the dried blood.
The water soothes him, pouring over his body. He makes a mental note to thank Peter for getting the water temperature just right, not to hot but not to cold. Tybalt's eyes follow the trail of the red water as the dried blood leaves his flesh. He raises his hand and allows more of the water to hit his arms, purifying him of the Montague stains.
Breathing softly in the steam, the Capulet prince closes his eyes and rests his hands against the tile on the bath walls. Its cold to the touch but the water hits his back and keeps him content. "O fairest cousin, in thy name I fight and in thy name alone," he breathes softly. At the mention of her, he can't help but slightly smile.
Suddenly his right arm twitches and his back convulses, jamming him into the tile wall. He grunts painfully, readjusting his hips against the wall and sighs. He runs his fingers over a small spot on his back, the only physical remnants of a blade wound, the scar protruding from his skin slightly. The other damage was only done to his mind, though the physical scar healed well. Occasionally the scars on his mind send twitches to his body and create intense muscle spasms. For this, Tybalt must suffer alone. No other soul knows of his only weakness: the mental and emotional scars have never fully healed.
Being a Capulet was easy, he always knew that. He has always had everything money and a title can buy him. Yet, something has always been missing. He never had an actual family but Juliet, Nurse, Peter, and his guards had always been that for him. His uncle and aunt were nothing like family. Their cold stares and hungry need of him when it directly benefits them keeps him on his toes. The back of his uncle's hand had many a times connected with his own face. The walking staff he occasionally had on his person knew Tybalt's body well, the bruises and scars crowning him like war medals in his uncle's eyes. "Thou art fighting for the Capulet name, child," his uncle would always say before reprimanding him for some sort of failure. "How couldst thee let thy House down?"
Tybalt would always cower at first when the beatings began. As they became more practical and normal to the boy soon after he moved to the Main Branch of the Capulet House's estate, he only took it in silence. He had heard stories of Capulet guards being subject to similar abuse but they were dogs to him, animals to maintain the loyalty of and to set on the oppressors. But he is a Capulet Prince, not an heir, but nonetheless a prince to a great House. How could his uncle treat him like this?
Many time such questions and anger-inducing thoughts plagued Tybalt's mind. Yet, nothing could be done. If his uncle or aunt knew of Tybalt's care for his cousin, all would come undone. He is sure that his uncle would manipulate his heart with her, he is sure of it.
He feels his hands make fists against the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the water pouring over his back, now cooled with time. "Breathe, just breath," he whispers to himself, forcing back another spasm. He knows they only get worse if he thinks about them and falls back on his coping method: fencing.
