Sword Crossed Lovers

Thy love shalt die!

In furious rage, Tybalt collects his things and packs them into a small bag which he slings over his shoulder.  He decorates his shoulders with the armor and protects his calves with the red leather grieves.  He slips them over his boots and applies matching ones to his forearms.

"Going somewhere, boy?" snaps a low voice.  Tybalt looks up and catches his Uncle's cold stare.
"Nowhere, sir," he replies neutrally.  Lord Capulet nods and smiles slightly.

In his older age, his eyes are drawn close in a disappointed expression and the wrinkles above his brow are permanently forcing an expression of contempt.  "I always know when thou art lying to me, child.  I will ask thee only once more, where art thou going in this late hour?" he snaps, impatience overpowering his tone.  Tybalt considers lying again but as the Lord of the House leans on his infamous cane in the light of the doorway, Tybalt gulps.  "To seek justice, sir."

"Has an injustice occurred?" asks the kingpin.  Tybalt nods and keeps his eyes low, his uncle continuing in the same drawl, "Then it must be reported to the Prince.  Thou canst recall his decree?  There shalt not be another civil mutiny on pain of death.  I would hate to see my brother's boy silenced for doing the right thing."
"I know, sir.  I merely uphold our House."
"That thou dost, boy, that thou dost."

Lord Capulet moves aside and allows Tybalt to pass through the doorway leading to the stables.  "But, if I find any word of thy actions tomorrow and it appears to be out of any personal agenda or motive, thou wilt wish thou were dead," threatens Lord Capulet, tipping his head towards the warrior.  Tybalt gulps and eyes the cane in his uncle's hand.

The way he grips it reminds him how he would grip the sides of the bed as his uncle would beat him, scarring his back and bruising his insides.  Images of the bedroom walls and ceiling flash before the Capulet Prince's eyes and he feels his body begin to sweat more.  He shoves the images from his mind and nods.  "On the name of Capulet, I swear I shalt do us honorably."
"Good lad, good lad," hums Lord Capulet, raising his right hand in blessing towards his warrior.  Tybalt bows his head and escapes his presence and flees into the night.

Sneaking and hunting in the darkness, much like the cat he is, Tybalt Capulet eyes his prey.  The cold steel radiating by his side reminds him of the poise and tenacity which has got him here.  In the darkness, none could even sense the Capulet's presence.  The Montague crest was vibrating with the rhythm of the party going on inside the main ballroom of the Estate.

Tybalt slashes a piece off of the crest on the gate and easily picks the lock to enter.  He closes the doors behind him and moves towards the higher grass beside the doors and gravel path made by horses and carriages.  Servants flutter around him on the paths but he keeps to himself.  Thankful to have shed his red clothing, he seems almost neutral of the two powerful Houses which plague Verona.  Yet by his face, all know of Tybalt, Prince of Cats.

With showmanship, the warrior twirls his blade and rescuers the armor on his body.  Not a full suit, he is thankful for the light weight and the ease to maneuver in.  The protective latch around the blade and his fingers nervously tap it.  Eager to draw, he sneaks closer and closer.

Finally reaching the steps of the Montague Estate, Tybalt gently unlocks the door with his blade.  People surround him in the room and he slips into the background.  The ambiance overwhelms him and sucks him in, cloaking him with invisibility.  Tybalt smirks.  Realizing that none have recognizing him, he allows the tensity of his mission to seep away into the party.

After a few moments, the Capulet warrior pinpoints his target.  The servant stands tall over the crowd, his chiseled body pressed against the wall as party-goers move about him.  A Montague lord orders him for something and Tybalt shadows him as he presses his way farther away from the party.  Slowly the Capulet Prince stalks his prey, watching for each movement and sign of weakness.  Finally pleased with his moment, he lures the servant close.  He turns his back and waves the man closer.

Cornering him alone by an outer part of the party by a balcony, Tybalt keeps his face turned away from the Montague servant.
"Sir?" asks the servant, moving closer to Tybalt.
"Balthazar, am I correct," snaps Tybalt smiling.  He hears the servant freeze at the sound of his distinct voice.
"Tyb-"
"Silence, nave!" hisses the Prince of Cat, leaping onto the servant and shoving his hand over the Montague's mouth.

Shocked and trying not to scream, Balthazar gasps between Tybalt's fingers.  Tybalt nods and smiles at him, knocking him to the ground.  "If thou utters a word, thy guts will be on the floor before the sound escapes thy lips, servant," yowls the Capulet warrior.

Balthazar nods and his eyes relax.  Tybalt slowly removes his hand from the man's lips and leans back on his crotch.  Balthazar bites his lower lip and Tybalt ignores the awkwardness of the situation.  He draws his blade and lets it rest beside the Montague's neck.  The muscles bulge and his breath heaves.  Tybalt shakes his head and withholds a chuckle in his chest.  "O Balthazar, little devil, why dost thou work for these vagabonds?  O tell me why..." sighs Tybalt, slightly pricking the man's neck with the blade.  Balthazar winces and gulps, "My family has remained loyal to the Montague House for thousands of years.  It would be a plague to turn against them now."
"But tsk tsk tsk, Balthazar.  Thou wert such a promising soldier.  Thou had the world waiting for thee.  But now, now thou art sum.  Thou art nothing but dirt under my boots," snarls the Capulet warrior, carving his knife into the Montague servant's neck.

Tybalt carves a knife emblem onto the servant's neck.  Representing the Capulet family crest, he smiles at his handwork.  O how the Montagues would notice this and be infuriated.  Tybalt's smile creeps across his face as he looks at his handiwork, Balthazar quivering under him.
"Sir..." begins Balthazar, his fingers touching the wound on his neck tentatively.  Tybalt knocks his hand aside.  "Don't touch it, Balthazar!  Thou shalt smear the blood, fool."
"Forgive me," murmurs the Montague servant awkwardly, wincing as the wound stings in the damp air.
"Now, get up and return to that party," orders Tybalt, rising from Balthazar's body.

Balthazar rises slowly, keeping his bent low in respect and fear of the short Capulet warrior.  Tybalt smirks, a strange feeling of satisfaction as he sees his family crest pressed into the man's neck.  Just before Balthazar leaves, Tybalt grabs his shoulder and plunges their bodies together.  Balthazar's eyes go wide as the pain hits him in the chest.  His heart begins to beat rapidly, pushing the blood out of his new wound.  He wrenches his body back but the Capulet Prince clamps down harder on his shoulder and twists his hand on his blade, causing the servant's insides to twist.  He utters a cry like a pained animal and Tybalt strikes him across the face with his free arm's elbow.

The Montague servant falls to his knees, gripping the blade coming out of his abdomen.  "Tybalt..." he gasps, reaching for the Capulet.  Tybalt nocks his arm aside with his knee.  He turns behind the Montague and grips his dirty blonde locks in his right arm.  He wrenches the man's head back and bends down so he can speak right against his cheek.  "Thou foolish wretch, Balthazar...  thou shouldst have learned never to strike a blow against my family's honor.  What did thou thinkst was going to happen when thou left us?  Did you think that thy new House would protect thee?  Thou fool.  They would rather thou diest!"

With that, he shoves Balthazar back onto the ground and turns him over.  With a sharp backwards thrust, Tybalt Capulet removes the blade from the servant's stomach.  Immediately Balthazar's guts begin to pour out of the wound.  He grips the exit wound and fondles his intestines, his eyes going wide with panic.  Tybalt laughs and leaps over the side of the balcony.  He softens his landing by rolling onto his shoulder and spreading the impact out onto the soft grass.

As he runs towards the Estate gate where he left his horse, he can hear Balthazar's murmurs as he dies alone on the Montague balcony.
"Thou art the first Montague to have their blood spilt by me, Prince of Cats," hisses Tybalt as he mounts his steed.  "Just you wait, Romeo.  I'll get to you!  Just you wait!"