Sword Crossed Lovers

The Party

Lord Capulet bumbles down the main stairs, arms open.  His butler had announced that a few guests had arrived, but obeyed his orders to keep them waiting.  There wasn't any point in greeting one guest at a time.  There had to be more than one waiting for the Lord of the House to make a big welcome.

"Welcome, gentlemen!" Lord Capulet beams, reaching his first guest warmly.  He shakes the hand of the man and his eyes twinkle with delight.  He looks on the women hanging more in the back.  "Ladies that have their toes-" he nods his head.  As he turns back to the house, he notices his wife looking at him from the distance.  "Ah, my mistresses!" he chuckles uncomfortably, catching his wife's cold stare.  She rolls her eyes and turns around the hallway, off to see to other matters and await for more guests to arrive to be noticed at his side.  Lord Capulet pays her common cold behavior with no mind.  He turns to another one of his guests and gushes, "Which of you all unplagued with corns will walk a bout with you." He turns to a woman and offers his hand. "Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, she, I'll swear, hath corns. Am I come near ye now?" He spins around and ignores the lady, seeing a friend enter beside him. "Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day that I have worn a visor and could tell a whispering tale in a fair lady's ear such as would please. 'Tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone. You are welcome, gentlemen," he laughs loudly, perhaps too boastfully and gestures his arm down the grand hall.  The guests follow, trickling in behind him as his servants usher them inside.  More carriages had arrived outside now, and the Lord of the House finds himself far too busy to greet the droves of groups as they arrive.  He will have to find each and every one of them inside the party.

Music begins to swell as the Lord of the House commands the musicians to begin their tune and the dancing commences on the floor.  As he enters, the conductor looks to him for commands.  The host nods at them and they begin to play.
"Ah, Lord Capulet," beams an Italian lord, catching the host's attention.  The Capulet Lord turns and smiles automatically, showing off his people skills.  From his quick anyalasis of his party guest, this man is of noble birth and quite wealthy.  He dones a particularly beautiful mask, most likely made by hand in Venice.  The Capulet does his best not to look enviously and challenging upon his party goer.  "Good sir, how fares thy wife, thy lad?"
"Well, all's well.  I have yet to greet thy daughter but I was sure thy brother's boy, Tybalt, would already have graced us with his presence," smiles the guest, casting his eye around once more for the Capulet warrior.  Lord Capulet's eyes narrow and he huffs, "I'll be sure to fetch the rascal for thee.    Hold thy company and I'll to his chambers and wring him hence," he grins.  The guest nods and smiles, patting the Capulet's shoulder in thanks.  For some reason, the Lord of the House cannot shake that this guest is more powerful than almost all the others, and yet he cannot remember the name that had to have been on the invitation lists.  Lord Capulet should know everyone in the room by name... surely.

Lord Capulet slams his fists into the door of his nephew's chambers. "Tybalt!!! Tybalt! Open this door!" he roars, pounding harder on it. He hears Tybalt's boots hit the stone floor as he gets closer. The locks turns and the door opens to reveal a half-dressed Capulet prince looking shyly back at his Uncle. "Yes?" he croaks.

"You are late for the ball! Get yourself dressed and get downstairs!" he snarls menacingly, throwing the doorway open. He storms into the room and tosses a mask in Tybalt's direction. The familiar cat-like pattern adorns the face of the Prince of Cats as he straps it on. "A gift from your aunt, boy."
"Many thanks to Lady Capulet," says Tybalt, giving a light bow in his Uncle's direction.
"Hurry up, enough groveling," Lord Capulet growls, leaving just as abruptly as he entered.

A few moments later, Peter enters his master's chambers to deliver him his final costume pieces and white custom dagger which he clasps automatically at his right hip. "Excited, sir?" he smiles, knowing of Juliet's excitement.
"Perhaps, Peter. I am accompanying such a sweet maiden tonight."
"Fair Rose?" he asks, giving Tybalt a wink. Instead of smiling back, he shakes his head. "No. The beautiful Rose has withered away for I have not laid eyes on her since our night of pleasure. Tonight I shall protect one close to me, my little princess and cousin, the most beautiful Juliet," he coos, whispering her name with the delicacy of Queen Mab's legacy.

The Capulet Warrior enters the event, the music blaring in his delicate ears.  He shakes his head briefly to get his head right again, the numbing tingling and blaring of the sound no longer a huge distraction.  His eyes scan the room, the party guests passive and truly enjoying themselves.  A Capulet party really did have a reputation for being fun, wild, and often not for children.  The classic debauchery of the Capulet House also may carry over to how they reward and praise their honoured allies and guests.

The masquers and entertainers surely hold their own as they entice and dance before the guests, dragging some of them onto the floor with them.  As time begins to pass, almost all the guests in the dancing hall are partaking.  They mingle, ebb, and flow with one another.  Dancing partners switch every so often, and Tybalt cannot help but feel lonely.  His eyes sway onto another room as his feet cary him to perhaps a place he doesn't feel so alone in a crowd.

The next room is mainly for drinking.  The smell of the liquor hits the Capulet in the nose instantly.  The guests do not appear to be too under the influence, and the music is softer here.  The blaring noise from the dancing only reaches half the room, but the pointless and bland chatter and small talk from the guests here buzz around in Tybalt's head like wasps.  He growls slightly and curls his hands into fists.

Confidently, he makes his way over to the bar and signals the servant.  His usual isn't the best thing to drink when stressed, but Tybalt convinces himself he needs this.  He takes the class in his strong hands and shoots the 151 rum down the hatch.  The burn is strong, profound, and the heat fills his chest.  He takes a slow breath in, holding back the urge to cough.  His lungs hurt as his ribs feel as though they are being etched with a hot poker.  He grins, absorbing the pain as his empty stomach tingles with the alchohol.

After shooting down a few more drinks, Tybalt returns to his familiar perch whenever his uncle decides to throw a party and get half of Verona smashed on a Thursday.  He feels distressed, uneasy, and out of place.  Tybalt Capulet grips the railing with a little more strength than he was doing earlier.  His knuckles go white from the pressure.  Decked out in his costume, he feels self conscious and claustrophobic. Awaiting the arrival of his lady, his eyes scan the room nervously.

"All's well, Tybalt?" comes a fair voice to his left. He turns in hopes that it may be Juliet but instead is met with the stern eyes of his aunt.
"Lady Capulet, tis. And with thee? Fares thee well, gentle lady?"
"Ah, nephew, you please me with your saucy words. I am well, enjoying the revels, and eyeing the prospects. Did you escort a maiden here?" she asks, her eyes scanning his body from his legs to his eyes.
"Indeed, madam. She has not yet arrived," he replies, his eyes brimming with passionate hope at the mention of her. Lady Capulet smiles. "Good. Bid her a gracious time on my behalf. I shall see you later, nephew. Enjoy thyself but retain a cautious hand," she says, ending her sentence with a gentle kiss upon his cheek. He nods and as she departs, he gazes back over the party scene in hopes for meeting the eyes of his Juliet.