Chapter Text
Two households, both alike in dignity
in fair Verona, where we lay our scene
from ancient grudge break to new mutiny
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
from forth the fatal loins of these two foes
a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life
Who's misadventur'd piteous overthrows
do with their death bury their parents strife
Our story begins with a warm summers day. In the city of Verona drizzling heat seeps through the buildings and into the worn stones. There are people in the marketplace bidding their wares and shouting at each other. We get the first glimpse of our main character as she goes through the marketplace alongside her nurse. But it is only a fleeting glimpse. Alas, we see only a sliver of her red and gold-trimmed dress, a tapping claw and a sharp eye. Men turned around, staring at her, eyes filled with wonder. For it is rare that this beauty is away from the watchful eyes of her mother and father.
The beauty's nurse tutted to the men.
‘Fie, you young fools. Go find your trouble elsewhere. Come, dear Juliet. Your mother has called for you.’
The nurse grabbed what seemed like a claw and tugged her unprotesting charge forward. The young men, now put in their place by the old nurse, searched for someone else to look at.
And they found it.
‘Say, do you bite your thumb at us, sir?’
'I do bite my thumb, sir.'
The quarrel soon turned into swords.
'Down with the Capulets!' 'Behead the Montagues!'
Only Benvolio of the Montagues, dared to attempt to keep the peace only to be confronted by Tybalt of the Capulets.
Swords were stabbed, fish were thrown, heads were smashed into bricks and former classmates were thrown into fountains.
Until, that is, the Prince put a stop to it.
'Three civil brawls bred of an airy word by thee, old Capulet. And Montague, have twice desturbed the quiet of our streets. If you ever shall disturb the streets again, you shall pay for it with your life. Now begone with you. On pain of death, all men depart!'
When all bones were bandaged and all wounds were cleaned, Romeo wandered into his courtyard. Unlike fair Juliet, we, dear reader, see him clearly. A tall young man, not yet in his twenties, with brown hair and soft brown eyes that, as of this moment, are filled with sadness.
'Why so sad, dear cousin? What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?' Benvolio enquired, his arm in a mitella.
'Not having that which makes them short.' Romeo replied, holding what seems like a bouquet of slightly faded dandelions. He lay down on the steps and pressed the dandelions to his heart, as if he were already in his coffin. He reached into his pocket and produced a squished apple tart wrapped in parchment. He set it next to him on the steps and resumed his previous position.
Benvolio, knowing his cousins whims, enquired further, and soon found out that the girl Romeo had set his heart on had set her own on taking the veil and joining a nunnery.
Secretly, Benvolio rather felt like the girl would be more at home in the nunnery than as Romeo's wife, but he swore to himself not to tell Romeo this.
'She did not even accept my pies, Benvolio. I baked them myself at crack of dawn. What would she think of me? Tell me, cousin. How to forget to think?' Romeo sighed.
'By giving liberty to your eyes, and examine other beauties.' Benvolio replied, thinking of their handsome house guest.
'You cannot teach me how to forget. Farewell.' Romeo said sadly, and walked away, presumably to breakfast. He nearly slid on a piece of fish and, in a fit of vague kindness, helped an old classmate out of a fountain and gave him the apple pie. He did not comment on either occurence.
Meanwhile, at the house of Capulet, the father of the beauty we saw in the market square earlier was talking to a prince from another country.
'Montague and I are bound in penalty alike, and we should not have any trouble to keep the peace.'
'Both of you are honorable men, and I am sure you will come to some agreement,' the prince agreed, agreeably. 'But now my lord, what say you to my suit?'
Dear reader, you may have guessed it already, but the prince was after the hand of the fair maiden Juliet. He had seen her keen eye and her sharp claws from a distance, and was quite keen himself on marrying such a magnificent creature. Not for any children, mind you, but rather to intimidate any possible relatives that might make a bid for his throne.
'I shall say what I have said before!' Old Capulet cried. 'My child is yet a stranger in the world. Look at her, my lord, she hath not seen the change of fourteen years.'
And Prince Paris looked at Capulet's daughter, who was chasing after a rodent in the courtyard. Her nurse sat on a bench and giggled at the child's antics.
The rat scurried into a hole, and Juliet crouched down on her belly to stick her sharp-toothed snout near the hole in the wall. Juliet's nurse tutted at her.
'Lamb, do not soil your dress so! Come sit with me and have a meat pastry. I snuck some out for you before the ball.'
And lo and behold, the maiden Juliet hooked a front claw around a skirt and tip-tapped over to her nursemaid, her sharp claws tapping on the floor.
Her father looked at her with loving eyes as she snatched up the meat pie and swallowed it in one gulp.
'Let two more summers wither in their pride, ere her mother and I think her ripe to be a bride.'
Prince Paris wondered if he and Juliet's father were talking about the same girl.
'Younger than she, are happy mothers made,' Prince Paris suggested, trying to convey to Capulet that Paris did not expect Juliet to carry any children.
But Capulet, seemingly blind to his daughters rather uncommon behaviour, merely remarked that she was the only happy thing that walked on his earth. Paris was very much invited to the evening ball, Paris was also very much invited to woo Juliet, steal her heart, but not to an arranged marriage. Not just yet.
Prince Paris remarked to himself that it was quite probable that Juliet was the only one of her kind walking the earth and that Juliet might be more inclined to steal and eat Paris's heart. But the idea of sitting on his throne, next to the fair Juliet, and seeing his brother Percival kneel before them, made him quite anxious to try to win Juliet over anyway.
As Paris wondered to himself if Juliet would eat Percival's hand on her own or if it had to be marinaded first, the fair maiden herself had been called by her Lady Mother.
'Nurse, you know my daughter is of a pretty age'
'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour'
'She is not yet fourteen'
'I'll bet my teeth - though I have but four- that she is not yet fourteen! How long is it until Lammastide?' Nurse said, pointing at her teeth.
'A fortnight and odd days.'
'Even or odd, of all days in the year,' Nurse prattled on, 'Come eve on Lammastide shall she be fourteen. Her and my Susan (God rest her soul) were of a same age. Well, Susan is with God now, she was too good for me. But as I said, Eve of Lammastide shall she be fourteen. It was eleven years since the earthquake, and since then she could stand, nay even waddle about, of course she could, she could stand and waddle nigh after being born, such a clever girl.'
'Nurse, please be quiet.' Lady Capulet said. But the Nurse didn't listen.
'Well, plenty more people have said it, but you were the prettiest babe I ever did nurse, before and after your teeth came in! And I might live to see you married one day, if I have my wish!'
'Well, that 'marry' theme is the very thing I wanted to speak to you about, Juliet. How stands your disposition to be married?'
Juliet had wandered off and was now casting shifty eyes at the curtainstring. She growled at it.
'Well, you must think of marriage now. Younger maidens in Verona are already mothers. And so was I, by your age. To be brief, Prince Paris seeks you for his love.'
Nurse almost fainted by the prospect of her little charge married to a man, but not only a man, a prince! 'A man, young lady, and such a man!'
'Verona's summer hasn't seen a more handsome flower.' Lady Capulet mused, thinking of how nice it might have been to marry a prince instead of a quarreling Lord. Then she shook herself.
'What say you, Juliet, can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at the feast. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?'
Juliet looked into her mothers eyes. She knew when she was spoken to and could usually guess the intonation of what reply she must give. She gave a chortling trill, and her mother nodded sagely.
Then, a servant entered, beseeching all to go downstairs at the party. The nurse was missed in the pantry, the lady of the house was missed at the door and Juliet was inquired after on the dance floor.
Outside, Romeo and his friends had made a dance floor out of the streets. Romeo had been napping and dreaming of kisses and long walks in summer and sharing pastries and more kisses, and his best friend and house guest Mercutio was teasing him mercilessly for it.
'You have been visited by Queen Mab!' he cried,
'the fairy's midwife! She drives around in a carriage pulled by atoms, and runs straight into men's nostrils while they sleep! She brushes over maiden's lips, which then dream of kisses! Which then Queen Mab makes sour and blistery, for their lips are tainted with sweetmeats! Sometimes she tickles the noses of parsons with a little pig's tail, and he dreams of another benifice. Aaaaa-meeeennn.'
Here, breathing heavily, Mercutio knelt on the street in mock-prayer. Then, he hoisted a very surprised Benvolio up on his back and gallopped him around the street.
'She rides over soldier's necks, and they dream of enemies and riding and the drums that start battle! She teachers virgins to hold a lover and bear a child! She is-'
Mercutio ran out of breath. He sat down on the street and Benvolio gently clambered down from his back. Romeo ran up to them.
'Peace, Mercutio, peace. You talk of nothing.' Romeo knelt down to him and passed him a cup of wine, which he gladly took.
'You're right, I talk of dreams, which are children of an idle brain. Thin as air and more inconstant as the wind.' Mercutio wheezed, gulping down wine. He almost choked on it, but Benvolio thumped him on the back.
'Speak no more of dreams, Mercutio. Bang, drum, play, lute, and let us feast!'
The song they had been playing struck up again and Romeo's friends donned their masks and danced towards the nearest feast.
But Romeo lingered. There was a chill wind in the summer streets of Verona. It grabbed at his heart for a moment and sent a shiver running up his spine. Romeo suddenly had the feeling that he should turn back and hide under his covers. As if something was brewing, about to begin.
But the music up ahead pulled him from his reverie. He pushed his mask further up his nose, tightened the satin cords, and joined his friends in their summer dance.
The music of the street soon mingled with the music in the Capulet's house as the merry band of gentlemen saw the host of tonight's party welcome everyone.
'Ah, gentlemen, it has been nigh on thirty years ere I wore a mask like yourselves! Welcome, welcome, may you find a fair lady to whisper in her ear! You are all welcome here! And you brought a gift?'
Romeo proffered the dish that had only been slightly rattled by Mercutio in his frantic dancing, and uncovered it to reveal the meat pies he had baked this afternoon. He was promptly praised by the lord of the house.
'Now you are twice welcome, for anyone who brings good food to a good table must be a good person himself! Come in, come in!'
Romeo smiled and bowed politely and then hurried himself to the dance floor to take his cousins advice, give liberty to his eyes and let his mind forget.
Young maidens spun past in the dance. Sparkling blue eyes, dazzling brown eyes, matching yellow and golden and green dresses. The rustle of the fabric was almost detectable over the music, and that was on purpose. The heavier and more adorned the fabric was, the more status you had. Romeo himself knew that, and was wearing a dark purple doublet with silver fringes.
Romeo let his eyes glance over the crowd, secretly hoping the girl he loved would have returned from her nunnery and joined in the dance. But he saw someone else join the dance instead.
A lady he had not seen before, whose beauty rivalled that of the sun.
'She does teach the torches to burn bright!' he gasped to himself.
And true, Juliet was growling slightly at the torches, for their smoke had gotten into her eyes as she danced, relying purely on muscle memory. Left foot forward, raise right claw. Don't eat Prince Paris' face (or his turban) or there will be tut-tut-tut and no more meat pies…
'So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder lady over her fellows shows. Did my heart love til now? Forswear it, sight! For I never saw true beauty until this night.' Romeo said softly from the shadows, hoping the fair maiden's eye would glance on him and a scared part of him hoping it really wouldn't.
Tybalt, cousin to Lord Capulet, had spotted Romeo and was on his way to viscious murder when his uncle stopped him.
'Tis a Montague!' Tybalt complained, but Capulet would hear nothing of it.
'He is spoken of as a well mannered youth (plus he bakes excellent pies), I will have no quarrel with him in my house! Off with you, find some skirts to chase instead!'
'I will not endure him!'
'You will endure him, am I the master here, or you? Feast outside if you must, but I will have no mutiny amongst my guests!'
That stopped Tybalt, and the dancing took up again.
Juliet tried very hard to keep following the steps and not to start following her nose. The tantalising scent of the food table had her almost salivating on her dress, but she knew that if she did that she would never hear the end of it. She didn't like the tut-tut sound her nurse did when she was displeased, so she made sure to avoid that sound at any cost.
Then, a second smell. From the dancefloor. A man twirled around before re-joining the dance. He smelled entirely of meat pies. The scent clung to his hands and rested in his hair. Where he didn't smell of meat pies, he smelled of open air and green fields. Juliet found that she liked meat-pie-man a lot more than the flower-perfume-prince she was currently dancing with.
When the dance is over, she told herself, I can go and find meat-pie-man. Maybe he will even throw the meat-pie for me, just once.
A young man that smelled of oil stood on a stool and began to sing. It was a pleasant enough tune, and Juliet swayed her tail to the rhymes. She didn't understand most of the words, but she felt that it sounded like wind on her feather-like scales. Then, she felt a grasp on her front claw. It was brought up with a hand, to a mouth.
'If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.'
The hand released her claw, and in the man's open palm, was a meat pie.