fic: her whip, of cricket's bone
her whip, of cricket's bone.
shakespeare (romeo and juliet). girl!mercutio. girl!mercutio/romeo. r. "you're not persistent enough," she whispers, her legs twisting around him, queen mab herself. 887 words.
notes: this is kind of shitty. what even. i don't know what this is.
1.
There is a city and it is divided up between lovers--two families, centuries in advance, decided to fight so that eventually their children could fuck and die and their bodies could be written on.
Verona gives itself over to that purpose well, the architecture has the right tone, you might decide--it's even been charitable enough to lend its name to a small, working class city in northern New Jersey, in case anyone wants to restage centuries later. So kind! Such foresight! Verona is accommodating in that way, a well-built graffitied building, a setting first and foremost, a hollow shell of a play--of course, that is not the real Verona, where people must fall in love slowly and out of it quickly and the reverse, where they die young in mundane ways and die old in tragic ones, where they have children and weddings and go to work and sleep and eat.
Verona is a real city, but it has been kind enough to lend itself to us for the week, provided we pack up our things at the end.
2.
Nobody is quite sure where she came from, with no real, credible link to the city’s families--educated enough, clever enough, with no connections and less money, one of those minor people from minor families who end up in the center of things through being someone other people happen to enjoy watching. I slipped through from another world, I lived with the fairies sometimes she says, when she is drunk, her small, tight mouth splitting open into a smile. They'd comment, surely, on this woman who thinks she is a man, perhaps they do, offstage, but this is a play and this part was written for a man and so the girl, small and thin and deceptively unobtrusive, slips into her men's clothes without comment--a rumpled dress with a loose bodice (loose hair, dark) for the masque, trousers the next day. The girl is more of a man than the men (Romeo without his roe), drunk and laughing and swearing she will not love.
The girl is a living anomaly. No surprise they have to kill her halfway through the play.
3.
The first meeting is two years before our two hours traffic. It is at a tavern and she is making a night of it, tipping back drinks, with a man next to her, her laughing filling up the room.
He notices her before she does him--light eyes, a certain stiff solemnity to him, a mournful quality. Our lady is almost enchanted with him, the lips that were born to say "aye! me", the almost girlish (but no, too serious) prettiness.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
Thy tears are womanish
Romeo was not made to be a man, really, which is convenient, since Mercutio was made to be nothing else, even with the low long hang of her neck, even with those bright darting funeral eyes.
In that way, they work.
She goes over and buys him another drink, asks him why he's moping. There is a trace of a smile, almost mocking himself and says he is in love.
"Oh, nothing too bad, then," says Mercutio.
This is one of many times Romeo will be in love. They are all much the same.
4.
She makes him wear her dress once, when she stayed at the Montague home--he comes in and sees her dressing for a party and laughs at her and she (the infamous turn of her mouth) makes him pay for it, her eyebrows tipping at him and then she refuses to speak to him until he apologizes and she makes him wear the dress. Despite his turns of phrase, the sighing lover, he looks silly in the dress--far too thick, far too serious.
"You should smile, Romeo," she says, "women are meant to smile."
"You don't. You laugh."
"Yes, well." She turns him around so that he can see himself in the mirror, barely fitting into the thing. "Such a pretty girl. I expect the gentlemen will love you."
"Stop," he groans, "you can't tell anyone."
"If I were a gentleman, I certainly would," she says into his ear, her hand reaching down to grasp his cock, "I'd fuck you like a man. And you'd lie back and sing like a virgin girl."
"Like hell." He attempts to laugh. It does not come out well. She can see his cock, pressing against the lines of the gown.
"You should have been the girl, Ro. It would have suited you."
5.
They only fuck once, drunken and she is on top, of course. It is during the Rosaline days--
"She has sworn she will never wed," Romeo groans, his head downward.
"I'll never wed."
"You're different."
"You're not persistent enough," she whispers, her legs twisting around him, Queen Mab herself and when he pushes into her, she thinks she sees a kind of shift to his face, a newness and she laughs.
6.
She does not expect to die. She does not want to die for him--not even his life but his pride.
"You will find me a grave man," she says, slipping and she sees him shaking her and his shouts--
shakespeare (romeo and juliet). girl!mercutio. girl!mercutio/romeo. r. "you're not persistent enough," she whispers, her legs twisting around him, queen mab herself. 887 words.
notes: this is kind of shitty. what even. i don't know what this is.
1.
There is a city and it is divided up between lovers--two families, centuries in advance, decided to fight so that eventually their children could fuck and die and their bodies could be written on.
Verona gives itself over to that purpose well, the architecture has the right tone, you might decide--it's even been charitable enough to lend its name to a small, working class city in northern New Jersey, in case anyone wants to restage centuries later. So kind! Such foresight! Verona is accommodating in that way, a well-built graffitied building, a setting first and foremost, a hollow shell of a play--of course, that is not the real Verona, where people must fall in love slowly and out of it quickly and the reverse, where they die young in mundane ways and die old in tragic ones, where they have children and weddings and go to work and sleep and eat.
Verona is a real city, but it has been kind enough to lend itself to us for the week, provided we pack up our things at the end.
2.
Nobody is quite sure where she came from, with no real, credible link to the city’s families--educated enough, clever enough, with no connections and less money, one of those minor people from minor families who end up in the center of things through being someone other people happen to enjoy watching. I slipped through from another world, I lived with the fairies sometimes she says, when she is drunk, her small, tight mouth splitting open into a smile. They'd comment, surely, on this woman who thinks she is a man, perhaps they do, offstage, but this is a play and this part was written for a man and so the girl, small and thin and deceptively unobtrusive, slips into her men's clothes without comment--a rumpled dress with a loose bodice (loose hair, dark) for the masque, trousers the next day. The girl is more of a man than the men (Romeo without his roe), drunk and laughing and swearing she will not love.
The girl is a living anomaly. No surprise they have to kill her halfway through the play.
3.
The first meeting is two years before our two hours traffic. It is at a tavern and she is making a night of it, tipping back drinks, with a man next to her, her laughing filling up the room.
He notices her before she does him--light eyes, a certain stiff solemnity to him, a mournful quality. Our lady is almost enchanted with him, the lips that were born to say "aye! me", the almost girlish (but no, too serious) prettiness.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
Thy tears are womanish
Romeo was not made to be a man, really, which is convenient, since Mercutio was made to be nothing else, even with the low long hang of her neck, even with those bright darting funeral eyes.
In that way, they work.
She goes over and buys him another drink, asks him why he's moping. There is a trace of a smile, almost mocking himself and says he is in love.
"Oh, nothing too bad, then," says Mercutio.
This is one of many times Romeo will be in love. They are all much the same.
4.
She makes him wear her dress once, when she stayed at the Montague home--he comes in and sees her dressing for a party and laughs at her and she (the infamous turn of her mouth) makes him pay for it, her eyebrows tipping at him and then she refuses to speak to him until he apologizes and she makes him wear the dress. Despite his turns of phrase, the sighing lover, he looks silly in the dress--far too thick, far too serious.
"You should smile, Romeo," she says, "women are meant to smile."
"You don't. You laugh."
"Yes, well." She turns him around so that he can see himself in the mirror, barely fitting into the thing. "Such a pretty girl. I expect the gentlemen will love you."
"Stop," he groans, "you can't tell anyone."
"If I were a gentleman, I certainly would," she says into his ear, her hand reaching down to grasp his cock, "I'd fuck you like a man. And you'd lie back and sing like a virgin girl."
"Like hell." He attempts to laugh. It does not come out well. She can see his cock, pressing against the lines of the gown.
"You should have been the girl, Ro. It would have suited you."
5.
They only fuck once, drunken and she is on top, of course. It is during the Rosaline days--
"She has sworn she will never wed," Romeo groans, his head downward.
"I'll never wed."
"You're different."
"You're not persistent enough," she whispers, her legs twisting around him, Queen Mab herself and when he pushes into her, she thinks she sees a kind of shift to his face, a newness and she laughs.
6.
She does not expect to die. She does not want to die for him--not even his life but his pride.
"You will find me a grave man," she says, slipping and she sees him shaking her and his shouts--