The night hums with a quiet threat, embodying the spirit of the woman who stands before Damiano. From where he sits before her, Damiano can see the space where a finger ought to fill. In its absence lies the force of Damiano’s power. His underboss is evidence of how effective fear can be; it overpowers even the betrayal of one’s own body. She obeys his command, and Damiano trusts her for it. That trust is precisely what GERTRUDE depends on now, to do for the Montagues what their own boss will not: protect them. She is the mother dragon. She is the Queen who sees past the illusions of power and might. Her gaze is fixed on what must be done to outlast Verona’s tempest.
She lays out the pictures of those who will guide the helm of this new endeavor. Damiano presses a hand to his temple, covers his face with his hands. Initiates come and they go. They are, in a word, dispensable. Verona is littered with the powerless and the downtrodden, who will gladly trade their souls for a weapon and a meal.
Still, Damiano has to admit that GERTRUDE is right: a chain is only as strong as its weakest link — and among the Montagues, weakness will not be tolerated. He will crush it to dust under his own fist, if he must. He gives a single and solemn nod, dismissing his underboss to make the arrangements.
When her back is turned, GERTRUDE smiles with shadowed cunning. She looks up to the moon as she slips into the lightless streets of Verona, and silently thanks L’Inferno who unknowingly moved Damiano to submission.
The Montagues have begun a formal training process for initiates. Upon enlistment, select captains will meet with recruits and teach them the basics: self defense, fundamental knowledge of weapons and disarming opponents. Initiates are required to partake, while all official Montagues have the opportunity to enlist in training at their leisure.
MERCUTIO, MALCOLM, PORTIA, GONERIL and AJAX will oversee the training program.
TRIGGERS: Murder, death, drug mention, alcohol mention, dissociation
JUNE 3RD
THE TWELFTH NIGHT
The air shivered between waxy sculptures, slinking its way around the museum like a slithering snake; it fidgeted around as if it knew it was being watched, whispering around the artwork. As it wound its way around the rooms, it eventually slipped itself into a room, where JULIET and VOLUMNIA sat quietly. These past weeks, the Capulets had been dealt smite after smite, and while they had met every assault with a splintery one of their own, the ground continued to tremble beneath them. A punch to the chest, a winding hit to the stomach, a blow to the jaw. They rose, but keeled over, Capulet bodies stung with defeat.
None of them had jumped ship, not yet. But something was in the air...
Cosimo Capulet had been a family man, once. Perhaps he still was. With an assuring grasp of each initiate’s shoulder, a look of brotherhood bobbing in his eyes, he might have turned to put the ink of his pen to some fresh deed or benefaction, sanctifying a new hospital wing with a hefty pouch of gold. Endowing it with his name. Then, he would say: “The strength of a family lies in its loyalty towards its members, sorella. Each and every member. Is it not the same in war?”
That had been an omen.
His honeyed words had drawn people in, seized them in his web. He had given them a home away from home, burying hearts with knives, assuming the role of a benevolent beast that swallows his children up and keeps them warm in his belly. It is a task in itself, then, to pinpoint where things started to go wrong.
The stench of doubt permeated the air. The ugly shape of Cosimo’s theatrics was still splayed out in the current like a ghostly outline. It bled with heresy. For some, its echo spread like a sickness, for others it seemed a resounding victory – but then, loss. Enormous, unforgivable loss, yawning fat and wide. The theft of their beloved Cathedral was a difficult pill to swallow, silks of icy blue stripped from its bricks, displaced by a deep red.
At the centre of all this?
Cosimo.
But this was not all, nor was it the reason for the two women’s meeting. Another tempest was turning, rolling into an uninviting billow of dust and glass. More secrets tucked away like a hanging thread at a sleeve. Two Capulets, and two Capulets alone, had been made aware of the lengths to which Cosimo had extended himself to achieve the death of Alvise Vernon. Pelting Verona into a war that tolerated no retreat, it seemed to stretch out for miles, like two bloody hands shifting forward to reach their weapons. The end of it all seemed to be curtained underneath a thick veil of mist.
Two Capulets, and two Capulets alone, had sat on this information, put their heads together over it like two beasts in an antlered rut, mulled their options over on what felt to them like a deathless loop. Two Capulets, who now sat opposite one another across a desk, the grim look of determination washing over their faces, pored over the intelligence once more.
Elegant as her companion, JULIET sat up straight in her chair, the semblance of constancy flowing over her, though she leaned her wrists into the oak. Exhaustion filled in her features where constancy ran thin. She yawned a sigh. Though she had only been a shadow of the Don all these years, her limbs moving with his like a puppet-master with marionette strings, the sensitivity of her task did not elude her.
Quite the opposite: it glared back at her, its eyes black and cold.
VOLUMNIA leaned back in her chair, the same semblance of exhaustion burying itself in her expression. A more clinical eye would easily peer past this, though, able to seize the truth. Behind the Underboss’ eyes lay not exhaustion, but fortitude.
“IMOGEN cannot be expected to sit on this information forever,” JULIET said at last, the journalist’s name turning sour in her mouth. The words sunk from her lips in fatigue, and it gave one the impression that this was not the first time they had slipped from her mouth.
HAMLET had done his best to assure them that he had choked back evidence of his involvement from IMOGEN, and that they, in turn, had vowed to wait in the shadows. While they appreciated this, the tenuousness of the situation sat ill with the two women.
“No. We must act. Soon.”
Hanging in the air between them were words held in their mouth that neither of them wanted to say. That neither of them needed to say.
We must act. You and I, not the Don.
Both knew that Cosimo wouldn’t hesitate to put out a hit on IMOGEN the moment that he learned just how much of the tale they had become privy to. In the same vein, both of them knew that Cosimo Capulet was not a man that much liked the feeling of being backed into a corner. Thus, heads bowed covertly, they buried their intel, tucked the secret away, and while the idea of an assassination had not been entirely ruled out by the two of them, they pushed it aside.
“So, what can we do?”
VOLUMNIA would not go on pasting over their problems with more bloodshed and thuggery. With a cold judder, she would forge a New Age by splicing through the old one, leaving it to be swept up like leaves in the wind. She would not have her pseudo-daughter follow in the ways of their kingpin, treading on the heels of footprints rinsed in blood—not if they hoped to crawl their way out of this sunken hole, and especially not if she hoped to ease JULIET into her birthright. Whether that was ten days from now or a matter of weeks, it didn’t matter.
She would cut out a space for the heiress in the stone.
A woman on a mission, VOLUMNIA forged ahead. There was no room to regret her past decisions now. Not if she wished for JULIET to succeed.
“Call in TYBALT,” she advised.
JULIET picked up her phone.
-
They weren’t left waiting for long. Twenty minutes, thirty, maybe, went silently by, but the time only seemed to distort itself out of shape for JULIET, swelling like an elastic balloon. A creeping sense of unease washed over her when she pondered quite how much there was at stake here; how much hung in the balance. Nevertheless, the thought of her cousin flocking to her side, as by way of nature, brought her some ease. As for VOLUMNIA, the Underboss barely noticed the silence between them, always watchful but busied by turnings of her own.
Something was piecing itself together in the couloirs of her mind.
The cogs only stopped to turn when the women were stirred by a rap at the door. In answer, TYBALT slinked into the room. As he settled into his seat, postured like a mortal blessed with divine favor, so followed PARIS tightly behind him.
The head, the hands, the heart. All poised around a desk made of oak.
“Tigrotto, there is something you should know,” VOLUMNIA began, drawing TYBALT in with a secret hidden under her tongue. “And I need you to listen carefully.”
Gravely, he nodded.
VOLUMNIA nodded to JULIET.
“It’s about Alvise Vernon,” JULIET decided upon, straightening her back. She had decided upon a great many things, really. She had decided to betray what they know, to seize the reins from the palms of her papa. She had decided to act, now, while the city lolls still. “Well, it’s about everything, really. It’s about my papa, too,” she hummed. Almost mechanically, she lifted one leg over the other, crossing them neatly into a set, as if positioning herself for a grand storytelling. “But, Alvise Vernon seems like a good place to start, doesn’t it?”
Because, at the beginning of all things, at the end of all things, throughout all its middling and its intermediaries, there stood the formless silhouette of Alvise Vernon, haunting them without definite shape.
She cleared her throat. “The night Alvise Vernon was murdered, my father found a Montague in one of our bars. He was drinking. Alone. He wasn’t—” the heiress paused; the words locked under her tongue. “He wasn’t in a good way. Even before they drugged him.” She opted for they, rather than we, casting a thick, bold line between them.
She swallowed a knot in her throat.
VOLUMNIA encouraged her to proceed.
“HAMLET killed Alvise Vernon.”
“What?” PARIS interrupted.
“He killed him. On my father’s orders. Well – with papa’s encouragement. He told us so himself.”
“Your father told you this?” PARIS punctuated in disbelief.
“No,” VOLUMNIA intervened. “HAMLET did.”
PARIS sunk into his seat, warring with a thousand thoughts at once. TYBALT, on the other hand, became his inversion. Leaning forward, his face twisted into an unforgiving blend of curiosity and incredulity, keen to have his spirit of enquiry sated.
JULIET continued: “It took him a while to come to, but he did. Papa made him susceptible to his manipulations – or, well, perhaps someone else did. The details are hazy. Papa gave him a file. Doctored, of course. It suggested that Alvise was responsible for the death of HAMLET’s father.”
She paused tactfully, testing for a response from the men.
Neither of them reacted quite in the way she had expected them to. How could they? How do you react to the news that your own Don facilitated this war, kept it tucked under his belt like a buried conquest? The silence between them is only riven by the sound of VOLUMNIA shuffling in her seat, eager for her understudy to draw the bloody narrative to a close.
“Papa drove him to Alvise’s home, gave him a gun. He made him go inside and confront him. When he came out – well, papa gave him a change of clothes. HAMLET doesn’t remember much else.”
“The details are hazy,” VOLUMNIA repeated in a murmur.
Something was at work behind PARIS’ dark eyes. TYBALT, a profane blend of fascination and scepticism, shifted in his seat. He lowered his gaze, the flutter of his heartbeat grazing at his ribcage. Their detachment did not go unnoticed by JULIET, who reached out a hand to each of them, took theirs in hers, smoothing her thumb over their skin.
“But I believe him.”
“You believe him?” TYBALT retorted incredulously, pulling his hand back.
“Yes, I believe him. Why would he implicate himself if it wasn’t true?”
VOLUMNIA leaned forwards in her chair, the movement steady and languid, as if a beast that has been lying in wait. She seized her moment. “Yes, HAMLET knows what he did. And so does IMOGEN.” A pause. “There’s evidence.”
“IMOGEN has evidence?” PARIS leaned forward. “How?”
“HAMLET told them. He handed over the evidence, with a condition. He is the reason why they haven’t gone public with the story yet. Why they haven’t tried to bring us down.” She paused once more, allowing for time for her words to sink in. “Because he asked them not to.”
“What evidence?” TYBALT asked, irritated. “Why would he tell them? What could he possibly have to gain?”
“Time,”JULIET answered, “He wants time.”
“There’s a gun. It has Cosimo’s prints on it. They’re only partial, but,” VOLUMNIA sighed, “it will be enough.” She left no trace of ambiguity to her words. They were stark as the moon raised into the dark sky.
“So, what? We steal it?”
JULIET leaned forward in her chair, folding the creases in her shirt. “Exactly.”
As the word slipped from her mouth, the shape of it curved up into a knowing smile.
Balanced at the side of her chair was a file, which VOLUMNIA pulled up to the desk, spreading the documents amongst the four abettors. “The two of you will retrieve it as a team. No need for our exploit to leave this room – it shouldn’t prove a difficult task. PARIS will play reconnaissance, and you, TYBALT, will steal the evidence.”
TYBALT rolled in his chair, his black hunger oked by the vantage. “Pencil in POMPEY, too, while you’re at it. We’ll need a look-out.”
VOLUMNIA nodded, gesturing her hand in agreement. “Very well. In and out, simple as that. Capisce?”
As they rose from their seats, they nodded. Stalking out of their room, they left behind their shadows and strolled into a great, yawning gorge. One does not make an enemy of the Capulets and live to tell the tale. Should they succeed, they would ensure that IMOGEN would not be making any enemy of them any time soon.
Not yet, anyway.
-
JUNE 4TH
VARIOUS LOCATIONS
While the Capulets colluded and the Montagues drifted off in a ruinous scatter, a message arrived, bringing all of Verona’s moving pieces to a screeching halt. Like a bullet fired in the dead of night, with a sharp, north-pointed path and a bang that echoed with the toll of a clock striking twelve.
At midnight, it reached all Capulet affiliates, without a traceable number or a signature of any kind. Some opened it with furrowed brows and tight mouths, others opened it in an impatient hurry, eyes dulled with disinterest -- all of which faded into swift, sinking shock.
What is dead has come back to haunt Verona, and you Capulets most of all. It’s your comrades, who perished beneath the heel of the enemy’s misplaced vengeance. It’s your territories, which were lost to a war incited by one of your own all along. And finally, it’s evidence of your crime, as it is theirs, and the heinous act it entails of drugging an unwitting Montague and corralling them into murdering Alvise Vernon.
The culprit is a Capulet whose name is written in pure silver. Look to your people for the snake that hides among the grass.
As the Capulets and their allies reeled from the impact of the long-buried truth as it was lurched to the surface, LAMPRIUS leaned back into his shadow-spun throne, and allowed his triumphant smile to shoot a spark through the dark.
-
JUNE 4TH
IMOGEN’S APARTMENT BUILDING
PARIS decided to pay IMOGEN a visit. After all, a predator must size up its prey.
It was an easy enough task to shoulder your way into an apartment building you did not own when you wore the guise of dark capability as well as PARIS did. Starless and louring, a rare civility washed over him in a storm, and it was for this reason alone that he welshed his way into the complex unnoticed. Eluding all suspicion, he cupped a sea of intrigue in his greedy hands.
Once he met the door, he spun on his heel, checked around for cameras; sought out an escape route. He took a moment to forge a map in the recesses of his mind.
Three cameras, he thought to himself. He made a mental note. With their angles slightly adjusted, he generated enough blind spots for their thief to slip in and out undetected.
As seamlessly as the teeth of a switchblade in the gut. Such, after all, was TYBALT’s way.
PARIS concealed a bug at her door - for extra measure.
-
JUNE 7TH
OUTSIDE IMOGEN’S APARTMENT BUILDING
PARIS pulled the car to a halt, turning it into the curb. Beside him sat TYBALT, while POMPEY languished in the backseat, tentatively entrusted with his sponsor’s good faith. A hand seldom extended, but extended, nevertheless.
While POMPEY was to skulk the parameters and act as the group’s third eye, TYBALT was to step into the building, slink up the stairs in much the same fashion as his brother-in-arms had done so the day prior, and retrieve the evidence their target holds against them. The bug at IMOGEN’s door has provided them with a golden window of opportunity: they would be out in the evening, delivering the infiltration team with the opportunity of invisibility.
TYBALT gained access to the building easily. He, too, blended consummately into its carpets, its walls, charm lingering in his mouth like a dagger suspended at the back of his throat.
He greeted IMOGEN’s door as if an old friend, slipping leather gloves over his fingers, and picked the lock with ease. Shouldering his way into the apartment, he was careful not to disturb the natural lay of things as he prowled toward the study.
He pawed through the room for a few minutes before he came across anything of note. Pages torn from a notepad, scrawled in black ink, and a file containing various media clippings. TYBALT snagged and stole entirely unaware of the intelligence he was burrowing into his satchel.
A scalping true to type.
Folded away in a draw, sleeping beneath a hidden partition, lay the gun. With all the precision that his warring body possessed, he slipped the gun into a plastic pouch, a vulgar grin unfurling over his features.
When TYBALT bellied out of the room, he double-checked that the rest of the apartment remained unperturbed before stealing away. It was only then that the subtle prattle was pervaded by something more serious.
“IMOGEN. They’re back early,” PARIS advised, his words cool yet immediate.
“POMPEY. Distract them.” TYBALT interrupted, concealing himself for escape.
POMPEY stepped forward as IMOGEN turned the corner, and with the mien of a boy struck dumb, a prince with his crown shaken from his brow, he stumbled into them, arms quavering rapidly in apology. However brief, the altercation provided TYBALT with the small window of opportunity to flee the premises and unfold into the shadows without detection. He bored his way towards the car, evaporating like a will-o-wisp in the wind.
PARIS did not need to break the speed limit on their way back, but he did so anyway, if only for some small satisfaction. They left the bug at IMOGEN’s door undisturbed – just in case.
-
JUNE 8TH
BENEATH THE CASTELVECCHIO
Two Capulets had taken it upon themselves to bear the divine burden of legacy, and towards an uncertain fate, they now carried it forward, shoulders strained and necks taut as they dragged it at their heels. Yet although they ought to have been crawling, fingers ensnared in Verona’s ancient earth, knees scraped and feet scalded, they walked ahead with firm steps and fixed gazes -- one with a loose crown lying skewed against her brow, and the other with a general’s belt wound around her from shoulder to waist.
They moved forward, towards the future, towards the comet-like fall of longed-for dreams as they came within reach, towards two Montagues, who held it all in undeserving hands while they waited in the distance.
The capture of IMOGEN’s coveted evidence had set off a race against the clock, and as soon as it had fallen into their grasp, VOLUMNIA made swift contact with HAMLET, with a tentative yet unwavering request for a meeting. A sliver of truth peeking through plain, carefully plucked words, a beat of heavy, choking silence on the other end, and then finally, a time was set.
Quiet filled up the space between them in place of greeting when VOLUMNIA and JULIET’s steps finally came to a stop, unspoken words and disguised sentiments sinking between them like the blade of a guillotine as it cut its way through air and flesh. GERTRUDE met their arrival with her usual air of tranquillity, though it seemed to hum dangerously as she looked upon VOLUMNIA, the static current bouncing sharply off of steel as the Capulet met her gaze head-on. In a similar manner, HAMLET and JULIET took each other in; though the bridge of their gazes was barren of any hostility, it lulled and wavered with tension, and the flailing gust of all the things they wished to say to one another yet forcibly held at bay.
“We’ve taken action,” VOLUMNIA began, paving the way for the bargain JULIET aimed to offer. “In response to the scheme you revealed to us, HAMLET.”
JULIET seemed to blink away the urge to glance at the underboss, nodding as she looked between Montague mother and son. “Yes.” She clasped her hands in front of her, voice softening as she continued on. “My father’s actions have soiled too many hearts, too many lives... “ She looked down. HAMLET crossed his arms against his chest. “I won’t let it go on any longer.”
“You’ve taken needless action, principessa,” came GERTRUDE’s simple objection. “We can have justice by our own hands.”
VOLUMNIA pursed her lips, swallowing down her razor-edged rebuttal to test how JULIET would regain control of the conversation.
“Well, we can’t afford to allow that.”
GERTRUDE hiked a brow, patiently awaiting the heiress’s elaboration. JULIET swallowed, then set out to offer it to her.
“You were honest with me,” she said, eyes on HAMLET. “So, I will pay you the same respect.”
This time, she glanced at VOLUMNIA, who encouraged her with nothing more than the simple act of meeting her solemn gaze.
“Things won’t be the same for the Capulets now that my father’s actions have come to light. Not with the decisions we’ll be making as we move forward, not with the threat of its reveal to our affiliates, and certainly not with the risk of your vengeance.” It was no greater than the risk of laying their volatile circumstances so plainly before the enemy’s scrutiny, yet it would soon prove to be a wise move on JULIET’s part. It was precisely what would coax the teardrop’s worth of trust needed for the Montagues to agree to their bargain. “It’s why we asked for this meeting; to offer you a deal that would give you the justice you’ve earned -- while sparing us any further threat, loss or bloodshed.”
HAMLET straightened; his focus now sharper. GERTRUDE sank into contemplative silence for a long moment, then muttered, “Quite a heavy promise you’re making, JULIET, and one that I imagine would be difficult to keep.” With a nod, she continued on to ask, “What is your offer?”
“Don’t confirm Capulet involvement in Alvise Vernon’s murder, and don’t retaliate for it. In return, my father will be deposed in the coming months.” A pause. “I think we would all agree that losing his empire is the worst punishment he could possibly have -- and the greatest vengeance you could possibly earn.”
“What guarantee do we have that you’ll keep your end of the bargain?” HAMLET quietly asked. It was the first time he had spoken since his arrival to the meeting.
JULIET subtly tipped her chin up, growing more confident as she turned towards him.
“Plans are already underway, so the outcome on our end is inevitable. And if my word means anything to you, you have it; I will see to it that my father is stripped of his throne, no matter what.” She glanced at GERTRUDE, looking between her adversaries once again. A slim hint of harshness permeated her following words. “If anything, it’s your end that’s unreliable.”
VOLUMNIA’s eyes glimmered with curbed pride as she looked upon her heiress, though the spark was snuffed out in time for her to turn towards the enemy, curt and impatient as she asked, “So what’ll it be, Montagues?”
HAMLET sloughed out a sigh, a clipped sound drenched in weariness and worry. He turned towards his mother, who silently met his gaze.
Not a word was exchanged between them, yet they seemed to come to an agreement, nonetheless.
A moment later, GERTRUDE offered a decisive nod. “You have your deal.”
-
JUNE 9TH
A CAPULET WAREHOUSE
It was along the echo of those words that JULIET and VOLUMNIA were carried into the gaping maw of the following day and thrown amongst the warbled plans and chewed-up aspirations that it held in store for them.
And it was there that they now lay, accompanied by TYBALT, digging through the half-devoured scraps and biding their time in fervent anticipation of the jaws that were slowly, slowly closing in on them.
If they had been racing against the clock before, their bargain with the Montagues ensured that they were now effectively losing to it. Every second that passed while barren and empty of action pulled them back by countless precious steps -- ones that they aimed to retrieve by ruinous leaps and ruthless bounds.
Their means of achieving that was rather simple: instead of lurching Don Capulet out of his throne, they were going to crumble it underneath him; bone shard by bone shard and stone by stone.
It was for that purpose that they had gathered, huddling together within the pitch-black shadow of one final scheme that they had concocted -- one that was meant to seal everything in place. Violence and confrontation alike had been cast aside as futile, unwanted options, and so they had settled on the only one that remained.
Planting doubt and fostering rebellion.
After all, to strike down a king, there was no need to steal his crown or shatter his throne.
One need only strip him of his worth.
Such was precisely what JULIET and VOLUMNIA aimed to achieve, by means of assigning their unoccupied ranks to a series of doomed missions, built around nothing more than the simple notion of projecting Cosimo Capulet’s growing incompetence and failing judgement -- and cementing it beyond all doubt.
They had already conceptualised the missions and their predetermined outcomes. All that was left was assigning them.
Sat in a Capulet warehouse far beyond the peering walls and prying doorways of the Twelfth Night, JULIET and VOLUMNIA spent hours upon hours poring over what seemed like an endless heap of files and documents; selecting Capulets, revising mission outlines, scrutinising details and technicalities -- until finally, everything was set.
TYBALT, privy to the information out of necessity without ever having come close to engineering it, sat with them uncertainly - perhaps for the first time. It was important that he was on their side; it was important to VOLUMNIA that she knew his sword belonged to JULIET.
In spite of loyalties, or perhaps because of them, he would not stand in their way. A throne was easier to take when nobody sat in it.
But before it could be emptied, it would have to be taken apart.
And it was with that goal in mind that the three heads of the divine Capulet beast began to arrange their pieces across the crumbling board.
There could be no beginning for any dastardly story without the startling presence of their BIANCA, who would go on to be told that she would be escorting KATHERINE on a stakeout mission. Yet upon her arrival at the designated location, BIANCA would find herself tied to REGAN for an assassination, instead. Deliberately, the three planted seeds of doubt, that Don Capulet wasn’t distributing his soldiers properly; and that he, in his rush to combat against the Montagues’ attacks and efforts, was leaving his ranks in an utter scatter. As for REGAN, they would be deliberately given a wrong description of their target, leading them to assassinate someone else entirely, all while believing it was their intended target all along.
In the realm of emissaries, DIANA and TITANIA would be tasked with negotiating with a Capulet affiliate from Amsterdam, chosen specifically for their prior rejection of allyship with the Capulets, in addition to their notorious violent inclinations. This information would be kept from DIANA and TITANIA alike, casting the oblivious emissaries into the awaiting dangers of a doomed bargain. They would certainly be injured as they escaped, and although it was an unpleasant outcome, it was necessary to nourish the image of Don Capulet’s lack of care towards his soldiers’ lives -- an image that had been all but set in stone by the spectacle he had arranged for Viola.
Next, EDGAR and KATHERINE would be sent to a Montague warehouse that was said to harbour information on the mob’s mysterious new product, Reaper’s Kiss. The warehouse was, in fact, a high-security Montague establishment, heavily guarded and brimming with soldiers. Yet the information would be kept out of the mission outline in order to further project Don Capulet’s carelessness and miscalculation. Regardless of what sort of action EDGAR and KATHERINE would end up taking, whether it be engaging the enemy or retreating into reconnaissance, their defeat was certain, due to the prevailing enemy numbers and the level of security surrounding the location -- though reinforcements would be sent to guarantee their safe escape, regardless.
Always in search of new business opportunities, HIPPOLYTA and LADY MACBETH would be sent to procure a local, family-owned business that was said to offer the Capulets a new and lucrative money-making opportunity. The owner of the business had been as yet unforthcoming, but armed with alarming evidence against the family’s eldest son, they were to offer the owner an ultimatum: either the Capulets go public with this scathing information, or they enter a disadvantageous business partnership. Of all the assignments the women laid out, this was the only task destined to succeed, but the success of it would be as futile as the rest of them. The business was utterly useless and the whole exchange a waste of HIPPOLYTA and LADY MACBETH’s time, leading the soldiers to doubt Cosimo’s decision to send them there in the first place. Just as the women had designed it.
Finally, CORDELIA and EDMUND would be sent to Phoenix and the Turtle incognito, in order to survey the new layout of the territory and scan it for weaknesses in preparation for a retrieval mission. Yet once they signalled their arrival to the Capulet HQ, an anonymous message would be sent to the Montague captain overseeing the location, informing them of the presence of Capulets. This would force the duo to reveal themselves and fight the enemy head-on; outnumbered and outgunned as they would be, they were certain to be defeated and forced out of the territory, just as intended.
In the end, the missions weren’t simple, and the risks were heavy.
Yet it all weighed nothing against the goal they were setting out to achieve, especially when it was perhaps the one and only noble thing that they could do for the Capulet famiglia, and for Verona as a whole.
It was worth it.
It had to be.
-
JUNE 10TH
THE CATHEDRAL
Damiano Montague’s silhouette painted itself against the window in broad, fearsome strokes of shadow; a foreboding sight that none were damned enough to witness except for GERTRUDE, who stood before his desk as she patiently awaited his command; both a watchful guardian and a rogue with blade drawn behind her back. He could almost feel her looming betrayal spearing through the crackling air around him, though he did not turn around to meet it. Devoted or not, she remained a woman with honor. Even with his gaze clouded by scorn, he could still see her for who she was. Her reasons for accepting to take part in his son’s rebellious operation were the same reasons why she would look him right in the eye once her blade struck true.
Or perhaps he would come to find it in ROMEO’s grasp instead.
The thought drew a mild furrow along his brows, but he refused to allow it to detract his sight from what lay before him.
The greatest victory to ever tie itself to his name; such was what the Cathedral symbolized. Yet even with his feet planted upon its ancient marble in firm ownership, even with his form eating up what little remained of Cosimo Capulet’s memory as he took up his rightful place beyond the broadest window, Damiano did not feel triumphant. In fact, he felt robbed.
He had harnessed the full power of their troops, led them down a searing path that left half the city aflame with the embers of Montague ambition, and emerged with the Capulet crown bent beneath his foot. Meanwhile, all his son had done was scrape together what was left of their soldiers and scramble to grab hold of the pitiful scraps that he knew lay too low to fall within Damiano’s soaring sight. Yet somehow, he had been the one to gain glory and renown; now revered by their allies and adored by their people. And Damiano was left with his heel poised upon the broken bones of the Capulet empire, only he could not even relish the sound of them as they splintered and fell apart; ears drowned out by the ceaseless, accursed chants of his son’s name.
His son’s name was his own.
But the Montague name was Damanio’s.
And he aimed to cut it across the skies and pummel it into the earth until all of Verona knew that.
For now, he would start with his people.
“Genevieve,” He called, turning his head to glance sideways at her, clasped hands clenching as he watched her stiffen attentively, sharp eyes trained on him as though she aimed to latch onto every word of command -- as though she was truly unaware of the fissure in her facade. He sniffed, then twisted around in one sharp motion to stand behind his desk once again, fingers splayed as the outline of his orders mapped itself out before him. “I have certain missions in mind that I wish to see fulfilled with the utmost urgency. Assign them to our ranks, and report to me with the results.”
Whoever failed was doomed for a punishment not unlike the one the mark of which GERTRUDE now carried, but he didn’t wish to entrust her with that information. It was all too likely that she would act on her whims, especially where her son was involved.
Damiano would allow for no more insubordination, and these missions ensured it. They were set to snuff out every bit of it that continued to fester within his soldiers.
He cleared his throat.
“Pair up ANTONY and BENVOLIO and set them on the trail of a mark who’s been legally interfering with our business. It’s the eldest Rallis son, but you are not allowed to divulge that information to either of them, at any cost. If ANTONY kills him, he cements his loyalty beyond all doubt, and if BENVOLIO does, it proves that he might just be willing to do whatever it takes, after all, and if it’s a shared effort, then all the better -- but failure is not an option. Neither is favouring any outcome except for death.”
“Next, pair up GONERIL and BEATRICE to set up a trap for CORDELIA, one that she has no way of escaping alive. She’s been an unstoppable force, ensuring victory for the Capulets time and time again. I’ve also heard that GONERIL wasn’t all too pleased with our operation at the Cathedral, which gives me the impression that she might be clinging to her past attachments. Setting her after her sister is certain to cut her loose once and for all, and if she fails, BEATRICE is meant to ensure that the target is eliminated, regardless. It would land a heavy blow to the enemy and prove their ultimate loyalty to our cause.”
“PERDITA is proving to be quite a valuable addition to our ranks, but there is more to a soldier than wiles and trickery. I need to know that force is not beyond her; that she can be both weapon and reaper under my command, malleable enough to shape herself into whatever I need her to be. Send her to one of the bars that solicit our protection, with orders to demand our payment and strike enough fear in the owner’s heart that they would never think to keep us waiting ever again. Have BRUTUS accompany her, though he is not to interfere unless PERDITA needs his help; his role in this mission is to offer support, and nothing more. After all, loyalty to one’s comrades is just as crucial as loyalty to one’s cause, and if anyone must learn that lesson, it’s BRUTUS.”
“As you may or may not know, we’ve recently captured a prisoner who proved to be a lot more interesting than I’d originally thought. Not only were they one of Faron Vasiliev’s soldiers, but also the bullet that set their liege’s demise in stone. It was through their treacherous confession that Laertes had discovered the identity of the one who had ordered his imprisonment in Russia, and it was through that confession that Faron’s corpse had met its early grave at the foot of my desk. I’m curious to see what sort of action they would rouse from CLEOPATRA. Command her to orchestrate a trap for them where they believe they have found their chance to escape our capture, only to find themselves caught in her grasp. CELIA is to offer her aid with the trap, but the torture that follows is CLEOPATRA’s and hers alone to execute.”
“In this time of war, there is no greater danger than treachery. I’ve been presented with proof that one of our soldiers aims to abandon our ranks and flee the city. It’s unforgivable, but I fully intend on leaving them begging for forgiveness in their worthless final moments. Pair up ROSALIND and OPHELIA for this task. OPHELIA is to come up with a way for them to be executed quietly and away from prying eyes, while ROSALIND is to seal their dreadful fate when the time is right.”
“There have been whispers on the streets of a strange message sent out across the city a few days ago. Apparently, it pertains to your crime, Genevieve, though unfortunately, I don’t know much beyond that. I’d like HAMLET to investigate the matter, and report to me directly with his findings. Curious choice, hm? Well, since you seem reluctant to ask me outright, I’ll do you a favor and be direct about it. I’m interested to know if someone else knows about what you’ve done aside from the two of us -- if there’s a chance it could be your son and that he’s been covering for you all along. I’ve always wondered where his true loyalties lie; with the Montagues, or with his mother. And this mission is certain to give me the answer.”
“A blessing to all, that the infallible VOLUMNIA is as weak as she currently is. We would be foolish to not take advantage of it. Send MALCOLM on her trail, and have MERCUTIO accompany him to ensure that the mission proceeds as it should. It’s not of the utmost importance that he kills her as we currently have far grander goals to aspire to, but I get the impression that MALCOLM is reluctant to needless torment, and that can no longer be allowed now that he is a captain. MERCUTIO is only to interfere if their help is needed, but aside from that, their task is simply to ensure that their partner torments the Capulet viper like she deserves.”
“I’ve assigned one of our captains to a reconnaissance mission in the Roman Baths; to survey the location and scan it for weaknesses. I believe that it would be beneficial for us to seize it in case the rumours surrounding the Witches’ return are proven to be true. The problem is… I have every reason to believe that the captain is a traitor, and I have a plan in mind to dispose of them. I would like RICHARD III and SEBASTIAN to take up this mission. They are to pair up with the captain and use the mission as an opportunity to execute them. Even if their comrades turn away from them because of it, they will have proven their loyalty to our cause, and that is where the priority lies.”
“I have a feeling TROILUS is going to be a problem. I don’t appreciate his rebelliousness or how fiercely he clings to his meaningless neutrality. When tied to the Montague name, one has no choice but to carry it, and it seems that despite our numerous attempts to instil that in him, TROILUS continues to resist. So, a change in approach is in order, and I believe no one would be more fitting for it than his own darling wife, CRESSIDA. As soon as she receives her orders, she is to set out to coax him towards joining the Montagues. I don’t care how long it takes or what means she uses, so long as the mission ends in success. Assign LADY MACDUFF to the task of monitoring CRESSIDA’s progress and reminding her of just how much is at stake for both her and her husband. Should CRESSIDA fail, you are to order LADY MACDUFF to employ their skills as a reaper and covertly dispose of her. I’m ushering in a new era for the Montagues, and there is going to be no room in it for disloyalty.”
Damiano stood up, acknowledging GERTRUDE with a single nod before crossing his arms against his chest and turning back towards the window. “That’ll be all, Genevieve.”
He looked down upon Verona from his tarnished throne and mulled over the test of loyalty that he was saving up for his son -- a trial to be held for none other than damned, darling ROMEO.
-
JUNE 15TH
THE TWELFTH NIGHT
Heavy with unrest, the Twelfth Night felt something like a judicial chamber. In its stomach gathered a collection of bodies, variously disillusioned, called covertly by their Underboss. Some were wounded, while others had only sustained bruises to their pride, but all were equally mortified at what had become of their ordeal. Every single one of them had suffered in some shape at Cosimo’s charge, some more grievously than others, and VOLUMNIA recognised that.
She had come here to pass judgement.
The room was all spider’s silk. It weaved between old murals and ancient sculpture like an elegantly presented crime scene. Thin red yarn pointing to a blood-splatter here and a murder weapon there; a spillage, a fingerprint, a strand of hair fibre left carelessly behind.
Secrets and whispers tangled themselves in the web.
Once, the protection of Cosimo Capulet had meant invincibility. An initiate was a brother, a sister, a child, a lover. Arms outstretched, he had welcomed each and every soldier who now stood in this belly of revolt with outstretched arms, the promise of longevity buried in his eyes. Once, power had flowed from his fingertips like dark-red wine. To be one of Don Capulet’s own was to be part of a great, thunderous throng, each one protected by the cruel hand of God. A single glance gutted hearts clean.
But that protection was thinning. The shield wasn’t working the way it used to.
The room seemed to speak in murmurs. Don Capulet seems bent on sending us all to an early grave. The sour thought arranged itself on the web, turning the spider silk into black dust.
JULIET stood at the centre of the room; her presence seemed to bring her fellow Capulets some assurance. VOLUMNIA and TYBALT stood at her side. The former continued to weave her web, and one could not ignore the knife fastened to the latter’s side.
The heart, the head, the hands.
JULIET took TYBALT’s hand in hers. Both of them knew what was to come, and neither knew how their fellow soldiers were likely to react. TYBALT smoothed his thumb over JULIET’s knuckles, sporting a rare, tender smile.
VOLUMNIA cleared her throat, and by way of nature the room stilled itself into silence. Each pair of eyes fastened themselves on her and her alone. “I don’t need to tell you why we’ve gathered here tonight. You’re concerned, all of you… and you have a right to be.” She paused, testing for a reaction. “As am I. Since VIOLA’s execution, the decisions made by Don Capulet have become more and more difficult to grasp. He ignored the advice offered to him, and on his orders we lost the Cathedral. He sent many of you on fool’s errands. Mismanaged his soldiers. Your latest assignments were fated to fail from the start.”
When a ruler loses the faith of his subjects, his subjects disgorge the throne.
VOLUMNIA and JULIET surveyed the scene in front of them. Still chafing from their botched mission, CORDELIA and EDMUND had resolved to wear their failings like badges of honour, but the sting of it was felt keenly under the skin. Swelled by bruises and flinching at fractured bone, DIANA and TITANIA presented their misadventure more keenly than the others. They became a single organism, failure seeping from a shared wound. Forced to endure the unexpected, BIANCA resented her misemployment, while the blood of an innocent lay on REGAN’s hands. EDGAR and KATHERINE, on the other hand, merely hung their heads in a sort of reluctant shame. As the only soldiers to emerge from their assignment victorious, HIPPOLYTA and LADY MACBETH thumbed their pyrrhic triumph with bitterness.
PARIS and POMPEY, of course, had been more successful. But they had not been under Cosimo’s charge. Crucially, they had been under JULIET and VOLUMNIA’s.
The scene presented itself like an oil painting. Exactly as the women had designed it.
JULIET stepped forwards. Like an armed shadow, TYBALT stepped forwards with her. From now on the two would be indivisible, and he wanted it known. “As I’m sure you’ve all noticed, my father isn’t well. He hasn’t been for a while now. He’s become paranoid, none of his decisions make any sense, and he ignores his counsel. Losing the Cathedral hit us all hard, but, well… I think it hit him hardest of all. His health and well-being need to be our highest priority right now. My father deserves the greatest possible care.” She paused, delicately, the soft touch of lips to the throat before she bared the first sign of teeth. “As do we.”
As if an executioner, VOLUMNIA swung her toothed blade, severing the cord. “What’s clear, however, is that he no longer has what it takes to lead us,” she finished her pseudo-daughter’s trail of thought. “He no longer has what it takes to be our Don.”
Some murmured in agreement, others stood frozen, refusing to betray their true feelings. All, however, knew what was to come next. That, after all, was why they had all gathered here, no?
“So, I will relieve him of the burden.” JULIET declared. “With one hand guided by history and all that we have overcome. and the other looking ahead to what awaits us, to build and to conquer” — VOLUMNIA’s eyes flashed and the corner of TYBALT’s mouth quirked wickedly — “I will begin a new era. We stand strong.”
She clasped fingers once more with the anchors that stood at her side, each offering what she still lacked: cunning and experience, a stomach for what it took to seize and retain a throne.
“Above all, we stand together.”
-
As JULIET’s battle-cry rang through The Twelfth Night, clanging in the air like a song of swords in battle, Cosimo Capulet sat in the backseat of an armoured car. Vanquished and betrayed, it tugged his body through the streets of Verona. That, after all, is how it feels to sit in the shadow of your own child; how it feels when all your love is thrown out with you, left in the alleyways to rot. He was equal parts fury and resignation, the pang of defeat weighing just as heavy as the venomous sting of betrayal.
Silently, his eyes took in what may well have been his last look at Verona. The gaze fixated on all the things Cosimo Capulet had once owned: a local business here, a police station there, a bar, a museum, an ancestral home, Verona itself. The car wheeled away from the impressive empire he’d created with his bare, bloodied hands.
Emperor that he is, Cosimo had built his kingdom to be inherited after him, but his heiress had stolen it from him earlier than anticipated.
First, the women had told them what they had done. What was already behind his control. Behind his back, they had negotiated with their enemy, sent his people on embarrassingly futile assignments, mismanaged his soldiers, and thrown them into Hell blind. All, they assured him, to undermine him, to cast a shadow of doubt over the great Cosimo Capulet. Already a blasphemous brute, splaying the crucified body of a dead girl for all to see, what more was it for him to be an incompetent fool, too?
Next, they had laid out how things were going to be: by their design, JULIET would take Cosimo’s place like a shadow growing into itself, and he would be removed to live out his days in their Padua villa. There, he would be surrounded by all things rich and extravagant: golds and amethysts circling his dinner plates, and the finest selections of wine, cheese and mutton at his disposal. There, he would remain under guard, any tangible image of power stripped from him.
There is no use in fighting, they had warned him. We have already won.
Perhaps for the first time in Cosimo’s life, he did not fight. He did not scratch, did not scrape, did not howl perfidy – the yowl of a wild dog, after all, had never much been his style. He could see his loss, stretched out in front of him crystal-clear, but that did not stop the cruel slashings of his dagger-like tongue. He wanted them to feel the sting of their betrayal, as he did.
Perhaps they did. It changed nothing.
They would not have him bound like a common criminal – his daughter had spared him that humiliation, at least.
To think that the great Cosimo Capulet should fall at the hand of his daughter, his lily-white, Eve-spun daughter, like a flower that grows in the dark – his lip almost vibrated with amusement. He wanted her to feel the shame of her betrayal, the principessa to whom he gave everything, even blood, but as he sat here, his eye trained on a city that now recedes from his touch, he was almost impressed. To think that a man as powerful as himself should fall at the feet of his own child – it is his shame to bear, but it is also his pride.
The man has done some dastardly things in his time: started a war, forced a child to bloody their hands instead of his own, crucified an informant in the shape of Christ, forced his only daughter to wield the knife. He had been right to, no?
Had she not pulled the steel from Viola’s chest and pushed it into his own?
The daughter grows into the shape of her father in the dark. JULIET had betrayed her father and become him – at last, Cosimo recognised that he’d been underestimating her. Unforgivingly, he wondered how long she would last. Cosimo wondered how long she could stand the contortions before they twisted her out of shape.
She would return to him. Wouldn’t she?
As the wheels of the car rolled past the bridge, past the impossible breach that had split Verona down the Adige, Cosimo thought he recognised the shape of something familiar. Someone familiar. He looked closer.
LAMPRIUS tore a writhing fissure through the dark as he emerged. Yet he did not step forth to heed the call of a king’s gaze, but to seek the sight of the victory that lay before him, crumpled among the ruins of what Verona had once been -- and what it has yet to become.
It was quite fitting, that a symbol of collapsed peace would be the mark of his ascension.
It carried a sense of revival. Renewal. Righteous retrieval of everything that had once been stolen by Montague and Capulet alike.
The sight stirred a rare gleam in his eyes, one that remained untouched and unvanquished, even as a dozen soldiers slithered out of his shadow and marched towards the torn-up Castelvecchio.
Rogues, guns-for-hire, and henchmen bought out of the ranks of contacts stolen from RICHARD III; now crowned with the honour of being his pieces across the board, pawns to nothing but the resurrected will of the Witches. They settled on both ends of the bridge and along its broad centre, armed and armoured as they sealed his claim over the long-forgotten, ever-abandoned hallmark.
Yet even with his force anchored to this location, his influence stretched far beyond it, at the tail of one final message sent out to the damned people of Verona -- this time, with a number left behind.
Unlike the one that had come before it, it was not a slip of bait dangled before gnashing teeth -- but an invitation, obligingly placed within open, beseeching palms.
ARIEL, HERMIONE, OLIVIA, HERO, IMOGEN and TROILUS were those chosen to receive it.
Upon speaking of the dead, one must remember to honour the living. And the only honour Verona knows is in the bargain of power; its ebb and flow, its offer and gain. Yet you don’t abide by that law, and you don’t bow before those who do. For that, you have been deemed nameless and defenceless. So this is how we choose to honour you: not by leashing you to the power we offer, but by helping you grow into your own. Not by tying you to a false cause or bending you to our will, but giving you a name and standing beside you when no one else will.
We don’t aim to liberate you; you are already free. You always have been, but it’s easy to forget that in a city as vicious as Verona.
The Witches offer you a reminder, and more. So much more beyond what the Montagues and Capulets have dared to steal from you, so much more beyond what Verona has led you to forget.
Come and find us, if you choose.
No matter what you decide, the Witches have returned to stand with you.
As the neutrals reeled from the message, LAMPRIUS and his forces held their vigilant claim on the Castelvecchio bridge, lying in wait for the rising sun to seal their dominion in place and drape Verona in the dawn of its new era.
Change was finally coming to the ancient city.
And it carried the promise of a reckoning.
-
OVERVIEW: Well, Veronesi, it’s been a long, long time coming, but at last, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived! The head of Cosimo Capulet has been cut off (metaphorically speaking), and in its stead three more have grown back. Juliana has assumed her father’s position, guided by the nurturing hand of her Underboss and new advisor, Tiberius. For now, Cosimo sits under guard in a Capulet-owned villa in Padua, the result of Juliana and Vivianne’s string-pulling. There, he continues to live in luxury, but all his power has been stripped from him. With Henry’s gun retrieved from the hands of Isabella and a deal stuck in the shadows, the Capulets seem to be safe for now. The Montagues, on the other hand, have been less fortunate. Each of them have been demanded to make their loyalty clear to Damiano, who continues to try and consolidate his power over his son. For many, what he asks are impossible tasks, and we highly encourage you to explore these in your threads!
But wait, that’s not all. The Witch (singular, for now) has snuck in and taken advantage of the surrounding chaos to claim Castelvecchio Bridge as his own, in one fell swoop. An offer has been made to each neutral in the city who has been pulled into the war. It is their choice to make, and their burden. Neutrals, please message the main with your character's decision to join Lucien or not OCTOBER 29TH. Please keep this decision private for now!
The game is afoot! Thank you for bearing with us this time around. We recognise that this is a very long, very complicated plot drop with several moving parts, so if you have any questions, please let us know! You may date your interactions from JUNE 3RD to JUNE 25TH.
SUMMARY: After learning the truth of her mother’s death, MIRANDA begs her Papa to run from Verona with her. He refuses, and MIRANDA must decide whether she can live without him. (She cannot.)
As of May 29, MIRANDA is dead. The news of her death spreads through the Capulets through gossip and whispers. The city is fully aware that she has committed suicide — though only VOLUMNIA and ARIEL have any inkling as to why. Her funeral will be JUNE 2.
MAY 22.
Home. She is heading home.
Didn’t that meant something to her, once? Home is supposed to anchor her, and bring Maeve back to herself when she no longer recognizes the wild fear in her eyes or the calloused surface of her hands from a knife held too tightly for too long.
Somewhere along the way, the road becomes steep. The cracks on the pavement gives way to weeds and thorny brambles that slows her every step. Home is a broken and cruel word, and it chains her to the ache she cannot dislodge from her bones.
You’ll understand when you’re older, Papa says. He looks so sad, and she is so naive. It isn’t grief at all, like she thinks. It is the hopeless look of the dying, who has waded too far into the deep sea to even think of swimming back. In vain, he tries to spare his daughter. In vain, he tries to keep her in the light.
How could Maeve have understood? She doesn’t realize how far and wide the dark could get. A child, she wants only to follow her Papa and drag him out with small, unscarred hands.
The sky has swallowed the sun and the moon in its mouth, leaving only the lamplights to light her way. Maeve walks like a boulder is tied to each ankle. Her very expression is tired of wearing her emotions like a shield; without her heart in her eyes, Maeve resembles more zombie than girl. People shudder as they pass her in the streets.
Home waits for her, and it will consume her now that the truth has shattered whatever illusions Maeve has left. She knowingly pushes forward to confront the abyss that awaits her.
Her Papa is cleaning his gun at a table when she opens the door. A laugh gets tangled up in her throat and dies before Maeve can make a sound. Is this normal? Is this the picture of a happy life and a happy family that she dreamt?
“Where have you been?” He doesn’t meet her eyes. For a moment, Maeve wonders if he already knows. But then she remembers that he is still holding onto his pride. In the beginning, he had been furious, but the purity of a single feeling wears out her father to the bone. Exhausted, he has already let go of his anger. Stubbornly, he does not lower his defenses.
Maeve steps out of her shoes and closes the door behind her. “I’ve been asking questions.”
“Never a good sign.” Her Papa sets the gun down. When he looks at her, Maeve searches for the man she wants to see. A good man. An honest man. Has he always looked so empty?
“Questions about Mamma.”
His fingers twitch, and Maeve knows he wants to take the gun into his grip again. Something to protect him, as if a weapon will carve out the part of him that are weak and human — the parts she loves most. Everything she wants him to be, he will claw out from under his own skin.
She’s always known it. For the first time, Maeve is willing to get on her knees and beg for him to prove her wrong. Before, the thought terrified her. Who is she if her Papa scorns her? What is she left with if her Papa denies her? There is too much at stake to even ask the question, but Maeve doesn’t need to ask to know that irreparably, Philip Petre loved — loves — Maria Petre.
“Why?” he asks, hoarsely. “What good is it to bring the dead to life, Maeve?”
It’s not the response Maeve expects, but the surprise rolls off her shoulders easily. Never before has his daughter spoken of his wife so boldly. It is natural, then, that her Papa reacts so strangely — as if he knows what is coming, as if he knows it will do neither of them any good.
“But what if you were wrong, Papa?” In one hurried motion, Maeve takes a seat across from him and leans forward. She puts her hands on the table, palms facing upwards in wait of his own to hold. “What if your enemy is not your enemy? What if it’s your friends who betrayed you?”
The air is cold against her palms.“Spit it out, Maeve.”
Her nails dig into her skin as her hands form fists, anxious crescent moons forming. “The Capulets killed her, Papa.”
It is the silence that betrays the human heart. The empty, gaping chasm where words should fall and soothe the spirit — it cannot lie. Neither, too, can the resignation in her Papa’s eyes. Maeve sees, for perhaps the first time, the massacre that lurks within the dark of his irises. Among the name of the killed and forgotten is her own. Maeve Petre. The daughter he leaves behind at every opportunity. The child he treats like a ball and chain to his ankle, forcing him to relive his loss and grief over and over again.
Her hands tremble as she pulls them back to her lap. The body knows before her heart and mind: it is happening again. Maeve may run however she’d like, but the body remembers the imprint of that horrible night. When her Papa came home with blood dripping from his fingertips, the cruel light of the moon casting a long shadow. She’s beginning to feel it again. The disappointment, the tightness of her every breath, the terror that grips her so tightly she can hardly speak.
But speak she does, in a choked whisper: “You knew?”
When he only turns his cheek as if he did not hear her, Maeve amends her question. “You knew.”
“You’ll understand when you’re—“
“When I’m older,” Maeve finishes for him. “I don’t need to understand, I don’t want to understand. The Capulets killed Mamma, they lied to you — and you’re still working for them? You’ve forgiven them for ruining your life?” Her chin lifts with weak defiance. “They ruined my life, too.”
“I told you not to join.” He looks at her with the stern look of a father, and if Maeve just closes her eyes and wishes it, she can just imagine that he does this out of love and concern for her. But he isn’t, he isn’t, and she must remember that.
“You didn’t tell me it was because they’re the reason we’re trapped here! I thought you wanted me to be safe.” The tears fall and Maeve lets them. Where her Papa hides and suffocates every feeling, she will brave her own and wear them on her sleeve. She will be the example her Papa never was for her. “This is wrong, Papa. This is so messed up.”
“You said it yourself, stella mia. We are trapped.” This time, it’s her Papa who extends his hand for Maeve to take. “I found out the truth when I was already deep into their operations. Do you think they would have let me run? Do you think they would have stopped at killing my wife?” A shadow comes over his eyes, sinister and inhumane. “You saw what they did to the Montague rat. With everything I know, I would be lucky to have that punishment.”
The shadow flees, and in its place settles the father Maeve likes best. His eyes flicker with tenderness, all for her. “Stella mia, they will not hesitate to take you away from me too.”
For a second that stretches until it feels like minutes, Maeve stares at her Papa’s calloused and scarred hands. She can accept the harsh reality he offers, so brutally colored. It’s true, isn’t it? The Capulets are merciless, and will not forgive disloyalty. Is a life worth living when your dreams are slashed to bits? What is worth sacrificing, to see the world full of light and lovestruck again?
With deliberate slowness, Maeve takes her Papa’s hand. She squeezes gently, brings his knuckles to her lips. “But you were alone, then. You have me now, Papa. Together, we can be free.” Her grip strengthens as she senses his immediate rejection. For the first time, her eyes shine and glisten with unsoiled hope. “Orion and Rafaella are in Amsterdam, Papa. We can find them, and they’ll help us. Well, Orion will help us, and he’ll convince Rafaella to help us. Please, Papa…”
Her Papa stares at her like he doesn’t recognize her at all.
“Stella mia, that’s what you call me, right? Maybe, Papa, I’m the star that’s supposed to guide you out of your nightmares. Maybe I’m the shooting star that will make your dreams come true. Maybe I can save you, save us.”
He does not blink as he searches her eyes, and she lets the fullness of her heart show for his perusal. Philip wonders if his daughter is serious; Maeve wonders if her father is beginning to believe. Even as he disentangles his fingers from her own, she dreams of the new life they will build, together.
“Maeve.” He cups her cheek and she leans into his palm. “To be a star, you must burn.”
MAY 29
It’s been exactly one week since Papa promised to think about it.
To be a star, you must burn.
What do you mean, Papa?
It means — (she will never forget the hollow look of his eye, the vast and inescapable loneliness she’s tried to eclipse her whole life) — that you must go alone.
No. No, I won’t run without you. I won’t leave you.
What if I choose to stay behind?
Then… I guess I will, too.
It’s a lie, and it sits thick and heavy in her throat. For a week, Maeve can scarcely take a breath without a flutter of panic. There is a life waiting for her just beyond the horizon, and a single word holds her back from sprinting to greet it: her Papa’s yes, her Papa’s okay.
Each day that passes and her Papa does not slice her hope to bits, Maeve dreams a little harder. Desperately, she slips into a world of fantasy and puts her faith in its power to right every wrong. She begins making plans: the new name she will take on (Stella, it’s the obvious choice), the subject she will study in when she at last goes to university…
Mostly, Maeve tries to plant her goodbyes as kindly as she can. The moment her Papa agrees, she’ll take his hand and the two of them will flee. The stars will conceal them both from Cosimo’s sight, and together, they’ll erase their name from Verona’s fabric. When the miles between them and the city that nearly devoured them whole stretch on and on and on — only then, will Maeve let herself remember. Only then will Maeve mourn the childhood the Capulets stole from her, the loss she has spent her entire life trying to make up for.
For now, Maeve marches home like she is on her way to war. And with all that is at stake, is she not riding into battle? The Capulets have turned her heart into an empty grave, where she buries all things: her Papa’s laughter, a house full of light, the warmth of a mother’s embrace.
She is tired of wandering through graveyards, and she is tired of scavenging battlefields. Maeve is ready to leave her nightmares behind and walk into a new daydream. But she can’t go there without her Papa.
When she gets home, her Papa tells her that she will have to.
The room starts to tilt and spin, violently and out of her control. Maeve’s reaction is immediate. Eyes wide, cheeks flush with defiance, she challenges his decision. “Why not?” It’s a demand more than a question, voice hard as stone. “What’s keeping you here?” Before he has the chance to answer, Maeve begins to plead with him: “Papa, please. I can’t leave you here alone. Don’t make me live without you.”
Philip looks down at his hands, unable to look his daughter in the eye as her heart shatters. He would rather be pricked and split open by shards of glass than watch Maeve cry — because of him. For him.
She is her mother’s daughter. It’s precisely why he can’t follow her into the light. His love has damned angels before; he cannot promise that Maeve, too, will not be destroyed if he lets himself love her.
“Then stay.” For the first time, Maeve hears in her Papa’s voice the captain who is something of an unholy legend among the Capulets. Firm and without mercy, Philip is no more; there is only Prospero. “Make your own decision. I’ve made mine.”
“You know I can’t stay! They killed my mother. They made me kill people too. I’ve done awful things for them, and for what?” In choked sobs, Maeve spits out each word ferociously, as if passion alone can sway her Papa. “Do you know, I used to wait up every night for you to come home? Do you know how many times I’ve helped you get into bed because you were drunk and bumping into the walls, and I was scared that you might die, too? I was a kid, Papa. I was only a kid!”
Philip’s hands curl into fists. His knuckles go white. Still, Maeve does not stop. Every emotion she has quieted for fear of hurting him, every storm she has trapped in a glass jar to spare her Papa more heartache — it explodes out of her all at once.
She’s only asked him for something one other time. On her knees with sobs shaking her entire body, Maeve begged her Papa to choose her. To shut the door on the Capulets and be a father to his daughter.
She asks him for the same thing now — and again, he chooses the Capulets. Again, he chooses the tarnished glory of bloodshed and the twisted pleasure of power among Verona’s gods. Terror reigns over love, and perhaps it always will. Perhaps the chant of monsters will forever prevail over the choir of angels, and leave Maeve on her knees once more.
“They ruined your life.” Maeve sniffs and wipes at the hot rush of tears, her wet nose. “Why do you let them? Why don’t you want to be happy? With me?”
At last, Philip raises his chin and locks his gaze unto hers. “I will never be happy,” he says frankly. It is what it is. He knows that wherever he runs, it will always be the same. The same face in the mirror, the same dead and empty eyes staring back at him. The same sins on his hands, the same demons at his shoulder.
The Capulets are only one mask that the beast wears. The beast may hide behind a thousand more, but underneath it all is the same face: his own.
Maeve’s lower lip trembles. “Me neither.”
Silence stretches between them, a rope pulled taut and tight that waits for one to walk across toward the other. From opposite ends, Maeve and Philip stare at one another and wait. Unyielding, stubborn, blind with pride and wishful thinking —
It’s almost like looking in the mirror. For the first time, Philip sees not Maria’s eyes, but his own.
A flicker of pride, a flash of faith. Then nothing. It’s not enough for either of them to join the other.
“Fine, then.” Maeve rises from her seat, hiccuping with sobs. “I’ll live without you.”
But how long can a fire roar without kindling? Even stars must fall from the sky. Some fall sooner than others. Some fall like it has one last burning wish to be seen, to be alive and brilliant and loved.
Some fall quietly, with tears still wet on her cheeks and a gun in her hands. Some are found the next morning by a hungover father who only pretended he was ready to say goodbye.
Some stars cannot stand to burn for so long. Some stars fade out of sheer exhaustion; because it cannot bear to be the light any longer. Because the darkness is cold and vast. To look into the night’s unending expanse, to know that she will never defeat it —
TRIGGERS: Discussions of past torture/bodily injury, PTSD
SUMMARY: After taking some time to reflect, ROSALINE and ORSINO make a plan to leave Verona. As of MAY 23rd, ROSALINE and ORSINO are permanently in Amsterdam in order to take the city for the Capulets. Rosey will no longer be writing Rafaella in any capacity, but Rogue will continue to write Orion in an extremely limited one (occasional phone calls, emergency visits from characters to Amsterdam should you wish it, etc).
The positions of SPETTRO and ADVISOR are now open. Currently, Cosimo and VOLUMNIA are reviewing candidates for the ADVISOR position. If your character is interested in the SPETTRO position, you are welcome to think about their development, and also to send those thoughts to the main so we can discuss them! Thank you for bearing with us as we figured this out!
The sounds of the city below are a low hum he’s learned to tune out. It’s calm tonight, very few sirens, no drunken raucous to be found as he listens to Rafaella’s quiet breaths, feeling them as her chest rises and falls beneath his head.
He used to hold her like this often. Orion has no issue in the switching of position; it’s the why that trips him up, stealing one of the rare nights of peace until the quiet buzzes like a wasp’s nest in his mind.
She runs her hands through his hair and it feels different. The long nails she used to wear haven’t yet grown back, the foundation slow if they want her hands to eventually be strong and healthy again. She won’t ask, but she feels more than hears her hum as she presses her lips to his temple a moment. He sighs.
“Today was bad.” That’s putting it delicately, but it’s not untrue. Rafaella makes that tiny hum again, but her focus has shifted entirely from her book. It’s set aside on the end-table now, her formerly preoccupied hand finding his so she can link their fingers together. They’re very unlike each other in this one specific way, for all the things they share. When Rafaella tries to hide her hurts from him at first, trying to protect herself or him in some immeasurable way, Orion has no issue sharing his.
He outlines it clearly: there will be no intensive movement of his shoulder for the next twelve months. Were he to do so, he would certainly lose any range of motion, and may end up paralyzed. There are other, more minor hurts that will still take an awful lot of time to heal, but this is the most egregious. This is the injury that debilitates him in the eyes of her Uncle, and Orion has an awful sinking feeling in his chest that he tries to ignore.
(Will it debilitate him in the eyes of Rafaella, too? He’s never worried about this before. He’s never been weak.)
Orion laughs with no bitterness, genuinely amused by how thoroughly Marcelo has decimated him. “They’re really good at their job, hm?” He blinks up at Rafaella, almost coquettish. “I have a type. Competent with a shitty home life.”
Rafaella lets go of his hand and runs a finger down the bridge of his nose before tapping once, lightly. “Don’t forget beautiful.”
“Yes, and works of art. The triad.”
Her mouth twitches at the corners, soft and fond but still reserved compared to several months previous. His Rafaella is quieter, now. He finds he doesn’t mind.
“How long,” he asks calmly, “until Capulet disposes of me?”
The hand in his hair freezes.
“He’s not a man to take kindly to wasted resources,” Orion continues, blithe, even as he reaches for her hand again. He squeezes until Rafaella squeezes back, until he has awareness that she’s listening again. “I’ll certainly be demoted, but I could handle that. It’s the rest that has me on edge.”
Rafaella shifts him off of her so she can look him in the eye. She doesn’t let go of his hand, warm and solid in his. “You are not disposable.” Her eyes are red. He wants to kiss them at the corners.
“Not to you,” he reminds her. “Not to some.” It’s not good enough, not if Capulet is truly headed for war. “I know too much, and there’s no way to ensure my compliance if I’m not being paid for anything. There’s no reason to pay me if I’m not doing anything, and I’m not the right person to be an emissary, even if they weren’t leaning more into fights lately. Two plus two equalling four, the easiest solution would be — “
“No.” This is practically a snarl. Rafaella’s gaze is biting, some of her former venom appearing in the way she bares her teeth with the sound.
He waits. Her mind is so sharp, twisting and unfurling until it blooms with new ideas, potent strategy, or something witty and bold. He wishes he could listen to her think, sometimes. He wants to be in that maze, curve around the edges, hug the walls until he finds her waiting for him at the center.
If he’s realized something, it cannot be long until she realizes it too.
There. He finds it in her eyes, when anger becomes defeat and quickly rallies into determination. “That’s not happening.”
“Of course not.” Orion smiles.
It must be contagious, because her lips curve too, shaking her head. She has far less faith in her ability than he does, but that’s fine. Orion has never been over-burdened with insecurity, but some have said he may be overwhelmed by overconfidence.
If he splits some with Rafaella, it will balance.
“Since it’s not, though,” he points out, “we’re going to have to do something about it, and I don’t have anything in mind.” His head is still fuzzy, sometimes. Things don’t come with perfect clarity. He has been assured that they will, after extensive scans of his brain, but that will come slowly, too. His treasured independence has been cast aside in favor of being coddled and taken care of, and he doesn’t mind half as much as he should, so long as it’s Maeve or Rafaella doing the caring.
She brings their hands up to kiss his knuckles, her gaze very far away.
“I might,” Rafaella admits. Orion never doubted it. “Give me some time.”
When Rafaella Capulet tenders her resignation as Cosimo’s advisor, it does not go the way anyone thinks it will.
That it happens at all is a shock to the bloodstream for almost everyone.
She attends three meetings in the span of a day, one public, one revealed but under the guise of being secretive, and one that is truly kept from the world at large. There are other goodbyes, of course. Other meetings to be had for herself and Orion both, other tender words to share with those who love them and are loved in return, other stolen moments where the pair can be themselves and acknowledge what they’re giving up.
But first, it goes like this:
Near dawn, Rafaella and Juliana Capulet share espresso in Orion’s kitchen. He would call it their kitchen, but she still can’t believe that, can’t hold onto it without fearing she’ll break it. Orion’s house, Orion’s kitchen. She’s an invader he refuses to get rid of.
They talk at length, until the sun is high in the sky and Orion has left for physical therapy. What they speak of, it’s too soon to tell. What they plan for, only the two of them know. In the end, they simply hold each other, holding tight for a very long time, all the while knowing that even when separated, family doesn’t truly end.
Hugs do, though, and finding solace in one another will never quite be the same.
Next, Orion and Rafaella go together to meet two non-descript men in a simple cafe. Nothing is ostentatious, everything quiet, their heads bent low. The Montagues and Capulets alike who pass them by hear Orion and this man conversing in stilted, passable Dutch. When the two men depart, the couple seem extremely satisfied, Rafaella curling around Orion like a cat stretching toward the sun.
The third, of course, is the hardest. Meeting with Cosimo Capulet is never easy. Telling your Uncle you’re leaving him behind is infinitely worse.
Somehow, though, she manages it. She stands strong as she calmly explains their reasoning. Both Orion and Rafaella have been torn apart by this war, bloody and raw, but she doesn’t point that out. They have been nearly broken, slashed into so many times they’re shells of their former selves in so many ways, but these are not reasons that will impress Capulet. And so, with Orion’s hand tight in hers, she lies.
She lies about the up and coming organized crime groups in Amsterdam. She explains the disorganized and chaotic nature of the warring gangs, of how many have fallen victim to hubris and the law. She opens his eyes to a world of her own creation, where Amsterdam has a power vacuum in dire need of filling, and the Capulets desperately need allies if they’re going to win this war without dying out in the process. She spins and spins her web around him with enough half-truths and persuasive words to bring glory to his thoughts, and all the while, Orion’s hand stays in hers.
A role better suited to our current position, she admits, letting the hint of vulnerability in her show for just a moment. Or should I say our current predicament?
It’s easier than she wants it to be. Selfishly, desperately, she wants him to fight for her to stay. Rafaella has been accepted as his family; should he not fight to keep his family together? Yet he considers it with almost cerebral calm, like he’s watching a chess game rather than thinking of the future of his family, and Rafaella’s heart hardens.
When Verona implodes around him, when his throne is viciously stolen, when everything he’s built flourishes while he crumbles himself, Rafaella tells herself she will not be sorry.
SUMMARY: A Montague drug house, specializing in the synthesization of ambrosia and under the command of MERCUTIO, is burnt to the ground by TYBALT and his team. The Capulets emerge with little useful information, save for the name of the new drug: bacio del mietitore.
MAY 16.
He, alone, is the face of Capulet cruelty. With dark ambition and deep-rooted resentment as the bit and bridle in his mouth to lead him, TYBALT sits in his office. He muses on the family’s losses. He wonders at the whispers he collects from lost souls and hungry mouths in Verona.
Together, it all paints a portrait of blood and flames. It shrieks battle cry upon battle cry until it becomes a song to soothe his — and by extension, the Capulets’ — wounded pride. La Tigre, they call him. La Tigre is finished with lying in wait for the opportune moment to pounce. He will strike, and he will strike now.
In his hands, a mere collection of papers stacked neatly in one file (MIRANDA used a heart paper clip to fasten it together, he notes with a roll of his eyes) becomes a loaded cannon. When pieced together, innocuous intel and harried rumors create an opportunity. TYBALT runs through the file in his hands once more.
Yes, a plan is beginning to take shape. The aftermath of his hand-delivered retribution will cling to the air like smoke, the scent of it imprecating every Montague.
MAY 17
A woman who has learned intimately the price of war, KATHERINE stalks the streets of Verona not like hunter but like prey. She has already lost enough; she cannot stomach another battle of wills and a fight for survival. It is all she can do, after all, to keep trudging forward and hold her head high with her trademark pride.
From roof to roof, she travels across Verona to scope out different areas of MERCUTIO’s territory until she spots it at last: a drug house specializing in synthesizing ambrosia. She sets up camp for the night, and begins taking notes: shift changes, movement of the guards, relationships…
When MERCUTIO shows, she raises an eyebrow and writes in her notepad: Captain visit, 23h. As the list of times grows longer, KATHERINE scratches out the record and scribbles: Captain visits frequently. No pattern.
She narrows her eyes in concentration, heart pounding as she considers its implications. This won’t be as easy as they hoped.
MAY 19, NOON
“It’s simple.” HIPPOLYTA speaks patiently, poised as ever despite the rising flood of irritation at the initiate’s unmasked fear. “Keep MERCUTIO busy tonight. You have all day to find them, and you have all day to form a plan. It doesn’t matter how you do it, so long as they do not leave your sight or communicate with their team.”
Again and again, she repeats her instructions as if she is preaching on a podium before a single lost sheep, a lamb waiting for her deliverance. When at last they hurry away, HIPPOLYTA wonders if she made the correct decision. MERCUTIO is no ordinary captain; they are L’inferno, Verona’s terror in one being. But there is little choice left; each soldier is busy, and her preferred list of initiates are out of pocket.
She heaves a sigh and heads to TYBALT’s office to report progress. The ground they stand on trembles, but they keep moving forward. It is all any of them can do.
MAY 19, 10 PM
A plan set in motion cannot be taken back. The wheel turns, the tides change; and all TYBALT can do is push forward and trust that the team he’s built can rise to his expectations. He will be unrelenting. He will be ferocious. He will be as brilliant and clever and brutal as he was bred to be. It is his talent and his divine, bloodied birthright.
He stands before a house that appears, at first glance, plain and unsuspecting. Modest and in desperate need of exterior renovations, anyone in Verona would walk past it without a second glance. Littered at his feet are the unconscious bodies of the Montague guards. With a cruel snarl turning the corners of his lips, TYBALT makes a motion to KATHERINE. “Get them out of the way. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”
As KATHERINE methodically executes each Montague and drags them to a discrete location, TYBALT and HIPPOLYTA enter the house side-by-side. Together, they meander through its halls with confident strides; but it is TYBALT alone who makes the final decision, with HIPPOLYTA’s serious gaze offering neither approval nor disagreement as he announces it to the team.
“KATHERINE and HIPPOLYTA will gather all the intel they find inside the house. Document everything. It is not your call to decide what’s important and what’s not.” Only after the two seasoned Capulets nod does TYBALT turn to the soldier under his command: MIRANDA. A disappointment in nearly every regard, she is shackled to the lowest standing among them. If she survives — for even this, TYBALT doubts — she will never be more useful than she is now.
“You’ll start the fire when I say so. We don’t know if MERCUTIO or another guard will show up, so be on alert for my command.” He doesn’t need to elaborate further. A heavy cloud of trepidation lingers over them; for what is worse, to fail La Tigre or to battle L’Inferno? To incur the wrath of either is to welcome Death with a kiss on the mouth and open desire for calamity.
“Understood?”
HIPPOLYTA, KATHERINE and MIRANDA nod their heads, mirroring his severity — and then they get to work.
MAY 19, 10:40 PM
“How cute of you to pay me a visit, stronzo.”
From behind the house, MERCUTIO appears. As if a phantom summoned by TYBALT’s voracious appetite, or the Grim Reaper enthralled by the scent of more Capulet souls to collect, they approach with the gait of a predator that thrives best in the dark. When their lips curl with anticipation, a shiver runs down MIRANDA’s spine. A few feet away from her, TYBALT stands unfazed and unmoved; as if he knew how the story would unfold.
They have always called one another like this. Hunter and hunter, prey and prey. In horrible harmony, they move in unison in a dance of death and decay, fury and fear.
“Go find the others,” TYBALT orders MIRANDA.
Her eyes dart towards MERCUTIO, who is standing perfectly still in wait of the opportune time to slice TYBALT’s head off his neck. “Are you sure?”
“I’m always sure,” he hisses, to which MIRANDA darts to the front door as nimble and quick as a mouse. MERCUTIO lets her run past them. She is not their mark. The Capulet name makes her an enemy, but she is not theirs to ruin.
Tonight, they are more than a Montague. They are an abandoned boy blossomed into a vile and vengeful man, the sole survivor of another burning. TYBALT’s life is their burden, and his death is their sole demand from the world. In death and in life, TYBALT is theirs; it would be utterly romantic, if not for the river of spilled blood between them.
MERCUTIO cracks the knuckles of their fist as they walk towards him. “I think I’ll take home your head on a platter, coglione. Or maybe pull each of your fingers from its sockets and feed them to stray dogs.”
TYBALT spits out a curse. Of all nights, tonight is the one time he must hold himself back from wrenching open MERCUTIO’s skull and letting their blood stain the pavement. The mission must go smoothly and well, for the Montagues will not miss the death of their most lethal weapon.
Still, he does not let it show as he welcomes his enemy, his rival, his mirror. “You’re dumber than you look if you think you can touch me.”
Inside, MIRANDA sprints through the house in search of HIPPOLYTA and KATHERINE. When at last she finds them, she reports in between pants, “They’re here. MERCUTIO… They’re fighting TYBALT. Back-up might be coming. Watch out.”
Immediately, HIPPOLYTA takes the reins. Smoothly and efficiently, with the grace of a goddess and the authority of a queen, she looks to KATHERINE and MIRANDA with steels in her eyes. “If MERCUTIO is here, then there are others close behind. The two of you keep searching. As soon as you’re finished, start the fire.”
She marches to the entrance, and does not look back.
MAY 19, 10:50 PM
“We’re ready.” KATHERINE speaks quietly, and it seems to amplify the sternness in her voice. Scurrying through the halls of a drug house and rifling through papers for intel, after all, is not where she thrives. Clipped and curt, she is restless to return to the front lines and fight. It is what she does best; it is what she was born for, the conquest of battle and a weapon sitting pretty in her hands.
“You go first.” MIRANDA uncaps the fuel container in her hands and, once KATHERINE is a safe distance away, begins to pour it along the floor, the furniture, the walls... Little by little, she leaves traces of it behind until the fuel container is empty and the two are safe outside the back door. In the distance, they can hear MERCUTIO and TYBALT taunting and cursing at each other, and HIPPOLYTA grunting as she fights the Montagues who’ve come to join them.
MIRANDA pulls a matchbox from her pocket and lights it. “Here goes nothing,” she says to herself before she tosses it into the house and shuts the back door.
The house erupts into flames. MIRANDA and KATHERINE take a moment to watch the fire flicker up against the windows, as the world grows muted and still. On the other side of the house, HIPPOLYTA does not stop fighting as the fire rages on. MERCUTIO strikes TYBALT across the jaw and steps on his chest to quiet the Capulet, giving themself a second to watch the house burn. Their eyes flicker with uncharacteristic grief, a strange sorrow that does not seem to fit their features. It reminds them of a home burned to the ground, long ago. With TYBALT beneath them and the smell of smoke flooding their nostrils, MERCUTIO swears they can hear the sound of children screaming, fathers shouting and a lone wolf of a child crying.
TYBALT watches MERCUTIO all the while, gaze as sharp as ever and hands gripping their ankle tightly. This is almost better than cracking their bones by hand. He feasts on a different breed of pain, basking in it even with his back to the ground.
It is a brief second of silence, but sacred things have a way of making hours out of mere moments. This pause stretches on and on and on. A house burns in the background. Montagues and Capulets alike behold the ways a single match can spark a wildfire that devours without mercy, without regard for loyalties and vengeance at all.
It burns and burns and burns. Everything in its path shudders and falls.
For a momentary lapse of time, they all forget what they have come here to do. Until a piercing shriek shatters the peace of utter chaos and destruction: “KATHERINE!”
In the next split second, MERCUTIO falls to the ground with HIPPOLYTA’s arms around them in a chokehold. The Montague soldiers scatter without their leader’s might to hide behind. TYBALT does not waste the opportunity, running to MIRANDA, whose hands are pressed to her lips with horror. “What happened?” he demands, grabbing her wrist and yanking it away from her mouth.
“She went in. She said she dropped something in the house.”
TYBALT looks to the open door, searching for KATHERINE’s silhouette. When he does not see any sign of her, the tension in his shoulders loosen. “Leave her be.” Releasing his hold on her wrist abruptly, TYBALT begins to walk away. “She’ll survive if she knows how to.”
For a moment, he is satisfied. He will take MERCUTIO as prisoner to the Capulets. He will take what intel they have and understand the new drug the Montagues are rumored to have planned. He will hand Cosimo a pile of gold and treasure, and reap the weight of the crown as his prize.
For a moment.
“I’m going in.” Before TYBALT can turn to order her to stay put, MIRANDA has already run into the burning house. He runs to where she was just a moment ago and searches, again, for a sign of a soldier under his command. Teeth gritted, fists balled up tightly at his sides, TYBALT lets out a low and feral guttural sound.
If he loses two soldiers, then he’s fucked.
It doesn’t help that HIPPOLYTA comes to his side and reports that MERCUTIO has escaped her hold.
The muscles in TYBALT’s jaw flexes. If KATHERINE and MIRANDA make it out alive, he’s going to burn them up himself.
When the two of them emerge from the smoke and the flames, MIRANDA’s arm holding KATHERINE up, TYBALT heaves a sigh of relief despite his temper.
“Don’t think I’m going to let this slide,” he barks at MIRANDA.
She offers him a tired smile, eyes shining bright despite the ashen smudges on her cheeks. “Can’t wait, capitano.”
It is not often that Damiano entertains his guests in his home. A sprawling and extravagant creature of its own right, the Montague mansion is as secretive and profligate as its master. In Damiano’s study, the scotch runs freely and cigars are in endless supply. Dark mahogany wood is accented by gold and oxblood, reminiscent of luxury that lasts through the ages. In the center of it all, Damiano sits back in his chair. To his left, ROMEO stands with a shadow over his eyes that betrays his troubled heart.
GERTRUDE and ANTONY exchange a look. There is only one reason Damiano holds a Montague meeting in the privacy of his personal home. Beneath the surface of these gilded halls, a pile of bones sinks deep into the earth, and the stench of ancient and forbidden secrets fills the air. It is not lost on those Damiano has gathered in his study in the middle of the night.
An electric current crackles in the air with a promise and a threat: something is about to happen.
Damiano breaks the heavy silence with a single question, pointed at each of their throats in search of their jugular: “What do you see in the future of the Montagues?”
Silence greets him, and it seems to satiate Damiano, who rests in his seat with the satisfied hum of a well-fed tiger. So long as they know, he is content: no mortal dares to have the right to decide the future but Don Montague.
“I am surrounded,” he announces with aplomb, “by arrogance and incompetence.” Damiano lets the words settle, watching each of them closely. When they do not grovel at his feet or sing his praises, Damiano's mood sours. “I hand you a complete strategy, and you run it to the ground. What,” he turns a scorching glare to his son, “is so special about a coffee shop?”
ROMEO grits his teeth. “Where is God’s glory if not in His worshippers?” he counters.
He might as well have unveiled his pistol and held it to his father’s temple. The muscle in Damiano’s jaw flexes with fury, and his voice resounds throughout the room as he says, “It is time you learn your place.”
Despite the tension roiling between them, you would not think to wonder at ROMEO’s fealty; at his father’s side, looking straight ahead with firm gaze and stern mouth, he is the picture of obedience. But cast your eyes to his back, and you shall see clenched fists crossed at the wrists. His knuckles turn white with biting words swallowed.
“What do you see in the future of the Montagues, Don Montague?” GERTRUDE asks. Her hands are folded before her, as if to conceal the mark of her sins and the price she paid for it.
Damiano smiles and raises a hand towards the side door that his study connects to the library. With two words, he changes the course of Montague history.
“I mietitori.”
THE REAPERS.
The first to enter the room is ULYSSES. With the gait of a beast and the all-seeing gaze of a hunter, he stands at Damiano’s other side. ROMEO bends his neck forward to set his eyes on him. When ULYSSES meets his gaze, the heir stiffens; something about him is not quite human. As if he is a living void, or an abyss in motion.
LADY MACDUFF strolls into the room casually, as if they have lurked in the shadows of the Montague mansion for eons and are only now choosing to reveal their ghostly glory. They wait by ULYSSES. Though the two do not share a word or even a glance, something warm and familial prickles between them; a pack of two lone wolves, having found each other at long last.
Last and perhaps least, PERDITA makes her unceremonious entrance, quietly hobbling in with crutches in hand. GERTRUDE raises a single brow, and the initiate blinks for a half-second too long in response. She has been summoned without explanation, and knows better than to insist on one. In a beat of silence, the two forge an understanding between them.
Something is happening.
It’s ANTONY who has the confidence to voice the question they all hunger to know: “Are we here to initiate these three with a private ceremony?”
Perhaps it’s his easy arrogance or the audacity of his boldness; perhaps it’s the trust he has quietly woven into place, a landmine hidden in plain sight. Whatever the reason, Damiano laughs rather than rebukes. “My eager consigliere, your imagination is short-sighted.”
“The Capulets have waged open war against us.” Anger rises in his throat with each word, brimming and simmering at the surface. “A new drug on the market to compete with ours. A baseless accusation. The death of our own on display like theater.” He slams his fist down on the desk before him, his temper snapping its jaws at last.
“It is a new era, and we’ve been playing defense for far too long.” Damiano leans forward in his seat, elbows propped on the desk and hands clasped together as if in prayer. “I welcome you to our new secret weapon. A single covert team that they won’t know to look for.”
“Why these three?” ANTONY asks skeptically, sharp eyes surveying the chosen few. “They haven’t accomplished much in comparison to the rest.”
Damiano motions toward the three on his right, who stand unblinking. “Ask them yourself.”
GERTRUDE levels her gaze with ULYSSES. “You first.”
ULYSSES is the CLEANER, specializing in the removal of incriminating evidence. In addition to working as a Mietitore, he has the exclusive right to accept and reject requests from other Montagues as he pleases.
ANTONY nods at LADY MACDUFF and grants silent permission for them to add their own introduction. When they stand silently with challenge and mischief in their eyes, ANTONY commands gruffly, “Speak.”
LADY MACDUFF is the POISONER, having created an untraceable liquid poison dubbed bacio del mietitore — the reaper’s kiss — in secret at Alvise’s command.
“And you?” ROMEO asks PERDITA quietly, though he does not move from his spot on Damiano’s left.
PERDITA is the LURE. For her ability to adapt to those around her and become a human chameleon, she will bait targets during hits and operations.
The door behind GERTRUDE and ANTONY swings open with gusto as Montague captains swarm in. For the last half hour, they have been held at bay by security guards until Damiano wished them to behold his brilliance and the Meititori, unleashed. Uneasiness ripples through the motley crew as they wonder why they have been summoned. Some glance at the Mietitori with open suspicion; others ignore them markedly, looking only to their leaders for deliverance.
Most notably, MALCOLM stands in the back with his hands folded and back erect. He and ANTONY meet eyes. With one slow and deliberate nod, MALCOLM acknowledges him. With a smirk twitching at his mouth, ANTONY welcomes him to the fray.
Beyond them, among the huddle of captains, CELIA takes to observing those around her and the seeds of change that are now in-bloom. Her expression gives nothing away — until Damiano sets his fervent gaze on her, declaring her as the last addition to the team.
CELIA is the MUSCLE, possessing the required strength, skill and tact to handle the more aggressive aspects of the missions, such as strenuous tasks and direct confrontations with the enemy.
With his audience in full attendance before him, Damiano rises from his seat. “To claim Verona as our city, to rid our home of vapid Capulets, we must become united. We must stand together and embrace our brotherhood in face of the true enemy.”
He moves away from his desk and stops before the group of captains. “The Capitano will oversee the Mietitori and supervise meetings. They will guide the Mietitori and report to the consigliere if greed overshadows their loyalty. We will become one unit, and we will become undivided.”
“You,” Damiano sets his sights on MALCOLM, who is as stoic and unmoved as a statue among them, “are our newest Capitano. A leader modeling your father’s legacy, it is time you rise in the ranks and show the Montagues what you are capable of. Do not fail me.”
With a sweeping gaze over all in the room, Damiano repeats with emphasis: “Do not fail me.”
PERDITA and CELIA are now MIETITRICI.
MALCOM is now a CAPTAIN. His soldiers are now AJAX and TAMORA.
OVERVIEW: Introducing the Mietitori to the Montagues’ ranks! A covert team of specialized roles, the Mietitori, has been introduced to all Montagues as of MAY 20TH. The captains have been placed in charge of the team, and are responsible for assigning missions and reporting to ANTONY with updates on progress.
There are currently two OPEN positions on the Mietitori team: the STRATEGIST and SURVEILLANCE. We will be paying attention to each Montague, in order to determine the perfect fit. If you are interested in your character being a part of the team, please feel free to send us a message noting your interest and we will keep an extra close eye on your threads!
The Capulets have not been made aware of the new team, and it is of utmost importance to Damiano that it remains that way. But this is Verona, and secrets don't stay secrets for very long…
It was Viola’s screams that ushered in the new weeks, drifting along the wispy spring breeze and ringing in the ears of anyone who dared to mull over her death for too long. And it was Viola’s blood that cleansed the ever-soiled streets; pushing at the ankles of the broken, the damned and the indifferent as it rolled through the city in great phantom waves, huddling in-between the cobblestones and drying along fissured windowsills and sturdy pillars alike.
It was said that her ghost now haunted Verona. That it tackled burdened Montagues as they passed through the dreary halls of their library, slinking out from between the looming bookshelves and boring its coal-black eyes into them until they fell to their knees and wept in confession of their sins. Even civilians weren’t left unclaimed by the wrath of Viola’s memory, as they, too, were said to fall prey to it at the barest thought of Capulet retribution and all the lifeblood that was spilled in its name.
Viola’s death took up all the room that she could never fill when alive -- and Verona was choking beneath the weight of it.
One wheezing gasp after another, one desperate crawl after another, Verona drudged ahead like it always did. Yet while some couldn’t help but wonder about its inevitable collapse, others followed at its dragging heel with steady gazes and marching steps -- though it remained to be seen whether they did so because they truly wanted to, or because they had no other choice.
Among that ambitious clan of individuals was none other than Damiano Montague, who had continued to seek the solitude of his office and wrangle his plans for the future, even with all the losses that were now looming over him, rising higher and piling thicker with each and every victory that he stole.
MAY 12TH
THE CAPITAL LIBRARY, 3 PM
He sat at his desk, knotted fingers pressed against his mouth, features locked in an expression of stoic calculation. Before him was his right hand, his general, and most notably, his son. He still wasn’t sure of the title he ought to brand him with. Adversary? Kryptonite? Family?
Only one thing was certain; he had most definitely outgrown the title of heir.
It was glaringly apparent to Damiano as he stole a glance at his son, who occupied the seat directly before him, arm poised along the edge of the desk as his index tapped away in a steady, absently patient rhythm. His gaze was trained on the empty chair across from him, distant and glazed. He seemed every bit the thoughtful leader that he had always envisioned him to be.
The only difference was that he was sitting in the wrong seat.
Yet has he truly earned the throne for himself? Was he truly ready?
Damiano frowned, looking away and slowly lowering his intertwined hands until they settled before him.
ROMEO’s eyes instantly cleared, trailing up to settle on him attentively.
He shuffled around in his seat with a minute motion, yet for all his composure, the mild gesture was enough to betray his nervousness, and Damiano didn’t conceal his recognition of it; meeting ROMEO’s gaze for one rigid moment before his attention drifted away to the other occupants of the room.
GERTRUDE stood in the middle of the room, a short space beyond ROMEO, posture straight and hands clasped in front of her. Damiano eyed the bandaged stump of her ring finger for a long, heavy moment. She didn’t move, didn’t twitch or waver. She remained as steady as ever under his scrutiny, and although he gave no indication of it, it was reassuring for him to witness. Perhaps she did, indeed, retain some of the honor that her tainted act had forever defiled in his eyes. Only time and spilled blood would tell.
Beyond their cluster, near the small office window, was ANTONY, who leaned against the wall and peered down into the streets through pallid coils of cigarette smoke. He glanced at Damiano, but seemed in no hurry to come to attention; taking a moment to inhale one final gulp before discarding the cigarette with a lazy flick of his finger and one final glance at the city below -- as arrogant and aloof as ever. In just a moment, he would know his place. Damiano aimed to make the message glaringly clear with the sharp look he threw ANTONY’s way, but the man merely raised a placating palm while the other gripped the window and rolled it down.
It closed with a decisive, resounding clang.
Damiano took a deep breath that utterly failed to douse his flaring temper, pressing his palms flat against his desk for a moment before he abruptly began to drum his fingers against the tabletop. It seemed to coax ROMEO’s anxiety further to the surface; as he began to gnaw on his lip while tracing the motions of Damiano’s hands. Good.
If only the other two could be half as responsive to him, Damiano couldn’t help but irritably think.
“I have a question for you all: what does loyalty mean to you?”
His fingers stilled. His gaze skirted across all three of them with steady appraisal.
He received no answer.
“It’s a serious question,” He beseeched. “I genuinely want to know what loyalty means to each one of you.”
He took a breath, licked his lips, and impulsively decided that in truth, he didn’t want to fucking know.
“See, for me, loyalty is best translated through honesty. And what honesty means is being forthcoming. Direct. Willing to share what you otherwise would not for the sake of the common goal that I should think we’re all working towards.”
ROMEO’s eyes briefly fluttered closed, face turned away with what Damiano was certain was no small amount of exasperation. He would call it foresight if he didn’t know that it actually came down to the simple fact that his son was simply too used to being reprimanded. Yet did he ever take the time to wonder why the blame never ceased before he resorted to his usual self-victimization? Did he ever learn anything from it? No. Even with all the progress he had made, he still managed to land himself in the line of fire. So here they were, and he only had himself to blame.
“It doesn’t mean letting secrets fester for months on end, and in turn leaving everyone around you reeling from the consequences --“ He emphasized, eyes on GERTRUDE. “before finally mustering the courage to come forward, and right when it doesn’t even matter anymore.”
ROMEO didn’t turn to look at GERTRUDE, perhaps to save her the embarrassment. Yet ANTONY made no move to conceal the inquisitive glance he threw her way, though he retracted his attention quickly enough.
The knuckles of her clasped hands blanched, but that was the only indication that she had any particular reaction to his words.
It was enough.
“It doesn’t mean landing yourself in covert encounters with the enemy and sharing nothing on the matter, even though it leaves you incapacitated for months on end and thus an utter liability to the organization,” He looked upon ANTONY, tipping his chin in the direction of his still-healing hands.”While also bearing the risk of dragging the rest of the Montagues into whatever cycle of vendetta you had locked yourself into.”
It was GERTRUDE’s turn to cast a curious glance at ANTONY, who remained slouched against the window. Yet his nonchalant posture was decisively betrayed by the unmistakable frost that had now chilled his expression.
“And finally, it doesn’t mean orchestrating a wholesale operation of your own volition, not to mention after gaining intel that you had absolutely no right to keep to yourself, when it is not your place to do so.” He gritted, voice raised with his spiking frustration as he bore his gaze down on ROMEO, still scathed by the series of events that was ultimately what had paved the way for Viola’s untimely death.
He leaned forward across his desk, voice dropping into a harsh murmur. “Arrogance will get you far, boy, but never far enough while your name remains tied to mine.”
ROMEO’s jaw clenched as he blinked incessantly, undoubtedly in an attempt to keep himself from flinching.
Damiano watched his composure crumble, and then slowly, slowly, leaned back in his chair, once again turning to look between all three of them.
“So… do we see a pattern here? Or has honesty eluded you for so long now that you can’t even tell that you’re lacking in it?”
The words settled with a whiff of heat across all those who were present, and the silence in their wake was blistering.
Damiano began to drum his fingers once again, watching them as he awaited a response.
Again, he received nothing.
Curious. They were always so eager to hiss and holler and let their voices be heard, yet now they were mute all of a sudden. All because he faced them with their faults, even though they have all collectively done nothing but face him with his own.
He scoffed, lips tilting in a derisive smile. “It’s alright. What’s done is done, and each one of you has already paid their own price for their secrecy.” He let the declaration settle for a moment, then he spread his palms. “Now we can turn over a new page. And I’m willing to set the example that we all ought to follow, moving forward.”
Reaching into his drawer, he took out several files that he had compiled on his own, without the knowledge of any of the three. He put the files before him, but gave no indication that anyone was allowed to glimpse the contents just yet. “I think we’re all aware that the Capulets have gone too far at this point. Although Viola’s death is the straw that broke the camel’s back, I believe that this was a long time coming. War is what the Capulets have demanded, and war is what they shall receive.”
He nodded towards the files. “I’ve been thinking it over since the anniversary; how we can retaliate, what moves we can afford to make with the resources that we have. And over the past few days, I outlined the plan that I have in mind.” He opened the largest file, which showcased images of various Capulet territories alongside sheets of outlined information regarding them. “A series of coordinated attacks on significant Capulet territories which, if executed efficiently, will end with us taking over their precious Cathedral.”
He indicated a photo of the building. ROMEO frowned at it, licking his lips in hesitation before arguing, “But the Cathedral is practically falling apart after the explosion. What use would it have?”
With a click of his tongue, Damiano shook his head. “In this case, it’s not about the use, boy, it’s about the message. Those righteous fools take great pride in having a house of God in their grasp. They’ll be left stranded without it. We keep it, and it’ll be a blow that they will take ages to recover from.” He sought ROMEO’s gaze, certain that his following words would convince him. “If Cosimo thinks that what he did with Viola was a display, he has a grand fucking lesson to learn.”
ROMEO avoided Damiano’s eyes, silent as he read over the file.
“Like I said, I aim to set an example with this, so you’re all free to look over the strategies I’ve outlined. Offer suggestions, make adjustments, pick your teams -- get involved, and work to make this a success.”
With a firm motion of his hand, he closed the file. “It happens in three days.”
-
The door would have slammed behind ROMEO as he stormed out, had it not been for the swift response of GERTRUDE’s hand as she walked out behind him. She let the door hover open behind her for ANTONY to pass through as she trailed after a seething ROMEO, who came to a stop beside her with his fists clenched at his sides and his head shaking in fervent rejection.
“I have to do something about this.” He insisted. “Going after the Capulet HQ is no walk in the park. He’s going to be met with heavy resistance, and many of our people will die for nothing. Even if he does seize the Cathedral, it’s useless. And who knows how the Capulets might retaliate, or if we’ll even have the power to push them back by the time it’s over. They’ve already taken territory back from us once before.”
GERTRUDE was silent, though she seemed to be in agreement with ROMEO. ANTONY merely lingered in the background, not partaking in the discussion but carefully following it.
“I know I have no way of stopping him, but if I can somehow make these attacks count, then that’s what I have to do.”
He searched GERTRUDE’s eyes, then turned to briefly gauge ANTONY’s reaction.
“It can’t all be for nothing.”
Then he turned around, and quickly began marching towards his own office.
-
MAY 15TH
MEASURE BY MEASURE, 8 PM
The trenches of Measure by Measure sprawled ahead of the invading Montague battalion; an assembly of twelve soldiers with CELIA and ROSALIND at the forefront. Making their entry had been an easy feat, but it was known that the bulk of the establishment’s security lay in the catacombs; in the implicit knowledge that upon descent, one would have no choice but to dig their way out or be buried beneath another’s heel. As such, the nervous energy crackling along the humid air was palpable to all, though none seemed to waver before it. They knew their orders, they knew the mission that lay ahead -- and most importantly, they knew the risks.
Beneath the nervous air was a different sort of tension, however; one that spiked and pulled taut whenever ROSALIND’s gaze collided with CELIA’s, especially when she seemed to take note of the way her cousin was expressly marching closer to the comrades on her other side, enforcing distance that had divided both Aguilars for longer than either of them was willing to admit. It made for a stifling progression through enemy territory, one that had little to do with the constrained air or the cavernous space. Even the soldiers posed at the flanks seemed to take note of it; stealing perplexed glances at the renowned Montague duo as they walked at the head of their pack.
Yet although the ties that bound sometimes frayed, they could never truly be broken, and such was starkly proven by CELIA’s swift response as a wicked bullet strode directly towards her cousin, who was simmering in enough disdain that it seemed to completely drown out her focus. A push of CELIA’s palm into ROSALIND’s shoulder sent her sprawling out of the bullet’s path, and as she shouted at her cousin to take cover, she realized the risk that her selfless actions bore. Only it was too late, as she quickly found herself lying on her back with a gun pressed harshly into her throat. Atop her was CORDELIA, who hadn’t hesitated to take advantage of CELIA’s preoccupation with her cousin.
While the two grappled with one another, ROSALIND was instantly on her feet and working to come to her cousin’s aid, but HIPPOLYTA was quick to throw herself into her path. She was a renowned Capulet captain, known for her calculative disposition and efficient approach to combat. She encompassed everything that went against the aggressive, direct approach of ROSALIND’s training, and it caused the fight to sway in the Capulet’s favor. Though as ROSALIND took note of CELIA’s struggles against CORDELIA, she instantly abandoned defense in favor of offense, taking HIPPOLYTA off guard as she began to fuel more patience and tact into her assaults.
In the end, none of them could remain caught in a stalemate forever.
With a struggling HIPPOLYTA caught in her wavering chokehold, ROSALIND looked around her to find that most of their soldiers were either dead or caught in the Capulets’ grasp, and it took the mindless moment when she called out to the others to translate the bleak conclusion of their defeat for HIPPOLYTA to wrap an ankle around hers and tug her foot from beneath her, knocking her down and swiftly turning the tides of their fight.
Her warning was unnecessary, however, as it seemed that several of her comrades had come to the same conclusion. The first of which naturally being CELIA, whose attacks on CORDELIA had switched from offensive and lethal, to distant and defensive as she turned her focus to concocting a much-needed escape plan.
For a moment, all seemed to be lost -- until ROSALIND felt the blessed weight of a forgotten smoke grenade pressing painfully into the small of her back.
Digging her palm beneath her with great difficulty, she took it out and let it roll away into the middle of the raging battlefield.
Then she held her breath.
One second passed… then two… then the third…
The room was engulfed in smoke, and ROSALIND’s fist rose up to collide with HIPPOLYTA’s nose, dislodging her and giving her the leeway to run towards the exit after passing by her cousin and signaling to her with a quick pat on the shoulder. CELIA understood, rallying what was left of their comrades and leaning against them alongside ROSALIND as they made their ragged escape through the catacombs.
They came up for air with no concern for anything but the sheer relief that they had survived.
-
TWELFTH NIGHT MUSEUM, 8:30 PM
It was a calm evening in the Twelfth Night Museum, disturbed by nothing more than the whisper of footsteps as they stuttered before paintings and the hum of quiet conversations as visitors indulged in each other’s opinions and remarks. The echo of music drifted down from the upper floor, breezy and soothing, the paintings shimmered in the gentle light, and the sculptures looked upon it all with envying melancholy.
All while the city outside simply lay in wait.
Then all the doors slammed shut. Alarms blared and warning lights flashed.
And a dozen Montagues slinked out of the shadows.
At the forefront were MALCOLM and HAMLET who worked in unison to enforce their operation of taking over the museum, MALCOLM issuing orders to their fellow soldiers, and HAMLET working on closing the area off from any Capulet reinforcements. Soon enough, the museum was locked up like a cell without a key, restricted only to the internal alarms that left nothing for wandering eyes to see beyond its walls.
HAMLET quickly found himself cornered by CORIOLANUS, who spread his palms and looked around in indication of the Montague soldiers that were faltering and falling all around them in the wake of Capulet retaliation, taunting HAMLET with the pitiful sight. It was an act that failed at first, but soon enough served its purpose, throwing them into an entanglement that was desperate and invigorated on HAMLET’s part, while riveting and purely amusing in his enemy’s eyes.
At the far corner of the room, MALCOLM was aiding a fellow Montague soldier before suddenly taking an abrupt, vengeance-fueled knife to his side. Wielding it was none other than LADY MACBETH, who still burned with spite for what he had done to her husband. For a long time, they fell into physical combat, exchanging forceful blows and unflinching strikes, until MALCOLM gained enough breadth to wield his gun, and then LADY MACBETH’s fate was sealed.
Though not quite, for she was quick to grab a civilian and use them as a shield to deter his bullets. It was HERMIONE, who fell into a scream of agony, shoulder torn by the burning metal of a bullet, before she could even grasp what was happening. Once she had served her purpose, she was quickly discarded by LADY MACBETH who went on to taunt MALCOLM with his act of injuring an innocent woman.
Though HERMIONE was discarded, she was not abandoned. Her screams had drawn the attention of a watchful TITANIA, and displeased as they were with LADY MACBETH’s cowardly actions, they were quick to run to HERMIONE’s bloodsoaked side, helping her up and guiding her to a remote corner where they tended to her wound as best as they could.
Across the battlefield, BIANCA was ordered to go upstairs to the Tempest and ensure that no Montagues had infiltrated it. As she ran, she collided with FLORIZEL, who had been making his exit out of the lounge. The two engaged one another in a conversation riddled with underlying motives and looming blades, gauging each other and their stances on the chaos that had erupted around them. Adept at such games as she was, BIANCA had managed to lure him close enough -- and then she ran her blade through his gut. Just because she could. She had orders to take down Montagues, after all, and he had the same rabid air about him. Could anyone truly blame her for acting on orders and instinct alike? And so she walked away along a pool of his blood, unbothered by the chilling footprints she stamped in her wake.
It was just as HAMLET began to turn the tide of his battle with CORIOLANUS that his earpiece crackled with disturbing news. The Measure by Measure takeover had been a failure; they were now meant to retreat and make their way to the next and most essential target in order to ensure the success of the operation. He had no room to argue or discuss, and so he quickly called out to his comrades. MALCOLM answered the call, abandoning his unfinished fight with LADY MACBETH and making his way towards as many soldiers as he could reach, supporting them however he can and ushering them forward. Once there were none left behind except for the fallen, HAMLET gave the order to have their override on the alarm system dismantled, then began to fight his way through the museum alongside what remained of his people.
They made their way towards the Cathedral, hungering for the victory they had just been denied.
-
THE CATHEDRAL, 9 PM
The broken visage of the Cathedral made for quite a mournful sight. A vision that tugged one’s brows into a grimace of sorrow and lured their gaze into helpless appraisal of beauty torn asunder -- an ill fate that the ancient city of Verona had been condemned to from the moment it birthed the divine Capulet and Montague entities.
Its lower levels lay pliant, spread open before gloating eyes as their shattered foundations wearily leaned into the support of construction beams and wooden pillars. An array of spears sprouting from the Capulets’ crucified heart, drawing grit in place of blood and piercing stone in place of flesh.
Further beyond, among the crumbling ruins of the dilapidated ribcage, lay a cluster of prone bodies. Casualties amidst crossfire. Innocents.
Construction workers and Capulets tasked with security, fallen in the name of the Montague march as though they had never stood a chance.
Indeed, they hadn’t.
The workers were merely unconscious, but the soldiers had been executed, in accordance with the ruthless code with which GONERIL had led a handful of Montague soldiers, shortly before joining ANTONY and MERCUTIO alongside the rest of the battalion once their way into the Cathedral was finally cleared.
Above them, Capulets went about their business as usual, hearts settled and guard lowered. All while VOLUMNIA seethed in her office.
As soon as they were informed of the series of Montague attacks that had been launched on their territories, she had immediately sprung into action, distributing teams and assigning tasks while simultaneously preparing to dive into the battle herself -- only to find herself stopped by Cosimo Capulet. He aimed to go and survey the battle grounds, and it was his wish that she remain in their headquarters and take leadership in his absence. VOLUMNIA had been against it, claiming that it would be a more efficient action if she were to guide their forces on the field while Cosimo led and supervised their efforts. In truth, she hadn’t trusted what Cosimo might do outside the sharp scope of her vision, the bitter memory of the night of the anniversary still curdling in her mind. Yet her attempts at persuasion had been in vain, as Cosimo had firmly decided against listening before finally taking his hurried leave.
She had been mulling over it ever since, mind running itself ragged with contemplation as she considered all the new dimensions that her recent disagreements with the Don opened for the future of the Capulets.
Then her thoughts came to a dreadful halt.
She noted how quiet it had gotten outside.
But then sound began to arrive in small bursts; minute shouts and distant calls that she struggled to translate as she made her way to the door.
It opened up to reveal the dastardly curve of MERCUTIO’s smile.
That was all VOLUMNIA could see before her sight was whisked away into a dizzying blur of sights and colors. MERCUTIO’s gun-wielding hand only lowered from her bleeding temple for a second before the other followed in its tracks, landing a bruising punch to the other side of VOLUMNIA’s face and earning her enemy further leeway into her office. VOLUMNIA stumbled to her desk, throwing herself on the other side of it to put distance between them and steal a moment to regain her footing. But MERCUTIO offered her no breathing room, launching themself across the desk and sending her crashing into her toppling seat of leadership. Yet although MERCUTIO had gained the upper hand, VOLUMNIA was intent on stripping them of it, having learned quite a bit about their fighting style from their recent encounter with one another.
A short distance away, ANTONY and GONERIL were making their way to the other offices of Capulet leadership, yet their progress was soon interrupted by DIANA, who had clearly been on her way to make an urgent exit. ANTONY turned the corner and was instantly spotted by her, but luckily, GONERIL had been lagging behind and so she was able to lean back into the shadowed wall and mask her presence. ANTONY aided her, drawing DIANA’s attention and giving no indication that he was accompanied. It gave GONERIL room to slink away and look for another route towards their intended destination, while ANTONY continued to indulge in rigged conversation with the enemy.
He approached DIANA slowly, arms raised placatingly in a deceptive display of his bandaged hands, taking advantage of what he knew of the enemy and projecting the twisted image of a man too aware of his own weakness, a man unwilling to do what was easy and spill blood when he could instead coax the enemy towards surrender. DIANA indulged him, willing to bite into the bait and guarding against it all at the same time. She slowly closed the distance between them, with a blade in hand, tucked into her side and concealed within the gentle, overflowing ruffles of her dress.
Meanwhile, GONERIL was making her way away from the vacant offices of the boss and heiress alike with her jaw clenched in frustration. She shoved the door to the consigliere’s office open with her foot, almost convinced that it, too, shall be empty. For a moment, that truly seemed to be the case, and GONERIL stood in the doorway and sloughed out a sharp sigh -- right before ROSALINE launched out from behind the door and wrapped a makeshift garrote around her throat. GONERIL managed to raise her hands just in time, hissing as they bled across her neck. They tousled around, crashing into cabinets and colliding with walls, and so ROSALINE, still weakened by her torture at the Montagues’ hands, was quick to lose her strength and loosen her hold. GONERIL threw her off with a harsh kick, whirling around and faltering upon recognizing the woman from her past.
Further across the expanse of the headquarters, there were no clear omens as to whom the battle was swinging in favor of. Capulets hissed, Montagues roared, and the Cathedral was then awash with gold simmering and boiling amidst silver.
Then the Montague reinforcements arrived from the abandoned battle at the Twelfth Night Museum, filtering into the Cathedral like a winding contagion and quickly overwhelming the struggling ranks of Capulets.
Soldiers drifted around, coming first across VOLUMNIA at the mercy of MERCUTIO’s blade.
Then ANTONY as he stood with a dangerously scant space between him and DIANA, leaning close as if they were sharing a secret, though none could see the way ANTONY was eyeing her blade or the way DIANA clenched her fingers around the impulse of brandishing it. The soldiers approached, and ANTONY glanced at them before looking back at DIANA and slowly reaching for her blade. He twirled it in a scar-ridden hand as he led them away, DIANA caught between them in enforced surrender.
Finally, the soldiers came upon a victorious GONERIL, though there was no satisfaction to be gauged from her expression, especially as she was forced to further subdue ROSALINE, who swiped and screamed at the encroaching Montagues like a cornered beast. Even as she lost consciousness due to GONERIL’s decisive strike, she never stopped fighting back.
Upon entry, Damiano Montague took in the chaos with a mild smile. It was his first genuine one in months.
Broken as it was, the heart of the Capulets was now his. A token of victory unlike any other.
He couldn’t help but wonder what his son would bring back in turn.
-
PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE CAFE, 9:10 PM
It was quite a deceiving trophy that he aimed to bring back, ROMEO couldn’t help but think, eyes taking in the humble, welcoming visage of the cafe as his team slowly approached it. While it would seem like an odd, almost pitiful choice for a takeover target, especially when compared to the jewel that his father was seeking, he saw its value far beyond its image. Although the establishment was simple, and horribly understated in comparison to the other powerful territories that the Capulets controlled, ROMEO understood the intent behind it well enough that he could see the power it held where his father could not. A special brand of power that could only be found in kindness, which was found exclusively in Phoenix and the Turtle perhaps more than any other Capulet territory.
Those who slept on empty stomachs grew to forget the taste of hunger upon finding this place, and it was something that had endeared the Veronesi to the Capulets in ways that the Montagues have failed to contend with for years on end.
His father had spoken on sending a message, and opted to send it through theft of the Capulets’ heart.
But ROMEO was about to steal something far more precious, far more meaningful: the long-cultivated love of the people.
And he had no intention of being kind about it. They certainly hadn’t bothered to afford Viola that kind of respect.
It was for that reason that his expression remained stoic as stone as he heard the panicked shouts and terrified cries of innocent patrons as they coughed and choked and fell to their knees in the wake of the tear gas bombs that his team had thrown in through the windows. By the time it cleared and it was safe for the small Montague team to venture inside, the territory was all but theirs for the taking.
However, Damiano’s attacks had bore the disadvantage of announcing their plan to the entirety of the city, and because of that, Cosimo had been quick to send out teams to every single territory to guard against any remaining Montague attacks. It was for that reason that the Montagues’ victory was short-lived, as a Capulet squad was quick to crash into the cafe and bring their progress to a halt.
The first among them was KATHERINE, who seemed intent on going after GERTRUDE from the moment she spotted her. GERTRUDE deterred her attacks, trying and failing ceaselessly to convince her to swallow her pride and stand down. Yet her words fell on deaf ears, as KATHERINE continued on with her relentless attacks. As the fight progressed and GERTRUDE slowly ceased to hold back, however, KATHERINE opted for a different approach, taking advantage of the pallid remnants of smoke that still clung to the air to elude the enemy and dance in circles around her until she found her opening. Yet there was a great prince to be paid in the wake of her conniving strategy.
While KATHERINE crouched and slinked around under the veil of smoke, GERTRUDE did her best to trace her movements with her gun, and when she was certain that she had spotted her, she didn’t hesitate. The bullet whizzed through the murky air, but in place of the harsh, sharp groan that GERTRUDE expected, came a gentle, resounding scream -- the bloodcurdling sound of someone who has yet to learn of true pain.
It was HERO, who had gone on to expect that the only hardship she would endure on this night was the possibility of getting lost on her way home, and yet here she was, in tears and tremors as she scrambled to halt the ceaseless blood-flow. It was just her luck that the righteous, kind-hearted TROILUS, who happened to have also elected to dine here, lingered close enough to come to her aid. He scrambled away from the upturned table that he had been hiding behind and made his way towards HERO once GERTRUDE and KATHERINE were out of sight, calming her down and helping her with the injury before moving on to guide her towards escape, lips coiled in disdain for the mobs that only ran deeper with each passing day.
Nearby, TYBALT was launching himself at SEBASTIAN, who had taken note of the situation involving HERO and lost his focus in the wake of oncoming dread as he realized just how many innocents were getting caught in the crossfire of this battle -- the one they had been the ones to initiate. The space was too constrained for use of arms, and so the two took to physically fighting against one another, SEBASTIAN solemn and cautious, while TYBALT snarled and pushed, and pushed, and pushed. Though how far he pushed just before SEBASTIAN broke, one could only wonder.
It was OPHELIA and MIRANDA who then came into conflict, hissing and spitting at one another while war raged all around them. OPHELIA and CLEOPATRA had stuck to each other’s side, but they had gotten separated amidst the chaos, and OPHELIA feared for her dear friend and for herself in equal parts, knowing they were much stronger when banded together than when apart. It fueled her attacks against MIRANDA, the desperation to find her friend and make sure she was safe -- a goal that she and her enemy both shared, as MIRANDA, too, was pushed by her boundless passion to stand up for her friends and famiglia alike. But the two never lowered their weapons, and so they never found out just how much they actually had in common.
It was every bit the clash of beast against prey as BEATRICE and REGAN threw themselves against one another, though the modest, brimming space of the cafe did not allow for much freedom of movement. At one point, BEATRICE keenly used it to her advantage, running out into the streets in the hope that her speed would allow her to get the enemy off her trail. Yet REGAN was not the type of predator who was deterred by a chase, and so they followed after BEATRICE with eager hunger, keeping up with her with detached ease.
They caught her quickly, throwing her to the ground and locking her in with their body before antagonizing her with the gleaming weapon they held aloft. The sound of them in the otherwise quiet street drew ARIEL’s attention as they passed by, and at first, they hesitated to act upon taking note of the chaos that had overtaken the cafe. Yet upon recognizing BEATRICE, they decided to help her, distracting REGAN long enough for BEATRICE to escape their grasp. She didn’t run, however. Instead, she stayed and worked together with ARIEL to escape REGAN’s prowl.
Later on, REGAN settled on the concrete, catching their breath and glaring daggers at the retreating silhouettes of their quarry. Yet as they made their way to stand and continue their chase, IMOGEN was abruptly at their side. They claimed to be offering REGAN their help, even though they barely glanced at their wounds, feigning ignorance towards their identity and allegiance alike in the hope of gaining information on the battle that was erupting only a few feet away. IMOGEN had had far too many missed chances as of late, and it was a mistake that they had no intention of repeating.
Back inside the cafe, in a remote corner that was still anything but peaceful, CLEOPATRA faced off against EDGAR, who took a stance of grim determination, reminded of an achingly similar stalemate that he had been locked into with another Montague not too long ago. Though unlike them, CLEOPATRA was calm and unrelenting instead of desperate and eager for self-sacrifice. She clearly had no qualms about resorting to necessary violence, and still she didn’t reach for her weapon. Instead, she negotiated, attempting to convince EDGAR of the inevitable Montague victory and draw him towards peaceful surrender. It was only because of the surprising semblance of honor that she afforded him that EDGAR stilled and listened.
They never had a chance to see if CLEOPATRA could truly convince him.
Soon enough, ROMEO sealed the fate of the battle.
He gave swift, efficient orders, distributing soldiers evenly and tasking them with goals that worked to ensure that the cafe was locked tightly within their grasp. Capulets were subdued and held at gun-point, or defeated and cast outside as fodder for the streets. The Montague HQ was contacted and informed of their team’s success. More soldiers were dispatched to ensure the security of the location and fend off any Capulet retaliation.
ROMEO took in the blessed vision of order, exacted by his hand and his hand alone, and it felt like he was able to draw breath for the first time since day arose.
The taste of victory was not quite as sweet as he imagined, and still he couldn’t seem to get enough of it.
He wondered how it tasted to his father, if his addiction to it was the reason why they had wound up where they were.
Desperately, he hoped that it would grow bitter for him as time passed.
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THE OUTSKIRTS OF VERONA, 11 PM
From a castle carved from shadow, LAMPRIUS watched as one battle after another overtook his beloved city. A grating chain of war that had been choking him in its coils for as long as he could remember.
It was tradition as ancient as the Witches who still lived eternal in his memory.
Its life would come to be cut short. Just as theirs had been.
The promise burned within him, and with its ashes scorching the tips of his fingers, he went on to write the following words.
Remember this for when the time comes.
What is dead can never die. Not while there is life and legacy to be taken in its name.
Then he sent them scurrying along the wind, towards none other than Verona’s damned kings.
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OVERVIEW: And so the war for the territories begins! Viola’s death has stirred the Montagues into irreversible action, and the stakes are only going to climb higher from here. As you’ve just witnessed, the Montagues are now officially in possession of THE CATHEDRAL and PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE. But fret not, Capulets! The next plot drop will explore their reaction to the blow they’ve been dealt and the action they’ll take in response, which is the reason for JULIET’s absence from this plot drop. Due to injuries too debilitating for them to take part in the action, PERDITA and ORSINO are also absent. A lot of exciting things are coming, so keep an eye out for them alongside changes in our locations page to reflect the recent events! Please date your threads from APRIL 27TH to MAY 30TH, with MAY 15TH as the day where the events of the plot drop occur. Let us know if you have any questions, and have fun!!
GERTRUDE HAS BEEN TASKED BY DAMIANO TO DEPOSE OF THE TWO CAPULETS, AS PUNISHMENT FOR THE MURDER OF HER HUSBAND. / WRITTEN BY EMMA K
A MESSAGE FROM VOLUMNIA: Amici, alleati, soci (friends, allies, associates),
It is with great sadness that we announce the deaths of Cassian Bhatt and Lillian Wen. Cassius and Lavinia, as many of you knew them, were killed in cold blood yesterday evening. They died at the hands of a coward, who executed them before they could fight back. The assailant has yet to be found, though investigations are underway. Both Cassian and Lillian were beloved by their colleagues, and their families have expressed that neither had any enemies who might wish them harm.
At this point, we must remind you all of the Montague threat that continues to build in both number and audacity. These, are enemies to us all. In unity, we can defeat them. In unity, we can avenge the deaths of a capable soldier and a gifted emissary.
Let us show Verona that we are strong not only in our successes, but in our losses too.
Argento in pace, acciaio in Guerra (silver in peace, steel in war).
A MESSAGE FROM GERTRUDE: The loss of Valentina Gallo has been one that has shaken those of us who knew, and worked with, her, a devastating blow that will be difficult to recover from and, certainly, one that could not go unpunished. Cassian Bhatt and Lillian Wen have been disposed of in retribution for the terrible crime enacted against our own valued soldier.
Our Capulet adversaries now know that any action against our own will not go unpunished. We are united, in our losses and our victories, and from that bond we can draw strength. Above all, the Montagues are resilient, and will emerge from the turbulence that shakes Verona stronger than the Capulet opposition who have tried to tear us down.
Usque Ad Finem (until the end).
* At this time, no one outside of DAMIANO and GERTRUDE know who killed CASSIUS and LAVINIA.
APRIL 30, 2019
The metronome of her heels, as they echoed against the wooden flooring, was a death knell, too overdue to mark the death of her late husband, it sounded like her own. Time had counted down tutting a cruel reminder of how the situation was unavoidable, that the secret kept close to her chest would be revealed eventually. Genevieve didn’t think it would be like this, but still determined to do it on her own terms, here she was.
Knuckles wrap against the door before it opens, still polite, in spite of circumstances, watching as Damiano glanced upward toward her. Her realisation that her facade slipped is slow, understanding her expression betrayed her after the Don leans back in his chair to reassess her. There is a question written in his gaze, one that hangs, heavy, in the silence between them, suddenly unsure she wants to answer it.
Henry. The Zhang woman reminds herself of her son, of her reason for doing this, as his face swims in her vision. It is a memory where he is whole and unburdened by the weight of the mafia, now as fragmented as the man that Vivianne Sloane had left on her doorstep; the man that murdered her friend. Henry had always been her priority, though the confession felt like lacerations on her heart, that remained unchanged.
“I killed Howard.” Teeth clench together, resisting the urge to try take back the confession, glancing down toward the white knuckles that held onto the arm of her chair. Inhale, relax her grip, exhale, the mantra repeated in her mind until her body begins to listen, finding the strength to look her boss in the eye again. “I did not put the knife in his back but I might as well have, I wanted you to hear it from me.” Genevieve ducks her head again ignoring the mangled voice in the recesses of her mind that called out the half-truth.
An albatross had settled around her neck following her husband’s murder, a pressing weight against her chest that constricted her, now shook itself back to life as it flew away. Relief manifesting in fleeting tears that dotted themselves along her waterline before she can blink them away, masquerading as sorrow. Falsified sorrow then transitions to sick, twisted, satisfaction as she catches the look that flashes across his features. She has surprised him. Good.
Damiano extends a hand, Genevieve is wary as she takes it, warier still of the assurances that her position is secure - for now, he says - the doubts remain. He pins her hand to the table, she feels it then, RETRIBUTION, a searing hot pain emanating from the juncture between her ring finger and palm. No sound escapes her, no sound can escape her, teeth plunging deep into her lower lip, deep enough to draw blood.
When he permits her her hand retracted, cradled by the other, blood dripping on the floor while the edges of the new wound sting with betrayal, the fingers wrapped around her mutilated appendage blanched white. Leave, the thought a light amid the dulling edges of her vision, leave NOW, but he stops her. “GERTRUDE,” a muscle in her jaw twitched, expression wiped plain in response to the address, she knew the implication behind using her given name; this was not friendship.
“ONE MORE THING…”
MAY 1, 2019
“I want them dead.”
“Of course, I can ask -,” the Don is swift to pull the breaks on her train of thought.
“No, Gertrude, you will do it.”
Her anger was like magma beneath the surface of her skin, climbing the length of her spine until it had taken over her nervous system, feeling the heat of rage spread throughout her body until it was all she felt. This was not her job, the belief that she had surpassed the need to prove herself many years prior thrown back in her face, reluctant to acknowledge she had slipped several rungs down the ladder she worked so hard to climb.
Of course, it was her own fault. Genevieve did not need to tell him about Howard but she did, the Zhang woman had watched the albatross take flight from its perch around her neck and had no urge to beg it to return. Her reasons had been her own, each a stone on the path that lead back to Henry, to protect her son, putting herself on the firing line in his place seemed like the most logical solution.
Night had fallen several hours ago, dark clouds colluded overhead as though the God’s themselves were in compliance with the Montague Don. Verona had seemed uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps the sound of her heart beating in her ears drowned out the other noise, however she wouldn’t complain. Fewer witnesses, fewer people to concern herself with. Resignation apparent in her exhalation, understanding there was no avoiding the task she had been burdened with.
Not particularly enthused, she had still taken the necessary precautions that had been instilled in her, scouting the building days before now making her way to the rear of the house. Gloved hand tests the door - locked - bending down, adjusting the hood on her head, deft hands manually unlock it, sliding it open then closed behind her. Genevieve claimed a nook as her own, pushing against the wall, breath held to ensure that she hadn’t been caught. For now.
The first target enters her periphery.
Genevieve pulls a rope from her inside pocket as she strides forward, steps certain yet dulled against the soft flooring. One swift movement has it sinking into the pliant flesh of her mark’s neck, aggravation huffed through her nostrils as a strangled name emerges from them. Hands scratched at leather gloves, trying not to think of it as the coward’s kill it was, eventually going limp and she lowered the body to the ground. Friend. No, enemy.
The rasped name had summoned her second quarry, retreating back into the wall as it hugged her back, watching them approach and reach for their gun once their gaze settles on the lifeless form of the other. Her movement is noticed before Genevieve can raise her own weapon, the target fast but she strategic, their bullet ripping through her shoulder causing her to cry out. Her own ammunition, however, sunk into the space between their eyes.
Teeth clenched, breathing coming shallow, her hand grasps tight to her shoulder attempting not to spill blood on the floor. The gun is pressed into the hand of the woman lying dead on the floor, in her arsenal since January but not bearing her name, retracing her own steps when that was complete. The signal to summon her team is simple, yet distinct, consisting of no more than the getaway driver and the medic.
The Zhang woman barely makes the few steps to the van, her feet felt heavy and her vision blurred, keeping herself upright exerted far more energy when rapidly losing blood, the medic almost pulling her into the van. Pain medication was ingested soon after it was put in her hand, gritting her teeth against the pain caused by the excavation of the bullet lodged in her shoulder. The hand that had covered the wound now wiped blood across the leather interior as she searched for her phone, pressing the call button as Damiano’s name illuminated the screen.
“I did as you asked Cassian Bhatt and Lillian Wen are dead.”
No time to reflect on what she had done, to be swallowed by regret or to stare down at the chasm where it should have been. The darkness took her first.
The selection of movies offered at the Multisala Rivoli was a tragedy; a city as glittering and growing as theirs deserved a more renowned theatre.
In an effort to relieve her boredom and the deep feelings of uselessness after the Capulet Anniversary and her subsequent injuries, LADY MACBETH set her sights on a new acquisition. The theater could also provide much needed income and a chance to pull the focus away from the smoldering ruins of the Cathedral. There were other rumors and whispers of what was left over from the time of the Witches that speak of what the theater was used for - and the treasure trove hidden within. A takeover was the only way to confirm this, and even if the rumors proved false, under the right management, the Multisala Rivoli could become quite lucrative for the Capulets.
MAY 1, 2019
LADY MACBETH approached VOLUMNIA with her idea, and together, they formed a plan of attack. LADY MACBETH with her honey sweet poisoned words, TYBALT possessing the Capulet name, connections, and that menacing presence proved to be quite a team. They met with the current owners; forgetful Romans who once thought it prudent to have ties to Verona. They eventually proved more than happy to part with the money pit — given the right amount of coaxing and more money than they thought the theater was worth. TYBALT and LADY MACBETH ensured that the owners would turn a blind eye to the manner with which the theater was taken, lest they wish for their next dealing with the Capulets to be far less generous.
MAY 10, 2019
DIANA and KATHERINE purchased two tickets to the 9 pm showing of Roman Holiday, the last screening of the evening. It was much more crowded than they anticipated , and LADY MACBETH feared word of their operation had reached the other side.
At 10:30pm, 30 minutes until the film’s end, KATHERINE excused herself silently and broke into the now empty box office. Here, KATHERINE was joined by a Capulet soldier who specializes in security and the two of them hacked into and took control of the security system.
At 11:10 pm, just as the credits began to roll, a Capulet soldier from CORDELIA’s borgata dressed as an usher announced a potential gas leak and the need to evacuate. Using her well-known social status, DIANA encouraged the civilians to follow, making sure to evacuate everyone. DIANA remained outside, securing the front entrance under the guise of dealing with any curious civilians and maintaining the story while phase two began.
Phase Two consisted of two teams, one led by HIPPOLYTA and her soldiers, tasked with confirming that the theater itself was clear. The second team was led by CORDELIA with several of her borgata members. As the newest Captain, CORDELIA was encouraged to show her willingness to use force, if necessary. LADY MACBETH would be sure to report any hesitation to VOLUMNIA.
What the Capulet teams did not know, however, was that a number of Montague loyalists that managed to stay behind. Perhaps they actually had caught wind of the plan, or maybe they were just weary of DIANA playing the part of a hero and the disappearance of her friend, KATHERINE. They may have simply been movie-lovers determined to see the very end-credits… But the average patron was not armed. DIANA noticed the burning gaze of Montague soldiers and recognised some of them. She sent a quick text to LADY MACBETH, giving her a heads-up for a potential altercation.
The gunfire came first from the balcony, with HIPPOLYTA and her team narrowly avoiding being hit by diving behind the heavy velvet seats, though the assailants continued to draw fire. LADY MACBETH entered last and at the sound of gunfire, radioed KATHERINE to cut the lights and trigger the sprinkler system. With enough chaos to disguise them, CORDELIA and her team, equipped with intimate knowledge of the theater’s layout, accessed the balcony to meet the attackers head-on. In the dim lighting, CORDELIA was grazed by a stray bullet to the thigh, but her team managed to quell the force of the attackers.
Upon the successful clearing of all hostiles from the theater, LADY MACBETH secured the main office and began the tedious work of digging through the records to see what the Witches had left behind. Everyone else was instructed to continue searching the building. It was KATHERINE, ultimately, who found it: an easily overlooked supply closet holding more than just brooms and broken projectors. In it, the treasure found beyond the secret door and dark staircase was grander than even the rumors made it seem.
The next morning a sign appeared on the front door of the Multisala RIvoli that said “CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS, UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT”.
Using VIOLA’s funeral as a distraction, the Capulets, led by PARIS, rescue ORSINO from the Montague captivity and teach them a lesson in the process.
TIMELINE —
April 1st - ORSINO is taken.
April 4th - ROSALINE asks VOLUMNIA to have PARIS look for ORSINO. Unable to reach him, VOLUMNIA reaches out to PARIS and asks him to head the rescue operation.
April 6th - PARIS and TYBALT start to look for the possible captor.
April 7th - PARIS enlists REGAN to tail MERCUTIO without detection and find the location where ORSINO is held.
April 8th - PARIS plans the rescue mission and further entlists EDGAR, MIRANDA, HIPPOLYTA, HELENUS & DIANA.
April 10th - The team rescues ORSINO.
PREPARATIONS —
The call from the capobastone raising alarms about missing ORSINO prompted PARIS to retrace the man’s last known location and find some clues as to what could’ve happened to Capulets’ notorious hitman. Crossing the line once again, PARIS used his security clearance to personal, or rather, Capulet benefit – he went through the security footage of various locations throughout Verona, courtesy of local law enforcement and his company’s facial recognition software the government was using.
After a sleepless night of staring at the screens, PARIS found a potential witness. The time was of the essence, thus abandoning his usual tricks of persuasion, he enlisted the tiger of Verona to make the witness bird sing. When TYBALT was done with the prey, his knuckles were bloody and the information – obtained. TYBALT and PARIS now held the key clue to the puzzle of ORSINO’s disappearance: he’d been taken by none other than MERCUTIO themself.
Shadowing the Montague harbinger of war was no easy task, it required stealthiness of a night wind and lethal touch of a masterful marksman. Who was better suited for the task than mighty REGAN? Per PARIS’ instructions, she waited for the dusk to provide her cover and followed MERCUTIO like their own shadow. Around midnight, REGAN came bearing the good news: the Montague captain had led her to an abandoned orphanage at the outskirts of Verona. Her observant eye clocked the rough estimate number of soldiers that may be guarding the precious captive. Sudden flashback to the Capulet Anniversary night gave PARIS an idea: the looming funeral for the fallen VIOLA shall be the perfect distraction to arrange a prison break. He spent the next two days flashing out his plan, and called upon MIRANDA, EDGAR, HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA.
THE MISSION —
The morning of April 10 arrived with grey skies and a weakened Spring breeze. The grief-stricken Montagues slowly gathered at the funeral, with heavy hearts and teary eyes, to say goodbye to one of theirs. DIANA, an unwelcome guest, made her way to the ceremony, dressed in a beautiful black dress and a lacey veil – doing a little to hide the darling of Verona, but her social status granted her the safety of not being attacked out in the open. The purpose of her being there was simple, yet crucial – she would be PARIS’ eyes and ears. Should Montagues have got alerted of the attack and left the cemetery to provide back-up at the orphanage, DIANA would warn her team straight away.
PARIS had split the Capulet team in three groups. Each had their own role to play.
The first to arrive at the orphanage – a run down building, out of commission for nearly forty years, with grass sticking out from the cracks in the concrete – was the ATTACK team. PARIS had chosen TYBALT and REGAN on his side, and three of them would unleash hell on the Montague soldiers, weakening their defense and drawing all the attention to themselves.
The heavy iron door would be the first obstacle they encountered, but thanks to REGAN’s intel, PARIS came prepared. He set up the explosives and blew up the door. TYBALT and REGAN rushed inside through smoke and shambles, starting a cacophony of gunfire to provide cover for PARIS to join them. Once he did, TYBALT was first to break Montague line of defense, leaving fallen soldiers in his wake – using his gun, blade and bare hands interchangeably to wreak havoc. PARIS followed him closely and helped thinning the herd with his pistol. The hawk-eyed REGAN took a position behind the duo, providing cover and picking off Montagues one-by-one with her rifle, making sure they wouldn’t outnumber TYBALT and PARIS. Not all Montagues were brave enough to face the Capulet forces, and rushed to the door, only to be gunned down by REGAN, life leaving their bodies before they could leave the building.
As Montague forces started to flock to the main entrance, upon PARIS’ singal, the DECOY team pulled up in the driveway. HELENUS sat at the steering wheel of a shiny vintage Stingray and HIPPOLYTA in the passenger seat, gun ready. They remained in the driveway long enough to be spotted by the Montagues, and then drove towards the back exit. A carefully planned and perfectly executed move that would create confusion amongst the Montagues later.
Back inside, as the attack trio advanced in the building like a plague on a medieval ship, PARIS came face-to-face with a Montague, his eyes meeting the barrel of the enemy gun. Despite making a good use of his pistol earler, he had yet to actually murder someone. The mastermind of the mission hesitated for a second, but TYBALT shook his friend out of it. Encouraged by TYBALT, PARIS committed his first murder. There was no remorse in his eyes as he examined the body hitting the ground with a thud. Not that he thought there would be.
Watching the scene unfold, one of the Montague soldiers seized the opportunity of TYBALT being distracted and emboldened, snuck up on him with a knife, injuring the Capulet captain in the arm. A grave mistake on Montague's part – TYBALT, turned into a steaming, burning rage, shot him in-between the eyes five times. The main hallway was now cleared out, as REGAN shot the soldier who struggled to get on her feet. PARIS advanced deeper in the hallway.
Whilst the attack team were arranging a Montague massacre in the mail hall, the RESCUE team - EDGAR and MIRANDA made their move. They climbed to the second floor through the thick vines snaked all the way to the roof and snuck into the building from the balcony. Their steps were quiet, like feathers falling on the ground. Silenced pistols clutched closely, they searched the building for ORSINO. None of them intended to go back to the Twelfth Night until they found him, even if they had to leave no stone unturned in this cursed orphanage.
Gunfire had quietened at the moment, as the attack team was moving towards the staircase. The sound of PARIS’ phone buzzing cut through the silence. It was DIANA, giving him a heads-up that Montague reinforcements were coming. The plan PARIS laid out to the team two nights prior had accounted for this.
TYBALT and REGAN headed back outside to deal with the reinforcements, and PARIS stayed behind. He intended to sweep the building one last time, for the rescue team to navigate safely. More confident with his gun now, PARIS took down two Montague soldiers during the sweep. The first one had been hiding behind the door and managed to shoot PARIS in the left arm, but he retaliated quickly, shooting them in the head. The second kill was easier. The third? Even more. Lady luck had been kind to the emissary, the bullet had only grazed PARIS. With careful steps, PARIS ascended on the stairs and spotted another Montague at the window. A quick shoot in the back, and the enemy was none the wiser – they didn’t even see PARIS coming.
EDGAR and MIRANDA rushed through the empty hallways, encountering dead bodies and injured soldiers on their way. Finally, they discovered the basement where ORSINO was held, guarded by two Montagues. EDGAR with no hesitation, eager to free his friend, engaged in hand to hand combat; After a brief scuffle, EDGAR pistol-whipped the first guard across the temple, effectively knocking him out. A second Montague came to his companion's rescue right away. MIRANDA’s bold attempt at intercepting the enemy got her punched in the face, but before she could have been seriously wounded, EDGAR shot Montague in the leg. There were only three of them in the dingy, dark basement now – EDGAR, MIRANDA and barely conscious ORSINO. They unshackle him in haste, it’s about time they leave the building.
Supporting ORSINO, EDGAR allows him to use his shoulders as a human crutch as the trio heads out of the orphanage. They had almost made their way out of the basement, when one of the two Montague guards, staunching her wound and hungering for revenge, straggled up the staircase with a gun, only to meet her rather grim end. MIRANDA threw a knife in one swift motion, and the blade landed right in the forehead of the Montague.
The three of them left from the back entrance, set out to escape through the woods until they reached the car they'd hidden the night before. Halfway to the car, ORSINO fainted from the pain. From here, EDGAR and MIRANDA carried him to the car, doing their best not to exacerbate the wounds on his torso. They drove away quietly, choosing a longer route to Verona.
After EDGAR and MIRANDA left, PARIS joined TYBALT and REGAN outside, who were engaged in a fight with the Montague reinforcements who emerged from the first car that arrived. Soon, the second car followed suit. HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA, with a Capulet soldier who looked deceivingly a lot like ORSINO with his soft, dark curls, seating in the back, took it as their cue to enter the scene. As a part of PARIS’ orchestrated plan, HELENUS made the engine roar, and sent pebbles underneath the wheels flying in all directions. An intentional act to lure the second car.
Their stint worked. Montague’s put the car into ignition, and set out to chase after them, but HELENUS left no chance to get close enough. Whilst speeding on the road, the Montagues opened fire from their car and HIPPOLYTA in turn, shot back from her passenger seat. Right before they reach the main highway, HELENUS made a quick 90 degree turn and halted, making it possible for HIPPOLYTA to aim her shots. The emissary managed to crack the windshield of the Montague car, making it difficult for them to keep up.
Back at the orphanage, the dust began to settle. Per PARIS’ calculation, they only had a few minutes left before Montagues arrived in full force from the funeral. It was time to get back to the Twelfth Night, but not before leaving a message behind for the Montagues. The message was simple – the Capulets will break any cage they try to put them in, whilst the Montagues will be left to bleed out – like VIOLA, whose death they were morning that day. REGAN and TYBALT nailed the dead (and some alive) Montague soldiers to the windows, re-enacting Viola’s demise, and in another symbolic gesture, PARIS destroyed the place where ORSINO was held with a sledgehammer.
Soon, DIANA sent them the final warning. High on their success and in spirits, PARIS, TYBALT and REGAN took one last amused look at the orphanage before they left.
THE AFTERMATH —
HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA, who were driving in the opposite direction from where EDGAR and MIRANDA were headed, eventually lost the Montagues on their tail. They met with DIANA, PARIS, REGAN and TYBALT at the Twelfth Night. ORSINO had been saved and in MIRANDA and EDGAR’s care. The two of them later joined the rest of the gang at the Twelfth night, where PARIS threw a little celebration for a successful end of the mission.
The procession is a deliberately public affair. To lose a police officer gets the whole city out in droves, and while the funeral itself is closed to the public, they gather outside the set perimeter, tears in their eyes. Sure, they may recognize that many of those in attendance are Montagues, but in this moment they feel united with them in their grief. In this moment, the city will mourn with them as well, and the press have gathered to watch it all unfold.
SEBASTIAN, CELIA, BENVOLIO, MERCUTIO, ROSALIND, and TAMORA are asked to act as pallbearers, and there is no traditional funeral mass. It seemed obscene to try, considering where Valentina died. In lieu of having a priest stand up for her, ROMEO takes the podium to offer a eulogy, and comfort to his familia in their grief. Damiano Montague is not present for the ceremony.
“Before we begin, I have been asked to give my father’s apologies,” ROMEO says, appropriately solemn as he stands elevated above the crowd, but for those close enough to spot it, they find a hint if reproach in his expression. “He has deemed it an unnecessary risk to make himself so vulnerable today, but he grieves with us, and is here in spirit.” The words are carefully chosen, and they hit their mark; he sees some faces twist in anger at Damiano’s cowardice, SEBASTIAN chief among them.
ROMEO continues:
“Friends,” he begins, clearing his throat. “Family. We gather here today to mourn the loss of one of our brightest. Valentina Gallo was not merely a soldier, not merely an officer of the law. She was loved as she loved us — fiercely and without reserve.” Cheers go up in the crowd from various Montagues alike, from both those who knew her and those who only saw her in passing. They did not need to know her to rally around her.
“She had a difficult task, but no matter what was asked of her, she faced it with courage I should hope someday to possess myself. She inspired me, and I know she has also inspired many of you.” Roman looks down at the podium, for his voice has begun to shake, but he regains his momentum quickly. “We will not be the same without her. We will never be the same, after the loss of one of our own, but we will have each other. Too long I have leaned on all of you; today, I offer myself as a pillar of support.” His voice hardens, taking on an edge of steel. “I will catch you if you fall. Losing Valentina is not about being strong in the face of suffering. It’s about feeling that pain, letting that hurt well up inside us, and using it to build something better. We will ensure, together, that her death does not go unpunished.”
He says no more on that subject, for press surround them and he must stop just shy of outright discussing mafia business. Instead, he turns toward the open casket, Valentina’s porcelain skin white even against the inside lining, hair dark and long around her face like a pool of ink. “Today, we do not leave Valentina behind. We will always carry her with us, and she will always push us to fly higher, try harder, do more than we thought we could. I know that all of us, no matter how well we knew her, will leave this place ready to make her proud.” Emotion colors his words, and he knows there are some within the crowd who’ve begun to cry. “Thank you, VIOLA. Drinks in your honor tonight.”
Eulogy done, he steps down from the podium with a nod to SEBASTIAN. Traditionally, he would also say a few words, but as they put together the funeral, it was ultimately decided that it would be worse pain to subject him to talking about her than to let someone else take over. Still, ROMEO thinks as he watches SEBASTIAN be the first to step forward and kiss her cheek. He lingers a moment before walking around to the other side of the casket to shut it, and one by one, the Montagues step forward to toss dirt and flowers on her grave. A few even bring shots with them, which puts a smile on more than one face, even in the midst of tears and tragedy.
It is a good ceremony. Imperfect, but emotional, exactly like VIOLA herself.
-
OVERVIEW: And that's that! At last, we have officially concluded the events for this time period. While not all Montagues are mentioned, all who wish to be are present, and you may headcanon or write within the ceremony as you please. In addition, any Capulets who wish to pay their respects (or watch the show) are welcome to be a part of the crowd surrounding, and members of the press were also in attendance, of course. While this is a Montague event, all are welcome to participate within the bounds of what’s outlined here! Thank you Alyx for giving us a wonderful Valentina.
With the reveal of Cosimo’s gruesome display, the hall fell silent. For a moment, all anyone could hear was the rattling of their shared breaths. VIOLA hung at death’s door, and in the suspended animation of the room, her pulse beat ever faster -- too weak to lift her own head.
MERCUTIO and OTHELLO forgot each other entirely, though for very different reasons.
The jolt of confusion felt by OTHELLO was too overwhelming for him. He had been betrayed once before, after all, but never had he been forced to watch his wife bleed out before him and call it a celebration. Feeling sick for too many reasons to count, he began to back away, wanting nothing to do with the fight or the revelry any longer. Emotions would have to be sorted out later; for now, the dramatics offered him a cover for escape, so long as he did so quietly and inconspicuously. He was making his way toward the door when he spotted IAGO, limp and lifeless beneath HAMLET’s distracted form, and changed trajectory, ensuring his friend’s safety as he dragged him away from the scene before them. HAMLET let him go, already moving to the front of the crowd.
MERCUTIO stepped forward on instinct, half-crazed ideas about freeing their friend at the forefront of their mind. They were joined by HAMLET, with GONERIL reluctantly coming to stand at her captain’s side. CORDELIA remained frozen in place, horrified at what she was seeing, yet incapable of acting either for or against it. Only when she saw the distinctive tattoo on VIOLA’s ruined arm did she move, just one step forward, to at last take in the face of the woman who’d tortured her. A sense of satisfaction briefly stole over her features, but it was gone before anyone took notice.
The Capulet soldiers in the wings flocked out, all part of Cosimo’s design, and began to drag the unconscious members of their faction away. LADY MACBETH, EDMUND, MACBETH, and LAVINIA were all hauled out of the cathedral to receive additional medical attention, with HIPPOLYTA among those using the Montague horror as a distraction to tend to their wounded. The remainder were to stay and witness the show, for they knew all too well what consequences would follow if Cosimo’s plans did not receive proper attention.
TAMORA cared little for the girl on stage, so she had no issue continuing a fight that everyone else seemed to have put on hold. Smiling at a distracted and terrified DESDEMONA, she stepped forward and sunk a knife into her gut. The weakened ROSALINE bared her teeth, a hint of her former self coming out to play, but before either of them could truly begin a new battle, TAMORA was dragged away by PORTIA, who rightly understood that the situation had changed. Reluctantly, TAMORA followed PORTIA toward the other Montagues, and ROSALINE was able to direct several Capulet soldiers to get DESDEMONA out. With no one left to concern her in the immediate vicinity, ROSALINE simply watched their work unfold, a small smile on her face.
PERDITA was the first to scream, the sound almost deafening in the empty silence of the cathedral. It roused BIANCA as well, who was lying slumped at her feet, her head swimming as she watched PERDITA push forward toward Cosimo’s stage of horrors. Anyone paying attention realized quickly that it was not a scream of horror, but a scream of rage. PERDITA’s only lead toward her lover’s whereabouts was being drained of blood before her very eyes, and she refused to believe she would be denied, not when she was so close to the truth. As she pushed through the crowd, she nearly made it before she was stopped by MERCUTIO, their hand around her wrist and grim determination in their eyes. They wanted to act as much as she did, but this was the trap Cosimo had placed for them, and they wouldn’t let themselves or PERDITA move until they were certain it wouldn’t end in death.
Around the room, expressions ranged from shock, to horror, to satisfaction and glee. Some revelled in the unveiling of the spy who had caused them so much strife, while others shied away from Cosimo’s brutality. EDGAR’s gun slipped from his hand, but BENVOLIO was uninterested in picking it up, struggling to stand and make his way toward VIOLA, who he’d worked so closely with these past months. EDGAR did nothing to stop him, for it was all he could do not to be sick upon the floor. Not only was it gruesome, VIOLA’s display was in many ways a perversion of the religion he clung to so very tightly. She was bleeding out on sacred ground, hanging from the wall as though she were on the crucifix, and though his hand tightened on the rosary in his pocket, it did him no good. Not this time.
SEBASTIAN, horror having rooted him to the spot until now, began to move from the edges of the crowd, speed growing with each step he took. It was BEATRICE who looked around for him, for she knew that her borgata partner would be at this very moment risking his life if it meant he could go to his twin. She begged in quiet whispers for a reluctant RICHARD III to help her head him off, and together, the two held SEBASTIAN back, though with difficulty. Each grasping one of his biceps, they kept him at the center of the crowd and avoided drawing attention to him, lest Cosimo think it would be fun to play with the food not on his plate.
At the edges of the room, TROILUS tended to his wife, begging her to leave with him now before more carnage spread. CRESSIDA shushed him, though it was clear she stayed with the utmost reluctance; what stayed her hand was the thought of being punished by Damiano again. Her fear motivated her to search the room for some way to be useful that would keep them from danger, and her eyes fell shortly on BENEDICK’s prone form. Whispering to her husband, the pair began to duck in and out of the room, quietly shuffling the Montague personnel who were injured out into the safety of the night, including ROSALIND, who was placed very carefully into TROILUS’ arms by a battered MALCOLM.
IMOGEN took in the scene with a vicious sense of satisfaction. At last, they were bearing witness to the brutality she longed to put beneath her pen. There was no way out for Cosimo Capulet now, they thought fiercely, sliding out their phone to record what he was about to say next. OPHELIA got to her feet nearby, once there was no sign of ORSINO, and saw IMOGEN start to film. A moment of indecision struck her, but ultimately, OPHELIA did not want the rest of her Montague familia outed, not even for the sake of ruining the Capulets. She rushed forward, knocking IMOGEN’s phone from their hands and stomping on it, until it remained in tatters. When she looked up at IMOGEN once more, it was clear from their expression that OPHELIA had made an enemy.
MIRANDA could not see through the thick of the crowd, and attempted to get closer to see what all the fuss was about, only to be stopped by CORIOLANUS, who tried to tell her it might not be something she wanted to confront. She didn’t listen, and with a sigh, he led her toward a better vantage point, still in the middle of the crowd and without drawing too much attention. The two looked on as Cosimo began his final performance of the evening, with no clue what may be in store from here.
GERTRUDE made her way through the crowd to join ROMEO, her only goal protecting the man who was, in so many ways, a son to her. CELIA followed, leaving PARIS to be taken care of by one of the many floating Capulet soldiers in the crowd. As the Montagues coalesced around the stage, so too did a Capulet guard, standing between them and Cosimo, preventing them from getting to VIOLA. Among them stood ORSINO and REGAN, each bruised but more than capable of handling another fight, as well as KATHERINE, who reluctantly joined only after a nod from VOLUMNIA. The Underboss took her place beside Cosimo with grim austerity in her features, and behind her followed JULIET, her eyes wide and her expression unreadable to the crowd.
ROMEO stepped forward, though he did not quite put himself in reach of the Capulet guard standing between him and his target. “You’ve made your point,” he said bitterly, “That’s enough.”
Cosimo’s amusement only seemed to increase. “Enough, you say? No, no, not at all. We have much more work to do, young Montague.” His smile was sinister as he gestured proudly toward JULIET, prompting her to step forward and allow him to place a hand on her shoulder. “Now we must show you how a true organization operates,” he explained, pausing for dramatic effect, “and how the heir to a throne must behave.”
Meanwhile, NICK BOTTOM was making his way back to the cathedral to finish what he’d started before BETRAM had so forcefully interrupted him. He snuck his way through the back offices until he found the perfect place -- the corner of a desk, tinkering with the explosive in his pack before setting a timer. This area was largely empty, unguarded now that all Capulets had been pulled in to assist the injured in the main hall. Satisfied with his work, he made his way out the back entrance once again, unburdened by an obnoxious companion. He had no way of knowing what was truly taking place in the cathedral, or of VIOLA’s punishment; all he knew was that whatever drinking was being done upstairs made his business almost too easy.
Unaware of the chaos still in store, Cosimo was as satisfied as anyone had ever seen him. With JULIET trembling beneath his hand and VOLUMNIA at his side, he certainly seemed the victor. “So often, these celebrations are filled with nostalgia for the past. I have seen what the future can hold, and I know that when we look forward, beyond our grief and pain, we will do so as a family, united in our strength.” He gazed warmly around the room before raising his glass to them all, though he was the only one with wine still in hand. “To the future!” he called, squeezing JULIET’s shoulder before his gaze cast toward one side. “Bring in the Initiates.”
TITANIA, who at last heard their cue, moved toward a side door and held it open. OCTAVIA, POMPEY, OBERON and several others were beckoned into the room, with expressions ranging from excitement to reluctance. They made their way over to Cosimo and the others, and he set down his wine, rummaging in the inside pocket of his suit for a moment before pulling out a gold-encrusted dagger. He turned to the first initiate in line, offering it to them handle-first. “Loyalty is everything -- not just to me, but to all of us. It is the lifeblood of our organization, the pillar of our strength, and it is from loyalty that we derive our power.” The initiate took the handle with trembling fingers. “Now, you must take the first step toward your future. Prove your loyalty, and make this place more than a cathedral. Make it your home.”
The Montagues began to move forward, but were stopped by the wall of Capulets before them, tension filling the room. Behind the group of Montagues, the soldiers who were making the rounds earlier filed in, surrounding them on all sides. There was no escape, and there would be no fighting back. All they could do was watch as Cosimo’s grand finale began.
The initiate, for all their previous shaking, seemed to gain their strength as they moved toward VIOLA’s prone form. When they drew their hand back, the dagger was held firmly in their fist, and it sunk into her flesh with an awful, wet sound. It echoed across the hall as though the cathedral had magnified it, forcing each among them to witness the blasphemy unfold. The rest followed suit, each being handed the weapon in turn, and though they would not graduate from their roles as initiates, this act brought them one step closer toward becoming soldiers in truth. OCTAVIA, POMPEY, and OBERON each drove the blade again into VIOLA, who moaned in pain and tried to lift her head, though nothing close to words formed on her lips.
SEBASTIAN cried out, but was held back not only by BEATRICE and RICHARD III this time. The Montagues had banded together, not wanting to lose him as well. His broken sobs filled the air as Cosimo retrieved the blade from OBERON’s grasp, turning and extending it again to his daughter. JULIET took the handle, though it was soaked with blood already, and stepped forward toward VIOLA. It was impossible to see her face, not even for her father, but he was too busy looking out into the crowd to wonder what was going through her mind. “The legacy of the Capulets will be cemented tonight. There are those who have said my daughter is too gentle of spirit to lead this family, that her heart aches for even those who would betray us. To those who spread those lies, I say you must stand corrected: my daughter is the future of the Capulets, and she will rule as well as I.”
Back turned to the crowd, JULIET stepped toward VIOLA, whose chest was heaving -- she surely could not outlive the next minute. If anyone was paying attention, they might have seen VOLUMNIA turn her head toward the crowd, brows furrowed. Her gaze met LAMPRIUS’, and then she watched as he slipped from the hall and out from the cathedral. Cosimo turned to watch his daughter. “To the Capulets!” he called, drinking heartily from his wine as JULIET dragged the dagger across VIOLA’s throat.
The knife slid from JULIET’s bloody fingers to the floor, but before she could turn and recite her victory speech, a resounding BOOM! sounded from behind them. The explosion rocked the foundations of the cathedral. Chaos erupted around the room, people rushing toward the exits in fear of the cathedral collapsing down on their heads. VOLUMNIA was quick to leap into action; she immediately pulled Cosimo and JULIET toward the exit, while the remaining Capulets watched their backs and filed out after. Only MIRANDA was reluctant to leave, struggling to catch SEBASTIAN’s eye, though she knew there was nothing she could’ve done.
Perhaps the Montagues should’ve taken the opportunity to escape as well, but SEBASTIAN ran immediately to VIOLA, ignoring those who tried to stop him and barrelling through to hop up onto the stage before her. He cut her down and cradled his sister in his arms as his fellow Montagues attempted to drag him from the building, still shaking rather ominously. Eventually, they were able to convince him they had to take her with them, and SEBASTIAN gathered VIOLA’s body in his arms, allowing the other Montagues to lead the way outside.
As people ran from the cathedral, HELENUS stared in horror as his place of work and worship rocked unsteadily before him. He’d stayed outside for the celebration, in protest of what Cosimo had implied the event would become, but he’d listened at the door long enough to hear of the carnage. Disgusted, he had planned to make an entrance and make his feelings heard, but the explosion from within had derailed all previous plans. Without a second thought, he rushed inside the building, not to air his grievances but to ensure anyone within got out safely.
Waiting in two unmarked vans were FORTINBRAS and HORATIO, the Montagues’ newest initiates, who had realized earlier in the evening that something was going on and confronted ANTONY as he was leaving Damiano’s office. He tasked them with assisting in the safe return of the rest of their new familia, as a way of proving their worth, both to himself and to Damiano. The two men raced to the library’s parking structure and drove to the cathedral, where they began a waiting game that was rocked (quite literally) by the sound of a bomb. People began pouring into the street, but it was only the Montagues who recognized these vans as safety. They collected their injured from where TROILUS and CRESSIDA were keeping them safe, and they sped away, with VIOLA laid out across the back seat, her lifeless head in SEBASTIAN’s lap.
As the Montagues made their escape, the Capulets scrambled to keep their beloved cathedral upright. While the structure remained standing, it was clearly damaged, and the blare of sirens was closing in. Those with a desire to avoid the police left the others behind to deal with the fallout, as was customary when it came to handling them. None of them noticed the man slipping from a sleek black car and out onto the street, watching flames pour from the upper levels. Another officer soon stepped out to stand alongside him, anxious energy pouring off of them. This was the new Brigadiere Capo’s first official introduction to the Montagues and Capulets, after all. They waited, expecting to hear something. An order, an exclamation, a resignation.
But PRINCE ESCALUS remained silent. He only sighed and strode towards the cathedral, wading knee-deep into the chaos.
-
OVERVIEW: And that officially rounds out our Scene V event! VIOLA has joined the list of the fallen, but the Capulets have taken a loss of a different kind, leaving both mafias more level than they’d anticipated. You may now place your threads anywhere within the timeline, up until April 26th. We look forward to seeing how each of you deals with the fallout!
The Montagues have been rocked by the tragedy of their loss, but it’s also brought them closer together — if you don’t count the rift growing exponentially between ROMEO and his father, or ANTONY lurking in the dark, flitting from one side to the other, with both assured of his loyalties.
As for our new faces — we know, and we’re excited as you are! Our new initiates are OBERON on the Capulet side, with FORTINBRAS and HORATIO for the Montagues. In addition, PRINCE ESCALUS appears on the scene, though importantly, none of your characters are paying enough attention to catch a glimpse. We would prefer to keep mentions of Fortinbras and Horatio to a minimum as well, though you are welcome to comment in passing that they are driving you, if you are a Montague making your escape.
There will be a mini-drop for VIOLA’s funeral on April 10th in game.
In the weeks following the uproarious battle in Hotel Emelia, a peculiar quiet had begun to stain the unruly canvas of the city, shrouding crimson corners with mournful blues and clouding vermillion peaks with misty greys as both ends of Verona’s scale of war came to a standstill.
The Capulets had settled into their flock, leaning into one another to fill the fissures and nurse each other back to soaring flight. The Montagues raised their drawbridges and dammed up their gates, honing their focus on the conflict roiling within their mighty walls rather than on that which brewed beyond them. And the people, those who were left to gather the scraps and choke on prayers, they could do nothing but bide their time and wonder when Verona would grow hungry again.
Its first moan came in the form of light shining from within the Cathedral, gentle and pearl-pure.
It soothed those who laid their awed gazes upon it, drawing the eyes of cynics and wanderers alike as they walked past the building, blissfully oblivious, caught in Verona’s grasp only as far as its beauty could allow; blind to the grinning terrors that it so savagely concealed.
However, the same couldn’t be said of those who resided within the Cathedral, hovering in the divine heart of its beacon. Indeed, they were intimate with Verona’s horrors to the utmost degree -- and that was precisely why they had gathered tonight. To celebrate their hellish affair with the dark and pull it closer by the shadows on the holiest night to ever grace Verona’s timeless years.
The night of the Capulet anniversary.
No expense had been spared and no resource had been wasted in the refurbishment of the Cathedral’s third level for the long-awaited ceremony. The entire floor was now drenched in proud silvers and blues, its elegance accentuated with simplistic yet refined decoration, with ornaments and sculptures gracing every corner and breezy classical music drifting from a nearby piano. Tables brimming with an assortment of delicacies and vices lined the walls, leaving the center of the room open for Capulets to linger and revel however they pleased. Everyone, aside from those tasked with patrol and security, had been relieved of duties to take part in the celebration and rejoice alongside the rest of la famiglia.
Cosimo Capulet took his royal perch on the outskirts, taking it all in with unfettered pride and unconcealed self-congratulation.
This was his empire, after all. Whole once again. Thriving and marking down yet another eventful year in its glorious history, right before his eyes.
Cosimo rose from his seat, snagging a drink from the nearest table as he walked up to the center of the room. He came to a stop upon an ornate wooden platform that he had had installed precisely for this evening, settling before the microphone where performers had sung and Capulets had offered halfhearted words throughout the night. A broad, maroon veil loomed behind him, concealing the backdrop of the platform and what Cosimo had claimed was a special gift for his people.
If one looked closely enough, the set-up resembled a miniature stage.
If it roused a specific memory in the Capulets’ minds, no one seemed willing to voice it.
All the better, Cosimo thought as he cleared his throat, it would make for an awfully dull celebration if his surprise were to be spoiled.
There was no need for him to clink his glass or announce himself -- everyone’s eyes had already settled upon him from the moment he took the stage. A few gazes were dulled by inebriation, while others were sharpened by lucidity, yet the attentive focus was a commonality among all. He needed nothing more.
“You all know what you’re gathered here for. You all know what tonight means for us.” He began, leaning into the mic with a sober yet bright expression. He paused, waiting until the hum of conversation gave way to complete silence before continuing on. “To me, it feels like this celebration is what we work towards each and every year. We have our goals, of course; between building Verona into the monument that it deserves to be and tearing down whoever dares to stand in our way. But in the end, we march towards those goals with our eyes set on nothing but this exact moment, when we get to look back on the paths that we carved behind us and remember all that it took for us to come this far. As always, we exceed all expectations.” He nodded with a smile, the expression widening as he received a few in return.
Searching the familiar faces among the huddled crowd, he continued on to say, “Every year that the Capulet name continues to ring throughout Verona is a testament to that. To all that we’ve given and will continue to give. To all that we’ve taken and will continue to take. We can never let ourselves forget that. And if anything, that’s why we’re here… “
He looked at JULIET, eyes softening at the corners. “To remember all that we can do, for Verona and for each other.”
He looked at TYBALT, raising a clenched fist. “To remember what we have, and what’s at the stake.”
He looked at ROSALINE, mouth tightening. “To remember what is easy to forget, and hold it close.”
Finally, he looked at TITANIA. “To remember what we’ve lost, and make it mean something.”
Focus returning to the bulk of the crowd, Cosimo bid his smile to return, raising his glass and stretching his other arm outward. “And so, with all of that being said, I give this toast to us, my friends! To all of our past years and all the years to come! To the Capulets!”
“To the Capulets!” Came the resounding echo from the crowds, the room dissolving into momentary silence as everyone took a sip of their drinks.
The veil shivered at Cosimo’s back. He paused with the glass still held to his mouth.
He slowly lowered it, lips split into a dastardly smile as he swallowed with languor, savoring every drop and every second.
-
Across the ruins, Damiano Montague shared none of his adversary’s thrill.
That is, unless the emotion he was wrestling with could be counted as a rotten, ravenous variation of the sentiment. Whatever it was, he had no idea how to identify it or come to grips with it; instead, he could only simmer while it steamed through his nose and struck smoke beneath his heels.
He paced across his office, restless and overcome. Meanwhile, ANTONY took his vigilant post by his desk, arms crossed and lips sealed tight, as still and watchful as a stone-carved sentinel. Damiano wasn’t sure if he was grateful for his presence or resentful of it.
He paced faster.
“I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it.” He seethed, each word an ember that further fed into his rage as he voiced the thoughts that had been eating away at his mind for months on end. “After all the years I’ve given to build this legacy, after all the sacrifices, all the spilled blood and wasted lives, it all ends up hanging in the balance so fucking easily. In the blink of an eye. And at the hands of my own son, no less.”
ANTONY said nothing, which he was grateful for. He wasn’t sure he could stand being faced with his faults any more glaringly than he had already been -- but that was ultimately what his consigliere was here for, wasn’t it? To throw him before the bitter truths that he didn’t dare to confront on his own.
It was for that reason that Damiano halted, turning towards ANTONY and readily demanding his input by asking, “Did I do this? Could it be that I was the one to bring upon my own ruin?” Exhaling a heavy rush of breath, Damiano resumed his stride, albeit at a slower, more introspective yet no less frustrated pace. “I did everything that I could to encourage Roman, after all. I pushed him, again and again and again.”
“You did push him, in ways that fostered more resentment than respect,” ANTONY responded, speech slow and careful, almost as though he was entirely aware of the landmine he was rigging with his words. “And I can’t say that you haven’t done the same with the mob as a whole.”
A pause. “But regardless, this was inevitable, and you have to accept that if you mean to respond to this, Damiano. If you hadn’t pushed him, he would have found other reasons to resent you -- even come up with them, if necessary. If you weren’t aware of this in one way or another, you wouldn’t have introduced him to this life.”
Damiano’s steps had come to a stop, rousing a stifled silence in their wake as he ground his teeth and chewed on the consigliere’s words.
“Part of you considered that this might happen, but you took the risk anyway,” ANTONY continued, approaching him with light, resounding steps. “Because you knew, and I think you still know, that your true legacy has always been Roman. Isn’t that right?”
The furious splay of Damiano’s features cracked, overtaken by a vulnerable, nameless emotion that had once been more familiar to him than his own being. It sent split-second images of his son flashing before his fogged-up eyes; as a small, ungraceful, overly bright child and as a proud, determined, dim-hued man.
ANTONY’s following words only served to entice a burst of color in the reminiscent vision. For a seemingly endless moment, Damiano could see nothing else.
“Just as you’ve built up the Montagues, you’ve built up your son.”
The vision splintered, now fractured and distorted as it trembled before his eyes.
“The power he has was yours to give… and it’s yours to take away.”
Damiano blinked. His sight returned slowly, drawing focus. He turned his head with a disoriented scowl; ANTONY was standing at his shoulder, lending support with speech and presence alike.
The sight only served to highlight just how much his allies have now dwindled, and a leader who stood alone was nothing but a follower of his own whims and desires.
Was this truly what his son’s determination had reduced him to, in the end? Was this truly all that he had left to his hallowed name?
“It’s only too late if you convince yourself that it is, Damiano,” Came his consigliere’s oddly insightful response, voice dropping to a murmur not unlike a serpent’s hypnotic hiss. “Look at all you’ve achieved over the years. All the experience, power and bodies that you’ve wracked up and harnessed to build what we all have now. Roman’s small victories could never amount to that. Your shortcomings could never overshadow it, either.”
He turned around to face Damiano, the renewed firmness of his words failing to take away from the careful lilt of persuasion that carried them forward.
“The throne is yours. You’ve earned it with blood, sweat, and carnage. Tears are all that Roman has, and he’s done plenty to prove it… “ A pause. A derisive tilt to his tongue as it wrapped around his following words. “Let’s not forget that he aided in Rosaline’s rescue.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” Damiano rumbled under his breath, rage rejuvenated by the mere reminder of his son’s ever-yearning brand of failure: his heart.
If such was to be his son’s downfall, Damiano couldn’t allow it to be his.
The thought cast a funeral veil over Damiano’s sentiments; the last remaining bulwark against the conquest of his madness. It hardened his heart against any hope of bringing his son back at his side.
Now he could do nothing but stand against him.
This conversation was one out of many that he and the consigliere had shared across the recent months, yet as it came to a close, it seemed to carry an undercurrent of finality that Damiano hadn’t realized the others had lacked.
Then came ANTONY’s response, almost in a direct affirmation of the thought. “Good. Remember, and use it to take back what’s yours.”
They only had a moment to let the words settle their dead weight between them before the door was bursting open to reveal ROMEO on the other end of it, eyes wide and knuckles blanched around the handle.
He looked between them, urgency evident in his gaze as he made his damning declaration. “Father, a messenger’s arrived.”
“A messenger? From who?” Damiano asked incredulously.
ROMEO paused, mouth grimly coiled. He took a deep breath.
“From the Capulets.”
-
Back at the Cathedral, Cosimo Capulet was still lingering on the sweet, ruddy taste buzzing along his tongue, glass hovering at the edge of his mouth.
He lowered it, looking over his people as they soaked up his speech.
He hoped they could spare some room for everything else that he still had in store.
“Now, I hope you’re all sated and enthused because we’re not done rejoicing just yet.” He announced, blood thrumming as the crowd’s attention slowly slid back into his grasp. “In honor of this evening, I have a gift to share with you all.”
Cosimo paused, all cheer melting away from his expression as it was slowly overtaken by scorn.
Yet it failed to take away from the scythe-like curve of his smile as he declared, “The slow, delicious agony… of a rotten Montague spy.”
As an array of responses began to bloom across the expanse of his audience, Cosimo began to walk back and forth across the platform. “For months and months, this rat walked among us like they were one of our own. Fighting at our side, sharing our victories, learning our stories -- all while reaping our secrets and selling them for cheap to the rabid dogs on the other side of the ruins.” He jabbed a finger at one of the windows, the harsh timbre of his voice bouncing off the elegant planes of the room and all but echoing the atrocity all across the city that peered in through stained glass. “It took us too much time, but we found them, and I thought that there was no better night than this for them to be brought to their knees before you, grovelling and begging for mercy while they fall prey to justice. Our justice.”
Cosimo!
Suddenly, the doors burst open across the room, the newcomers’ entrance marked by a sharp, guttural call of Cosimo’s name as ROMEO declared his presence through gritted teeth.
Cosimo looked up, face splitting into a joyful grin as he spread his arms and indicated the encroaching group. “Ah, I see our guests of honor have finally arrived! My beloved Montagues, welcome, welcome. I’m so glad to see that you’ve decided to share in our celebration.”
“I will not let you do this.” ROMEO gritted, flanked by MERCUTIO who sneered at every Capulet who dared to lay their eyes on them.
“Ha!” Cosimo hollered, turning to exchange a lazy look with VOLUMNIA who instantly began to place their soldiers in position with swift commands. “Go ahead and stop me then, infant king.”
ROMEO charged at the throng of Capulets with a hollered command to the rest of his team, launching himself at LADY MACBETH with fiery eyes and a poised gun. While lilting words and cutting brands of cunning were often reliable weapons for her, they failed to withstand ROMEO’s brutish assault in this instance, and so the tension between them was swiftly cut when she was forced to brandish a weapon of her own. The close range of the fight paired with restricted breadth of movement didn’t allow them to fully utilize their arms, however, and so they quickly devolved into physical combat.
MERCUTIO couldn’t do more than kick LADY MACBETH off of ROMEO at one point in their fight before OTHELLO tackled them away. Teeth bared and will alight, MERCUTIO bared their teeth and engaged him wholeheartedly, although their focus remained divided as they kept themselves in tune with ROMEO in case he ever needed their aid.
Hoping for another chance at revenge, albeit with a different foe, HAMLET set his sights on IAGO as soon as he entered, the memory of his defeat at the Capulet’s accursed hands too bitter for him to properly bury. Enclosed within the erupting chaos as they were, IAGO had no choice but to engage him, lacking the leeway that their last encounter had granted him.
As his partner for the mission, GONERIL was right on HAMLET’s tail as they made their entry into enemy territory, yet she was far from devoted to the Montague cause. She was merely set on whetting her appetite, depthless eyes scouring the crowds for interesting prey with no distinction between friend and foe. The ensuing fight between HAMLET and IAGO was interesting enough to detract her from her hunt, however. She lingered on the outskirts of it, taunting both men and toying with their conflicting expectations towards her -- until a gratingly familiar voice eventually lured her away. It belonged to none other than CORDELIA, and the mere echo of it was enough to draw GONERIL back towards her neglected whim, blades whispering along fabric as she slowly extracted them and faced off against her sister.
BENVOLIO and ROSALIND were the next Montague pair to pierce through the chaos, BENVOLIO instantly setting his sights on ROMEO and MERCUTIO’s entanglements a short distance away. Yet before he could make any move to lend them his support, he found himself intercepted by EDGAR. Driven by explicit orders, deafened by the brimming havoc, EDGAR went on to block BENVOLIO’s every attempt at communication. And so they were futile, both when it came to convincing the man to clear BENVOLIO’s path and when it came to preventing the dreadful prospect of violence. Neither one of them had any choice but to draw their weapons on one another.
In a similar fashion, ROSALIND was kept from offering any aid to her partner when MACBETH began to prowl around her. The two devolved into a ferocious clash, with ROSALIND piercing MACBETH’s arm with a blade aimed at his throat and MACBETH retaliating by branding her with a ruthless smattering of wounds and bruises. Though the conflict wavered, its end was marked the moment MACBETH’s bloodied arm lodged itself against ROSALIND’s tender throat.
MALCOLM and OPHELIA lingered a short distance away, combining their efforts to fend off the enemy, yet the moment MALCOLM’s eyes caught sight of ROSALIND as she thrashed in the grasp of his mark, his blood was lit aflame. He threw himself into MACBETH’s side like a raging bull, pounding into him until the proud angles of his face were lost to the murky overflow of his own blood. Under VOLUMNIA’s urgent orders, EDMUND came to MACBETH’s rescue, successfully drawing the Montague hellhound off of him only to end up taking his place between MALCOLM’s gnashing jaws. The two engaged one another, EDMUND drawing the enemy’s focus long enough for MACBETH to be dragged away by a stray Capulet.
OPHELIA, frozen in fear for her partner and shock at his lightning-quick assault of the enemy, was taken off guard by a prowling ORSINO. However, she gave him no chance to taunt her with the torment that she had once experienced at his hands, savagely launching herself at him and tackling him into a long-awaited confrontation.
While the league of Montagues clawed their way through the Capulet sanctum, another team was infiltrating it with hushed footsteps and the aid of shadows.
A horrendous threat upon loved ones and a hefty promise of wealth and safety had swayed a desperate priest towards helping the Montagues infiltrate the celebration through the first level of the Cathedral. They had known that they would be walking into a trap, overwhelmed with the full brunt of the Capulet ranks and the territorial advantage they possessed, and so they had employed the best strategy they could come up with to combat those shortcomings. The covert Montague team was meant to enter the hall through the exit on the other side of the room; to take advantage of the Capulets’ distraction as they were occupied with the other team and steal enough time for themselves to locate their seized soldier and set them free.
Such was the goal that drove GERTRUDE forward as she led the team into the hall, flanked by CELIA and supported by the Montagues that lingered at her back.
She had expected to locate their target immediately, yet she caught no sight of them as her eyes scoured the room.
Their spy was nowhere to be seen.
And thus a poisoned spear was quick to lodge itself into the cracks within the Montagues’ armored strategy, halting the progress of GERTRUDE’s team as she maintained her rigid position, scouting the room as much as their borrowed time could allow. But it quickly ran out once JULIET spotted them, declaring their presence to her comrades before breaking away from VOLUMNIA’s side and throwing herself into GERTRUDE’s path. The two confronted one another as PARIS launched himself at CELIA, rendering her unable to aid her superior as the two ferociously grappled with one another.
With the team exposed and vulnerable, it took no time for Capulets to surround it and damn its mission to certain failure.
And the Montagues were quickly realizing it, the first of which being BENEDICK who found himself cornered by CORIOLANUS. The two devolved into violence which in turn left CRESSIDA stranded without a partner. REGAN, attuned to the scent of blood-filled opportunity, threw herself into her path, slinking out of the shadows to draw her arm around CRESSIDA’s neck and settle a blade against her throat. Just before her fate could be sealed, CRESSIDA jabbed the butt of her gun into REGAN’s gut with a harsh strike that threw her out of the Capulet’s grasp. REGAN was relentless, however, only wavering from the attack for a moment before launching herself at CRESSIDA once again.
TROILUS’s heart soared into his throat from where he stood, shackled to RICHARD III’s side. He had been coerced into reluctant spectatorship by the Montagues who had forcibly brought him along to cement the Capulets’ crude decadence in his eyes and further draw him away from the devotion they believed he harbored for the heiress. There was no room for any such thoughts to fester in his mind, however, petrified as he was to witness his wife struggle in REGAN’s grasp, horrified and scorned that the Montagues were forcing him to bear witness to the sight and leaving him no room to do anything about it. An argument broke out between himself and RICHARD III, and TROILUS quickly took advantage of what little he knew about the man before him, wondering if perhaps the tides would turn were RICHARD III to focus more on the fight than on someone with such little stakes in the game.
TROILUS’ escape was narrow, as RICHARD III was quickly intercepted by VOLUMNIA. Confident that the reins of the battle were firmly within their grasp and keen to learn more of the neutral fellow who had run to their principessa’s side not too long ago, she approached RICHARD III with inquiries on TROILUS, having seen them together from across the room. These inquiries which quickly mutated into demands as RICHARD III continued to expertly dangle the answers she sought out of her reach. BEATRICE, his partner, couldn’t help but interfere in an attempt to prevent the confrontation from succumbing to simmering hostility. And thus the three of them remained caught within the tangle of tension, each balancing on a tightrope of their own making.
Having broken off from her partner to chase her appetite, TAMORA drifted around the knots of fights roiling within each corner of the hall -- until she caught sight of ROSALINE who lingered near the warded area where VOLUMNIA had been issuing her orders and Cosimo Capulet was currently spectating the chaos. Her approach only fueled a collision between her and DESDEMONA, however, as she had been ordered to support a weakened ROSALINE and guard her in case the conflict drifted too close for comfort. They engaged one another, TAMORA toying with DESDEMONA more so than quarreling with her, driven by the desire to swat her aside and sink her teeth into the once-infallible ROSALINE.
The tides of violence were quick to cast PORTIA and KATHERINE onto each other’s paths, an encounter which succumbed to hostility as PORTIA taunted KATHERINE with her recent defeat in Hotel Emelia. The two clashed with one another, which left PERDITA, PORTIA’s partner, to stumble upon a bored, ravenous BIANCA who was scornful of the fact that she had been tasked with watching over the wounded MACBETH while everyone else got their fill of the fun. Noting the wide-eyed tinge to her gaze and the fleet-footed signs of inexperience, BIANCA began to toy with PERDITA, making room for mischief even in the heart of a battlefield.
On the outskirts, ARIEL, who had been invited to perform during the celebration, was sinking to the floor in an anguished haze, caught in the shoulder by a stray bullet. Luckily, MIRANDA was around to catch them as they fell, far enough away from her superiors that she was able to help them up and lead them outside to safety.
By the time MIRANDA was able to order a taxi and have ARIEL taken to the hospital, another volatile encounter was brewing inside the Cathedral. LAVINIA was approaching IMOGEN with all the firmness she could muster, under Cosimo Capulet’s orders. He had recognized the famed journalist, who had snuck into the celebration with the stolen identity of a recent Capulet initiate, and so had ordered LAVINIA to escort her out. IMOGEN argued, and although LAVINIA was unwilling to indulge the journalist’s frustration, she refused to waver on her task. IMOGEN eventually complied, walking by LAVINIA’s side as they made their way through the hall -- only to suddenly pummel her fist into the Capulet’s delicate jaw. IMOGEN refused to leave themself pliant to the mobs’ hands for a second time, and so they launched their attack and swiftly made their way back into the fray. They didn’t get too far, however, as they were intercepted by TITANIA who had witnessed what happened and thus set out to finish what her comrade had started. With their sound arguments and peaceful demeanor, they were able to convince IMOGEN to seek their answers elsewhere, though their success came after much, much effort.
While IMOGEN was lured towards escape with reluctant steps, BERTRAM was actively searching for it, stumbling through the labyrinthine corridors and stairways of the Cathedral as he ran from the battlefield that had almost dragged him into its depths. He ended up coming across a lone figure in a dark hall, hunched into a corner and fiddling with shadows. It was NICK BOTTOM, who had been tinkering with a neat little gift for the mobs entangled only one floor away. He was inclined to ignore the intruder -- until the man began to ask for his help in escaping the Cathedral, incessantly and slyly enough that NICK BOTTOM became certain his work would never be finished until he gave the man what he wanted. He shoved BERTRAM ahead of him, leading him out of the Cathedral and the furious battle that it harbored.
Back inside the Cathedral, ROMEO was abandoning a defeated LADY MACBETH and making his way towards Cosimo Capulet, who was still sipping wine atop his ornamented pedestal, as entertained as ever while he watched the war rage on before him.
ROMEO looked around at his people.
MERCUTIO and OTHELLO were still clashing with one another, equally exhausted yet determined to steal the victory of their fight. HAMLET was looming over a prone IAGO, teeth bared and gun rigidly pressed to his temple. GONERIL and CORDELIA were caught in a stalemate, too many conflicts roiling between them to allow for a clear-cut outcome to their confrontation. BENVOLIO was on his knees before the barrel of EDGAR’s gun, gaze locked daringly with that of the enemy despite his apparent surrender. EDMUND was caught in MALCOLM’s vicious grasp, though the blade lodged into the man’s flesh made EDMUND’s defeat an uncertain one. OPHELIA had fallen prey to ORSINO’s advances, but she still refused to cower before him.
ROMEO turned his gaze to the other side of the hall, where their feeble attempt at balancing the scales lay in tatters across from him.
JULIET had her gun trained on GERTRUDE. CELIA was holding PARIS in a chokehold. CORIOLANUS was perched atop a prone BENEDICK with a blade to his throat. CRESSIDA was in the midst of crawling away from an advancing REGAN, quickly joined by TROILUS who had finally found the leeway to make his way to her. Never one to waste her time, VOLUMNIA was steadily making her way back to Cosimo’s side, leaving RICHARD III and BEATRICE to join their efforts in taking down the advancing Capulets.
ROMEO finally ground up the courage to look away, eyes closing momentarily before flaring open and settling their infuriated gaze on Cosimo.
“Where is she?” He hoarsely demanded, breath fractured and posture unsteady, hand held up to his side.
Cosimo uncrossed the arm on which his elbow had been perched, lowering his hand and glancing thoughtfully at the peaks of red along his glass as he twirled it.
“You mean your spy?” He finally responded, looking up at the heir with a scornfully hiked brow.
“I won’t ask again. You brought us here for a reason.”
Cosimo was silent.
He watched the heir for a long, heavy moment. Then he scoffed.
“It’s always the same with you Montagues,” He said, quietly, eyes on his glass as he continued to twirl it. “Your approach is always demanding. Forceful. As if you’re entitled to all that you desire even when you’ve done nothing to earn it.”
Ominously, he murmured, “That was your mistake with the Witches. I had no intention of repeating it.”
Just a slithering trail of blood began to trickle from beneath the veil and glide between his leathered feet.
Then, with his eyes locked on LAMPRIUS who keenly observed from the shadows, Cosimo dug his fingers in and tugged.
ROMEO’s breath froze in his lungs.
The spy was bound against the wall, on display for all to see. She hung with her arms spread wide, limp and barely breathing; though there was no cross present on Cosimo’s stage, she was clearly bound in the shape of one, calling back on the executions of old and sure to make a dramatic display. Her mouth was gagged and her wrists chafed heavily, blood flowing from both in slow rivulets, slinking down from two long vertical cuts along her forearms and soaking into the wood beneath her feet in a broad, harrowing stain.
It was VIOLA, strung up and left to bleed out as she locked tearful eyes on her liege.
Hers was to be a cruel judgement, yet a far more merciful one than what Judas had received.
-
OVERVIEW: And so the trial for our beloved Viola begins! Boy, there is a lot to unpack here, but one thing certainly shines above all else and it’s that the path ahead is only going to get more brutal and bloody from this point forward -- and we’re absolutely thrilled about it! As you’ve all just witnessed, the Capulets are finding unity in their punishment of the spy, while the Montagues are crumbling beneath the rift that’s steadily growing between their leaders. To further clarify, after aiding in the rescue of the Capulet consigliere, ANTONY has taken his own treacherous act and branded it onto ROMEO, not only to manipulate Damiano Montague and cement himself as the only ally he has left, but also to fuel the conflict between him and his son by invalidating ROMEO’s character and his potential in his father’s eyes. The heir certainly isn’t the only one who covets the Montague throne.
On one another note, you’re not restricted to the events of the plot drop in your threads. Capulets are free to plot interactions during the anniversary celebration earlier in the evening, and Montagues are free to plot whatever activities they were engaged in prior to receiving the Capulets’ invitation, and explore their sudden interruption once they were called out onto the battlefield. We know we’ve left you on a cliffhanger here, but we assure you, you won’t have to hold your breath for long. All threads for PART I should be dated for the March 26th only. PART II of the plot drop will be released next week on TUESDAY, APRIL 28TH, and extend the current timeline, so be on the lookout! Have fun!
BANCA NAZIONALE DEL LAVORO HQ HAS BEEN ROBBED -- WRITTEN BY ALEXEI
In January of 2019, BENEDICK approaches GERTRUDE with a grim look and a solid proposal. With her approval, plans are made, details are hammered out. ANTONY is put in charge of resource management, scrounging the cash for upfront costs as well as gathering blueprints, street plans, and background research on their targets. BENEDICK approaches fellow captains, and then soldiers, swears them to secrecy on pain of death and then spends hours a day for months drilling them for their roles.
13 March, 2019. BNL Banca Nazionale Del Lavoro S.P.A.; Verona, Italy
HAMLET and PERDITA are chosen for security reconnaissance on the bank. HAMLET, with holdings already in the bank, uses the opportunity presented by training his new secretary, PERDITA, in his banking protocols to allow them to assess the security– locations of cameras, the name and protocols of the alarm company, the brand of safe and the type of electronic lock.
BENEDICK uses this information to further streamline the plan made with information acquired by ANTONY earlier on.
28 March, 2019. Banca Nazionale del Lavoro HQ; Roma, Italy.
Early in the day, a security guard’s access card goes missing, nicked by sticky fingers so sly he just assumes he lost it on the train. With the assistance of an American hacker codenamed Seattle, an asset acquired by BENEDICK, RICHARD III is guided into the building and straight to a computer, and walked through the steps necessary to grant Seattle access to the network.
As Seattle is working his magic, RICHARD III is accosted by a curious intern, and after a few minutes of hair-raising conversation, sends her on her way, satisfied with the information he had provided, likely to forget him soon enough. Once they have a sizable portion of information from the banking core, RICHARD III exits the building and tosses the keycard down a storm drain nearby, lest it be found later.
The information gained from this hack is promptly sorted: account information to be sold, and accounts that are to be drained, where the funds eventually end up in Montague coffers– actions to be taken the night of the robbery itself.
6 April, 2019.
Earlier in the week a fake Facebook account was created to advertise a protest taking place across town from the bank. Nearly 500 people were signed up to go, and nearly a thousand showed, seeded with Montague actors. The protest begins around 1500/3:00 in the afternoon, justice seekers and the like chanting their slogans loudly.
Police show up. Police in riot gear show up. The crowd turns angry. Minor verbal altercations occur, both the protesters and police accusing the other side of getting nasty. And then, at 2000/8:00 in the evening, a Montague is tasked with torching a police car, beginning a riot that earnestly burns all night long. Nearly the entirety of the police force is called in to handle it.
BEATRICE and BENEDICK take this opportunity to steal a white van out of the parking lot of the local power company, to be used for camouflage and transportation.
BNL Banca Nazionale Del Lavoro S.P.A. Verona, Italy. 6 April 2019, 2125-2145 h (9:25-9:45pm)
As darkness falls on the city and the police force is adequately distracted, the team makes their way to the bank, all of them masked and clad head to toe in black.
BENEDICK and OPHELIA exit the van first, making their way to the roof, where OPHELIA takes her place as lookout. BENEDICK makes his way into the building from the roof access door, avoiding security cameras and motion detectors alike until he makes it to the security control room, where he proceeds to knock out and tie up the guard. He disables the security measures and makes his way to the rear door, holding it open as the rest of the heist team files in, laden with duffle bags.
MERCUTIO, CELIA, VIOLA, PORTIA, ROSALIND, and one other all trail inside, leaving BEATRICE to watch the streets from the vehicle, still running. MERCUTIO kneels and rewires the electronic lock as the others wait with bated breath. It pops open and the seven of them file inside. Four bags a piece, 22kg each, two trips out to the van. They are all in and out in under ten minutes, 38 million euros richer. VIOLA torches the remaining cash, and the vault is sealed shut once more.
After everyone else exits the building, BENEDICK locks the door behind them and re-enables all security measures, making his exit through the roof access door. OPHELIA follows him back down from the roof to the alley. BEATRICE drives the van full of cash and the team out of the city to an empty lot, where they are awaited by a change of clothes and a variety of vehicles.
The cash is split amongst the new drivers, the van is wiped down for prints and ditched, and the team drives back into the city, back to the library, where the spoils are sorted and counted. A total of over 50 million euros, taken in just one night.
A veil of serenity enshrouded Verona, clinging to it and sealing it into the cocoon of bliss harbored within Hotel Emelia until it felt as though nothing existed beyond its decadent borders. There were those who reveled in it, eyeing the drape of crimson that cascaded over them and welcoming it like a long-awaited embrace. Taking in the ruling redness and seeing nothing but the flush of their lovers’ cheeks and the rosiness of their lips; catching a hint of distant winds howling and shrieking promises of reckoning, and hearing nothing but the pleasant, hypnotizing chime of music.
And then there were those who dreaded what had become of their beloved city, eyes scrunched shut against the overwhelming vermillion that loomed over them like a blood-streaked dawn. Seeking out Verona’s pillars and seeing nothing but frail, tilting towers of corpses upon coins; reaching for their loved ones and thinking of nothing but the shallow graves that they were destined to share. They were those who bore the curse of clarity, doomed to witness the roiling truth tucked in the heart of all the alluring lies.
But in the end, it made no difference.
They were as one. The revelers and the ruined. The gods and the mortals. The blessed and the accursed.
They were equals before Verona.
When it grew hungry, it came for them all.
12:20 AM
No one knew of Verona’s appetite better than QUEEN MAB, and it could be said that the gala as a whole was a testament to that. Give fodder to a ravenous beast, and it shall be a leash around its neck. Such was the purpose that seemed to have guided every motion of the Dark Lady’s hands as they carved and crafted the dream that now lay in the pit of Verona’s stomach, rich, heady, and fulfilling. And it could have only been that very same purpose that now splayed her palms and stretched her smile as she walked among her guests, greeting them with skirting kisses on the cheeks and coaxing them to wander with gentle nudges on the shoulders.
As she settled into a remote, shadowed corner, cradled within the gilded planes of the Montague realm as though it was hers to rule, one could only wonder how much Verona had been tamed by all that she had laid before its saliva-slicked jaws. If she were to twist her wrist in a tug of command, would the city come hurtling forward in a rush of obedience? If she were to to lay her hands atop the ancient stone of its streets, would it bend and cave beneath the force of her will?
The answers were unclear.
Yet that was only because they were hidden in plain sight.
Deep within the belly of the beast, beneath the gliding feet and lounging bodies of blind revelers and narrow-eyed cynics alike.
In a dreary, confined basement where ROSALINE lay in chains.
Stealing a glance at the clock, QUEEN MAB rose from her seat and dipped back into her crafted illusion.
Just as LADY ANNE took her position far beyond it, sinking into her sharp-edged, shadow-bound dominion with instinctive ease. Surrounded by nothing more than the dim, hollow light shining over her face and the ever-familiar clack of her fingers as they flew over the keyboard, she deftly infiltrated Hotel Emelia’s surveillance feed. Having studied it meticulously in the weeks leading up to the operation, she only needed to observe it for a few minutes before her fingers rose to her earpiece and she made contact.
At the back of the hotel, outside a neglected emergency exit, ORSINO responded, teeth grit and bones juddering with anticipation as he made his way into enemy territory, guided by the directions LADY ANNE provided and centered by the intelligence QUEEN MAB had expertly gathered weeks prior through her Sparrows. He was met with little resistance, and he didn’t need much more than that to pave his path with sullied Montague blood; trampling over the crumpled corpses of three innocent staff members who had had the misfortune of getting in his way before moving along without a single backward glance.
Perhaps it was the vengeful dust that bellowed at his heels, or perhaps it was the all-encompassing haze of bloodlust instead, but as ORSINO continued on his ruinous path, he was utterly blind to the silent, watchful specter that lingered just outside the blurred edges of his vision. It took the towering form of CAESAR, who glanced from the Capulet’s retreating back to the desolation he had left in his wake and saw nothing more than an opportunity, thrown at his feet and left for the taking. An unforeseen offering that only a god of his caliber could have so suddenly earned. What were he to do with the priceless information that was now in his grasp?
Such was a question that was left both unanswered and unconsidered by ORSINO as he finally came upon the rusted iron door that sealed ROSALINE away.
Between ANTONY and QUEEN MAB, a bargain had been made, and although it would be foolish to expect anything more than empty promises and shapely lies from the Montague, he had kept his word. No obstacles of any kind awaited ORSINO once he arrived at the basement, and he didn’t waste time looking for traps where there weren’t any. Instead, he immediately went to retrieve ROSALINE, cradling her crumpled form in his arms and carrying her through the labyrinth he had cleared.
At the end of the road, FLORIZEL could be found in the escape vehicle, face gaunt with dread and fingers blanched around the steering wheel. He jolted as ORSINO burst into the backseat, barking orders at him to drive away. But he wasted no time in doing what he was told, caught as he was in the snare of LADY ANNE’s blackmail.
He stole them away in a gust of smoke and a shriek of tires.
Minutes later, QUEEN MAB’s phone pinged with a simple message, from an anonymous yet all too familiar source. We have her. It’s done.
QUEEN MAB looked down at the ruby-red glass of wine held in her palm.
Then she smiled.
2:00 AM
It was almost as though time itself was intoxicated by the Dark Lady’s creation; dragging its feet at the tail of the seconds as they drawled by and passing with such reluctance that some revelers could be found wondering to themselves if it had truly stood still, after all. But when it came to the Capulets that lay in wait like serpents amidst grass, time was rushing by as fast as ever.
And no one could feel it more keenly than VOLUMNIA, who surveyed the huddled crowds in a way that could only be expected of a ruler overseeing their dominion; hawk-sharp eyes latching onto the sight of each and every piece on her board and ensuring that they were all in their rightful positions. Holding the strings of time in one hand and the reins of control in the other, VOLUMNIA ushered MIRANDA away with a stern wave of her hand. With a nod, her messenger raven was cast into flight, fluttering through the hall and landing right beside the bishop that would set their grand operation in motion.
A hushed trickle of words was poured into EDMUND’s ear, and then MIRANDA was drifting back to her leader’s side. A quick glance around him and EDMUND’s gaze was colliding with VIOLA’s. There was no need for words when they knew perfectly well what they were setting out to do, and so with a seemingly nonchalant exchange of nods, they began to move; their divergent paths leading to one destination. A hurdle was soon rushing towards them, however, when PERDITA caught sight of the interaction. Chest curdling with distrust and burning with vigor beneath the Montague brand that was slowly beginning to etch itself onto her skin, she decided to follow VIOLA.
She found herself winding through the eerily silent halls of Hotel Emelia on a seemingly-endless trail.
Suddenly, her heart stuttered with oncoming dread.
Then all was swallowed by darkness.
Her hands began to tremble. Her heart climbed up to her throat and clung to it with reverberating terror. But PERDITA continued on; and by some stroke of luck, or perhaps through the same wicked machinations of fate that have guided her steps thus far, VIOLA never strayed far enough for her to lose her way.
They found each other just as light overtook the world around them once again.
Taking in the control room they were in, along with the tinge of familiarity that strangely colored the air around her soon-to-be comrade and the man at her side, PERDITA instantly began to question VIOLA. It didn’t take long for the line of inquiry to devolve into an exchange of accusations as hostility sparked between them. EDMUND, taking note of that along with the subtle apprehension underlining VIOLA’s rebuttals, decided to act. He pulled out his gun and trained it on PERDITA, the action choking out all sound. Then silence reigned, broken only by the hitch of someone’s breath and the click of the safety being taken off a gun.
Back in the hall, VOLUMNIA didn’t flinch. Even as the crowds began to hum and disperse beneath the oppressive darkness that cloaked them; even as the air began to grow thick and heady with their collective restlessness, she remained perfectly still. Steadied and centered by the knowledge that everything was proceeding as planned. When the lights sputtered back to life, she merely took a mild breath, and then she fell into the role that she was meant to play. As QUEEN MAB descended onto the riled cluster of guests, VOLUMNIA trailed after her so she could aide her in calming them. She hovered beside her, instilling order with nothing more than her firm reassurance and brimming authority. While she helped detract attention from the sudden absence of her fellow Capulets, MIRANDA remained by her side, her point of contact with the rest of those who were stationed in the hall.
It was none other than BIANCA and KATHERINE. The moment the power went out, they had taken their positions on either side of the entrance through which the other team had passed, clearing their path in the dark and ensuring that no one would disrupt their progress once the lights were back on. Thus far, their task has been smoothly fulfilled, with KATHERINE occupying her position in simmering silence while BIANCA, driven by boredom, taunted her with scathing yet breezingly idle remarks. She was quick to receive the entertainment she desired, however, when IMOGEN made her way towards them. It should have come as no surprise that they were among the first people to notice the abrupt disappearance of Capulets and Montagues alike. Similarly, it should have come as no surprise that they were so swift to investigate, especially upon glimpsing the curious sight of Verona’s infamous pair of estranged siblings, huddled together as they were with unsightly civility.
Ever eager to confront Verona’s rulers with their falseness and foolishness alike, IMOGEN faced the Capulets with her findings. They sought to learn more, displeased as they were to sense that there might be plans underway that they were not aware of. KATHERINE did not appreciate their intrusiveness, and thus the interaction quickly began to escalate. All the while, BIANCA merely looked on, glancing between her polished nails and the arguing pair with sugar-sweet amusement.
Far, far beyond them, deep within the inner crevices of the hotel, another league of Capulets had a mission of their own.
It was led by JULIET, who marched with inflamed purpose in search of her stolen cousin. Beside her was HIPPOLYTA, halo tinged by the heiress’s rage and the burn of her own determination, gun clutched tight and gaze trained ahead as they sank further and further into enemy territory.
Ahead of them, OTHELLO and REGAN cleared the way, huddled into the embrace of shadows, slinking out of them only so they could snatch the lives of any Montagues damned enough to stumble upon them. They were guided by IAGO, who had memorized the schematics of Hotel Emelia as soon as it was identified as ROSALINE’s holding cell. He trailed a few paces behind OTHELLO and REGAN, acting as a halfway point between them and the other Capulets lingering at his back.
Flanking the heiress and her protector were EDGAR and CORDELIA. The silence between them was leaden with unspoken words and stifled sentiments, the tension palpable and heavy-weighing. Yet it was clear that they had no intention of allowing it to stand in the way of their shared goal; their grips on their weapons steady and their gazes unflinching as they trained their sights on the mission at hand.
Behind them was the final puzzle piece, TITANIA. Fleet-footed and unskilled in combat, they were meant to serve as the team’s alarm. If any problems arose, the pair at the forefront would be the first to witness them, and upon alerting the rest of the team, the message would echo all the way to the tail-end of their formation, at which point TITANIA would swiftly retreat and call for the reinforcement of the other Capulets stationed throughout the gala.
Their plan was solid, their formation impenetrable -- and their goal was right within reach.
The realization seemed to dawn on them all within the same moment as the basement came into view.
JULIET’s steps hastened, nearly evolving into a sprint if it weren’t for the temperance instilled by the touch of HIPPOLYTA’s hand upon her arm.
IAGO’s hand twitched with the urge to leap forward and lay itself upon the handle of the door.
EDGAR stole a glance at the stoic fallen angel at his side.
TITANIA drifted closer.
The door was ajar.
Yet JULIET still gripped the handle with force, breathless with yearning as the door lurched open and granted her fervent entry.
Her breath tapered off into a gasp.
And in the tension-wound seconds that followed, there was no sound except for the light smack of her fingers against her lips and the skid of her soldiers’ steps as they drew to a halt beside her.
They came upon nothing but crimson-soaked floors and despondent, broken chains.
And ROSALINE was nowhere to be found.
3:45 AM
All things, delightful or horrid, must come to an end.
Verona’s unholy hour was no exception.
And it was going to be none other than GERTRUDE, the red right hand of the Montagues, who ushered in the end that the darkness of this night so desperately yearned for.
It laid itself bare before her as she made her way towards the main hall; the breathless longing, the soundless suffering of the shadows that crawled and heaved themselves along the walls on either side of her. They were bloated and brimming, close to bursting beneath the burden of carrying the immense weight of all the secrets and lies that Verona has enforced upon them tonight. And so they pleaded to her, begged her again and again to cleave them open and release the long-harbored truth; to break the dams of deception and let the soiled waters run free. One would have to wonder if this was truly the first time that she had been haunted by the city’s sorrows in such a manner, but it didn’t quite matter, in the end.
Tonight, she would answer the call.
And she began to do so with nothing more than a string of assertive whispers thrown at each and every staff member that she came across.
By the time she finally reached the hall, the cluster of crowds had already been dismantled into a small array of guests who were most likely too addled by the indulgence of the evening to leave immediately -- but she could see staff members and Montagues alike as they made their way towards them to help guide them out.
She set her eyes on her target, never letting her out of her sight, especially as the Capulet’s suspicion began to seep through.
She reached VOLUMNIA, and announced her presence with the press of her gun into the center of the woman’s back. VOLUMNIA stiffened, and so did her meek-looking comrade who seemed prepared to spring into immediate action as soon as she glimpsed the gun -- but she didn’t stand a chance. BENEDICK was instantly behind her, emulating GERTRUDE’s actions and pinning MIRANDA in place. A suffocating veil of silence fell over them, neither party able to act while some guests remained.
But the moment the hall was clear, VOLUMNIA didn’t waste a second.
Swift as a viper, she drove her elbow into GERTRUDE’s face before turning around and taking advantage of the woman’s disorientation by lunging at her. With an agile arch of her back, GERTRUDE was able to evade VOLUMNIA’s strike and attempted to hold the woman in place by maintaining threatening hold of her gun. However, VOLUMNIA had vowed to never let herself by cornered again and so she was quick to brandish her own. Time almost seemed to stand still while the two women faced off against one another.
But for the other pair, it was the opposite. MIRANDA had managed to break BENEDICK’s hold by stabbing him in the thigh with the knife she had tucked underneath her dress, but even with his injury, he refused to waver. The two grappled with each other while GERTRUDE and VOLUMNIA engaged one another, both women unwilling to back down and yet at the same time, unwilling to be the first to fire the decisive bullet.
Far away, GONERIL and BENVOLIO cut the same path that VIOLA and PERDITA had previously followed. Weeks earlier, VIOLA had leaked the Capulets’ strategy for ROSALINE’s retrieval to her people on the other side of the ruins, and so the Montagues had anticipated the power outage that had occurred. As such, as soon as she set off towards the main hall, GERTRUDE had been swift with her orders to send soldiers to the control room to corner the Capulets there. And as they burst through the door, silver-streaked enemies was all that they expected to come across, but instead, they were only met with the simmering crimson of their comrades. VIOLA and PERDITA met them with stoic silence, but it quickly unraveled in the face of BENVOLIO’s trepidation and the dangerous air of impatience that began to crackle around GONERIL. Both pairs began updating each other, BENVOLIO relaying what was happening throughout the hotel and in turn, being told of the encounter with EDMUND.
Unwilling to let prey go astray, GONERIL heard the name and instantly took off in pursuit of its keeper, hands itching for the satiating warmth of spilled blood as she stalked the halls in search of EDMUND. Her hunt led her to CORIOLANUS instead, who had been scouring the shadows for ways to fiddle with his mother’s operation in the main hall. The moment she caught sight of him, GONERIL didn’t hesitate, tugging him into her snare with a precise shot in the leg that sent CORIOLANUS sprawling to take cover. The two fell into an unruly entanglement, one that lingered closely enough to the control room to draw BENVOLIO’s attention. He set out in search of his begrudging partner, fearing that she might be in need of his help, and indeed, that seemed to be the case when he stumbled upon GONERIL lying flat on her back, growling as she struggled against CORIOLANUS’s looming blade.
With a fierce kick into his unprotected flank, CORIOLANUS was dropped onto his knees. However, wounded as he was, his awareness was still keen as ever. And so, while GONERIL hissed and shoved at BENVOLIO’s offered hand, the Capulet took the opportunity to flee, knowing full well that there was no hope for him to prevail while outnumbered. He made his stumbling, fleeting escape, leaving GONERIL and BENVOLIO to hover on the outskirts of the rapidly-escalating battle.
Close by, the guests were still flooding the hallway leading out of the gala and it was from the crowds that three Montagues spawned at the far end of the hallway. Two of them halted, caught off guard by the sight of IMOGEN, who had been unaccounted for in their strategy, before OPHELIA quickly stepped up to the task of evacuating them with the rest of the guests. The other two then followed in her trail, still concealed within the lumbering mass of drunken elites as they made their way out of the hotel. RICHARD III slinked out of the shadows to glue himself to KATHERINE’s side, gun pressed to her ribs, while BEATRICE did the same with BIANCA. IMOGEN stiffened at the sight, but they could do nothing when OPHELIA was immediately shackling herself to them in a similar manner, one hand on their shoulder and the other tucked into the crook of their elbow as she slowly pulled them away from the scene, all while filling their ears with honeyed warnings and poorly-disguised threats.
After assessing the scene, KATHERINE took action, only to be disarmed by RICHARD III. With no other way to defend herself, she engaged him in physical combat, and it was while the two grappled with one another that BIANCA took the time to do what she did best -- deceive. In a matter of seconds, she was dicing her breath into ribbons and dragging tears into her eyes as she trembled and pleaded in BEATRICE’s grasp. How lucky she was then, that BEATRICE was the exact breed of moth that she was looking to lure into her web. She let her go, and BIANCA wasted no time in making her escape, shunning both her sister and her allegiance without a second look. RICHARD III wasn’t expecting such a callous action from his comrade, and KATHERINE took advantage of his surprise to turn the tides of the fight. However, it was still unclear whether she was indeed meant to prevail, because now she wasn’t up against just one enemy, but two.
In the basement, JULIET was on her knees, palms burning with the imprint of blood and grime as she grasped the chains in her blanched fists.
The shadows birthed PORTIA as though she was one of their own, her hand lightning-fast as it rose to train her gun on the heiress -- but HIPPOLYTA was faster, raising her own gun and taking the shot before anyone could even fully grasp the events that were unfolding around them. PORTIA side-stepped just in time, the bullet grazing her temple and issuing a crimson torrent in its wake. But when she fell to her knees, a rare smile was gracing her lips as she took in the sight of JULIET, seething and trembling on the floor while she clutched her bullet-torn shoulder.
HIPPOLYTA instantly moved towards the fallen heiress, but another shadow-spun demon stood in her way, this one seemingly molded from the flames of Hell itself. With a roar, MERCUTIO launched themself from the darkness and towards their enemy with savage force, dragging HIPPOLYTA to the ground as they pummeled into her.
The moment the other Capulets had filtered out of the room, they found themselves cornered by their own vengeful beasts. MALCOLM and CELIA faced off against OTHELLO and REGAN, while LAERTES and ROSALIND faced off against EDGAR and CORDELIA. On the end of both halls leading away from the basement, HAMLET and ROMEO barred the way for any Capulets who might entertain the hopeless notion of escape.
The Montagues’ trap had been laid out perfectly, and their enemy was ensnared right in the heart of it.
MALCOLM wasted no time before launching himself at OTHELLO, and the Capulet eagerly threw himself into the arms of the beckoning fight. Both men were clearly hungering for a repeat of their last encounter, but the same couldn’t be said for CELIA who seemed gripped by the frailest shackle of hesitation as she confronted REGAN. As could be expected, REGAN used it to her advantage and made the first move; throwing the two of them into a vigorous battle without an ounce of uncertainty. If anything, she seemed ravenous for CELIA’s blood.
LAERTES’s apprehension was carefully tucked away behind a mask of grim, steel-bound determination as he engaged EDGAR who, concerned with and distracted by CORDELIA’s safety as he was, was gradually buckling beneath the weight of LAERTES’s assaults. However, CORDELIA’s safety was far from her own mind as she divided her efforts between fending off an unrelenting ROSALIND and protecting TITANIA.
IAGO, witnessing her conflict and assessing the most efficient course of action, decided to clear the way for TITANIA by pitting himself against HAMLET who was the only hurdle standing in TITANIA’s path. With enough taunts and gripes, IAGO managed to draw HAMLET’s attention away from the position he needed to maintain, luring him into a chase that pulled them both far enough away for TITANIA to take off.
They ran faster than they ever did, only to end up stumbling into an unforeseen void when a jarring force suddenly slammed into the side of their head. PUCK watched them fall with a giddy smile, shaking the blood off the end of their shotgun and tutting to themself that these Montague folks really shouldn’t have left their toys lying around. They turned around, only for their eyes to bulge with surprise as a fist came flying into their face. NICK BOTTOM, enraged by the despondent sight of TITANIA, launched himself at PUCK who was far too amused by the scene to consider walking away from it. While they engaged one another, TROILUS kept moving forward. He and NICK BOTTOM had paired up for the sake of their common goal to figure out what was happening, but NICK BOTTOM’s battle was where their priorities diverged. TROILUS was only concerned with finding JULIET and keeping her out of harm’s way. Driven, even in his terror, he continued on and didn’t stop.
While chaos erupted all around, ROMEO remained unseen and thus remained untouched. And for a long, seemingly-endless moment, all he did was observe the destruction that had overtaken their arena of battle.
From the moment they received the crucial call from VIOLA weeks earlier, all the pieces had fallen into place. The deal had already been struck with the Dark Lady to collaborate on the gala, the Capulet plan had already been set in motion, and all that had been left was seizing their advantage and reaping their victory. ROMEO watched as two seemingly innocent, unaligned strangers devolved into brutality; watched as ROSALIND struggled beneath CORDELIA’s ruthless hold, while JULIET shakily pulled herself up to distract MERCUTIO from a pliant, defenseless HIPPOLYTA; watched as IAGO swaggered back onto the scene with blood-soaked fists, having undoubtedly left HAMLET defeated behind him.
ROMEO watched it all, and he seemed to decide that enough was enough.
Upon receiving the layout of the Capulets’ plan, the Montague trap had been authorized on his personal orders, without any consultation from his father, who had found out about it only after it was too late for him to take action. They had been his orders, this was his domain, these were his people.
And this was his decision.
He left his post, and with chilling calm, walked up to JULIET and grabbed her by the hair. He pulled her to her feet, and waited until her resounding whimper halted the motions of her people.
ROMEO lifted a gun to JULIET’s temple, gaze skirting along those of the Capulets as they scrambled to jump to their heiress’s rescue.
His eyes locked with those of all who lay sprawled before him.
And all he did was utter one simple order:
“Stand down.”
Verona held its breath.
“Take your principessa, and leave while you still can.”
He pushed her to the ground.
“If you don’t take this chance, I won’t stop my people from doing what needs to be done. You can stay and see how long you’ll last, or you can go and face that trial another day, as we all will.”
Silence screeched at the tail of his words.
But he meant every single one.
And the enemy was quick to realize that.
The quiet was only broken by TROILUS’s rushing steps as he ran to JULIET’s side, but by the time he arrived, the Capulets had already made their choice. Begrudged by some and accepted by others, they made it.
JULIET leaned into TROILUS’s side as they walked away together.
EDGAR tentatively pulled HIPPOLYTA into his arms, lifting her up and carrying her away as CORDELIA spat blood at ROSALIND’s feet.
Knowing it was best to leave them to their people, NICK BOTTOM surrendered TITANIA’s prone body to OTHELLO. REGAN limped after him as he carried them away.
The rest of the Capulets followed after the flock as it drifted away, leaving the Montagues to tend to their own wounded and contemplate the choice with which their prince had dictated their fate.
As they made their vanquished way through the still, gloating halls of battle-worn Hotel Emelia, they sent one of their own to retrieve KATHERINE and another to report to VOLUMNIA.
Even when caught in the vicious chokehold of RICHARD III, KATHERINE was infuriated by the orders she received yet she was forced to follow them, in the end. As for VOLUMNIA, she only broke her entanglement with GERTRUDE upon being informed that JULIET was wounded, but not before making a promise to the Montague that things shall end very differently the next time they collided. I’ll make sure of it, she hissed, just as MIRANDA began to follow after her, leaving the fate of her battle with BENEDICK unfulfilled and undecided.
Dawn broke over the city’s horizon just as the Capulets made their ragged exit, and the unruly conflict between the ruling families continued on its climb towards ever-greater heights.
Verona was not left to starve on this day.
But there was still a war to be won, and there was still a traitor to be snuffed out.
Perhaps the city was only meant to gorge itself on the ruin that was to come.
One could only hope, all while laying more and more fodder before the insatiable beast.
OVERVIEW: And that’s a wrap for the gala, Veronesi! Whew. A lot has gone down, but we hope you’ve enjoyed the ride just as much as we’ve enjoyed putting you through it! The general layout of the situation is as follows: entrapped as they were, the Capulets have been dealt a heavy blow, with numerous members injured and bedridden, and with TITANIA having descended into a coma. Meanwhile, the Montagues celebrate the lesson they believe they have taught the enemy, and slowly but surely begin easing into the power shift that’s overtaken their leadership. ROSALINE’s rescue came to pass under both families’ noses, but while they both scramble to unravel the mystery, CAESAR holds it tightly in his clutch, having been a direct witness to the trail ROSALINE’s rescuer had left behind. Similar to the previous plot drop, we’d like to note that for the sake of the narrative, QUEEN MAB, LADY ANNE and FLORIZEL have been treated as NPC’s and that you’re free to reference them in your threads if you wish. But other than that, please date your threads from MARCH 16TH through MARCH 25TH and most importantly, have fun!!
The people of Verona were content. The bridge was in ruins, the city was at war, and still they tucked their children at night without fear in their hearts. Their fingers did not tremble as they touched their toddler’s cheek, and their dreams were full of promise and hope for a better tomorrow. The quietness that lingered in Verona - covering the city like a weighted blanket that cannot be shrugged off - had become a comfort to its citizens.
But there were still people who had not forgotten the horrors of the festival. There were still those who know to sleep with a knife between their lips. Survivors knew, after all, that ruin was most dangerous when it wore the face of peace.
On a night where the moon did not shine and the stars were all that kept the city from plunging into empty darkness, a clandestine meeting was held. From the shadows, a single pair of bright eyes glowed and studied the room. It was nearly barren, with only four single chairs arranged around a circular table and nothing else.
He was the first to arrive, but he would not be the first to expose himself. Not until the one who had personally invited him appeared.
“Orion.” Behind him, a familiar voice of velvet sounded. “Darling, were you waiting for me long?”
He emerged, stepped into the light with a cat’s smile. “Hardly.”
Before Mona had the chance to respond, the front door opened. The ringmaster of their circus, the summoner of them all, had arrived. Behind her, a single companion trailed with a storm in his eyes.
Orion’s lips quirked, but the ghost of a frown fled before it could be seen.
Loretta stood behind a chair, claiming it for herself and laying a somber gaze upon them all. “We may begin,” she said, her voice a command and far from a question.
Mona raised her brows but made her way to the chair across from Loretta. The others followed suit, and a suspicious silence fell over them once they were all seated.
“I thought you were dead,” Orion quipped.
Felipe narrowed his eyes. “I am.”
As if they had all been waiting for that short exchange to be complete, Mona clasped her hands together, gaze drifting to a shadowed corner where she imagined their invisible ally would huddle. But he wasn’t here. Alexander had already played his role. He had already given his word. All that was left was for Mona to see if it would prove worthy of her rarely-given trust.
Her gaze returned to her companions. Her thoughts returned to what was at stake. “Enough small talk. We have a daunting task ahead of us.”
—
Cosimo knew his home best when it was in despair. It was what he had grown up with; it was what he had profited from, time and time again. There was beauty in despair; there was promise and even profit in calamity. This was his gift: optimism. But even he had trouble grappling with the current state of affairs. The Montagues had pushed his pride to the edge and thought to see him fall off the precipice. They thought to turn his affections against him, going after his adopted niece and his trusted advisor.
They thought wrong. He had watched Rafaella grow from a spiteful little creature to a woman worth fearing. He had watched the fear in her eyes turn to something terrible, and knew she would outlast them all. Still, he could not have his leadership insulted. He could not have his own advisor kidnapped without retribution.
It would be much easier to think clearly without his daughter’s fury filling the room.
“We will bring her back. No matter how many soldiers it takes, they will not take my cousin without paying for it.” The principessa was shaking with rage, her cheeks flushed with the force of it.
“And what do you propose?” Vivianne asked, a beacon of reason and logic.
He needed them both. He needed both Juliana’s ferocity and Vivianne’s clear eyes. With his back turned towards them, staring off into space, Cosimo listened.
“A rescue.” Juliana’s eyes were on Vivianne but she spoke to her father’s heart and his pride. “We show them we are smarter and stronger by taking her back. We come together as one to find her and bring her home.”
Vivianne turned her eyes towards Cosimo. Juliana followed suit. They waited patiently for him to speak.
“And you would lead it?”
“Yes,” Juliana bore her eyes into her father’s back, knowing he would meet hers and be proud of the purpose he saw in them. “I will bring her home.”
Cosimo turned and felt only some strange loss of the principessa. The more and more he spoke to her, the more he saw the beginnings of a regina.
“Very well.”
—
Overall, Damiano might consider himself content. The Festa Dell'amore had not made a major dent in their revenue streams, and Genevieve had expertly shifted the winds to undo any damage control. Perhaps the Montagues were not the glowing heroes of Verona as he had hoped, but the people were forgetting the horror of that night the Witches took their last breaths.
Even better, the night ended with Rafaella in their grasp and beneath their heels. The Dark Lady’s information had already proven valuable, with potential threats quietly eliminated and new leads secured. And for all its unfortunate surprises and mishaps, the Festa Dell'amore had been a success.
Yet, the Montagues were growing unruly and restless, eager to see the Capulets in rags and willing to take revenge into their own hands. He had to admit: it was tempting to see how far they would go to control fate and change the tides. His hands itched to loosen the reigns and to give the Montagues over to their every whim and fancy.
It was precisely why he invited the Dark Lady to meet him. There was no one better suited to the task.
“On one condition,” Mona smiled and bent her head forward, her earrings caught the light and sparkled. Each movement was intentional, crafting an illusion she intended - needed - for Damiano to buy into. “It will be a gala to celebrate Verona, the city that brings us all together.”
“And who might you mean by us all?” Damiano asked dryly, knowing fully well what her answer would be.
“Why, the Montagues and the Capulets alike, of course. Verona’s elite. The only ones who are capable of understanding each other even while they are at odds. As a patron of secrets to both, I must extend an invitation to both as well.” She flashed a smile and played her final card against him. “It’s only right, as hostess to your grand party.”
—
With Damiano Montague’s blessing granted as a tribute to the newfound alliance with the Lady of Whispers, Hotel Emelia has been put under her reign for one legendary evening, dedicated to the hosting of a gala unlike any other that Verona has ever seen. Montagues, Capulets, and an assortment of Verona’s elite have been invited to celebrate the city and all that unites them - power, glory and blood - in an event designed around the very notion of reveling in it all. No expense has been spared and no restrictions have been imposed in this diabolical dream the Dark Lady has crafted. And all of Verona shall succumb to it. That is the promise of its mistress -- and as it is known... she never goes back on her word.
Within the invitation, Mona has included the layout of the event. Each spectacle is intended to entice the senses, drown the heart and immerse each and every guest in the possibility that awaits them all. They are as follows, each of them taking place in a designated area in the hotel:
HALL OF HEAVEN: The sanctum of the event and the heart of the promised revelry. It overtakes the dining area of the hotel which has been refurbished to serve as both the central location within the gala and the first stepping stone paving the way for the decadent journey that awaits. No one knows the value of a first impression better than the Dark Lady, and thus she’s ensured that the crowning jewel of the event would take one’s breath away from the moment their toe dips into its threshold. Ornate decorations sprawl across every wall and line every corner. Gleaming chandeliers bathe the crowds in spiraling gold. Opulent sculptures and awe-inspiring artifacts can be found guarding the pillars and cradling the stage -- but that’s not all. The hall is not only a sight for sore eyes, but also fodder for restless appetites of all kinds. Magnanimously lined buffets are available to cater to the guests in every way, multiple live performances are scheduled to occupy the stage throughout the evening, and secluded corners are fitted with seats and tables for the reticent and the weary alike. With all that it has to offer, one can be expected to wander through it for hours and hours on end.
DEVIL’S ALLEY: While the hall embraces the weary, this area was made for the wicked. Ever familiar with the ravenous inclinations of Verona’s lost souls, the Dark Lady has designed this area to cater to their every whim and thrill. A shadowed doorway in one corner of the hall leads to a sprawling staircase that ends in an unused kitchen on the lower floor. Vacated of all cabinets and appliances, it’s been cleared and decorated to house the gala’s very own fighting club. A miniature yet no less brutal version of Measure by Measure. Any guest who’s consumed by restlessness or bloodlust alike need only climb down that flight of stairs in order to reap their instincts for all they’re worth. Bookmakers can be found nudging their way through the hollering cluster of spectators as they take bets and keep track of the ensuing fights. An overseer is also stationed nearby to make sure that things don’t get too ugly, but you can rest assured; they won’t be holding anyone back so much as they’ll be ensuring that no one topples into an early grave sooner than Verona dictates. That would sour the mood far too much for the Dark Lady’s liking.
KISS IN THE DARK: None could claim that an experience is of the Dark Lady’s creation if it wasn’t meant to stoke one’s desires and rile their slumbering demons, and it's for that purpose precisely that this section of the event was designed. Along the same floor where the Hall of Heaven is stationed, a room of the most enticing, stirring nature can be found. It’s unnerving upon first glance; as dark and sightless as an abyss, with amplified echoes to every trickle of sound and a heady, coaxing aroma in the air. A single push is all it takes for one to be plunged into this delectable nightmare. Only to realize that it’s no nightmare at all when the fall is suddenly cushioned by the plush, smooth velvet of an unseen recliner. When the fear is slowly chased away by the drifting touch of an awaiting lover -- or an array of them. There are no restrictions and no bounds in this bottomless cocoon of bliss. There are only possibilities, and the Dark Lady is more than happy to provide each and every one of them to any starved soul that comes knocking on the door.
STOLEN EDEN: No journey into Heaven is complete without a taste of the Eden it harbors, and that’s exactly what one would find upon venturing through the ornamented doors that mark both the end of the hallway and the finish line for one’s expedition through the Dark Lady’s crafted dream. What was once a broad, royal suite, is now an elaborate garden; with artificial plants and greenery along the walls, flowers of all kinds and scents dangling from the ceiling, with the smell of incense in the air and the taste of peaches on the tongue. Meant as the final resting place before guests ought to make their return back into Verona’s dreary realm of terror, the suite is nothing short of a tropical slice of paradise. With a charming fountain cradled in the heart of the garden, recliners and cushions scattered all across the room, and beautiful servers that idle around, keeping the guests company and tending to their every desire, with the promise of flesh if they so wish it and an endless reprieve lining the trays they carry, in the form of cigarettes, drinks, and every drug that Verona has to offer. It’s difficult to imagine how anyone could be persuaded to leave after such an endeavor, but then again, there’s no one that they would find awaiting them at the door to escort them to the exit. Merriment of this nature is never-ending in Verona, after all, and so long as the people ask for more, the Dark Lady shall continue to provide.
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OVERVIEW: Welcome to the gala, Veronesi! Queen Mab was absent from the chaos that overtook La Festa Dell’amore, but now she’s back to take Verona by storm. She’s hosting the gala in collaboration with the Montagues in honor of the newly-established relationship that she’s now formed with them, for the purpose of giving the city some room to breathe after all the ruin that it’s recently witnessed -- or so she claims at least. As we’ve all come to learn by now, in Verona, nothing is ever as it seems, and there seem to be stirrings of something big and dastardly on the horizon. The Montagues are focused on finding unity and creating order in their scattered ranks, and the Capulets are roiling over the loss of Rosaline and working to ensure that they retrieve her as fast as possible. All while a certain set of individuals lurks in the shadows and fiddles with a scheme so wholly their own. We can do nothing but hold our breath, and await what is meant to unfold.
As you’re aware, LADY ANNE and FLORIZEL are included in the event despite the fact that they are now open. Due to the crucial roles they play in the event, and for the sake of not disturbing our pre-determined plans for the plot, we’ve decided to make an exception for them. For the duration of the plot drop, they will be treated as NPC’s and you’re free to explore their involvement in your threads. But we ask that you please refrain from godmodding them or doing anything bigger than mentioning or referencing them in your threads if you wish to do so, as we have to be mindful that they are still open for applications. You can now date your threads from MARCH 4TH through MARCH 15TH -- with MARCH 15TH serving as the night of the gala. Have fun!!
He could do nothing but move forward. For as long as he could remember, that conviction was the guiding hand which had tugged him past every obstacle and toppled him over every hurdle that threw itself in his path. And not once had he ever refrained from following its lead. Not once had he ever questioned it. He simply hung his head, huddled into its shadow, and dragged his empire along as he climbed and climbed and climbed. Even now, he was still moving forward. However, he couldn’t help but look back every now and then and linger on all that he was leaving behind.
Each glance only heightened his awareness of the gaping void that lingered at his back; the crooked hollow that had marred his ranks from the moment his valued sentinel was ripped away from her rightful place at his side. Yet he continued to march them to the rigid, unrelenting beat of progress -- perhaps with more vigor than ever before. Losing Rafaella was a scathing blow; one that not only he was reeling from, but la famiglia as a mournful, enraged whole. However, if they were to simply cower away and lick their wounds, then they would be no better than the hounds on the other side of the ruins. And if there was anything he could do for Rafaella while they bid their time and orchestrated her retrieval, it was keeping their stride as steady as it had ever been. It was leaving the Montagues to choke on the dust that bellowed at their heels until they could no longer see their victories from their losses -- until they ceased to be anything more than just another stepping stone to be trampled over and left behind as the Capulets continued on.
And so, with the vow on his mind and the aspiration in his heart, he studied the files Rafaella had had the forethought to compile for him, and then he made his decisions.
ORSINO is now a SPETTRO (hitman) who reports to VOLUMNIA.
CORDELIA is now a CAPTAIN. Her soldiers are now HELENUS and DESDEMONA.
