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All The World's A Stage

Verona, Pennsylvania

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a part of All The World's A Stage, by katyisaladybug.

None

katyisaladybug holds sovereignty over Verona, Pennsylvania, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

727 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

based on the web series "shakes" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vc_mntn9l2m

Setting

Default Location for All The World's A Stage
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Minimap

Verona, Pennsylvania is a part of All The World's A Stage.

10 Characters Here

Katherine Minola [13] "My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break."
Paris Victor [12] "Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?"
Ophelia Sprout [9] "I do not know, my lord, what I should think."
Beatrice O'Conelly [7] "You call me a bitch like it's a bad thing"
Benedict Cavillor [5] "How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!"
Juliet Capulet [4] "Get busy living or get busy dying."
Irving Macbeth [1] "Will my ambition be the death of me?"
Claude King [1] "My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. Words without thoughts never to heaven go."
Regina Campbell [0] "Unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe topful of direst cruelty!"

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Romeo Montague Character Portrait: Juliet Capulet Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Claude King Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Paris Victor Character Portrait: Irving Macbeth Character Portrait: Hamlet, Jr. Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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โ—คโ—ฅ
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(presenting a modernization of Shakespeare's classics.)
โ—ฃโ—ข



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A perfect midsummer's day. Perhaps the most perfect midsummer's day the town of Verona had seen in ages.

Claude King sucked the thick, warm air into his nostrils and breathed it out through his mouth. The elements of the park were saccharine, but perfect for an excessively beautiful day such as this one. It stood right in the center of the bustling town, and it was almost shameful not to plan something in such a wonderful, flawless area.

So with a snap of his fingers, Claude commanded his many attendants to step forward. "Fellas," he crowed, "I think we've found our spot. It's time to start decorating."

With that, the group of men nodded, and busted into action. While most of the craftsmen got to work hanging streamers, balloons, and lanterns throughout the trees, a corpulent man named Nicholas Bottom spent his time carefully hammering a colorful sign into the park's grassy sod. It read...

~ A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S FESTIVAL ~
Come join the festivity from 6-10 pm!
Food, dancing, music, a performance by our acting trope, and a fun time for all!


With a cool glass of lemonade in his right hand, Claude readjusted his aviator sunglasses and gazed upon the soon-to-be masterpiece of the Midsummer Night's Festival - his own idea, and an event he presumed the entire town had been waiting for for months. Why such little notice for such an anticipated festival? The answer was quite simple...

Verona, quite frankly, was in chaos. Not in economic chaos, nor in chaos with another town or the state of Pennsylvania itself, but in emotional chaos. The residents these days seemed...uneasy. The morale of the people was low and terribly depressing. Why, even his own stepson, Hamlet Jr., was sulking in the shadows. What the small town needed was a gigantic pick-me-up. A simple smile in the midst of darkness. This festival would lift the mood, create new bonds, and make bold, valuable memories. It was extravagant, yes, but that was would Verona was supposed to be. After all, a little party never hurt nobody. What could go wrong?

After taking a long swig of lemonade from his glass, Claude grabbed some cards advertising the event, and began to hand them out to passersby, saying, "Come one and come all! Hope to see you there!"




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"Hello miss! Would you like-"

Before Ophelia Sprout could finish her sentence, the lady shot past her, not even grabbing the beautiful rose that the girl was holding out to her for free. Handing out flowers with tags on them to random strangers in order to promote the Midsummer Night's Festival was more work than it actually seemed. Still, Ophelia had to do it, or else her father would never let her back inside the house.

"Oh! Sir! Are you interested in-"

Just like the woman, the man scooted right past Ophelia, not even bothering to hear what her mousy voice had to utter.

She gazed down at the ground , then at the red, orange, and purple roses in her hands. This task was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. If only she had a louder voice...then maybe people would hear her.

Birds sweetly chirping in the breeze, Ophelia calculatingly glanced to her left, then to her right. Slowly and gingerly, she placed the flowers down onto the sidewalk. She looked left and right once more, and then out of nowhere, broke out into a sprint.

Immediately she felt guilty for disobeying her father's orders, but once she saw the swarm of children crowd around the puddle of flowers, her doubts disappeared. He'd never know about what she really did if she just lied, but of course, Ophelia was a terrible liar, so that would never work.

If only her father wasn't so...commanding. Perhaps if he didn't have such a big job in the town and were just like everyone else, then maybe he wouldn't be so strict and mean all the time. After all, he was always getting into things that he didn't need to be getting into...like his daughter's relationship with her boyfriend.

It was all so confusing, and she didn't want to think about it right now. She just wanted to go to the park and chill underneath her favorite willow tree. So with speedy steps, that's exactly what she did. A beautiful river nearby, Ophelia plucked a stone from the ground below, and tossed it into the murky pool. The stone skipped across the water's surface, and she closed her eyes. She wished for happiness, health, and a wonderful summer.

And then like a child, she dropped to the ground, staring up at the clouds and humming the first tune that came to mind. Today would be a good day, and she knew it.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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XXษชPแดแด… : Sun Shy
XXMแดแดแด… : Smug
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XXXBeatrice never had a problem with festivities. The midsummer festival was every year, and in the same contingent pattern, she never went. She of course was part of the so called "after party" of the event. Being a bartender at the most popular pub in Verona, Beatrice heard all about it. It caught her interest year after year, but never did she have time to attend. Till now anyway. Work still was calling her in as they needed every helping hand they could get. That meant she didn't need to be in till the night. Which meant, she could stay for most of the festival. Days before when she heard the news she began getting schoolwork out of the way so she could have the day to herself. Early in the morning Beatrice had called cousin to see if she would attend as well. The overall message she got from the conversation was a, "maybe if there are hot guys". Typical Hero. Beatrice knew her words were a jest however. Her cousin was much different from Beatrice. Quiet, naive, more open with the world. It worried Beatrice, her cousin's behavior. It only made Beatrice more protective of the girl. Unlike Hero, Beatrice wasn't afraid to call people out, and to stand still when the world wanted to sweep her away. She wouldn't change her cousin for the world though. Their personalities always complimenting one another. It was easy to say Beatrice was much closer to Hero than any other person in her life.
XXXA slow pace was nice for the day. Walking past an empty florist stand, she made her way to the grounds in which it was being set up. Workers moved with intention, preparing the field for one of the biggest events in all of Verona. The midsummer festival was bound to be amazing. Hearing so much about it from people at the bars; she was far more excited to experience it herself. The pessimistic in her mind said she was probably glorifying the event though. They were making good progress when she felt herself move forward with a sharp push. A person behind her dropping decorations. Quickly she turned, seeing things scattered about the pavement.
"Oh my. I'm so sorry" the person spoke as they scrambled to pick up the fallen materials.
"Don't worry about it. I'm shouldn't be standing in the middle of the damn pavement half minded" she waved off, picking up a small ribbon wheel they were hanging and handing it to the girl before she was on her way. With time to kill, she kept walking till she found a pleasant path that went around the lake of the Verona. She didn't know the extent of the walk, and a little adventure would never kill a person. With that in mind she began traveling the path, her headphones back into her ear as she walked, and enjoyed what little time she wasn't busy with the chores of school and work.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Paris Victor
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Paris held a steady gaze on the girl handing out flowers through the finder of his Canon. He had a perfect shot from the bench across the street. His finger pushed the button halfway down, blurring and bringing into focus the vivid sunset colors of the roses. The shutter clicked just as a man bustled past her. Checking the image playback, he knew exactly what he would do with the image when he got the chance: paint the man and the background, outline flower girl in gold. When he looked up from the display screen, flower girl was gone, a colorful pile left in her place.

He didn't look either way as he crossed the street to the roses, trusting that even if a car showed up it would stop for him. He had noticed that the street didn't seem to get a lot of automobile traffic. Instead, the people of Verona tended to walk as far as Paris had observed. Written on the paper tag of an orange rose he picked out of the pile was an announcement for one of those pretentious small town festivals that popped up in every little village that had any semblance of a history and buildings with ivy on them.

Still, he thought, food.

He resolved himself to go, even if only to scope out the scene and the people before the photograph competition.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Katherine Minola
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________________๏ผด๏ฝˆ๏ฝ… ๏ผณ๏ฝˆ๏ฝ’๏ฝ…๏ฝ—_________________
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__"ฮน ะฝฮฑโˆ‚ ฮฑ ะฝฯƒโ„“ั” ฮนฮท ะผัƒ ะฝั”ฮฑัั‚ ฮฑฮทโˆ‚ ฮน ฯ‰ฮฑั• โ„“ฯƒฯƒะบฮนฮทg ฦ’ฯƒั ฮฑ ฯฮนั”cั” ั‚ะฝฮฑั‚ ฦ’ฮนั‚."

_____________________โˆ‚ฮนฮฑโ„“ฯƒgฯ…ั” cฯƒโ„“ฯƒัโœง#6b856f
_____________________ั‚ะฝฯƒฯ…gะฝั‚ cฯƒโ„“ฯƒัโœฆ #854442
______________________________outfit

Just another day, it seemed to be. Then again, in Katherine's mind, everyday was just another set of tedious hours to battle her way through. Upstairs, in her cool air-conditioned house, Kat sat at her desk, tapping notes away into her digital notepad. Her textbook sat open before her, and she skimmed each page, typing without looking at the keyboard. She'd fix the typos later. It was summer, mid summer, so she was on break from her classes, but there was always the ever-dreaded pre-class reading to get done. Every year there was always at least one student that forgot to do the reading and got completely fucked over for it. Would it be wrong of her to feel a bit of giddiness at their failure? Her line of thinking was, if they didn't want people snickering behind their back, they should have completed their assignment.

She had made it through four chapters in the three hours she had been working, a decent enough pace she reckoned, but her fingers were getting cramped, her eyes tired, and there was a dull throbbing at the back of her head. It was time for a break. Despite the sticky heat that tarnished the outdoors, and the fact that it was currently the hottest time of the day didn't help, Kat decided it would be nice to go for a walk. The walls of her bedroom were starting close in around her.

With a yawn and a stretch of her arms behind her head, she rose from the office chair that was beginning to hurt her back. Her phone was still on her nightstand charging, her headphones right next to it. She grabbed both of them before heading downstairs. Her father was in his office, talking on the phone, and he stopped her before she could open the door. "Oh, Kat," he called out, asking the person on the other end of the phone to hold for a minute, "Mr. King just announced a festival tonight. It's at six, so be back in time."

"You got it, Dad, I'll meet you guys there," she responded hastily, eager to leave the house before he kept her there for some other reason.

But there was no stopping him. Stepping out of the office, phone still in hand, he gave her a once-over. "Oh, are you sure you want to go like that, sweetheart?" he said, employing that tone of voice that clearly indicated he didn't approve, but in a passive way.

She exhaled, blowing some hair out of her face. "It's a casual festival, isn't it?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then it's fine. Bye, Dad, see you later." She turned back to him, wearing a saccharine smile, before she opened the door and walked out.

She went past the town center on her way to the trail she frequented, catching sight of the various workers bustling about a square of land she assumed would be the location of festival. Further down, there was a pile of roses, paper tags around their stems. Curious, she paused to pick one off the ground. Just another announcement for the festival. She supposed for such a last-minute affair, even if this was the small town of Verona, quite a bit of advertising was necessary. A smile creased her face as she pictured the story behind the hastily dropped pile of flowers. Surely, there must have been someone handing them out. Ah, well, not much of her problem. A quick glance at her watch told her she only had a few short hours before the festival would commence. If she wanted to go at least a mile into the forest, she'd have to get moving.

For a reason she couldn't quite explain, she found herself reluctant to let go of the flower, and the rose remained in her clenched fist.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Romeo Montague Character Portrait: Juliet Capulet Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Paris Victor Character Portrait: Hamlet, Jr. Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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There was a familiar figure heading down the winding path in front of her. Waist-length hair, small stature, and confident walk...none other than the town's sharpest wit.

"Trixy!" Ophelia shouted, jogging over to the twenty-year-old and wrapping her long arms around her. Even if she had never talked to Beatrice, Ophelia would have greeted her the same. To the innocent girl, everyone was a friend.

She giggled and grinned, pushing tendrils of wispy brown hair behind her ears. "How are you? I'm assuming you are coming to the festival tonight, right? It's such a wonderful day out!" Perhaps Beatrice was brash and blunter than a rubber mallet when asked about her opinion on a particular subject or whenever she was forced to hear the heartbreaking backstories of he drunkards that resided at the pub. Still, she could be warm and generous, and if you really got on her good side, she was known to be a very protective friend.

Still, the town knew her for other reasons. Ophelia gazed down at the grass. There was something else that she had to ask Beatrice. Quite a touchy subject, but an important one...

"So...are you still fighting with him?" she quietly muttered, trying not to use any negative inflections. Perhaps Beatrice was quite plain-spoken, but there was only one person in the town who she truly hated. That person was the prideful Benedict Cavillor. Ever since he had come back to Verona, the two would not stop shooting harmful taunts at each other. It was like a war, only their weapons consisted of words.

While she awaited Beatrice's response and kept an attentive ear on whatever she had to say, Ophelia pulled out her purple iphone and scrolled through her list of contacts. There were a couple messages she needed to send.

The first one was for her boyfriend...

[ To: Hamlet <3 ]
[ From: Ophelia ]
{ Do you want to go to the festival tonight? Your stepdad decided that its going to be held in the park. }

The second was for her two friends...

[To: Romeo, Juliet]
[From: Ophelia]
{ Will the secret star-crossed lovers be attending the festival tonight? :) }

Finished, Ophelia looked up from her phone screen, noticing Katherine Minola, as well as the traveler man, Paris Victor, in the distance. She pointed her index finger at them, showing them to Beatrice, and smiled.

"Should we go say hello?" she asked. Of course Ophelia wouldn't be able to muster up the courage to go up to the two young adults herself. One part of her didn't want to be rude and leave Beatrice behind, while another part of her lacked the independence to do so.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Romeo Montague Character Portrait: Juliet Capulet
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#, as written by Hypnos
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      Think not of life of what it could be but rather as it is, and one will find themselves in a much happier state than he had been previously. Despite hours and hours weeping over love lost Romeo, dear Romeo, found a star much more brilliant than the comet that had left the inky black sky with streaks of gold and silver - only to disappear in front of him. True he had wept, and wept he did, but the bright angel spoke to him with words that could sweeten a tart and lifted his poor soul out of the shackles known as unrequited love.

      Ah, but had it been love or merely a fancy - knowing that the one person he wanted to obtain was the one girl he couldnโ€™t have? Not a game per say, but rather an observation into his own mind and it is only with trial and error can one come to a conclusion. The results had be skewed for the girl he had wanted loved not him, but rather another man of a different breed. A more familiar type of man he was, but Romeo was never one to judge too harshly for he knew love had no boundaries. As proven with his now on going devotion to the girl he swore would be his last. Juliet. How sweet the name rolls off his tongue, and yet something forbidden makes him crave more. Was she subject number two? Romeo shook his head no at such blasphemy.

      It was love at first sight and how fast did his heart drop only to crawl into her awaiting, gentle hands. And yet she refused to give him hers - at first that was.

      A message from his dear friend Ophelia brought him out of his musings and while he would have loved to go on about his woe he thought it to be too rude to ignore such a kind indentation.

      { To: Juliet โค , Ophelia โ˜€}
      {From: Romeo }

      { Of course, youโ€™ll be sure to have me in your attendance.}


      Romeo knew from the moment he met Juliet that though she may be naive in some aspects she was anything but the submissive little girl he had always thought her to be. Kind and gentle did her heart bleed, but stubbornness was a trait he knew not how to get rid of. Of course though he would never think of changing his Juliet.

      โ€Do birds still sing in the face of fear?โ€ he thought suddenly as though being reminded of their situation at hand. Of course he knew the outcome should Julietโ€™s father ever hear of their relationship, but Romeo often wonders would he - no, could he - still say โ€˜I love herโ€™ when met with the glaring disapproval of both his father and hers?

      He wished not to think about it, but knew that reality to be too much of a possibility to ignore. Should the day come where he would have to chose between Juliet and a life of wealth - in safety Romeo would like to think heโ€™d die for her. Then again, he reminded himself, โ€œdo not burn bridges before I even get there.โ€

      .-.-.-.-.

      He spent the next few minutes to wander and ponder over thoughts he were too grim for a night such as this. And it was only when the sounds of the city were replaced with the humming of birds and tree branches falling did he notice how far he had wandered.

      With nothing to lose - but poor Juliet - he ventured into the woods where he knew the Festival would be held at, after all the town was glued by tradition.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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_______________๏ผด๏ฝˆ๏ฝ… ๏ผณ๏ฝ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ„๏ฝ‰๏ฝ…๏ฝ’_______________
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______"ฮนฦ’ ฯƒฮทโ„“ัƒ ฯ‰ั” ฯ‰ั”ัั” ะฒัฮฑฮฝั” ั”ฮทฯƒฯ…gะฝ ั‚ฯƒ โ„“ฮนฮฝั” ั‚ะฝั” โ„“ฮนฮฝั”ั• ฯ‰ั” ั•ั‚ฯƒโ„“ั”."

_______________________โˆ‚ฮนฮฑโ„“ฯƒgฯ…ั” cฯƒโ„“ฯƒัโœง#a7a97f
_______________________ั‚ะฝฯƒฯ…gะฝั‚ cฯƒโ„“ฯƒัโœฆ #90a797
_________________________________outfit

As it turns out, military habits are not very easy to abandon. Despite the fact that there were no orders being shouted in his face, Ben arose from his bed at precisely 5:00. Not a second late. He wondered if any of the commanders knew that all their yelling and shouting was officially pointless; all the soldiers would wake on their own after a month.

Naturally, there was little to be done at five in the morning. The sun's rays were just barely touching the horizon, and for the most part, the sleepy town of Verona was still enveloped in darkness.

So Ben didn't do anything. For a good twenty minutes, he remained lying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as he watched the blades spin round and round. After those twenty minutes, which he found to be insufferable, he decided he couldn't waste away the day lying in bed. The Ben of his youth could, this he knew with certainty, but things had changed. He had become too accustomed to being active, to being in continual motion; if not here, then over there, moving always with a purpose. He was sure his commander meant well, granting him a leave to go home for a while in honor of his recent promotion to captaincy, but he wasn't quite sure how the gift was panning out yet. He loved being home, he did, but something about it didn't feel quite right. Honestly, if he wasn't at work, he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

With great effort, he trudged over to the kitchen area of the small cabin he was subletting and brewed himself a coffee. Then, with another bout of effort, he dragged his feet over to his suitcase, (he hadn't unpacked despite having been moved in for a month now; another example of how military habits die hard) and pulled on some jogging shorts and an old ratty t-shirt. He downed the coffee, black, with little effort. He'd be needing it. And with that, he tossed the mug in the kitchen sink, grabbed his headphones, and set out for a nice run through the woods.

By the time he returned, the sun was already high above him, and his phone told him it was very near to noon. At least now there'd be life in the town. So he decided that after a quick shower and some lunch, it'd be more than appropriate to head into the town center. Once he was out and fed, it was a good deal later than it was when he had returned, so out into the woods he ventured once more. This time, it was the path that led to town that he traveled on, arriving fairly quickly to where it was he needed to be. Indeed, the town center was alive with people heading to and fro and ducking into stores here and there and... oh? A group of people working in the park caught his eye, and he ambled over to the sign stuck in the dirt near their work area. A festival. That sounded lovely. And it wasn't as if he had very much else to do.

Further away, near the edge of the lake, something else caught his eye. Or rather, someone else. Two people, in fact, and both, he decided, were people he definitively needed to be around exactly at this moment. The taller girl, who had recently wrapped the shorter girl in a quick embrace, was pulling out her phone and tapping away messages. Benedict arrived at her side just as she was putting it away.

"Afternoon, Phelia," he shot a lazy grin in the pixie-faced girl's direction. He liked Ophelia; she was endearingly sweet. Turning to Beatrice, he nodded his head almost mockingly seriously in greeting. "Lady Disdain." He turned back to Ophelia, a sinless smile curving his lips. "Hear there's gonna be a festival in town tonight. You planning on attending?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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XXXThe sun felt good. With so much time being indoors. Studying or working, she didn't have the luxury of going on nice walks like this. She forgot how much she even liked being outside. Whenever someone was to ask what Beatrice did in her free time, she'd reply with "what free time". Her supposed free time was catching up on sleep, or reading some Agatha Christie on her Kindle. Her taste in genres were typically only murder mysteries, or mysteries in general. Beatrice did however, manage to find a way to read the Harry Potter books along with Lord of the Rings.
XXXSo distracted by the blasting of her music, and the content clearing of her head - she didn't see or hear Ophelia running to meet her with a hug. The contact startled her, and she was close to elbowing whoever it was. When she saw it was Ophelia she let out a sigh of relief, patting the hands that were around her awkwardly. She took out the headphone, wrapping it around the edge of her ear before looking to her.
XXX"Ophelia, a pleasure to see you" she spoke, her tone coming out more sarcastic than originally intended. She let out a cough to clear her voice for any conversation that would occur.
XXXShe hadn't ever really talked to Ophelia. They had their run ins, but she hadn't ever had time. Ophelia wasn't the kind of girl she saw hitting the bar scene, and if she was - she had never seen her at the pub. Ophelia in her eyes, was almost too sweet for this world. So gentle, so untouched it seemed. She wished she were the same. Beatrice smiled at the girl.
XXX"I'm alright. My first real day out in awhile so I'm intent of enjoying it. I should be going to the festival tonight. Working after though" she told her as they walked.
XXX"Are you? You could meet up with Hero and I. Wait, no, you're probably going with your boyfriend?" she questioned before a question was brought her way. The question was one she didn't expect, especially from her. The relationship between her and Benedict wasn't something typical. Long ago, she was vulnerable, and that vulnerability was a mistake. She got hurt, by him. Since them she gave him a cold shoulder, and he didn't seem to care, giving her the same speech she gave him. The only was she could tolerate whatever it was they were, was that he matched her wit.
XXX"You sound like we're dating. Fighting sounds nasty. We just don't like one another is all" she explained as easily as she could. When Ophelia offered to go say hello to Katherine and Paris she nodded. "Sure. Don't know them well either. Though Paris does come into the bar every so often"
XXXAs they begun to walk towards the other party, she heard a familiar voice, and then saw a familiar figure. He greeted Ophelia like any person would, and then her nick name - Lady Disdain. She only rolled her eyes.
XXX"Disdain can live easily when it has you to keep it alive" she retorted casually, before continuing her words. "Sir Pompous, you can transform even courtesy to disdain with your presence alone. You should feel honored"

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"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead."

-Oscar Wilde




Her eyes moved at an incredible speed from left to right, devouring every word written by Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Grey. Her hands held the book close to her, the pages were already worn out and the book's hardcover had dents. Despite she did her best to care for all of her books as one would care for something precious, it was an inevitable occurrence especially after how many times she'd read each and every one of them. Indeed, anyone who loved to read would know they were simply signs that almost all of her books were tremendously loved by young Juliet. The young woman had long since lost count of how many times she had read the novel as she had with many other books, but she didn't care to count for any of them anymore as she once did. Although she had started reading the novel an hour earlier, she was already just a few pages away from reaching the end.

As soon as she read the last sentence contained in her worn out book, Juliet's thoughts shifted from the tragedy of Dorian Gray to thoughts of her beloved Romeo. Their romance had broken every boundary known to her, going against the odds and simply plunging into the deep fires of passion. Oh what a great tragedy it was when she learned her soulmate and greatest love was none other than the one she was supposed to hate the most. Although she had been reluctant at first to cave into temptation at his loving gaze, she knew she had been lost the moment their eyes plunged deeply into one another. She did not care to know of a life without Romeo and would rather die than to ever know of such great tragedy. Neither did she dare to forget of the consequences of their love and what chaos would be unleashed were her parents ever to find out. And even though Romeo could be rather clingy to the point of being a bit overwhelming for the unexperienced girl Juliet was, she knew nothing but to love her Romeo for a long as she could.

Lost in thoughts was the young girl when her her sweet friend Ophelia sent her a message. Her phone's notification was completely ignored by the ever-so-daydreaming Juliet who had abandoned the tangible Earth to enter the abstract realms of her complex mind. It wasn't until she felt a slight nudge on her right shoulder that she was brought back to reality.

"Julieta, It's time for you to get ready for the festival dear." Juliet's nanny, Helena, hastened the young girl.

Although Helena's intentions were driven by her patrons, Juliet's parents, who wanted their daughter to attend the event with ulterior motives. Given Juliet's suitor would also be attending the Midsummer Night's Festival. Helena also wanted for her dear Juliet to enjoy herself at the Festival. Juliet finally nodded still a bit dozed off taking her time to transition back into real life. Had it not been because Romeo would be at the festival, Juliet would have hardly cared and would have seen suspected of her loving nanny's real intentions. Regardless, any time she'd get to spend with her lover was a time well spent. Without further haste, she checked her phone to see the time only to see the Ophelia's message and replied without further haste.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
{ To: Amore Mioโค, Ophelia }
{ From: Juliet }

{ Count me in! I wouldn't miss it for the world. }
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


As soon after she sent the message, Juliet stood up and hastily hurried to place it on one of her many massive bookshelves in order to begin getting ready for the festival. Although she didn't care much for material possessions and choose to live as normally as possibly without constantly reminding herself of her parent's overwhelming status and wealth. Having her own library was something she had allowed herself to indulge with.
...

After she ventured deep into the woods, she immediately hoped to see her Romeo awaiting for her only to be caught off guard after seeing him from afar. Beyond doubt, she immediately recognized his back from a distance and was now determined to sneak up on her lover. The young woman carefully walked slowly and steadily behind him and only when he was at arms reach did she hug him from behind lovingly.

"Found you." Juliet whispered holding onto her Romeo with a devious smile drawn upon her lips.

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Momentarily distracted by the conversation just out of earshot, Paris turned only to discover the most perfect human he'd ever set eyes on had sneaked up behind him. She was clutching one of the roses from the pile, and though she wasn't exactly frowning at the moment, he could tell she did so more often than not. Her clothes, while casual, were clearly those of someone with expensive taste, and her entire demeanor was lukewarm at best.

Paris had seen beautiful people from around the world, even more beautiful than the woman holding the rose--though to give an example would be impossible at the moment--but none he'd ever met had ever seemed so exactly his type.

Holy shit, he thought. He couldn't believe he hadn't met her yet. He'd been in Verona for over a week, and he thought he'd met everyone and their mother. Regardless, he knew immediately that she was exactly what he was looking for: rich, gorgeous, and bitter as hell.

"Hello," he greeted, sticking his hand out and giving his cockiest grin. "I'm Paris, and you are?"

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__"ฮน ะฝฮฑโˆ‚ ฮฑ ะฝฯƒโ„“ั” ฮนฮท ะผัƒ ะฝั”ฮฑัั‚ ฮฑฮทโˆ‚ ฮน ฯ‰ฮฑั• โ„“ฯƒฯƒะบฮนฮทg ฦ’ฯƒั ฮฑ ฯฮนั”cั” ั‚ะฝฮฑั‚ ฦ’ฮนั‚."
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_____________________ั‚ะฝฯƒฯ…gะฝั‚ cฯƒโ„“ฯƒัโœฆ #854442
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It was always interesting to walk through the town. She could see in people's body language what they were feeling, what they were thinking, and it was all just so fascinating. She was half tempted to abandon her walk and just take a seat on the park bench for some people watching. It was a quality past-time, and though it certainly wasn't as interesting as "reality" TV, the fabrication of the shows made them boring for her to sit through. She preferred the truth in all matters of the world.

Not so far away from her location, she saw the ever-engaging Benedict Cavillor approach the resident fairy child and bartender. She had been friends with Benedict in her childhood, the smallness of Verona allowing their age difference to be negligible. She supposed they were still friendly on some level, but things now were much, much different than they were when they were children.

Ophelia, on the other hand, was someone she had never really been all too close to. She was something of a dream, too unattainable, too pure for this world, and even as a much more agreeable child, it had intimidated her. Now, as an adult, it just made her uncomfortable. Ophelia's kindness made her feel almost guilty, and she much preferred to not have to deal with those feelings. Beatrice looks annoyed at Ben's presence, and Ben's wicked grin told Kat she had every right to be. She was far from Beatrice's friend, hadn't spoken to her much really, but she did admire the girl's quick mind and blunt honesty. If Kat had anything more than acquaintances, she's sure she'd like Beatrice to be one of those friends. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the soft waxy petals of the rose in her hand.

Then, suddenly, there was a body at her side tearing her away from her thoughts. The face she found herself staring at was attractive, certainly, but there was a smugness in his smile that put her off immediately. The facade of "charming" he had placed on seemed fake, forced. Instantly, she was suspicious of his motives for approaching her. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched his mouth move, hearing his name as her eyes darted down to his now outstretched hand. There was a beat as she merely looked at his hand, an eyebrow raised. Then slowly, making sure to convey the reluctance, she reached out and grasped his hand, shaking firmly and strongly, the way her father used to tell her businessmen would respect.

"Katherine," she answered, as coldly as possible without being outright rude, "to those that have any business using my name." It was far from subtle, and she hoped her chilling introduction was enough to dissuade him from attempting any further conversation as she turned on her heel and continued on in the direction she had been going in.

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The moment she shook his hand so reluctantly, so business-like, Paris knew he was going to like her. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he could picture her already in the places he'd frequented and the ones he'd never been. By his side wherever they wanted to go, a scowl adorning her features in every mental picture that crossed his mind. It was sudden, seeing as they had just met, but it was his nature to throw himself wholeheartedly into everything he did.

And now he had a name.

"Katherine," she said firmly, "to those that have any business using my name." That wiped the smile off Paris's face, only for it to grow back stronger as she walked away. A shiver ran down his back, and he pursued her, jogging a couple steps to catch up with her brisk pace.

"Well, Katherine, will you be going to this 'Midsummer Night's Festival?'" He asked while walking. If he played up his accent a tiny bit in hopes of making himself more attractive to her, well, then no one needed to be the wiser. "If you're going, I might just have a proper reason to make an appearance, instead of just the food. Will there be booze, do you think?"

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__"ฮน ะฝฮฑโˆ‚ ฮฑ ะฝฯƒโ„“ั” ฮนฮท ะผัƒ ะฝั”ฮฑัั‚ ฮฑฮทโˆ‚ ฮน ฯ‰ฮฑั• โ„“ฯƒฯƒะบฮนฮทg ฦ’ฯƒั ฮฑ ฯฮนั”cั” ั‚ะฝฮฑั‚ ฦ’ฮนั‚."
_____________________โˆ‚ฮนฮฑโ„“ฯƒgฯ…ั” cฯƒโ„“ฯƒัโœง#6b856f
_____________________ั‚ะฝฯƒฯ…gะฝั‚ cฯƒโ„“ฯƒัโœฆ #854442
______________________________

She had to admit, watching that smug smirk bleed off his face had been just the smallest bit satisfying. If nothing else, at least he caught on to her meaning. She didn't have the time to be dealing with getting some random guy off her back, not after she had just been cooped up in her room with a textbook for hours. She certainly didn't have the patience.

But then there was the subtle sound of feet hitting pavement, and she looked up from the rose whose petals she had continued caressing to find him at her side once more. Christ, he was persistent. Typically, she admired dogged people, she herself being one, but this was quickly becoming annoying. Hadn't he realized already that she was far from interested?

He spouted some crap about her being a good reason to go to the festival (did this guy get his pick-up lines from a book? As if she hadn't heard that a hundred times before) and the accent that she had missed earlier in his short sentence made itself much more prominent. English of some sort, and Kat had to wonder if all English men were this insistent.

"I had planned on going, but now I'm rethinking it," came her biting reply. She had made the effort to not be outright discourteous, and it had gotten her nowhere. Her patience was running thin, and so she let her tongue run its own course. "From England, are you?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. "I've always found the concept of family crests so fascinating. What's yours? A coxcomb?" There was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she enjoyed the humor of her own insult. When other people rarely appreciated those comments, you learn to do it for them.

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"I had planned on going," she said, "but now I'm rethinking it." Paris clutched at his heart dramatically.

"You wound me, Katherine," he proclaimed loudly, scrunching his brows and sticking out his lower lip in mock distress. "And to think, you seemed so kind!" The switch in the conversation caught him off guard to say the least. "Yes, actually," he answered honestly, and he straightened himself out. "Stratford. It's right on the Avon River."

He would've been lying to say that her insult and the resulting ghost of a smile playing at her lips weren't the most satisfying parts of the conversation thus far.

"Ah, I see," he deadpanned. "You're very clever. But I'd give up my comb if you would be my hen. So, I'd give you my number, but I haven't got a phone. At least, not one that works here. Let me take you out." He had all the subtlety of a hand grenade, but it had worked for him on more than one occasion.

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The over the top portrayal of his "pain" amused her, something that was very nearly a laugh almost escaping her lips. She stopped any noise from leaving her throat, however, lest she betray any hint of emotion other than disgust. Instead, a short huff of air left her mouth, nothing more.

His genuine answer to her question caught her by surprise. Not his willingness to respond, but the response itself. Stratford-upon-Avon. She'd be lying if she said that didn't pique her interest. In fact, she had always wanted to visit the English town, one she was sure must be chock-full of rich history. And she was very keen to see the Royal Shakespeare Theatre.

He responded to her insult quickly, with a hint of wit himself. She was only slightly impressed by his ability to keep up with her. "Stratford-upon-Avon, huh? Yes, I can certainly see the blood of poets runs through the land." She continued her trek towards the trees, tilting her head slightly to catch his eyes, the glint of mischief not going unnoticed. "Cocks without combs have no fighting spirit and, therefore, are not for me. And even if that weren't so, I couldn't go out with you, as I already am out. Thank you for the offer and have a lovely day." She smiled a saccharine smile, mock sincerity seeping out of her every pore. Perhaps the casual dismissal would send him on his way.

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Paris's grin widened at the half-amused huff she gave him. Even that much of a reaction was encouraging enough for him to keep going, and he was determined to get at least an agreement to see him again, if not her hand in marriage. He could tell his hometown had interested her, and he knew exactly why.

"Shakespeare fan, are you?" he asked. "I'll admit, alas, the blood of poets dwell not in mine body, but the blood of artists runs through these humble veins, I assure you." He bowed exaggeratedly but misjudged the camera that was swinging from the neck strap and promptly hit him in the nose. "How's that for 'fighting spirit,' Katherine?" he prompted, holding his nose between two fingers. "I'll fight my own possessions for you. Don't be so sour. If you're already out, well, then I can just go with you. I have been meaning to find a tour guide of sorts, and you look like you know your way around."

"I've got just one question," he said, ignoring her send-off and realizing he hadn't been to this part of town before. "Where are we going?"

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She was a Shakespeare fan indeed, though she wasn't pleased that he had noticed. It didn't matter if he had read every Shakespearean play or sonnet that ever existed; she still wouldn't find the time to deal with any of these antics. She merely shrugged in response to his question, raising an eyebrow at his poor attempt at sounding poetic in order to explain that he wasn't poetic. Which she could see clear as day, especially after that. She supposed the artistry he was speaking of had something to do with the camera hanging around his neck, but she didn't want to ask. That would lead to more conversation.

Making a pointed effort to keep her eyes straight ahead and not let them stray towards him, she nearly missed the best part of their encounter so far. This time, a huff of laughter really did escape her, her lips even quirking up into something of a smile. It was short-lived, however, as she quickly pulled her fist up to her mouth and masked the laughter as a cough. She'd be damned if she'd encourage him to continue speaking to her.

She took a moment to regain her composure, painting her face into a perfect image of disinterest once more. "I can see I was right about you the first time," came her quick retort. "You have all the fighting spirit of a clown." She opened her mouth to respond to his self-invitation on her walk, but was caught off-guard by his last comment. Well, she couldn't say he wasn't straightforward. "We aren't going anywhere," she eventually answered after gathering her wits. "I am going for a walk on the trail that you seem intent on being an unwelcome tag-along on."

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His fingers itched to capture the tiny, genuine smile that crossed her face in response to his injury, but it was gone before he could even think about turning on his camera. Her face lit up like lightning cracking across the sky and darkened just as quickly. He swallowed a bitter gulp of dissatisfaction at missing the shot.

"A clown?" he asked. "Would a clown be able, or willing, to keep up with you? I think not."

He was glad to have rendered her speechless, if only for mere seconds. Looking around, he found all his surroundings completely foreign, and he knew he wouldn't be making it back to his hotel on his own. He sped up his steps to get in front of her and turned and stopped directly in her path.

"I would take the whole "leaving you alone" bit into more consideration if I hadn't gotten lost in you and, consequently, lost in Verona," he said. "But, since I am lost in one form or another, I might as well follow you where you're going. I'm sure it's much more interesting than sitting alone in a suite waiting for my prints to be ready, and I can't imagine I'm that unwanted if I made you laugh."