Chapter Text
Light blared on him. His sharp, white hair swept to the left side whilst a braid was dangling on his left shoulder. Heavy eyebags that smudged his grief.
Nikolai was still thinking about him…
A clown attire was the perfect description of him.
Although, a caged bird trying to break free from the chains was far more fitting.
Nikolai Gogal was a joke of a bird, the only way to achieve freedom from the constructed society would be unaliving yourself.
He craved freedom from society but he was attached to sickly stupid love.
He didn’t want to think about the morals of killing yet every time he felt guilty, he needed to prove that there are no limits for humanity.
“Commence!” was yelled from the shadows.
Gripping the papers, this play was intriguing, the protagonists escape their honours– the cage by suicide, an easy way out nevertheless wrecking the society of Verona.
He adored these endings, despising the youthful love between both characters, the sweetness, the human emotions– a preferable outcome would be Romeo brutally murdering Juliet to prove that humans can even kill their lovers.
However, he did enjoy the deaths that spiraled from fate.
Nikolai knew it was an ability that made him stuck here but he didn’t have any energy to do anything. He was still mourning and the love between the characters wouldn’t benefit his mental-state.
“Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.”
His voice was swollen and shaking, he must pull through this. Continuing…
“From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes.”
Instinctly he stopped, the next lines were brutal, cruel, callous. Painfully, it reminded him about Dostoevsky…
Slowly he began.
“A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their–.”
He stopped, he couldn’t continue.
So naturally, his expression changed into a faux playful grin, “Hey pop quiz, why did the lovers actually die for each other…”
An irritated sigh came from the shadows, a melodramatic yell, “Halt, I beseech thee, cease thy motion!”
Suddenly, the lights immediately switched on, revealing the vast, spacious room. Whilst, the profile spot that was shining on Nikolai was switched off.
“Thou must needs complete this sonnet forthwith!” a barely muscular man roared with passion.
His hair were soft brown hair that was slightly curled, the bangs hiding the sapphire eyes and his eyebags. There was a bit of freckles painted delicately across his face.
The young man wore pure white blouse covered by a strikingly blue doublet and a tad shade darker blue jerkin hung over his doublet. He was covered with elaborate gold embroidery, wearing dark black, slim, velvet trousers. With a shiny pair of midnight black shoes.
Numerous of belts held his swords, it was fine and decorated so lavishly.
“He means you have to finish this sonnet now,” a haughty voice called out.
Nikolai took a closer look– a tall women with blond curly shortcut which the ends of the hair splits into low-twin-tails. A burgundy top paired with elegant white crop jacket matching her white boots, a long lacey black skirt with a slit over her right knees paired with red tights.
He heard her from Dos-kun but seeing her in person…
She was gorgeous– they both were but Nikolai would argue Dos-kun was ethereal and was light years ahead with his fresh beauty.
“Duh, I can understand him but he didn’t answer the question… which means he doesn’t know,” Nikolai said breezily, still acting more childish.
The man gaped, outbursting in foolish rage, “Prithee, I hath penned this dramatic work, forsooth I know mine own personages!”
Agatha sighed at the childish tantrum.
Nikolai giggled, waving the script in hand.
“It seems like you don’t know your characters.. You making it sound their death was pure love but Juliet died to escape the control from her dad and Romeo died because he used her as a rebound.”
Dismissing the brutal criticism of the young man’s characters, “So Mr Blue your name.”
Still not recovering from the criticism, Agatha swished into the rescue, introducing them.
“His name’s William Shakespeare and you may know me as Agatha Christie. Pleasure to meet you,” exclaimed Agatha elegantly, going towards Nikolai for a handshake.
Instead, the polite handshake, Nikolai violently shook her hand– Agatha disliked uncultured, discordinated people.
Shakespeare realised the errors in the characters– he swore the suicide wasn’t meant to be romantic… or was it, his memory recently has began to become foggy.
“Conclude thou the sonnet,” Shakespeare ordered.
Rolling his eyes, Nikolai whined then continued.
“Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”
Nikolai recited this so fastly with a lack of emotion.
Shakespeare could feel his heart shattering, the emotion vanished, a play must be performed not read. Dramatically, he screeched at the atrocity of the prologue.
“Nay! Nay! Whence hath the emotion fled? The play is spoiled, forsooth, and mine exquisite toil goes unregarded!” Shakespeare cried out in anguish.
The blonde already wished she never met someone so immature and unfit to be a man.
“Shakespeare, it’s just a play.”
Those words settled the Shakespeare's mood.
He sprung from his chair, climbed onto a nearby desk and declared whole-heartedly, “Merely a play! This performance doth embody my very spirit; 'tis life, death, tragedy, love—verily, all that sustains mine waking hours at the fifth hour past midnight, lamenting for my cherished Juliet!”
Face-palming herself, this is the fourth Juliet reference and Agatha would rather bash her head against the wall then hear him speak about Juliet.
Abruptly, Nikolai confessed his mournings, “This play is a suicidal romance, oh my Dos-Kun was the only one who understood me but he’s dead now… doesn’t matter I wanted him dead anyways.”
Agatha was about to comment about Dostoevsky, he was still alive, where did Dostoevsky find this… interesting companion?
However, she was rudely interrupted by Shakespeare.
“Join the esteemed fellowship of the departed hearted suitors,” Shakespeare said sarcastically.
But then he saw the messy appearance of the latter, he could feel the sorrow of him. So for one he didn’t care about his play being perfect.
“I doeth feel the lamentation of a departed paramour; she was mine sun, mine cause for existence. Without this spectacle, mine Juliet shall fade into oblivion,” Shakespeare said softly. Still standing on the table.
Then dramatically, he whipped out his sketchbook, passionately drawing her out.
Pointing to every feature, Shakespeare wailed,
“She possessed magnificent tresses of golden-brown, fluttering akin to a celestial being, and adornèd herself in the fairest and most resplendent gown of crimson silk at the masquerade, her ornate scarlet visage veiling her enchanting hazel eyes.”
There was only one brain cell between them as Nikolai declared the beauty of his Dos-kun.
“He had such pretty black hair that you could drag around once dead. His eyes were souless and dark that you could poke it and see his sockets bleeding out!” he exclaimed with a psychotic smile.
Agatha was sure these two were deranged, she wondered why the hell was he here and how long would this play last?