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Benvolio sat just at the entrance to the annual Carnevale di Venezia and whistled a lilting sort of tune to himself as he watched the hordes of people pass. It had no real rythmn to it, being nothing more than notes strung together on a whim of his own devising, but it kept his mind from the boredom of sitting in one place as he had been for the majority of that morning thus far.
"Well, hello there."
He should have expected, when he took on the task of watchman for the Carnevale, to see more than just the usual lively, riled up crowd that came with a festival such as this. Revelry drew in Mercutio Escalus as a tavern might draw in a drunkard. He lived for the raucous festivity and wild joy that came with such events, withering away, it seemed, if he did not find himself at one every so often.
Benvolio was not in any place to complain. A shock of something warm and vibrant awoke in his chest as smiled at Mercutio's approach, a gesture which was returned beneath a mask half covering the man's face as he sauntered immediately up to Benvolio's side.
"Playing bodyguard for the elite?" He asked, his words still clear as the late morning sky. It was obvious he had not yet been at the festival long, for if he had he would have been halfway to drunk already. "How boring, Benvolio. Come and traverse the wild streets of Venice with me!"
His words were accompanied by a tug on his arm, which Benvolio carefully extracted from his lover's grip to settle at his post again.
"I will," he said, "Not now, but soon. Someone will come to replace me in an hour."
Mercutio let out a truly impressive gasp, clutching at his shirt as if in pain, "An hour? I could be dead and halfway in the ground in a hour! You cannot expect me to wait on you that long."
Benvolio watched Mercutio take a few dancing steps backwards, spreading his arms wide before the ever-growing crowd of party-goers filling the streets of Venice. He could not help but compare Mercutio to that of a mad priest before a dying congregation, standing before his altar as the cathedral burned around him, or a fool giving one last performance before the king sent him off to the gallows. There was a thrill of something sharp glinting in his eyes, even behind the mask - perhaps it had always been there. It was ecstasy bordering on madness and it enthralled Benvolio to the core of his very soul.
"The Carnevale di Venezia, is a time for music!" He cried, drawing the eyes of more than a few passersby, "Dancing! Revelry! And here they have you posted up to keep an eye out for ruffians and drunkards like village watch."
Benvolio could not help but to laugh, amused by what was surely the most entertaining part of his morning thus far, "If it's ruffians and drunkards I'm looking for, then I'm doing a good job of it," he said lightly, "I've already found one."
Mercutio threw himself against Benvolio again, an arm flung over his shoulders, "In yourself?" he asked with a wicked grin.
"In yourself."
"In myself?" Mercutio gasped. "How harsh and uncaring, my darling! Myself! And just when I was about to ask you for a dance this evening when you're released from your honourable duties - which do not seem so honourable anymore."
"Mercutio, you speak too loudly," Benvolio chuckled, trying his best to perhaps at least reduce the number of poor souls subjected to the man's tyrade.
He was unsuccessful, of course.
"I shall speak as loudly as I wish!" Mercutio declared, taking purposeful steps forward so that he was standing near Benvolio, but not so close that they could touch. His hands were placed firmly at his hips, one hand resting on a glittering sword that was surely more for show than practice, "I wanted you to take me for a dance."
This time a sigh escaped Benvolio, one that caught itself somewhere between fond and exasperated in nature. But that was Mercutio, wasn't it? Loud, boisterous, fickle, and opinionated. Unable to be silent at the best of times. It was as infuriating as it was endearing.
Benvolio crossed the two feet or so of distance between them to reach out, gripping Mercutio's shoulders and daring to run his hands up and down his arms just a couple of times in the hopes of soothing his already lit temper.
"And I will yet have you for that dance and then some," he said gently, "after I'm finished here."
Mercutio's eyes, which had been opened wide with anticipation, narrowed in distaste once more. He grumbled, rolled his eyes to the heavens in what Benvolio was sure was not intentionally a mimicry of a spoiled young woman, but certainly looked that way nonetheless, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.
"You love me. Say it," Mercutio demanded, his gaze leveled with intensity on Benvolio.
Benvolio laughed, "I do love you, Mercutio."
A raised brow said Mercutio was unconvinced, "You are certain you love me?"
"I am quite certain I love you."
"Then I shall wait one cursed hour," Mercutio sighed, spinning on his heel and pacing a few feet away from him as he threw his hands out from his sides, "but if I die, Benvolio, do know that the blame falls on your head."
Benvolio shook his head, watching him go with a smile on his lips, "And if that is the case, I will carry the mantle of that guilt."
He heard Mercutio make an unimpressed, assenting noise over his shoulder. He lifted one hand in a sort of half wave, "I'm off to find our Romeo. If lady Luck finds me, perhaps I can capture him before he can sneak off to any secret rendezvous with his latest romantic conquest."
Benvlio wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought, "Go swiftly, then," Benvolio called after him, "You may not have much time yet."
"Oh, I certainly don't," Mercutio cackled, "Farewell, good Benvolio!"
"Farewell, clever Mercutio!"
"Find me in an hour," Mercutio called just before vanishing into the dizzying crowd, "And not a moment longer!"
The man was lost in the madness and festivity long before Benvolio could offer his reply, leaving him alone once more. He looked up at the sky, at the sun nearly at its peak above him, and smiled. One more hour. He would have to make sure he kept his promise; he would hate to keep Mercutio waiting.
"He'll have my head if I'm late," Benvolio muttered amusedly to himself. He sat down beside the festival entrance, whistling a quiet tune to himself as he watched the crowds pass by.