withoutverona: (romeo romeo!)
It had been an interesting night last night in the common room, and a more interesting morning on the roof. The island was playing with Romeo's hormones, Ender said; Romeo wasn't honestly sure he would have figured out anything was especially wrong without that discussion.

For now, he was going to lie back on his bed with his journal, and will very hard that his girlfriend psychically sense his, ahem, time of need before he'd filled the whole thing with the sorts of odes to girls' hair he thought he had outgrown years before.

[OOC: For one, please! And NWS. I know, you're stunned.]
withoutverona: (writing)
Romeo was done putting together his bag for his trip to Verona, and now he was sitting on his bed, frowning at the rest of his room a bit.

He was seeing it clearly, now; the room was all but brimming with sixteen months worth of books and papers and clothes and the odd bit of rubbish that had never quite made it into a bin. When Teyla lived there, he'd been neater about his things, but now that she didn't he only had to be tidy enough that Dojima wouldn't flee screaming when she visited.

And, soon enough, it would all need to be boxed up and discarded, sent home to Verona, or shipped off to Tokyo.

He thought about doing some of the organizing tonight, but, ultimately, settled in with his journal. There were things on his mind.

[OOC: Open door -- I just felt like posting him]
withoutverona: (extreme woe!)
The day was yet young, but Romeo felt much older than he had been at dawn as he returned to his room, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Reno. Dojima. Gone to him, almost as surely as Mercutio or Juliet were. He badly wanted to break his promise to Arthur and go out alone again to kill or to be killed. It was much the same to him.

Friar Laurence's voice rose through his mind. Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, digressing from the valour of a man ... A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back.

He felt no pack of blessings just then, but he did need to be a man. Or to try. Somehow. Letting himself be taken would be of no use to anyone; he had to center himself on that fact, as badly as everything in him shouted that the sleep of death or undeath would be but a relief.

After making a single phone call -- she needed to know, and he kept his words simple so he wouldn't choke on them and give himself away -- he settled back on his bed and permitted himself the unmanly luxury of tears.

He was still crying when his phone rang.

[OOC: Mostly establishy, but his door is open.]
withoutverona: (white t-shirt)
After talking to Edward and fighting a whale in management class, Romeo went back to his room to lounge on his bed with his Japanese notebook.

He was trying very hard not to think about ... well, about anything he and Edward had spoken of. It had been an unsettling conversation.

[OOC: For one, but open before her!]
withoutverona: ([AU] Luke is too young to be hot)
It wasn't like Luke Brower was actually surprised when he woke up in a room he didn't recognize. Sure, the Seavers seemed like really cool people, but he wasn't the first foster kid to think he had a good thing going right until he got the "this isn't working out" speech. Maybe they had just skipped the speech and gone right to taking him to the new place. And, hey, it saved him saying goodbye. He wasn't going to bother getting mad.

Besides, the new room was way awesome. The bed was huge and soft, and while the room was full of somebody else's stuff, the other person seemed to have taken off. Luke showered -- fancy soap in the bathroom -- and yanked on a pair of khakis that were only a little too big and a long-sleeved t-shirt before he headed out to find food and somebody who could tell him where the Seavers had dumped him.

[OOC: 'Stablishy, though you can catch him here if you really want. He is Luke Brower from Growing Pains. Leo was 16-17 and looked about 13 when he played the part, so the effect is very "Romeo's little brother."]
withoutverona: (so whatcha want?)
Romeo hated words today.

Actually, Romeo hated a lot of things. Graduation. His utter feeling of impotence in light of Reno's choices. Having lost his Super Bowl bet. But the main thing he was hating, right then, was words. They seemed to just create traps for him, and he hated them with the intensity of a spurned lover.

So he was going to try to find Yurika after Heroing, and not use any words for a while. He tapped impatiently on her door.

[OOC: Likely going to get NWS.]
withoutverona: (reading)
Romeo had promised to run the Superbowl betting pool for KKG.

Romeo had no real idea how a betting pool worked, other than that he normally lost money to them. So he was online, clicking through sites on bookmaking and trying to decide how it should be arranged. Super Bowl Squares seemed nice and easy, and with less math involved than any other option.

He wasn't thinking about the mess with Dojima -- was rather pointedly not thinking about it -- but he did have an anime playing on his TV in hopes he'd improve his Japanese through immersion. He glanced up at it when the fights got more interesting.

[OOC; Open door, open post.]
withoutverona: (just woke up)
Romeo had plead a headache to stay home from Cal's party the night before, and Yurika had been too excited to do more than a little concerned clucking before heading off for ice cream. But in truth, he had been busy with some private preparations for the morning. It was, after all, a rather important day.

Once he woke up, he slid out of bed taking care not to dislodge Yurika from where she lay, still asleep. He kept things simple; an enormous fan of blood-red roses in the bed beside her, fresh orange juice and champagne for mimosas, chocolate croissants from J,GOB's, and coffee bubbling away. Finally, Romeo put a folder of some papers on the bed beside her.

And then there was nothing to do but watch her sleep and hope she woke up before impatience killed him.

[OOC: For one. Dojima modded with permission.]
withoutverona: (not ashamed)
It took him two weeks, but it finally occurred to Romeo that the second, now-empty bed in the room was ripe for appropriation. He'd procured some king-sized sheets and spent the evening shoving the beds together and the rest of the furniture around, trying to make the room seem as large as possible.

Of course he managed to drag one of the desks directly over his big toe. He cursed loudly as he sat on the bed and removed his sock to examine the digit.

[OOC: Open door, open post.]
withoutverona: (True love)
Romeo was running late as usual when he packed to go home for Christmas. He grabbed a handful of shirts from the drawer where he kept his wedding ring, then frowned at the exposed silver circlet. He hadn't even looked at it in months, and now he picked it up, rubbing it between his thumb and a forefinger.

It slipped to the ground.

I dreamt a dream tonight )

The ring rolled across the floor, thudding to a stop next to Romeo's boot. He picked it up again and promptly stashed it back in the drawer, not sure what to make of such a reverie.

It was best, perhaps, not to tell Yurika.

[OOC: IAWL! Up late because I suck, but he's around for a bit if you want to grab him before he heads off.]
withoutverona: (very very close)
This was an unusual sort of Friday night for Romeo: Lying on his bed, book on retail management open in front of him, rapidly emptying bag of mixed hard candies readily at hand where his cigarettes would have once sat.

Eighteen, it turned out, was a very innocent age.

He took some notes on pricing in his leather-bound journal, pausing as he turned the page to wonder what the citizens of Verona would make of the scene. No doubt they'd think him mad.

Perhaps he was, a gentle, dull kind of madness.

It wasn't so bad.

[OOC: Door cracked and knockable.]
withoutverona: (lounging in bed)
Romeo dreamed of Juliet often. Sometimes she kissed him tenderly. Sometimes she slapped his face. Always he awakened from these dreams with a melancholy settled over him.

When he first woke up Monday, then, he thought he'd had an unusually long and vivid version of such a dream.

Nay, that wasn't so, he knew, as soon as he sat up. He wouldn't feel so sick were it only a dream. And, distracted by his own life, he'd not heard radio or noticed the other oddities around town.

The truth to him, then, was simple: He'd broken Juliet's heart. She'd come back, against so many odds and across so many months, and he'd been unable to offer her the love he had once promised.

He wasn't leaving his bed.

[OOC: Closed door, open post.]
withoutverona: (a little james dean)
After physics, Romeo went back to his room and started the much-slower-than-usual process of taking off his shoes. He hadn't realized how much he needed both arms until he lost the use of his left to a bullet-shattered shoulder; getting dressed was slow agony, and he hadn't even tried to move his arm for anything else.

Still. He supposed he could only be grateful it wasn't worse. Tybalt was gone (and dead again, or so Romeo hoped); Romeo was alive. That might be the best he could ask for, and a few days in the clinic and the frustration of healing a minor price to pay given how much dearer the cost could have been.

[OOC: Door open.]
withoutverona: (Not quite certain)
Another day had all but passed, and Romeo still had a rabbit for a girlfriend.

His more immediately pressing problem, however, was that he was completely out of clean clothes in the cabin. He set Dojima down on his bed as he rifled through his drawers, looking for clean t-shirts.

He needed to do laundry.

[OOC: For one, please.]
withoutverona: (doing naughty things)
Predictably enough, the gore in Titus Andronicus had left Romeo almost completely unable to sleep the night before.

However, he was young and he was resilient, and so he spent much of his free day making up for that deficiency. And if eventually he had company, and that company offered more pleasant diversions than mere sleep, what of it?

He snuggled closer to the girl, sleepily smiling and on the verge of drifting off again.

[OOC: Yurika modded with permission. Door closed.]
withoutverona: (smoking so beautiful)
As a rule, Romeo did not notice dates, days, the endless passage of time. He knew Yurika's birthday because it was the Ides of March, his own because it was his, and registered his class and work schedule well enough to show up, mostly more or less on time.

He knew, though, that it had been the middle of July, a year before, when he met and wed Juliet, and it was mid-July again. Another hot day, too, although it found him in a city not his own, on the shores of a stranger sea.

Pondering all of this, he pulled out his long-neglected journal and picked up a pen. He wasn't sure what to write, only that he needed to.

[OOC: Door closed but knockable, and of course open to Teyla. Phone call thread is first chronologically. And, because I am a geek -- intersecting Juliet's canon birthday with Romeo's FH timeframe dictates he met her July 15, 2007. His wedding anniversary would be July 16, she died (and he attempted suicide) July 19. My Shakespearean will be emo this week even by his standards.]
withoutverona: (lounging in bed)
After class and a nice, long "pillow playdate" with Yurika, Romeo was finally back in his room for the first time since Friday morning.

He downloaded the radio podcasts and listened to them as he unpacked his suitcase, frowning a little. He wished even more that had been home to try to help, somehow. Yurika had been right that he wouldn't know what to do against a spirit, but he could have tried.

[OOC: Door open.]
withoutverona: (behind blue eyes)
Romeo lay on his bed, aimlessly bouncing a ball from hand to hand. He had to admit it felt good to have hands, even if he still didn't understand how or why he had been a rodent.

He was still enjoying the relative privacy of his dorm room after the cabin, although he'd left his door partly open. Something about enclosed spaces wasn't quite sitting right with him.
withoutverona: (sad hours seem long)
Coming back from an errand, Romeo was surprised to notice a large letter from Verona among his post. When he heard from home -- which was rare -- it was almost always either a phone call from his father (to make sure the boy hadn't done anything stupid) or an IM from Balthasar (likewise.)

Curiously, he opened the envelope, almost smiling when he noticed the letter wrapped around an inner envelope was in Balthasar's familiar precise handwriting.

The smile faded, than died, as he read the note, and turned into an outright scowl when he ripped into the other letter.

Then he was off his bed and throwing things into a suitcase. He'd figure out how to get to Verona once he was at the airport.

As he was packing )

Nathan Petrelli's Office

Nathan had an entire summer session of lesson plans to go over. So he was in his office making sure his notes read the way he wanted them to.
He also got a visitor. )

[OOC: Preplayed with [livejournal.com profile] dojima_hime and [livejournal.com profile] 1petrelli1. Coded by [livejournal.com profile] the_merriest. They are all far more awesome than me. Broadcast okay, interaction not so much.]
withoutverona: (X marks the spot)
Romeo was perhaps not to be blamed if he hadn't much left his room all day. It had been a long week, even before prom and after prom.

But then he had met his children, one then two and a third. And for a few days, children had been everywhere -- having pizza for dinner, demanding waffles and video games, even following him to work and Caritas, where he learned he might well see Juliet's face on a different person entirely in a few short days.

And then it was time to say goodbye.

All of this had made him dig Juliet's wedding ring out of the drawer where it made its home, and he was idly spinning it in his palm, half-jealous of the Romeo whose wife wore it in Seraphina's world. But only half; he knew he saw other futures, even happy ones, for himself.

It was an odd feeling.

[Door closed but knockable.]


withoutverona: (Default)
Romeo Montague

August 2012

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