withoutverona: (emo on the beach)
Romeo and Dojima had skipped Homecoming this year. He had a paper due, she had work, and it hardly seemed worth the trip when so few of their friends seemed likely to make it. They'd get back to Fandom some other time.

Of course, the Nothing didn't especially care about their travel plans. It dipped its fingers down, brushing them against Verona Beach before whispering away again for now. As it happened, it arrived on a day when Romeo checked in with his cousin.

He got off the phone.... )

[OOC: Preplayed with the beautiful [livejournal.com profile] dojima_hime. No icons because we're just that awesome. NFB, OOC and phone calls welcome!]
withoutverona: (white t-shirt)
Romeo stumbled in from a long, late dinner with some college friends and flopped onto the couch with his eyes closed. The week had been unusually tiring, and the sake and beer with dinner had not helped. He didn't mind his classwork itself, but there were times he'd give his eyeteeth not to be surrounded by business students all of the time.

Of course that was when his phone rang. Romeo glanced at it: Benvolio.

Well, speaking Verona would be a balm to his soul after three hours of Japanese only lightly sprinkled in English. He took the call, though his initial greetings were a bit wary.

Romeo's mood was much improved when he hung up. "I'm to be an uncle," he told Alea. (Okay, technically a cousin once removed, but Romeo saw no reason to quibble over such things. The important part was that Benvolio and Rosaline were having a child.)

The cat ... was not impressed.

[OOC: Open to anybody who wants to talk to him!]
withoutverona: (Looking down)
Four years.

It had been four years since Romeo met Juliet Capulet, and here he was. Still alive, still much more well than he deserved. The girl who had been his wife was fading in his memory, and he wished some part of him didn't see that as a good thing.

He didn't often go to Mass in Japan, but if there were ever a reason for it, this anniversary would serve. The ancient words, the rhythm of it, the incense -- all of it comforted him.

On his way out, he lit two candles: one for Juliet, one for Mercutio.

He hoped somewhere, they had forgiven him.

[OOC: NFB due to distance. Open after he leaves the chapel for phone calls, the girlfriend, etc., if you're willing to deal with a Shakespearean in mourning.]
withoutverona: (white t-shirt)
Yurika was working tonight, again, and Romeo had gone out on the general theory he could only read so much about global finances before studying became counterproductive.

A few drinks later, he ended up in a hostess club, making animated conversation with the pretty Ukranian girl who kept trying to convince him to order more expensive drinks. (She succeeded more often than not, Romeo and willpower not having much more than a nodding acquaintance.) Somehow, they started talking about high school.

She discreetly found a way to cut him off when he started telling zombie invasion stories. It seemed like some things were too strange even for paid companionship.

Romeo scowled at his beer. Some nights he really missed Fandom; it would be a relief to be back there at the end of the week.

[OOC: Open to anybody who wants to bother a mildly inebriated Shakesperean. He has his phone and everything.]
withoutverona: (all stubbly and grrrr)
Romeo's nineteenth birthday started with a package from his father containing a collection of Lord Byron's works, a dagger that was about twice as elaborate as anything Romeo had any business carrying, and a letter that suggested -- in a polite, backhanded, and elaborate way -- that Romeo was missed and should make it his business to visit Verona sooner rather than later.

There was also a large box of chocolates. They were good. Romeo ate the caramels as his breakfast. He should have been reading about the equilibrium point in supply and demand, but that kept turning into perusal of the poetry. Really, the poetry struck him as more relevant.

[OOC: For the girlfriend, or for birthday emails/calls/texts/homing pigeons.]
withoutverona: (reading)
Romeo's college required he take a business ethics course. It wasn't such a bad idea, really. In Verona, showing up with a few bodyguards and asking pointed questions about how attached a rival was to his cars was considered a reasonable opening salvo. He flipped through the text with a highlighter in hand, occasionally shooting worried glances at the door.

Yurika wasn't saying anything, but he could tell something at work was troubling her. A friend had died; that was as much as she'd told him, and that was worry enough.

He reread the passage on ethical hiring practices and hoped she'd be home soon.

[OOC: For the hime and calls/emails/texts.]
withoutverona: (white t-shirt)
Romeo wasn't a girl anymore, and Monday meant that Yurika's need to at least put in a guest appearance at her office put an end to their Romeo-isn't-a-girl-anymore celebrations.

So he'd gotten out of bed, gone to the bookstore to get his textbooks, stopped at a noodle bar for lunch, and was now back home. There was nothing on television except a cartoon about pixies who solved teenager's romantic problems, and that was a little sappy even for Romeo. He turned the TV off and started copying kanji out of his beginner's penmanship book.

He had lovely handwriting when he was writing English. The problem was getting that to carry over.

[OOC: Open for phone calls, texts, girlfriends who may wander home, etc.]
withoutverona: (drunkenated)
For some strange reason, this club had large clocks mounted where the mirrors should be over the sinks in the men's room.

For a stranger reason, Romeo actually looked at one long enough to read the time. Time hadn't mattered much, not after the stress of their first dinner with Yurika's parents (and the long, awful waiting afterwards while she and her father fought just within earshot, until she reappeared, wearing a distinctly brittle smile). There'd been odd news from home, of course, but she had promised him Tokyo did not sleep, and so neither did they. Distraction seemed the best they could do in the absence of ghosts or gods to fight.

So when he saw the clock, it took some time for his poor brain, which was half drunk and half hungover, to make the connection to anything he had to do, but when he did he dashed back to the bar to find his girlfriend.

"When did you say we were to find our portal home?" he demanded.
Dōjima blinked at him blearily... )

[OOC: Preplayed with the lovely and amazing [livejournal.com profile] dojima_hime. NFB due to location.]

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Romeo Montague

August 2012

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