¨Thy gents art not like the usual ones.¨ Tybalt laughs. He takes a sip of his own drink. "Might I asketh, wherefore art thee hither? Thee art of course from the house of Capulet." He looks at Benvolio, who is struggling to get his mask back on after being slapped. "Well, sir, I am just looking for a valorous party. Might we forget about the feud just for tonight?" Benvolio smiles awkwardly. His cheeks vibrant red. Mercutio rolls his eyes at Benvolio. "We gents art just hither with our cousin. that gent needed to forget about someone. Not hither for anything else. Right Benvolio?" Mercutio insists. He is stern, but feels something underneath his hard shell. "Right." "Wherefore art thee so stiff. Its a party. Relax. Maketh yourself at home." Tybalt blurts. "Men such as thee must has't so much worketh to doth since thee art so stout. Thee must relax. I insist." Mercutio's mind runs wild. This man. Tybalt Capulet. The man he thought to hate. Now being nice? Was he joking? Was he just trying to be kind? Was he... Flirting? No such men would do that, its the fourteenth century. Maybe he was just out of his mind. But Benvolio's act. Was it just abnormal? Perhaps he had one too many drinks and wasn't thinking straight. No man thought this way as far as he was concerned.
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