tampered | A Modest Celebration (Open)

Supposedly this was only going to be a night in which Peter gets to actually meet the famed Prince of Cats, cousin to the Telmarine King... in some way that seems to make sense only to them. He has not yet told Peter that Tybalt is also an amazing patron of Guitarra and Lord Cuervo.

Even nearly a year later Caspian remembers the look of where Tybalt and Juliet live. The colors and the walls, the smell of a particular food and candy, he has not forgotten these because what feels like a part of Verona Beach to the Capulets reminds him of a little alleyway here and there in the burg the Telmarines call home. He has not forgotten the sight of a dark haired man with the gloss in jet black and slick holy lady on his waistcoat. Tybalt is hard to forget, as is the mural on the street corner where two houses, or three if one really wishes to be technical, meet.

"And then supposedly it may be that the Telmarines generations before mine, even before Caspian the First, may have come from this Verona Beach," Caspian explains to Peter, which really says nothing at all because it's a wonderful fable fabricated from one man's imagination. The brunette half-believes it because it makes a nice story, but only the Lion knows.

Peter is half listening to Caspian--and that might be being generous. At his words, the High King arches a brow, not exactly affirming or denying the Telmarine's fanciful words. They have come out this night for a toast, he is certain of it, and busy trying to remember how the man with ridiculously nice hair striding beside him wanted it to begin. Perhaps he should have written it down, but likely, had he done so, he would have only then proceeded to lose the piece of paper.

The night air is cold but not unpleasant and if anything it provides a refreshing effect, keeping him clearheaded and sure of his steps even if he is not sure of his words. He can, if all else fails, make up something new, but that isn't ideal as he already boasted being able to recall the preamble without effort.

Approaching, he sees the good Tybalt, and inclines his head in greeting, his distraction at the sight of the street lamp they will celebrate under minimal, but there. He will always be making these connections, he realizes with a soft smile, there and then gone, all of which he pushes away. A street lamp may never again be just a source of light to his eyes, but he can focus on other things less self-involved for the sake of the moment.

The night is young, as they say, and so are its entertainers.

"Welcome kings and friends," Tybalt calls out uncaring of the hour or of anyone else. If they are to have a party it is to be in the Verona Beach City fashion: unabashed and decidedly noisy. He comes across the asphalt, heels clicking in their way. There's a handshake with a rough embrace for both of them.

Caspian first. "Well met, cousin!" He holds aside his cigar even, no ash to brush off.

And then to Peter. The handshake is the emphasis rather than a bearlike hold as he did for Caspian.

"Forgive the scenery, but this be a size enough for all. The City is thy hosting house." For his own was inadequate. Tybalt would never, ever say such a thing out loud.

Are you ignoring him, Peter? Pff. You'll pay for that soon, very soon. But now is not the time for threats, not yet anyway, as he turns to greet Juliet up above. When he straightens again it's only in time to meet Tybalt for a handshake. Oof. Followed by the classic hug between men. The rules state that it must last as long as a firm pat to the shoulder, which it does, before they separate. Caspian is grateful to not be ashed upon.

"Forgive you for what, cousin? Your company is much more valuable than the place itself," he smiles. What is more important than that? Oh yes, the blond's opportunity to make the most amazing toast that ever did amaze the likes of those from the House of Telmar and the House of Capulet. Your bar has been raised, Peter.

Said emphasized handshake is a firm one, as it should be, and with it Peter even offers the barest of smiles, not bare because he is unhappy, but simply because he is Peter and not as quick to a full grin as his good company. He too raises a hand to wave at the ever fair Juliet, whose hair, Caspian must have noticed, is very nice, and creates a lovely halo effect around her face from the glow of the street lamp. His smile softens for her, briefly.

"What he said," he defers to the Telmarine's words, which may or may not be surprising. "I hope the evening finds you well," he adds with a glance back at the Prince of Cats, lest he be mistaken for an ungrateful guest and a reluctant toast-giver...or whatever one calls these things. He can't be bothered to remember the official name, if there is one.

Speaking of that toast? He's not bringing it up just yet. So there.

Caspian is the first king that Tybalt has ever had favor with. Captain Prince was never one to dole out any sort of favoritism though it was whispered he greatly enjoyed Montague company. What a fleeting thought. For now there were two esteemed young men of title so willing to share joy. Tybalt could get the hang of this.

"I'm very well and most pleased to have thee. Even more so that the battle was won for the good." Peter may be still young, but Tybalt can see that he has a decent proportional advantage. Whoever said that youth always yields inexperience forgot that there is energy and time to learn. The High King's solemn manner was something learned, regal even. Even if he had the light hair of a Montague, Tybalt felt as though he could grow to see him as kin. Especially if his Telmarine cousin did.

"I have brought spirits I hope one is best suited to your liking." He gestures to the bottles. There were a few upstairs that he brought down. Okay, more than a few. What matters is that this is going to be a good time filled with good drinks, good friends and many a wordy toast.

Tybalt's very good at catching cousins and he makes sure not to get in the way when he does, though for a brief moment Caspian did wonder if he would miss. However it's like thinking Peter might miss catching Lucy and that would never happen.

"I appreciate any spirit you offer," the Telmarine remarks with another wide smile. "It only enriches our present company," he adds with a look to Peter. Yes, you may not have brought it up yet, but it is coming and the liquor is laid out for him. He need only pick one.

This face, he directs ever so shortly at the Telmarine, before it reverts back to something much more kind spirited and, having said hello again to Juliet, Peter nods to Tybalt's words. He has heard a fair amount about the young man from Caspian himself and he sees much of the pride and the enthusiasm, a sharpness there that no doubt comes in the form of mouth or look from time to time. The acknowledgment of the duel is something he both appreciates and almost would rather not think about, despite that being the face-value reason for them gathering at all.

"I could do worse than to trust your taste," the blond's smile is a wry one, casual and more schoolboy than king. Surprise me, he thinks, even as he continues to try to remember the stupid beginning of the stupid toast that stupid Caspian so desires to hear.

Insufferable.

"Ah, then let us properly introduce the selections." Tybalt takes out the bottles one after the other. "Lord Cuervo, Captain Morgan, three lovely red wines--I am unfamiliar with the numbering years but chose a few of separate times, a white wine for contrast yet I have not the tongue for it. And a curious ale it would seem that comes in a metal." Some folks would call it beer.

Now that the drinks are within reach, so must the cups be moved. Tybalt sets out four for now. The forth for Juliet if she so wishes.

Being a man who only has the pleasure of battle from street fights, Tybalt can't quite imagine what Peter is going through as a man or as a boy king. As a friend, he offers nothing but more cheer as per Verona hospitality would call for.

Pardon. He arches a brow at Peter now, making sure to take advantage of his height so as to add a bit of a downward look to his expression. Really? Well then.

Brown eyes survey the selection of spirits, liquors the likes of others his age have told him he ought to avoid. Nevermind the fact that Caspian has been weened on brandy as all good Telmarines are or the fact that wine is a staple beverage. Caspian's stare bounces from bottle to blond, bottle to blond, bottle to blond, gauging which fits him in his opinion, which one Peter will actually manage to swallow down, and which makes a most worthy toast of an honorable man called Caspian the Tenth of That Name. Yes, the moment of truth is upon you. He chooses the red wine that's oldest because Peter's victory deserves it and he's sure they can all drink it down appropriately.

"Allow me," the brunette says to the Capulets, corkscrew in hand to open the bottle with finesse and revelry. You will enjoy this, Peter Pevensie.

Says you, Caspian blah blah blah, blah blah blah...etc.

He watches with the silent politeness that is acceptable when other people speak and take action, bluer than blue irises changing between darker and lighter shades as he follows said actions with a turn of his head. A smiling glance is spared again in Juliet's direction, because it is most annoying and some other more vulnerable word to feel like one is forgotten, and then he goes back to viewing as Caspian makes the selection at last.

"This is public enough for you, I hope," he says, ever wry to the other king, switching to something less sounding of Could you be any more smug and more of Oh it's nice to be out with friends, as he adds, "I'm to give a toast." This, to Tybalt, even as he returns his focus to the subject of that toast he has yet to actually give. Yes, he is drawing this out. No, he doesn't feel bad in the least. Maybe, he will remember those words after all.

Maybe.

At last the drinks are poured, one for all. Even though Caspian is pouring, Tybalt ensures that he passes the glasses around. The first to Peter, the next to Juliet, Caspian and at last himself. Much better that he not feel as though he is not being a proper host. He's quite grateful that they are so at ease.

"We stand in the City at large as much as any other," Tybalt answers to Peter's question knowing still it is not for him to answer. His tone is joking and he is more than eager to quench his first. Not so much to rudely part take before the toast. The Capulet lifts his glass to the air, awaiting the words.

"Of course it is," says Caspian, casually and so coolly the others may not hear it or catch it's meaning. "Loudly," he suggests to the blond while pouring the red wine. He nods to Tybalt in agreement with his words, smiles to Juliet in appreciation for her glowing company, and turns the sharpest brown eye onto Peter. Drawing it out are you? No matter, the sly curve of these lips can wait. He is patient like a stalking creature whose mane is ridiculously nice.

Well then, without further mental scrambling or other ado.

"A good man is Caspian, Tenth of That Name, and honorable Lord of Telmar, the finest example of that house's lineage," ha, you didn't think I'd remember, I know you didn't, he thinks, pausing. A look is leveled at the Telmarine before he continues. "Of look and nature that many may lay their trust in, he is to be commended, having presided over this most recent duel," he stops. Is that enough? Please let that be enough. His jaw may never unclench from this awkward smile that suggests locking certain people out of showers for petty vengeance. "And if that is not enough reason for a toast in his name and honor," the smile becomes less awkward, "Perhaps we can have it for his fortitude, something that has been made clear on the field of battle, and away from it, something, which I trust Narnia may rely on for many years to come." They are not in Narnia, but the message is there.

What I gave to you remains given, entrusted, and with a will better than perhaps even Peter can acknowledge.

With a short laugh he shakes his head.

"A toast," glass raised, he drinks. Tybalt and Juliet know little perhaps or nothing of that place of his heart, but they seem the types to acknowledge something grand and honest, despite context. Sometimes sincerity of word is enough, and while Peter has been making faces about having to give this speech, that does not detract from the truth of it. That is not what the toast was expected to be, likely, by their company, for the bet was personal, but perhaps they will forgive him this insider's action brought to the outside.

"A toast!" Tybalt echoes and takes his first drink of the night. Such a speech. And how pleasant to hear that they are good enough companions to share the glory.

Peter seemed to have sought to recall the words. A rehearsed host! That is something different. This small gathering might have had more expectations earlier. Tybalt decides for certain next time he will have a much more organized celebration for certain.

"Another round! Bring your classes hither."

Brown eyes half-lid over the opening. He remembered it after all. Color Caspian X impressed yet not completely surprised. He should've known. And the rest of his words compensate for the clench he recognizes in the blond's face, that smile tickling the Telmarine for all the wrong reasons, heh. But the message is completely taken in, its meaning and the world attached to it much bigger than the boy king. He didn't expect the other man to improvise on that level so for a brief moment his gaze lowers to the dark red surface of his wine, reverent, then back up again. He thinks highly of this.

And Primo Tybalt thinks so pleasantly of Peter Pevensie's speech? If only he knew of the bet that Caspian won so fairly perhaps he might be disgusted or perhaps he might find the Telmarine even more worthy of the House of Capulet. Neither circumstance will be known because he doesn't mention this bet to either him or Juliet. It is their insider's action, but this one is purely his own. After the first sip he raises his hand and glass to motion another. His voice is louder now, cheerful but firm.

"Another round in tribute to such a humble man, His Majesty the High King, who has never had need to prove yet has always proven his worth by prescription, by conquest, and by the gift of the Lion Himself," he says in one breath, almost dramatically for the reveling effect. "Without Peter the world of Narnia would be incomplete and everyone who treads upon it, Narnian, Telmarine, and all else, a hollower being because his heart in that place gives even the poorest man the northern sky and with it the heaven and the stars and a reason to look up and hold his head high." He says this with his own chin raised, looking much like a practiced royal socialite and still very well aware of the meaning of his words and how much tone or word choice can disguise it from everyone but the person that message is meant for.

Like any good guest neither does he forget the others around him.

"And Prince of Cats whose guidance and deeds have always been well-intentioned for his cousin, primo and prima alike. Few men can truly earn the pride they wear like a rapier on his hip," which is inaccurate to say for the rapier sits in his holster, "it is a badge of honor and the gift of grace to wield it in both hand and off the tip of his tongue." Yes, Caspian is still breathing, "for what he believes and for the fair jewel he protects, Lady Juliet, whose smile shines like the sun, neither in morning, noon, or sunset because her brightness doesn't wane. Whoever receives her favor and whoever she loves is a fortunate man. Whether we are kin by the ship that sailed away so long ago or by common principles imbued in our Houses, I would not say I regret meeting them and I cannot say I regret knowing them."

Watch this Telmarine take the calmest sip for all that he just delivered. Practiced or not? He'll never tell.

Juliet probably won't be drinking, unless her cousin allows her a little wine, but she's there to take part in the revelry nonetheless. How could she otherwise, consider who the occasion is meant to celebrate?

She perches happily on a window ledge, swinging her feet a little and smiling to see Tybalt's good cheer.

[ooc: I am bound for bed soon, so have a Juliet thread so I don't take up space in others?]

He looks up and waves to the tender Capulet, calling to her in greeting and smiles. "Good evening, Lady Juliet."

[ooc: Before-bed-cameos ♥]

Juliet would make a bow, but that her current position is too precarious, even if it isn't a very high window ledge, so she nods her head most respectfully instead.

"Good evening, dear Lord Caspian. 'Tis an honor to host thee, and thy good Lord Peter, this eve."

"And it is our honor to be hosted by such honorable friends," he replies. While Juliet may be unable to bow, Caspian can and he does so with a posture so practiced it's pulled off fluidly and flawlessly.

It's so nice to be around people who understand the peculiar ways of herself and her cousin, and Juliet's smile brightens, if that's possible. "Thou three shalt make merry now, and I shall watch and be most entertained."

"It will be our pleasure to entertain you," Caspian says in a light laugh because he may be speaking for all three but he is sure neither of the other two would protest.

A little wine for Juliet this night. Tybalt decided it so ahead of time. Besides, she is in gentlemanly company. None will be so brash or foolish to start a scene. And all the better to bring pleasant tidings of Peter's victory.

He turns his head to the little abode and waves to her.

"Shall I come to join thee, cousin?" Juliet asks, waving back. "'Tis not far to go, shalt thou catch me?"

It's been a long while since there was a proper revel, the way a Capulet would do it. Too bad they can't have fireworks, but she'll do her best to coax some music from Tybalt.

"What's a party without more guests?" Tybalt tosses away his cigar it is mostly spent anyways. He approaches the window with his arms open. "Not far, true. Fear not all the same, for here I am to catch thee."

They must do this again sometime. And with all the proper trimmings. Yes, someday soon.

Juliet would never fail to trust her Tybalt to keep her from harm of any persuasion. She drops down from the window into his arms and hugs him tightly before he sets her down.

"'Twould be a grand party were there but one guest," she replies, "were that guest a Capulet."

Playfully he swings her around once before setting her feet on the ground. Right where they belong.

"Ah, but there are few finder men than these to join us." Haha, oh those crazy Capulets and their bias. Which Tybalt does nothing to deny out rightly. They are all good people.

Juliet laughs at being swung, and gives Tybalt a teasing curtsy. "Ay, my lord, 'tis true enough. None finer in all of City save thyself."

And she can say this with all honesty, for her Romeo is not to be found here.

Waving up at her, Peter smiles. She looks lovely, of course, as Juliet ever does. Hopefully, he thinks, she is not too cold, considering the weather, as he notes that she does, at least, seem in equally good spirits.

"Juliet," he bows, regardless of the fact that she is high above him. It is respectful, even minus the title of 'lady'.

She answers his bow with a nod like the one she gave Caspian, entirely respectful and welcoming, and beams at Peter.

"My good lord Peter, I would'st that I had a laurel to set about thy brow."

The blond laughs, shrugging up at the sweet-natured lady of the House of Capulet.

"Just Peter," he requests, because it is polite to ask of a lady. "I hope you are not cold?" Voicing his initial concern, he places his hands in the pockets of his jacket, tilting his head up a bit still so as to maintain some sort of eye contact.

"Nay, I am well. And shall be more so, when that I join thy revel and good wine and company does warm my blood."

It's a bit chill for someone used to warmer climes, but Juliet is quite sure she'll forget the cold entirely soon enough. Once Tybalt has helped her down (http://community.livejournal.com/tampered/726313.html?thread=12835113#t12835113) from her perch, she walks up and offers Peter her hands. "Well met, dearest friend of Caspian, and of Tybalt, and now of Juliet."

"Well met indeed," his smile has yet to leave him. Perhaps it is Juliet's infectious lightheartedness. When she offers her hands he accepts them with grace. Almost, he thinks to brush a friend's kiss to the back of her hand, but in the end refrains, opting for a gentle squeeze before letting her go.

He is yet accustomed to more courtly behavior from years he does not show in face or form. In cases such as these, he finds himself attempting to strike some sort of balance between what he does as High King of Narnia, crowned leader of an unbelievable world, and what he does as Peter Pevensie, boy looking toward a career of medicine in a world that can use that sort of thing more than others.

Thank you, he thinks.

"Good words for good people," he says to Caspian's last fine string of words and intonations. He drinks to it more deeply than the speaker, because there are other things he must swallow that weigh on him heavier than the armor ever has, ever will. That can wait until later though.

For this moment, he smiles in earnest with fair Juliet and colorful but stalwart Tybalt. For this moment, he inclines his head at Caspian X, for his words and for whatever is left unsaid. For this moment, he stands underneath an ordinary lamppost surrounded by extraordinary circumstances.

And he turns his face to the sky. These are not the stars he knows, but that they are there bridles his heart as he needs it to be.

"This is very good," he says when he brings his eyes downward again, to people rather than imaginary heavens, complimenting Tybalt on his store of drink and Caspian on his pick of it. These are the easier things to say and take pleasure in, not gilded with something as simple and bittersweet as a love story between a boy king and the kingdom he hopes he has inspired as much as the other royal has just claimed.

That inspiration is, after all, in less or more beauty than Caspian painted it, that which is able to remain when Peter Pevensie himself could not. Again words come to him, basic but resolute: it will have to do.

He takes another sip from his glass, finding it empty upon lowering it from his lips--a surprise, that.

"A toast!" And if he had his hands free, Tybalt would give Caspian's words a round of applause. Usually he is of few words, but a speech so well thought and so thoughtful as this is truly a rare form moment. It should be welcomed well. Even better to see that Peter is so too touched by the heartfelt toast of his dear friend.

"Indeed, this is most good," he agrees with Peter openly. "Ah me, my turn thus." More wine poured all around. "Blessed be we the men who stand here and lady," a special tilt of his glass to smiling Juliet, "for in the alterations thrown so hastily upon us we stand proud. Blessed art thou, King Peter, nay let me speak as a friend, Peter for his skill and nobility. I know well many a coward who would turn tail and run given such a task at hand. Not so for thee, Peter. And more accolades given upon the keeping of thy Pevensie House, brother and sisters together. In the tradition of Atlas, a small world rests upon his shoulders, safe and at ease without ever a shift nor shrug. Such a great man to be held in any company. Good sir, let us drink to thy health."

No such sip is taken yet. He's not finished. "Mark us now a man who has brought my acquaintance with Peter, Caspian. A king himself yet as humble as any. Stumble so we did upon one another in our lost state, and surely this has been a happy reunion crossing generations. If not truly so, I care not. The good and loyal Caspian is the male cousin I never had. Let his days be long with many a joy."

Tybalt clears his throat. "Lastly now, I count myself charmed. Here stands my cousins, here stands a friend. For more I shall not ask. Blessed art the Capulets. Toast to you all, good fellows."

A Modest Celebration (Open)

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sob why am I always last...crai

saving the best for last?

o...well...Peter can live with that 8) <3

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o the time...warp...we has it

comment of fail, thanks SO MUCH el-jay, GFDI /punts...or is it Canispian's fault?

It just can't take this kind of velveeta.