M E R C U T I O
A grey body that stood under grey skies should have been a gloomier sight, but that was the funny thing about Mercutio's particular brand of cynicism: he never expected sunshine and rainbows and so was never disappointed when he didn't get them, and after all he didn't see what harm could a few rain clouds ever do anyway. His call rang over the water and faded and as the vagabond listened to the silence echo back he kept his eyes on the horizon. Soon enough Mercutio spied a figure aloft, no more that a flitting dot against the cloudy backdrop.

At first he couldn't be sure it was Cera and wondered idly if there were more pegasus in this land than he'd counted in. Meeting the Golden prince in the Threshold had been something of a novelty. And in the meadow... Perhaps too well he recalled the look, the feel of the feathers when they'd brushed so playfully against him. They were an utter fascination to the ground-bound unicorn. He wondered what it might be like to fly.

Mercutio shifted his footing on the dull sandy beach as Cera (for sure enough it was the Golden Prince) drew near, turning to keep him in sigh as he swooped low and landed on the beach. Mercutio didn't smile. His eyes had been drawn immediately to the new wounds that marred the painted skin and a flare of concern constricts his board chest. He had never liked to see creatures in pain, especially not creatures like Cera--the sweet, the gentle. "You came," "Aye." he said with a curt  nod, but he was already stepping forward with a expression crossed with concern. He moved quickly, efficiently, swiveling his crowned head to asses the damage: the burned flank, the gouges running down his back, the bloody wound beneath the eye. Mercutio stops there, puzzled, because despite it all, Cera is smiling at him.

Smiling? They had been close, almost nose to nose when Mercutio was looking him over with a battle-trained clinical efficiency, but now the taller man pulled back the better to see his whole face. Now that Mercutio had focused on the expression rather than the injury the concern in him calmed to bafflement. Had he just been talking about the weather? A chuckle rose from deep in his chest as his dark head shoot in disbelief. The hurts were at least several days old, but that didn't stop Mercutio from being a little impressed.

"Well damn, Sunshine, I leave you alone for a few days and look at the mess you get yourself into..." He grinned softly. Like the old scars had before, these new woulds were such a puzzle, such a contrast to Cera's smiles and laughter. With a sigh, Mercutio's eyes turned briefly to the water and then he was reaching for Cera, grabbing a mouthful of main to tug the winged man along with him. "C'mere then, brave the cold again."

He pulled until they were knee deep in the chilly surf and het to work, speaking smoothly in a low, comforting voice: A nurse trying to calm a patient while we worked. "Have you lost vision in that eye, there? We'll have the get it good and clean to see what we've got to work with. Now, the salt will sting, but it'll be a good clean way to start the healing so hold as still as you can." He dunked his own muzzle into the surf and pulling up a good amount of water in his beard, pressed it ever so carefully agains Cera's cheek to start loosening up the dried blood and dead skin there. He rubbed his lips clinically along there area before pulling away to rinse and wet his muzzle again. It had been a habit, long ago to keep his patients talking as he worked, to distract, to calm--and so Mercutio spoke again. "Easy now, we're getting there. Now, tell me, what kind of monster it was that put these marks on you?"


Yea, 'spite of show and shallow wit, and sentimental drool,
I know myself a hypocrite, a coward, and a fool.