Looking Down|(open/Benvolio)INACTIVE

[rosaline]

Rosaline Capulet was not paying attention. She was often not paying attention, actually. Lost in her own thoughts and dreams and any other kind of nonsense. At least she wasn't walking about and not paying attention this time. That happened quite often enough and she had the bruises and blushed cheeks to prove it.

No, today she was seated and away in her imagination. Cross-legged, Rosaline was perched on the stone wall of one of the false-bridges in Central Park. Her sketchpad was propped up in her lap, a few sticks of charcoal lined up next to her. She had the beginnings of a tree on the paper before her but it hadn't amounted to much. She had gotten bored with the lines and angles of bark and leaves quick enough.

The marks of the tree had begun to morph into those of a face now. The distinct, discrete features were blank, but the general shape of someone decidedly male was laid out already with the start of some hair. She didn't have a true idea of who she was sketching yet, but that didn't matter. She was likely to create some character, some person within her mind and make him her subject.

At that precise moment though, she wasn't drawing. Rosaline was just enjoying the warm day and the easy breeze. Head tilted back, hair blown back by the lazy wind, she couldn't help but find a smile on her face. This was the life. Even if she was skipping an Art History course for it.

Because how could she be expected to sit in some classroom and just learn on a day like this? Usually Rosa was quite content to be in classes. She thoroughly enjoyed anything that would broaden her artistic ability and courses at The Cooper Union certainly did just that. But today, Rosaline was inclined to believe that sitting on a bridge in Central Park with her sketchpad and dreamy eyes was more of an asset to her talent then the classroom would be.

Stretching a bit, Rosaline darkened the shadow under her mystery man's jaw. She was halfway through an ear when the passers-by caught her attention again. Random people wandering through life always managed to steal her attention, it seemed. But how could they not? People walking down the street were the ultimate source of inspiration and muse. Because when working with a stranger, you were free to make them who and whatever you wanted.

That man in the jacket could be a father thinking about his daughter, on his way to pick her up from school. Or he could be a spy for some foreign organization, awaiting an information exchange with his contact. The elderly lady feeding the ducks could be a lonely old widow with no one left for her in the world. Or she could be a happy mother of five, grandmother of nineteen and great-grandmother to two with another on the way and feeding the ducks was the only activity she took to herself. Anything was possible.

Rosaline grinned to herself as she watched one of the people she had been observing rush to greet a man and sweep him into a hug. Boyfriend? Brother? Fiance? Friend? Rosa's mind whirled, giving the two of them a history, a past, a present and a future. All a fabrication of her mind. Shaking her head a little at her imagination, she dipped her head back to her drawing, rolling her shoulders a little as she set into defining the details of her unknown subject.

[benvolio]

Ben was, in a word, content.

Content was not a word that could often be applied to Ben Montague. He had his medical training- rewarding, but undeniably stressful. He had his family, too; still more demanding, and far more stressful. As much as he loved his sisters, they always knew just how to aggravate him. (Not Freddie, of course; she was different. But Bianca and Carlotta, he was sure, were conspiring to give him a heart attack one of these days.) His parents were undeniably worse; his father wanted him to be the model son, his business heir, and many other things Ben just couldn't work himself up to care about. His mother, too, had high expectations for her son, though hers were mostly social aspirations. And as for his cousins... Ben had been gifted with far too large of an extended family for most people to even keep track of, let alone deal with the kind of headaches they regularly gave Ben. Romeo was by far the worst of the lot, and he was one of his best friends! Of course, the rest of his friends weren't any better...

Given that extremely long-winded explanation, one might see how unusual it was for Ben to find a moment's peace. Today, though, he had managed to find it. He woke up early, early enough to sneak out of the house without any of his family noticing. The staff noticed, of course; he had politely told Hastings that he would be going out today, and Greta, one of the maids, had given him a conspiratorial wink when he said he would probably be gone all day. He had then breakfasted at a little cafe not too far from home, and afterwards, noticing how nice of a day it was turning into, he decided to take a walk. His feet had led him to Central Park.

He had a lot of happy childhood memories of the park: looking at the ducks with his sisters, holding Freddie's hand so she wouldn't fall in the pond, buying birdseed from a friendly old woman and feeding the birds, playing frisbee or tag or just plain running around all over the grass...

He hadn't spent much time there in the past few years. He seriously doubted if he'd been in there since he started college. Even in high school, he had spent less and less time in there... Maybe that had something to do with a rather spectacular fiasco of blind date Mercutio had set him up on. While it was true that the girl in question was quite pretty, Ben had been utterly speechless for most of the afternoon, and by the end of it he was praying for a meteor to fall from the sky and end the awkwardness of it. That date hadn't ruined the park for him, but it had been awkward to show his face for at least a few weeks.

He smiled languidly as he remembered those carefree days. He wasn't one of those people who always moan about going back in time and reliving their childhoods, or changing some mistakes they made; he was largely satisfied with his life thus far. Shifting back to the present, he was stretched out lazily beneath an oak tree, not quite asleep but not quite awake either. He simply lay there, luxuriating in the familiar peace of his surroundings and half-listening to the chatter of all of the people around him. One woman was complaining loudly to a friend about her marital problems; judging by the lack of interest in her friend's replies, this was nothing new. A child nearby begged his mother for an ice cream cone. A group of children ran around playing tag just as Ben had done when he was their age, squealing with delight each time new person was tagged and made "it." The calls of "You're it!" "No I'm not, you didn't touch me!" "Did so!" "Did not!" brought a smile to his face.

Eventually, he pushed himself to his feet and started walking again. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, but he trusted his feet. He walked along, humming softly to himself, feeling completely at ease.

For Ben, that feeling never lasted long. Aimlessly dragging his hand along a stone wall, he accidentally knocked a piece of charcoal to the ground.

"Oops, I'm sorry!" he said, reaching down to pick it up. He handed it to the girl sitting there, smiling ruefully and running his other hand through his already messy hair.

If his mother saw him now, she would probably say with that special condescending mother voice of hers, "Ben, lying in the grass for an hour is not, perhaps, the best way to keep your hair in order." Well, she wasn't there, and Ben couldn't care less about the state of his hair. He had never liked the overly-styled looks his mother and her "fashionable" crowd favored anyhow.

He thought he recognized the owner of the charcoal from somewhere, but somehow he couldn't quite place her. For some reason, he wanted to connect her name with Romeo- was she one of the long parade of girls that he had mooned over? He rather suspected that she must be. Still, he wished that he could remember her name, if only for the sake of being polite.

[rosaline]

It didn't take long for Rosaline to realize the person she was sketching had become none other than the bombastic Mercutio. He had a very interesting face when you got down to it. It wasn't exactly handsome, not in any sort of conventional way but it was still...striking. Very expressive. A true challenge to draw really. When so much of a face's essence resided in its life it was hard to capture that image within the limit of a static, two-dimensional sketch. Rosa was stuck on the mouth at the moment.

The nose had been easy enough, distinctive and full of character as it was. And the ears, well, she had had to redo them several times before getting them somewhat right. And even still she wasn't quite happy with them. The chin also just sort of flowed easily from the jawline. The cheeks had taken a few tries but it had been worth it when finished. After mangling the man's lower-lip for the fifth time, Rosa heaved a frustrated sigh, fingers twitching and itching to just crumble the sheet. But instead she just took in a steadying breath and abandoned the mouth. She filled in the forehead easily and then set to work on the fall of his hair.

Rosa pulled her knees into her body, bringing the sketchpad closer to her face. Pressing her lips together, she chewed on her tongue a little, concentrating. Just as she was reaching for the lighter stick of charcoal, eyes never leaving her drawing, she heard the tinkle of charcoal hitting the ground. She jumped a little at the surprise but looked up to receive the charcoal from the stranger who had wandered into her life. Seeing who it was and recognizing him immediately, a blush sprung to her face, dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her own character-less nose with rose. Benvolio Montague.

"Thanks," she murmured, running her fingers over the utensil, coating them in a monochrome patina. He mussed up his hair and she found herself mimicking the action, tucking her unoccupied fingers into the underside of her hair, loosening it a bit from its already sloppy, haphazard ponytail. She realized that he had recognized her but seemed to not be able to place her name to her face. Ah, well that sunk her heart a bit. But it was buoyed with a bit of hope after. He was here, after all, standing before her and not running off or anything. Implying that he wouldn't be particularly adverse to further conversation with her. Until he learned exactly who she was, at least. Well, might as well tell him and see if he stuck around afterward. Ben didn't exactly seem to be the one to abide by petty family disagreements.

"Rosaline Capulet," she offered generously to him. A proper man like himself would probably be a bit shamed at not being able to pluck her name out. There was no need to be, really. Their paths had crossed a few times but she wasn't sure that she had ever actually exchanged more than strangers' small-talk with him. And while she would have liked for him to remember her name, she knew she couldn't exactly expect that of him. "I've seen you around." Parties, functions, on her parents' Most Wanted Wall of Shame... "You're Benvolio, yeah?" Benvolio Montague, cousin to her once-infatuation and now the owner of Romeo's previous personal title in her mind.

Her eyes dropped to her picture and she felt the blush at her cheeks grow a little. She was drawing one of his best friends, of course. She wondered if he would notice. It didn't mean anything, honest. Mercutio was just a wonderful drawing subject; lively as he was. A true challenge to an artist. She knew some girls in her class who spent hours sketching pictures of the boys they were interested in, creating still life images for themselves to moon over when the real thing wasn't available. Well, Rosaline never adhered to that practice. She would completely destroy her crush's image, getting everything wrong because in her mind nothing would be good enough. And then she would never be able to look at him in real life ever again and it would just be bad all around.

She had never sketched Romeo, back in the days she had been enthralled with him, for example. She had fawned and giggled and sighed, but never sketched. Now, though, she had a few of his faces on her pages. How could she not, with a face as charming and vibrant as his? That's how she had been able to tell she had truly gotten over the Golden Boy, when the lines on her page one day connected to create a Romeo in mid-laugh.

Tilting her eyes back up, Rosaline made note of the perfect lines in Benvolio's nose, the way his ears curved just so. Yes, he would be a great subject. She hoped, one day, she would be able to bring herself to give his image to her sketchbook. She hoped.

[benvolio]

Rosaline Capulet. Of course. How could Ben possibly have forgotten her, with the way Romeo had spent weeks mooning over her?

Romeo really was too much to deal with when he decided- as he did all too often- that he was in love. He confided in Ben that he had seen her looking at him across the room at a party. Their eyes met, and he immediately felt a strong connection to this blonde beauty. Family ties or no, she was the one!

Ben's response had been distinctly underwhelming for Romeo, as he only chose to raise an eyebrow and say, "Oh yes?" But really: Ben had seen it all before. Romeo was always moping around in love, or moping around for the lack of it.

He had two usual patterns he took with girls. Pattern number one was to pile on the charm, and wow the girl with his Montague-heir status. He was pretty good at that approach, and it got him plenty of girls- the problem was, he almost always got bored with them. Really, really, fast. The upside of those relationships, from Ben's perspective, was the fact that Romeo seldom became so attached to them that he couldn't speak without droning on and on about their virtues. Which leads us to method number two: moon over the girl for weeks at a time, but never actually make a point to talk to her about it. Oh, sure, he could go on and on with little or no provocation about a supposed snub, but really, it was always obvious that he was so interested in the girl, he forgot to mention it to her personally. This was the method Romeo had taken with Rosaline.

Ben laughed, "Yes, that's me." A wicked smile flitted across his lips. Ordinarily he wouldn't sell out his best friend behind his back, but Ben felt so relaxed that it felt like the most natural thing in the world. "I remember you. I don't think Romeo would let me forget you- that's my cousin, Romeo Montague. Pardon me for saying so, but he thought he was in love with you for far longer than I could stand." He rolled his eyes, "He finally shut up when I told him that cousin or no, best friend or no, if I heard another sonnet dedicated to your eyebrows I would scream."

He laughed again, "Not that your eyebrows aren't worth it, I'm sure."

Shifting the conversation to a less potentially embarrassing ground, he indicated Rosaline's sketchpad. "Can I see?"

Continuing the eyebrow motif, one of his rose. The drawing was only half finished, but it was already recognizably Mercutio. There was his determined chin, his expressive forehead, the exact flop of his curly hair... When the sketch was done, Ben was sure it would be the spitting image of his friend.

He gave a low whistle, "I'm impressed. I'm always impressed by brilliant artists; probably because I'm about as far from one as humanly possible. Anything I ever try to draw comes out looking like a particularly shapeless blob." It was true: Ben couldn't draw so much as a circle without screwing up.

"Even if I could draw, though, Mercutio's a tough pick. Hell, I know his face better than mine, practically, and I still wouldn't try it. His face is so expressive, you know? He's already larger than life." Ben realized he was rambling, and quickly shut up. He hoped Rosaline wouldn't judge him; he wasn't normally so prone to rambling... Really, there was a problem with being so relaxed that your brain-mouth filter stopped functioning. It was like being drunk, in its own way.

[rosaline]

Benvolio laughed and Rosaline got caught up in watching him again. He did have some beautiful lines in his face. And when they were in motion... Christ, it was like watching music happen. He confirmed his identity which Rosaline didn't really need but she passed him a soft smile anyway. How could she not smile with Benvolio Montague standing before her? He spoke of his cousin then and Rosaline could feel the soft smile curve into something closer to a smirk. Romeo. Oh, Romeo.

She laughed a little, cheeks finding a blush. "Did he?" she asked. So, Romeo had known her back then; had even returned her affections at the time. Or, at least, somewhat. Benvolio seemed to not share his cousin's sentiment on the matter. Quirking an eyebrow that was apparently the topic of poetry, Rosaline donned a disbelieving expression. "Sonnets? Really?" She hardly thought of herself as the girl to have sonnets written about. "Well, I am terribly sorry that you had to endure all that. Any poem written about me can't be all that interesting, I'm sure."

Rosaline didn't understand that. She had never been one to fall into dedications to her "one true love" (or at least, the "one true love" at that particular point in time). Of course she could appreciate the finer details of the object of her attention --she was an artist after all. But... Well, she had mentioned the bit about never being able to draw pictures of her crushes. Same thing applied to poems, even more so. How could mere words be able to capture your opinion of the one you were infatuated with? But, to each his own, she supposed.

And she had to admit: It was a little flattering to learn the boy she had been swooning over had written poetry about her. Too bad he never thought to actually approach her, have a conversation. Ah, well. All things happen for a reason, yes? So maybe it was better that Romeo never came around her. She had gotten the opportunity to get over Romeo and now she was sitting here, talking to Benvolio. A much worthier cause then Romeo would have been, Rosaline thought.

When Benvolio noticed her drawing and asked to see it, Rosaline blushed again. "Oh. Sure, if you'd like to." Tilting the pad so he could see, she shrugged. "It's... It's not quite finished yet. And there are a few bits I'm not really happy about yet, but..." Her disclaimer petered off to silence. Around them, a few birds sang lazily, clearly enjoying the beautiful day as much as they were. The cries of children at play were still abundant in the fresh air and Rosaline grew happier with and more secure in her decision to come out that day. A day such as that simply could not be wasted.

"Thanks," she said to his comments. "It's really not all that great even..." Rosaline never was one to take a compliment well. However, she was quick to drop them for other people. Demonstrating that, she giggled a little and shook her head. "Oh, I don't know about that; even a blob is a shape." Grinning up to him, Rosaline ruffled the edges of the pages in her sketchbook absently.

"Oh, I know!" Rosaline replied excitedly, happy that someone else had seen what she had. "That's what enthralled me, once I realize it was him I was drawing; the challenge. With Mercutio, you're not just drawing his face. You have to draw Mercutio, you know, all of him. You have to capture the very 'Mercutio-ness' that he just seems to ooze, his essence. Otherwise it'll look like Mercutio but it won't really...work." The last word was dropped on rather lamely as she realized she was probably just talking nonsense and making Benvolio all different kinds of uncomfortable.

Blushing again, she giggled a little awkwardly and dropped her eyes to the pad. "Sorry... Rambling." She waved a hand dismissively, dismissing her self and ridiculous habits, of course. Gosh, the first time she had a full-on conversation with Benvolio and she ended up making a fool of herself.

[benvolio]

Ben snorted, "He certainly did. It was "Rosaline this!" and "Rosaline that!" and "would you believe how cruel Rosaline is, spurning my everlasting love?" all of the time." Laughing, he added, "Oh, please; it wasn't the subject matter that ruined the poems. It's just that not even infatuation can make a halfway-decent poet out of my cousin. He tries and tries, but the result is invariably flowery and inane."

He rolled his eyes, "Not to mention, he does it with practically every pretty girl he lays eyes on. It gets pretty hard on the ears to hear him recite basically the same six equally awful poems dedicated to his girl of the moment. There are a few that I swear are exactly the same, just with the name and hair color of the subject changed." If Ben's eyes weren't firmly lodged in his head, they would have rolled straight out of the park and into the street. "I guess that goes to show how genuine and heartfelt his 'love' really is. The day he's so in love that he forgets to broadcast it to the world is the day I'll believe it's genuine."

Ben winced a bit at his own callousness. That wasn't quite fair to his cousin. Well, it was accurate, but it still wasn't really fair. That was just the way Romeo was wired.

Ben shifted a bit on his feet. He had stubbed his toe on a root a little while ago, and while it wasn't exactly painful, he was already a little tried of standing. "Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked, indicating the space on the wall next to Rosaline.

Ben snorted at her disclaimer for her drawing, "Please. If I can recognize the subject of a drawing when it's done, it's good. If I can recognize my best friend on the page before it's done, it's brilliant. Don't waste time being modest; you're obviously very talented."

Her next words startled a laugh out of him, "That's true. Still, even when I was little, my mom refused to put up anything I drew for her." He grinned ruefully, "I think to this day, nobody has ever looked at something I've drawn and correctly guessed its subject matter."

He laughed again, "Yeah, I know what you mean. Mercutio is so animated that the few times I've seen his with a blank expression, I barely recognized him." He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. "Pft, I was just doing the same this a second ago. Mercutio just inspires rants and rambling." He smirked, "It's like his personality bleeds over into conversations about him."

Belatedly, he realized that he was having a conversation with a girl pretty enough to warrant Romeo's attention, and yet he wasn't flustered in the slightest. That was a first. He smiled- Rosaline wasn't nearly as intimidating as most girls.