Date: May 21st Time: Late afternoon Place: Some upscale restaurant in Verona Status: Open to all
The purple hues of the evening had painted Verona as a more presentable version of itself – like a morticians hand applying make-up on a corpse. The city had been just as morbid lately, the street gutters carrying to blood of the those gone far too soon.
Still, through all gore and violence the beauty of Verona shone through.
Priam never thought himself bound to something as trivial as homesickness, but even he had to admin there was a special feeling penetrating his soul after a long period of absence. For a past few months, he’d been based in New York, opening up a new office – and strengthening some of the old Capulet contacts overseas at the same time.
After a quick catch-up with Juliana, Priam sat at one of Verona’s finest, upscale restaurants, head buried in a latest status report he needed to sign off on, when the noise from a neighbouring table grabbed his attention. They were Montagues, no doubt, Priam had seen them before – certainly hadn’t bothered to remember names, though. In hindsight, choosing a restaurant on a heavily Montague populated are was uncharacteristically reckless of Taravella, but the restaurant served the best damn oysters in the city and he wouldn’t let Montagues deprive him of the pleasure.
Hell, maybe he’d even buy this restaurant on his way out.
“Do you mind keeping it down?” He addressed the group with an eye roll, “Whilst I know being civil is too much to ask from the likes of you, at least try to act like you weren’t raised on a hyena farm. My ears are sensitive to so much idiocy.”
