Frivolous American Folly! (cleo)

[BRANDON JOHNSON]

oh what a beautiful morning

[/color]
oh what a beautiful day
I’ve got a beautiful feeling
Everying’s going my way! [/center]

Brandon had been barking to arrive at this silly American mall before it opened. He had quite fancied simply remaining in his dormitory and losing himself in the newest edition of The Tempest or All’s Well That Ends Well, but he’d just felt like such a useless knob of a lad, lying on his bed and re-reading the jolly works of Shakespeare for the umpteenth time. Besides, he’d reasoned that it was high time to purchase some new pairs of cords and knickers for himself.

So Bob’s your uncle, and now he was here, wandering aimlessly down a very whitish hallway, and quite cheesed off with himself. Where on earth was he to find himself a new pair of knickers in this completely mental arrangement of stores? Twas utter codswallop, that’s what it was. Complete and utter rubbish, and Brandon was loss a at for which store to enter first. At a loss, that is.

He chose to pop in at an establishment that seemed a tad more smarmy and twee than the others. However, he was quickly rebuffed by a quite skinny looking girl wearing little more than a rose-colored swimming costume, screaming some boorish obscenities that Shakespeare himself would have uponed frown. Frowned upon, rather, curse his muddled head. Well what a charming young lass! Still, Brandon was more than a tad bit shirty, seeing as he still had not found the correct store in which to purchase his knickers.

After three more failures of the same caliber, Brandon deposited himself into a book store. These bloody Americans were simply off their trolleys! Was there nowhere a young, spanking British lad could enter into to purchase a modest pair of knickers? Ridiculously absolute. The elbow grease was making Brandon quite irritated. He pulled a copy of Antony and Cleopatra from the tippity-shelf top, thumbing through to his very favorite scene at Mark Antony’s camp in the rather lovely country of Alexandria.

This American mall was simply barking mad. Where on Earth was he to buy his knickers? Brandon allowed himself to collapse into the pentameteric iamb.

348 here
Notes: Sorry for the wait
Credit: meggert of caution 2.0

[CLEO EVERETT]

Cleo was not pleased. Her copy of Half-Blood Prince was all beat up because she’d been reading it obsessively as of late. The new movie would be coming out soon and she’d taken to rereading the series (again) to make sure she knew everything there was to know. Once she finished Half-Blood Prince (again), she was going to reread Deathly Hallows and then she was going to have a marathon of the first six movies . She was going to be prepared for this premiere! Unless, of course, her copies couldn’t handle another reading. Pouting ever so slightly, Cleo hurried through the mall, doing her very best to ignore the stores with cute shirts and darling shoes and gorgeous jewelry. She’d gone to the point of only bringing enough money to buy another copy of Half-Blood Prince to prevent a shopping spree but she still wasn’t sure if she could resist the new jackets on the mannequins at rue21. Biting down on her lip, Cleo averted her gaze and hurried pass. It wasn’t much longer when she reached the bookstore.

Cleo paused to inhale, relishing the smell of new books. It was almost as lovely as pastries and beaches. Cleo started to make a beeline to the section she visited whenever she needed a new copy of a Harry Potter book. But something caught her eye suddenly and she paused, turning to look back. A boy stood in the aisle, taller than her by a few inches but certainly not older. He looked like he was still in high school and there was something familiar about him. She felt like she knew somebody who knew him. But, it wasn’t this that caught her attention. It was the book he was reading. She could only see one name and only part of that one name. Without a second thought, Cleo approached him and peered more closely at the title. “Antony and Cleopatra?” she read it out loud before looking up at the boy . “Oh… er, sorry, hun. I just saw the ‘Cleo’ part of that title and was curious as to what the rest said. I mean; I thought it was almost about me for a second or maybe the history on the name Cleo.” She laughed a bit sheepishly before stepping back, realizing just how close she’d gotten to read the title. “I hope you didn’t lose your spot or anything. I hate when that happens…” Cleo paused. She probably wasn’t making this any better.

“Oh wow,” she laughed. “There I go again. I’m sorry, darling! It would seem I’m a bit of a chatterbox today.”

---

words; 437
notes; YOU'RE SORRY?! i'm sorry!!!!!
outfit; tbe

[BRANDON JOHNSON]

oh what a beautiful morning

[/color]
oh what a beautiful day
I’ve got a beautiful feeling
Everying’s going my way! [/center]

Dearie me, but wasn’t this simply one of Shakespeare’s more dashing works? Brandon had utterly forgotten how smashingly tickety-boo Antony and Cleopatra was! He’d always found himself dearly partial to Enobarbus, the poor, shirty twit that he was. Such codswallop, really, that he had been forced to obey Antony, that smarmy wanker.

Goodness, if only dear William Shakespeare still earthed the walk today. The lad had been ever so good to him in times of need or hardship. A proper Brit through and through, as Brandon always aspired to be. Brandon bookcased against the lean, inhaling the air conditioning and the beautiful words of all that was the dear chap Shakespeare “Thus do they, sir, they take the flow o’ the Nile,” he said aloud, for this passage from the useless knob Marc Antony was certainly, of all the wondrous words of Shakespeare’s world, one that was dearest to his heart. “By certain scales I’ the pyramid, they know, By height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth, Or foison follow: the higher Nile swells, The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman upon the slime, and ooze scatters his grain, and shortly comes to harvest.” Brandon turned the page, smiling like a young lad on Christmas morn’. “Ah, Lepidus, you’ve no idea what is coming to you,” he commented, laughing slightly to himself. Poor, poor Lepidus.

“Antony and Cleopatra?” she read it out loud before looking up at the boy . “Oh… er, sorry, hun. I just saw the ‘Cleo’ part of that title and was curious as to what the rest said. I mean; I thought it was almost about me for a second or maybe the history on the name Cleo.”

Brandon glanced upwards to a pleasant surprise: a lovely young lass, staring down at him. Her eyes were a wonderful green, reminding Brandon of the luscious fields in which he’d always used to frolic, reciting Shakespeare monologues and performing works of magic in jolly old Hereford. Goodness, but he did miss old Hereford. “Why yes, this is the marvelous Antony and Cleopatra. About you, you say? Is your name Queen Cleopatra VII?” Goats and monkeys, a true Queen, here, in the store of books! “In that case, your Royal Highness, I welcome you to the York of New City.” He bowed his head, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. “Ah! New York City, rather. I tend to scramble words, you see. ‘Tis rather drab, really.”

“I hope you didn’t lose your spot or anything. I hate when that happens…”

“Oh, certainly not, your Majesty.” Brandon laughed. “I could never lose my place in such a masterpiece as Antony and Cleopatra. Why, I’ve practically got the thing memorized. ‘Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile.’” He smiled. “One of my favorite lines. Does this mean that you have read this play, my lady?”

“Oh wow,” she laughed. “There I go again. I’m sorry, darling! It would seem I’m a bit of a chatterbox today.”

“Oh, but of course not!” Brandon smiled again. How beautiful this Queen Cleopatra VII was. “Shall I entreat you to a performance of The Merchant of Venice? The Taming of the Shrew, perhaps? A Midsummer Night’s Dream? Granted, my falsetto is certainly a tad weak, but I shall imitate any number of Shakespearean characters for you, your highness.”

571 here
Notes: 7 Months later, here it is *shot*
Credit: meggert of caution 2.0

[CLEO EVERETT]

He was certainly going to whack her on the head with that book for interrupting. She would’ve done so to anybody he bothered her while she was reading. Then again, it really depended on the book and the person. If it were a boring book and an interesting person, that was different. The other way around, however, and she would be none too pleased. He didn’t seem terribly upset, though. He hadn’t looked up at her with a vicious glare, at least.

It was in fact Antony and Cleopatra. Oh dear! Did he actually think it was about her? She shook her head a bit and then perhaps a bit more fiercely when he called her ‘your Royal Highness.’ Her cheeks felt hot; Cleo tried to ignore it. There was no reason to be embarrassed. If anything, she should’ve been flattered. Somehow, though, flattery wasn’t something she was so sure about. How were you to know if it was fake and just used to get their way? You couldn’t trust it!

Had he just said York of New City? Cleo gave him a confused look, half-listening as he continued, half-trying to understand what she was listening to. She folded her arms over her chest, nodding when she felt was best. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t…” Should she have? There was something about a crocodile. She didn’t read Shakespeare because his work confused her. After having been forced to read… some play by him in high school, she promised herself to never do so again. It may have been different, of course, if she hadn’t been forced to read it. That always made the difference.

Cleo smiled, hoping she didn’t look as confused as she was. “No, no, that’s fine. And my name isn’t Queen Cleopatra VII. It’s just Cleo. Cleo Everett.” She paused, feeling bad suddenly. She didn’t need her book now. The least she could do was let him recite a passage or something. Maybe it would help her on the path to giving Shakespeare a chance. “Though, I suppose if you still want to for someone who isn’t a Queen, you could choose something from your favorite play?”

[BRANDON JOHNSON]

oh what a beautiful morning

[/color]
oh what a beautiful day
I’ve got a beautiful feeling
Everying’s going my way! [/center]

Much as it pained him, Brandon closed his book. As wonderful and beautiful and simply dashing as Antony and Cleopatra was, he supposed he could always recite the most lovely scenes to himself at a dater late. Later date, rather. For now, the Queen Cleopatra herself was addressing him, and ‘twas simply improper for one to ignore the wishes of a Queen.

No, I’m afraid I haven’t…”

She hadn’t. She hadn’t read the beautiful, glorious, bee’s knees work of literature? What an awful, dull, drab life she must live! “Do you mean to tell me that you have yet to read any works of the glorious William Shakespeare?” Brandon asked, incredulous. “But…but…” Brandon was almost speechless. “What on Earth do you read?” Brandon could not imagine a life without the glory and perfection of Shakespeare. ‘Twas akin to living one's life without breathing, or eating, or sleeping, or wearing knickers. How could one life such a lead?

“No, no, that’s fine. And my name isn’t Queen Cleopatra VII. It’s just Cleo. Cleo Everett.”

Not a Queen? Well. Indeed, Brandon supposed that since she had opted not to read the noble works of Shakespeare, she may not have been from the highest classes of society. No, no, what on Earth was he thinking? Perhaps she was from the highest classes of society, but chose instead to relish the works of other wonderful authors. Christopher Marlowe, perhaps, or the rather lovely Thomas Kyd. Brandon should certainly not be so judgmental. After all, a proper Brit did not book a cover by its judge. A proper Brit was gentle and fair to all that he encountered!

“Cleo Everett,” he said, smiling. “A lovely Greek name. “Glory of the father”, as far as I remember.” He had done extensive research on every Shakespeare character throughout his life, names included. One could never know too much about the man’s wonderful creations! “Brandon Johnson. ‘Tis a pleasure to acquaintance your make.” Brandon stood up, tucking his book under his arm and stretching out his hand for a proper British handshake.

“Though, I suppose if you still want to for someone who isn’t a Queen, you could choose something from your favorite play?”

Well! “I would certainly enjoy that experience,” he replied, chuffed to bits beaming from ear to ear. “A proper Brit certainly does not discriminate on the basis of whether or not one is a Queen!” Brandon always welcomed an opportunity to recite passages from the literature that was closest to his heart. But a favorite play? How on Earth could Brandon choose a favorite play? Why, every Shakespeare play was equally dear to him. He supposed that he’d always been partial to the rather lovely Coriolanus, one of Shakespeare’s oldest histories. Indeed, he had always quite related to the role of Sicinius Velutus.

“Come leave your tears, a brief farewell, the beast,” Brandon began, closing his eyes and wordsing the see before his eyes. He did adore this monologue, delivered by Coriolanus himself, on a highway between Rome and Antium in Act IV, Scene 3. Simply reading the passage always set a smile upon his face. And he never words his mixed up when he was reciting. The thoughts were never jumbled in his mind, as was so often the case. He was truly alive when he recited Shakespeare; his head was truly logical and clear. “With many a head butts me away. Nay, mother, where is your ancient courage? You were used to say extremity was the tier of spirits; that common chances men could bear; that when the sea was calm all boats alike, showed mastership in floating: fortune’s bows, when most struck home, being gentle, wounded craves, a noble cunning you used to load me with precepts that would make you invincible, the heart that conn’d them.” He finished the passage with a flourish, smiling at dear Cleo and hoping against hope that she had found his delivery most adequate.

619 here
Notes: SOURCE, SOURCE
Credit: meggert of caution 2.0