||Tybalt Capulet||
Turning at the sound of footsteps, the young man saw the girl who had shouted at him earlier. He was beginning to realize that this world was a lot like his own, even if they didn't speak the right language. They were quite a bit less sophisticated, too, and they let their girls run around where anyone could just grab them. And their skirts were too short, far too short; weren't hey disgraced? The young lady with the demon creatures seemed dignified enough, though, and the one who had died wore men's clothing, which he couldn't object to because his younger cousin did that all the time. But he had been horrified when the scientist attempted to bring her back to life, and was quite relived that he had failed. The dead were dead, and one should not disturb that balance. He wouldn't touch the dead woman's device, either, even though it changed his fluid Italian into their blocky... whatever they called their language. Speaking of which- turning around, he sheathed his rapier and bowed to the young demon-girl. "I think," he said, and the device in the scientist's hand changed his words, "That I must beg pardon from from thee, young witch. In the land of my birth, demons such as yours are considered..." He paused, then changed his choice of words. "...bad luck." Rising, he glanced from face to face, and said to all of them, "It would appear, however, that I am no longer in Italy." He turned back and finished, "May I have my lady's forgiveness?" Now, under normal circumstance, Tybalt would have refused to apologize for even the slightest thing. He was a Lord, after all, and heir to the Capulet family because his aunt and uncle had no sons. However, in this strange new place he would need all the allies he could get, and a sincere apology would hopefully mend the rift he had inadvertently placed between himself and the witch-girl. Having someone who controlled demons on his side would be a fine advantage in whatever battle there was to come, and a battle was coming. He could taste it in the air.
