Hearing another voice was good for Mercutio. Nothing snapped one out wallowing in self pity like knowing there was someone around to look tough in front of. And it was a good thing, too: where he was from, misery deserved nothing less than a monologue, so Yu seemed to have stepped in just in time.
"Sir," he said, because that seemed a good enough place to start. From a distance, he could not make up much of the figure in front of him, but as he drew closer Mercutio noted his strange clothes. The man... well, boy, more like, did not look like a native of Verona, that was for certain. The normally irrepressibly talkative Mercutio was hesitant. In this new place, would its inhabitants be friendly? He was used to knowing not only where he was, but what his standing was. Namely, at least some measure of respect. Ah well, one must press on.
"Sir, forgive me. Call you this your home? I know not where I am nor... nor by the devil by what means came I here." Mercutio did not want to admit just yet that he was pretty sure he ought to be dead. That might give entirely the wrong impression.