This, one knows, is not one's home. (OTA)

[foulnfair]

When night had come and quiet seemed to descend of a different kind than Macbeth had known, he crawled to the bed and slept as if dying. Or perhaps he was already dead, then awoke still in this strange place. Hauvratat. The water in the washroom was clean, and clear; he drank eagerly then washed himself, clothes cast aside and rank. New clothing

Comments

[drhartdixie]

Zoe wasn't paying attention to where she was going, but she was paying attention to her surroundings. Trying to figure out what the hell. She was still under the impression that while it wasn't a dream it was obviously a stress break because no one outside of a novel or movie ended up in a magical village.

Her head was to the left, watching what she could have sworn was a blond woman twirling a wooden stake in her hand. "Okay that settles it, I have gone crazy." Zoe mumbled and turned her head just in time to see a guy ahead of her. She stopped a bare foot from him, her eyes wide from the almost collision. "God. Sorry!"

[foulnfair]

A hand snaked out, gripping her arm almost too tightly. Macbeth had seen her approach and waited. Her clothing was impractical. "What is it you see?" he asked, that she found so engaging as to nearly run someone down?

[drhartdixie]

"Okay, tell me I am not the only one seeing that blond over there twirling a stick that looks like a stake." She pointed over to where Buffy was practicing moves in the open grassy area by the building.

[foulnfair]

Still holding her arm, Macbeth turned to look where she pointed.

A bigger threat, certainly. For a moment, it was as if his voice would not work, and it came out croaked. "What of it?"

[eyeball2entrail]

Spike was relaxing in one of the unique grave stones in the cemetery by the church smoking one of his cigarettes. He watched a man approach through the smoke of his exhale.

[foulnfair]

A long moment spent regarding him in that place and Macbeth said, "Light thickens; and the crow makes wing to the rooky wood:
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
While night's black agents to their preys do rouse."

His skin felt cold. So much death, so many who had died, at his hands and others.

Would Banquo appear, taunting him even here?

[eyeball2entrail]

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Spike took a long drag on his cigarette. Dru might spout nonsensical things but at least in their own way they made sense. He kicked his legs from over the arm of the chair to sit up and face front.

[foulnfair]

"Nothing good can come from this," Macbeth more said to himself than to the other man. He watched him with narrowed eyes. "Life is but a walking shadow." Did this man not know this?

How could he not?

[faramir_hurin]

Spring is here in the village, and I'm keen for a bit of hunting. No matter how much anyone takes, there always seem to be more animals--more than the forest about the village can support. No one will miss a few rabbits, and Olore appreciates the fresh bits I give him.

Is dressed in clothing from home, carrying longbow and a knife in his boot as well as a hunting bag.

[foulnfair]

The forest sounded different here, too. More alive. Macbeth was slowly trying to find his way to his hatchet when he saw the man, stilling, half-hidden from a tree to watch, wary. He was, after all, no match for a bow.

[faramir_hurin]

I do not go far and know that there is something there. Someone--animals feel different. I have to wonder if it's one of those who mostly stays out here, or if they even still do that. There's no reason to hide from me. I relax the bow.

"Hello? I'm just hunting rabbits, which I've just let know of my presence. Is there a problem?" It might be that someone needs help, maybe even a new arrival.

[foulnfair]

That there were rabbits to hunt told Macbeth that this place was different.

After a moment, Macbeth stepped from behind the tree in his military jacket, eyes wary. Battle he was ready for; congeniality, he was not.

[cultless]

Martha was heading to work at the Black Sheep just then. She was about to enter the pub when she saw a man nearby, looking more than a little lost.

"Hey," she said, going towards him. Work could wait for the time being. "You look confused." She tried to smile, to seem friendly. "I mean...yeah. Can I help you with anything?"

[foulnfair]

Looking at her, wary, Macbeth at first did not speak. Women's assistance had only brought him suffering, blood. Macbeth doth kill sleep.

He shook his head, still otherwise.

[cultless]

Martha knew what it was like to not talk much. Still, he seemed strange, even tense. It worried her.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

[foulnfair]

Okay.

His smile when it came was entirely without mirth, his eyes not leaving her.

In a blur, he rushed forward, stopping just short of where she stood, breath on her face as he asked, "What is it you are?"