(Untitled)

[hands_unclean]

She is a glamorous woman, standing in the open door with a jacket draped over one arm. Patent leather high heels, small waist above an A-line skirt, silk blouse that's sensual but also approachable. Appropriate for communicating on satellite TV

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[base_bastardy]

Edmund's follows the woman with his gaze as she comes in. She is, after all, the sort who demands attention.

He meets her eyes, and the bastard returns the smile, all brash charm.

[hands_unclean]

Demands? Commands, dear hart -- let us not be fooled.

Her gaze lingers for a moment.

Whatever greets her eye pleases her. When she takes her seat, she takes it apart from all the rest of the herd. There is an empty seat beside her. A bold man would approach it.

[base_bastardy]

And a bolder one would arrive with two glasses of a good wine. This is what Edmund does.

Red, of course.

"May I join you?"

[hands_unclean]

Well-spoken, at least, and well-mannered in his tastes.

He will certainly do.

The smile reveals white, white teeth. "You may."

[kinghereafter]

Macbeth has always known his wife would return.

Every day since her departure, he has come just far enough down the stairs to look around the room, searching the crowds for her face. With no sight of her, he returns to his (their) rooms.

Tonight, he takes the first step back up the stairs reflexively before he realizes that the striking woman at the bar is his queen. He crosses the room to stand by her side; he says nothing at first, simply taking in the fact that her presence is real.

[hands_unclean]

The year has felt like a thousand; so much has changed, and she has done so much. Gruoch has worked hard to keep her husband from her thoughts. It has been months since she moaned into her pillow at night. She has occupied herself with a world that stretches out at her feet. Through sheer practice alone, she nearly walks right by him.

But she does not.

She schools herself, as best she can, and comes to a stop, arm's length away. "God save you, my lord," she murmurs, eyes bright and back rigid.

This will be difficult.

[kinghereafter]

"He already has, my lady," he says, nodding deeply to her.

"I hope the evening finds you well?"

[hands_unclean]

"More than passing well," she replies, dipping her own head.

(Aphelise will not like this, she thinks to herself.)

She does not allow herself to feel her words. She cannot. She must not.

Macbeth's lady slips her arm through his and tilts her face up to his. "And how do you fare? You look hale and happy."

(That much was well done.)

[cutting_edgex23]

X is not a queen, but she has killed lords and kings enough in her time.

Warlords, at least, and drug kingpins.

It is a good living.

At the moment, however, there is a sixteen-year-old girl looking at the Lady, head tilted just slightly, and nostrils flared.

Does she smell of the Milliways dead?

That is a very good question.

[hands_unclean]

She smells of something, but it is not alive. She is dead in her own world, alive and of the Dark in another. Leave it to this beast-girl to work out for her own.

Lady Macbeth lifts an eyebrow at the impudent stare, and does not wilt in its face.

"Child, you look perturbed," she remarks, pausing long enough to convey a faint disdain for such things.

[cutting_edgex23]

X is silent for another few moments, assessing the situation.

Then--

"You do not smell right."

[hands_unclean]

That earns a smile.

"I have known much worse in my time. When you have lived with the country of my birth, far removed in miles and years from yours, I'll wager, then speak to me of uncommon smells."

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne has not seen the lady since October of last year, but the spells in place were woven well. As far as she knows, she saw the lady in the October just past.

Still, even a few months is a long time away from someone you're fond of.

She pulls up a stool at the bar. "Good evening, my very dear lady."

[hands_unclean]

Here there is little to be feigned; Gruoch's face shines at the sight of Mary Anne's.

"God's eyeteeth, Mary Anne!" She slips her hands into hers and presses a kiss against one cheek. "How long it feels since I've had your company. How are you faring, heart? Lady Bar!"

Two flagons of mulled mead appear on the counter, along with a bowl of hard toffee. Bar has a long memory for favorites, it seems.

[song_tra_bong]

She laughs, bright and clear.

"I am well, and finding you in such fine spirits makes me moreso."

She picks up one of the flagons. "To overdue reunions between fair queens and fairer friends."