The Bar at the End of the Universe

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.

She is a woman with a glamor on her, born in the eleventh century after the birth of Christ. She died a queen, broke ranks with the common view of her sex, and wed a man with a famous name, a man who called her equal.

She has not set foot in this place for a year and a day; her hand has been guiding other matters. For a moment, she studies the Bar with fear on her face: she left Milliways with spellwork in place. It was meant to gull the patrons, to keep them from noting or remembering her absence. She never intended to return to see if it would hold.

But what is there to fear, in truth? The days are short and the Dark is strong. And certainly she has done no harm here, if she is remembered.

Lady Macbeth shuts the door behind her, and strides toward the Bar. Her eyes sweep the clientele, and her lips curl in a smile.

She is a queen, and more besides. Let them come.

[[ooc: About those spells -- they probably have held. Ping acroBAMF if you have questions? But otherwise, it's like she was never gone.]]

OOM: Before there can be a leave-taking, there must be a parting of ways.

All hail Macbeth, who will wake untroubled in the morning.

Millitimed to the evening of December the 20th.

Do forgive the Lady for being absent, but she's had a Macbeth to occupy her, and some creatures are more distracting than perhaps warranted. Still, one does feel something for them, something as fierce as the rest of her.

She may easily pretend the time has been short. After all, she has much of the stuff ahead of her, being dead. And so the stroll through the Bar toward a table is leisurely, and she is glad to be stopped on the way.

She has a smile. That rarely means anything good. Try your luck?