Tara and Joe
Tara had chosen to watch the Shakespeare Retold for the McAvoy mania, but unfortunately had either misplaced her DVD, or never had it in the first place, the facts have long since been lost -
at least to my knowledge. Consequently, she'd been reduced to watching it on her laptop. She sat with it on her lap and had to keep clicking 'Next Video' every nine minutes. I'm sure you see what's coming by now but let me see this through, okay.
So, Tara had had a long day. It had begun with one of the chickens taking unwell, continued with forgetting where she'd left the all-important shirt, and ended with her laptop trundling through a mountainous fourteen updates before finally allowing her the privilege of a singing McAvoy. She needed something to salvage this day. James McAvoy was it. Joe MacBeth was it. Sure, he'd killed some people but dear Lord his voice. Tara could barely control herself around such staggering protection.
The weather had returned from Britain and the sun was glinting in through the window. Tara normally didn't understand the appeal of the Sun to Brits; it just made you sweaty and grumpy. But, after weeks of experiencing her McAvoyer friend Jan's weather, she was grateful to have her own back. She doubted the Brits were grateful for the rain. Oh well, James had grown up in it and it did him well. Maybe this brief torrent was good for her.
Scotland is cold. If Joe MacBeth took nothing from life, he would be happy to die knowing he hadn't missed that fact. He'd have been happier if he wasn't about to be killed by Peter but he guessed that was how the world worked. He killed, he'd be killed. He could live by those rules. He'd die by them too.
This is why he was grateful for a second chance in the form of some sort of Shakespearian era witchcraft. The first thing he noticed was the temperature rocketing, the humidity engulfing him and his face being at a woman's shoulder. She cried in horror, then seemed to relax, slightly. He levered himself off of her and hit some sort of slim computer that was on her lap. He started when he saw Peter's face grimaced in fury on its surface and slithered off the woman's recliner chair.
"Why's it so hot? Am I in the oven at the restaurant? How did you get that computer? Is it from MI5 or something?"
"It's America. No. I bought it. How would I get a laptop from MI5?"
"That's not a laptop. It looks like it came from outer space!"
Tara supposed it was pretty sleek but then it occurred to her that although this was a modernized version of an ancient story, it still took place eight years ago. If this was Joe MacBeth, whom it did appear to be, then he'd never even have heard of an Iphone.
"It'll make sense...eventually. Do you fancy I dunno...popping back into it?!"
Joe tapped the screen, his fingertip bouncing defiantly off, declaring him well and truly STUCK.
Tara had chosen to watch the Shakespeare Retold for the McAvoy mania, but unfortunately had either misplaced her DVD, or never had it in the first place, the facts have long since been lost -
at least to my knowledge. Consequently, she'd been reduced to watching it on her laptop. She sat with it on her lap and had to keep clicking 'Next Video' every nine minutes. I'm sure you see what's coming by now but let me see this through, okay.
So, Tara had had a long day. It had begun with one of the chickens taking unwell, continued with forgetting where she'd left the all-important shirt, and ended with her laptop trundling through a mountainous fourteen updates before finally allowing her the privilege of a singing McAvoy. She needed something to salvage this day. James McAvoy was it. Joe MacBeth was it. Sure, he'd killed some people but dear Lord his voice. Tara could barely control herself around such staggering protection.
The weather had returned from Britain and the sun was glinting in through the window. Tara normally didn't understand the appeal of the Sun to Brits; it just made you sweaty and grumpy. But, after weeks of experiencing her McAvoyer friend Jan's weather, she was grateful to have her own back. She doubted the Brits were grateful for the rain. Oh well, James had grown up in it and it did him well. Maybe this brief torrent was good for her.
Scotland is cold. If Joe MacBeth took nothing from life, he would be happy to die knowing he hadn't missed that fact. He'd have been happier if he wasn't about to be killed by Peter but he guessed that was how the world worked. He killed, he'd be killed. He could live by those rules. He'd die by them too.
This is why he was grateful for a second chance in the form of some sort of Shakespearian era witchcraft. The first thing he noticed was the temperature rocketing, the humidity engulfing him and his face being at a woman's shoulder. She cried in horror, then seemed to relax, slightly. He levered himself off of her and hit some sort of slim computer that was on her lap. He started when he saw Peter's face grimaced in fury on its surface and slithered off the woman's recliner chair.
"Why's it so hot? Am I in the oven at the restaurant? How did you get that computer? Is it from MI5 or something?"
"It's America. No. I bought it. How would I get a laptop from MI5?"
"That's not a laptop. It looks like it came from outer space!"
Tara supposed it was pretty sleek but then it occurred to her that although this was a modernized version of an ancient story, it still took place eight years ago. If this was Joe MacBeth, whom it did appear to be, then he'd never even have heard of an Iphone.
"It'll make sense...eventually. Do you fancy I dunno...popping back into it?!"
Joe tapped the screen, his fingertip bouncing defiantly off, declaring him well and truly STUCK.
