Scott followed, more or less on the basis that what other choice did he have, really?  He could try going back to the van, to look for the Muningant woman--but something tells him he isn't likely to be successful.  Whatever strange, weird rules governed this particular place seemed to make it clear that the only way to progress was to go forward, not go back.  If the strange girl's words were to be taken seriously at all, things were likely to get worse before they got better; but Scott got the impression that sitting down and refusing to budge wouldn't get him anywhere at all.<br/><br/>The pools of blood and offal were, to put it mildly, disconcerting; every time he saw one, he had to fight surging waves of nausea.  But he grit his teeth, and kept marching forward, and although it would be a lie to say it got easier to deal with, it was...tolerable.<br/><br/>The booths surprised him as much as it did Deacon.  Was this some sort of medieval fair or something?  He inspected the jester hats without enthusiasm.  The weapons looked surprisingly real--a fact which Scott found out when he ran his finger along the edge of an axe and ended up slicing his finger.  What the hell?<br/><br/>He sucked on his finger until it stopped bleeding, and then took the axe with him--if nothing else, it might come in useful for chopping through doors.  Glancing at Deacon, he merely shrugged.  "I'm coming.  I might as well.  Someone's playing silly buggers, so we might as well humor them."