Absit Omen RPG

Even though Kurby pretended he was completely okay, Margo saw it.  She saw the way he looked down and his cheeks darkened.  But, he didn't seem to get mad.  This threw a wrench in things.  Was Kurby also a more mature adult in a relationship he didn't deny at every turn? Not that they had been in a relationship like that.

That was probably where the resistance came from.  Made sense.  Well, that was cool. Kurby Bagnold had moved on and could make jokes about it. Super cool.  Okay.

Leaning her good hand against the spill guard on the bar, Margo tossed her hair over her shoulder - completely casual- and grinned easily because that's what she was good at. Clearing her throat, she shook her head at his assessment. 

“If more housewitches embraced grunge, I'd make a better housewitch,” she winked at him and grabbed two shot glasses from under the counter.  Flipping them easily, she set them together and grabbed that new bottle of Ogden's and poured the two.  Somethings about Margo didn't change and while she no longer drank until she blacked out (most of the time), this was reason for a shot wasn't it? She pushed one toward Kurby and lifted the glass with a little tilt.  “To housewitches?” She laughed a little and tilted her head back so the liquid could slide right down.

Smacking her lips while she slammed the glass back down against the wood. “It's on the house,” she gestured to the shot she pushed toward him. “Gotta christen the bottle with someone - bad luck, all that jazz.” Not completely true, but whatever.  She would start her own thing. 

“Now I know you’re a liar, that’s a bloody good bitters,” Margo scoffed at his assessment.  She was not going to let herself be cowed by eye contact or his surly scowl.  She knew that scowl all too well and it had never succeeded in anything but getting a rise out of Margo Amherst.  Even a year removed with so many things being different, some habits were hard to break. 

He was right though.  This was definitely her kind of place and her kind of drink list - because it was hers.  She’d finally really settled into the reality that she wasn’t a world travelling dragon adventurer anymore.  And, honestly, it was a much better job than working in the offices of the ministry.  Sometimes she couldn’t even believe she had tried to make that work for so long. 

But, things changed and big events had their way of changing people.  Margo was certainly different.  Still carefree, still lackadaisical in all the best ways, but she was the boss here and actually really enjoyed it.  “It’s a collaborative project,” she explained, “my bartenders are the best.”  An entirely true statement. 

“I’m surprised to see you here though,” Margo finally pointed out because he worked on level four and hadn’t bothered to show up to any of the events or after work drinking that their previously shared colleagues did, so she knew that was on purpose.  “We don’t get much of the Witch Weekly crowd here, so I guess it’s not a date night?” she raised her eyebrows in question.  It wasn’t a secret that Kurby had started seeing (was it seeing? She didn’t really know) an editor for that magazine, which suited him perfectly because every time they’d appeared in it he had almost stroked out.  Karma was a thing, wasn’t it? 

Besides, it wasn’t like she cared.  She’d been dating Nate for a while.  Like really dating.  With meeting parents and meeting his kid - and giving Callie the ugliest kitten on Earth (suitably named Princess Grandma).  And even their separation had been amicable.  Worlds away from whatever had been with Kurby (which was nothing because they were nothing) - but still, the point was, Margo had moved on.  This was just… idle chit chat, since Kurby was in her bar and it was relatively slow for a Thursday night so she had some time to kill. 

Margo had spent a good portion of the day arguing with Dorsey about how they did not need a Christmas tree in the bar.  It wasn’t that kind of place and they didn’t cater to a crowd that really embraced the… touchy-feely holiday stuff.  Honestly, she’d be open on Christmas day and anyone in a bar on Christmas probably wasn’t going to want to stare at a tree. 

It was probably an unfair advantage that Margo owned the bar and as a result, no Christmas tree would make its way onto her premises.  Unfortunately, Margo had obviously only emphatically vetoed a tree.

So now, on the corner of the bar by the way, in its own pot, was a Christmas cactus..  “It’s not a tree,” Dorsey had chirped and Margo, for all of the things she wanted to say, found herself speechless.  The Christmas cactus was not going anywhere. 

It wasn’t the only thing out of place in the bar tonight.  She came out of the backroom with replacement bottles of firewhiskey in her hands - some of the bottles were looking low and for all of her stumbling blocks in getting into the hang of running a business, by now, with the one year anniversary of its opening coming up, Margo actually was getting the hang of it.  And becoming successful.  What a novel experience. 

So, imagine her surprise when she went to put those bottles in the well only to see the gruff face of someone she had not seen since she left the Ministry.  Thoughts had obviously crossed her mind, but Margo wasn’t one to apologize, especially when she didn’t feel she did anything to warrant that - and even more to the point, when she was the one who had almost died again and was greeted with radio silence.

What was he doing here then? 

Whatever the case, Margo ran this bar and she hardly denied people service, even if they were massive assholes who didn’t ask if you were okay after you almost died - even if the last time you’d really spoken before that was a huge fight.  (Wasn’t it always with them?) Grabbing a pint glass, some things you just couldn’t forget and she put it under the tap she knew was closest to what he had been drinking when they were… whatever they were. 

Lifting her head and fixing her posture, Margo strolled over - because she was going to be confident dammit.  “I think you’ll like this one,” she informed him.  The casual tone of her voice and the faint smile on her face did not go with a first time seeing one another in over a year, but hey, when was Margo ever appropriate for an occasion?

Margo didn’t expect sympathy or pity for what she had to do, that had never been her goal.  Honestly, what had infuriated her most post her first big accident was the extra care and attention people seemed to take.  Injury and recovery were regular parts of their lives, she had never really understood why it was so different in her case (though losing a full limb might have had something to do with it). 

So, when Balfour started getting all nostalgic and talking about how it wasn’t the same and all that… Margo’s first instinct was to look away.  Emotions were not comfortable for the ex-handler.  At least not ones like this. 

There was some self-preservation aspect of it.  Even after time had passed and she had a new endeavor, it didn’t stop her from missing it.  “I’m sure you’ve all got it covered,” she quipped, trying to bring the same sense of humor back.  She didn’t come to look at amazing baby dragons and be sad while doing it! 

There was a brandy fire and scuttling hatchlings.  This was joyous!  “Though, I see you’ve softened up – giving them shovels now.” She shook her head, “You’re going to spoil ‘em.  The hand trowels are a better choice…” she paused, “If you were in the place for taking advice anyway.”  Margo snorted with a shrug and looked back to the dragons who were all now descending upon the bucket. 

“Boot cleaning duty is also particularly awful.” 

 “He’d run here,” Margo assured Balfour, still gazing fondly at the baby dragons as they scooted along the floor.  Her namesake was happily munching on slop, blood and brandy dripping down her chin.  She’d grow into a fine dragon, that was for sure.  A healthy appetite as a hatchling made for a strong beast later on.

Of course, with all litters, there was the small one – and Balfour was going to claim it as his own.  It was an interesting choice, for sure, but then again, Balfour had always liked the underdog. 

There was probably a dirty joke hidden in there somewhere, but Margo couldn’t get a firm grasp on it quite yet (hah! Another one!).  “I think this crew would be lost without a Balfour,” she pointed out and Sylvain rolled onto his back with a gurgle before stretching his legs out. 

“Besides, what would Mini-Vin do without you?” she looked at the final, nameless hatching as it flicked its tail and fluttered its tiny wings.  It yawned, a tendril of wispy smoke escaping his mouth.  Looked like someone else was one step closer to breathing fire. 

A flash of light distracted her and Margo tottered backward onto her bum in the dirt as her namesake burped: a burst of flame surprising not only the human, but dragon version of herself.  Margo clutched her stomach and laughed, shaking her head.  “I miss this,” she lamented, wiping tears of joy from the corners of her eyes. 

Ooooh. 

They did not like her. 

This was simultaneously delightful and awful.  She didn’t see what was so bad about owning a bar – it wasn’t like she just hung out there all day.  Well, she sort of did… but that wasn’t the point.  She was the boss.  That was an accomplishment! 

Didn’t seem like they cared all that much about that though, which meant Margo was going to be terrible.  And Nate, well, he was fantastic.  Because he was clearly going to do the same thing.  Looking over at him, Margo raised her eyebrows, “I love fun facts!” she replied, feigning complete innocence.  Whatever he was going to do, it was probably going to be mortifying for several people involved – hopefully for the two that looked like they had sucked on a lemon. 

And, of course, he did not disappoint.  A wide grin broke out over her face and Margo, as lady-like and delicate as she was, snorted.  “That is bloody fantastic,” she looked at the two children who appeared to find it as amusing as she did, “Why bother going by Mandy and Ash?  Way less cool,” she assessed and then turned her eyes back to Nate’s aunt and uncle, again, feigning innocence with a wide grin.  “Those names are so creative!  Where did you come up with them?” 

This time, it was Perry’s turn to interject, “Well… actually… it’s a funny story, isn’t it, Griff?” he nudged him in the side and Uncle Griffin looked like he was going to sink into the Earth.  Margo could not wait to hear the rest of it. 

“Do tell!” Margo urged, looking between all of the ‘real’ adults. 

Margo feigned a look at shock and then turned her face toward Molly, “Too much fun?! Impossible!” she replied cheekily and grinned, wide like a hyena bearing teeth.   If there was one thing Margo liked better than making Nate uncomfortable, it was making relatives who were virtual strangers uncomfortable. 

Perry and Molly were a riot, and at this point, Margo had even met them more than once!  After the initial shock of their meeting it was easy to get on with them.  Perhaps Aunt Cat-Butt and her husband would join the fold and try to make Nate uncomfortable with them by the end of the evening?  At least Perry was in for the ride – Margo was especially fond of him. 

It was perhaps wishful thinking, but Margo was good at that.  Sunny optimism (or joyful nihilism, as she had heard it termed once) in almost all situations could only come from losing one’s hand and one’s foot in near death experiences.  A person couldn’t think too far ahead when they were dodging death every day, after all.  Now that she was a pub keeper, all that adventure seemed so far off. 

When his Uncle asked what she did, she had to stop for a moment and rethink her answer.  Rubbing her chin (as if she had some imaginary cool lady beard), Margo laughed a little. “Well uh… up until December I worked with dragons,” it was too long of a story to go into the whole Romanian hospital deal… all of that.

“But now, I have a bar with two of my siblings,” she grinned, resting her elbow on the table, because Margo had perfect table manners, after all.  “Death & Co – if you ever get around to visiting London, that is,” she looked at Nate with a big smile.  “Gonna introduce me to the rest of your family?”

Callie broke in now, pointing with her crayon, “That’s Phoenix – like the bird – him and dad like to argue,” Callie looked at Margo raising her eyebrows as if this was the biggest source of strife in her life and she wanted Margo to share in that moment with her, “but they always make up.  Sometimes, when we play, I get hurt and then he gives me stuff to not tell Dad,” she added with a big grin.  Margo had to cover her mouth to avoid snorting.  “And Mandy,” her crayon shifted to the girl in the group, “gives the best presents,” this was a hushed whisper – reverent. 

Her voice fell flat as she regarded the last of them, “And that’s Ash.”  No anecdote or hint of information about him though.  He must have pissed her off once upon a time.  Margo’s eyes ran over them once more – Phoenix, Mandy, and Ash.  “Good to meet you all!” she beamed, “I’m Margo.”

“Doesn’t matter which they are,” Margo pointed out, “that one is just a perfect Margo.”  She stood a little taller at the idea – though the bothy was not necessarily designed for such a thing. “Isn’t that right, Margo Junior?” she cooed to the little dragon as it wriggled closer to the bucket that was only narrowly outside of its grasp. 

It didn’t bother her that they laughed, quite the opposite.  She grinned along side her compatriots and felt, just for a second, like not even a day had lapsed since she left the reserves for the last time.  Some things would never change.  It was an oddly reassuring thought. 

“Carter’s still there?” Margo snorted, “didn’t know he’d last that long,” Margo was amused: owning to the fact that a good majority of level 4 staff strayed over to the pub after work hours and she still kept up with all the major goings on.  The pixie story had also just been one of her absolute favorites to hear repeated with rancorous laughter. 

Putting her hands behind her hips, she rocked on her good heel with a chuckle.  “Since I got you out of the office all day, I do deserve that, don’t I?” she surveyed the blacks and grinned as her progeny attempted to sink her teeth into Balfour.  Just like her, wasn’t it?  She rubbed her chin in thought: surveying their various attitudes and mannerisms to determine the best course. 

The one that was lying on its back, legs up and tail twitching just so… its eyes were wide and sort of twitching around, as if expecting an attack any second.  “The buggy eyed one,” she pointed and smirked, “that’s got to be Sylvain, yeh?” she snickered. 

 “And ruin my pub’s reputation?” Margo scoffed and rolled her eyes with extreme exaggeration.  “I’d sooner lop off my other leg,” she added to underscore the seriousness of her statement.  Margo may not have been a fancy woman, but she had a lot of pride.  Most of it was wrapped up in her bar at the moment. 

Though, a lot of it could have also been in being decapitated by a vipertooth.  That sounded like the way to go.  It’d be fast, at least.  She’d thought she was going to die twice so far.  She hoped it wasn’t like American baseball (she’d thank Nate for that knowledge later): three strikes and she would be out.  She sorely hoped that whatever it was that did take her out, did it fast.  No more fires, if she could help it.  They were bloody hell to recover from, as she had learned.

Trotting awkwardly along behind, Margo couldn’t help but hold her breath a little as Balfour tugged on the door and a burst of heat hit her in the face.  It was something she’d desperately missed without even realizing it.  Maybe it was why she liked hanging about the kitchen at the pub so much when she wasn’t busy with the customers. 

She greeted Vincent quickly, but was immediately taken with the dragons.  They were the greatest things she had ever seen! Approaching the stone boundary that kept the wee ones within safe confines, Margo restrained herself enough to keep the squeaking to a minimum and instead elected to cover her mouth and just stare at them for a second.

The distraction of a hug was enough to pull her attention… at least momentarily… away.  “I’m standing right here, Mate, you don’t have to act like I’m not in the bothy,” she teased Vincent, as he indicated that one of the wee ones was already starting to smolder.  Turning back to them, she smirked.  It had to be the one scuttling forward for its snack. 

“Your Uncle can have the breed name,” Margo appraised, “but you call that’un,” she pointed as the wobbling baby let some swirling steam escape its nostrils, “Margo.” 

Margo followed the line of his extended hand to the bothy below as they started to descend.  It certainly was new!  She glanced downward frequently, not wanting to misstep (a common problem for the witch in even the most mundane of settings).  Her mind was only half on Balfour as they navigated down the incline.

In the old days, when she’d be running up and down these hills with plaited hair tucked away to avoid snags, she’d have insisted they go the fastest way.  Now, however, she had vastly different concerns these days – mostly not falling on her face and cracking her skull open on a rock.  She had things to do – babies to see! 

Margo wasn’t the sort of soft girl who cooed over all manner of small things, of course – only the scaly ones, so she was definitely looking forward to this.  Lifting her head to see how far left they had to go left, she caught the end bit of his commentary – a crossbreed?  Her eyes widened and she snorted loudly – it nearly echoed off the hills.  “Aren’t they typically named after a fallen colleague,” Margo motioned to herself less than subtly, “you know: in memoriam,” she laughed again. 

“To tell the truth, I’m right jealous,” she admitted with a quirked smile, “especially of how full of yourself you get to be.  Especially because then I’ll have to put it on my menu… and you know that’d kill me.”  So unfortunately accurate. 

Margo did not usually apparate.  It was only by the skin of her teeth that she’d even passed her apparation test the third time around… but she decided to risk it.  When she’d gotten the invite to go see the hatchlings, well…

As much as she took to her new circumstances at Death & Co, there was a significant portion of her that did miss being outside.  For one, she saw significantly less sunlight.  For another, it just didn’t have the same… impact.  It was definitely less dangerous and required far less coordination, but the edge was something she missed.  And that was what drove her to risk splinching. 

Landing on shaking feet, her arms out to balance her, Margo wobbled for a moment before she got her bearings.  Everything was almost just as she remembered it, once she got her steady vision back.  A smile crept over her face as she straightened her back and took an even wider view of everything.

A breeze brushed her cheek; she heard a fire stream in the distance. She missed it so much the bones she had left ached.  “As ever,” Margo quipped in response – not one to stall or take the time to process.  “Lead the way, Spectre!” 

Margo’s first beer arrived only momentarily before Nate’s family – or at least some of them.  She supposed that answered her question.  Going off description (and alcohol content) alone, she’d elected for an IPA from the menu.  She had just enough time to take a sip (whoa!) before she was swept up into a hug from Molly.

The last time they’d seen one another – well, not the last time, really, but the first time, she supposed it was only appropriate that she was all up in her goodies and not her son’s this time.  It was impressive really, how strong Molly Hawke was (and how ample her bossom).  Margo’s face emerged slightly redder than it had gone in and she was glad she wasn’t a fan of makeup.

It surely would have been all over Molly’s top – and smeared over her face – if she did.  It wouldn’t exactly be the cleanest motorboat incident recorded in wizarding history.   That crisis was averted, however, and Margo could not be happier.  Especially when she took another sip of beer. 

She did her best to not dribble beer down her chin as she declared to the whole table that she’d slept with Nate and Phoenix (a true coincidence).  Margo wasn’t entirely sure if his aunt and uncle made a disgusted sound at the fact that she wiped the little bit of beer from her mouth with the back of her hand or the announcement.

Either way, Margo managed to clumsily introduce herself to them after that whole thing and definitely made sure she kept an uncomfortable level of eye contact with both of them.  Perceiving judgment was one thing: Margo made a sport of accepting it with open arms.  “Let your mum have her fun,” she lightly tapped Nate on the shoulder, entering entertainer-Margo mode, not necessarily the nervous-meeting-family version of herself. 

She was like a chameleon – always blending in.  Or maybe a lobster: turning bright red in hot water and sticking out like a sore thumb.  Worked for her, either way.  “Besides, what’s the truth between family,” she winked at Molly – Perry laughed.  Callie interjected about getting bacon on her mac and cheese. 

For extra show, Margo put her arm around Nate and made a very loud lip smacking sound as she kissed him on the cheek.  “Just take another sip of that beer, Nate,” she patted his shoulder and grinned, “you’ll be happier in a minute.”  She did the very thing she suggested, just to make a point.

Title taken from: “First impressions are the most lasting,” a proverb. 

Bellingham, Washington, USA

 Leaving Death & Co turned out to be surprisingly easier than she thought.  Raul, Camilla, and the rest of the staff[1] had everything under control.  Dorsey was going to manage day to day, Raul was going to handle the ordering and scheduling, and Camilla would keep up with the books as always.  Normally, she wouldn’t have given much thought to leaving work behind, but Death & Co was her baby at this point: a rather successful business in its own right and she wanted to keep it that way.  Thankfully, her older siblings felt the same (because their money had gone into purchasing it) and were picking up the reigns in her absence.

It wasn’t every day you got to visit America, after all!  Margo had been a lot of places, but North America was not one of them.  So, when Nate asked if she wanted to go… well, Margo didn’t hesitate. She was always up for an adventure. 

Turned out this was a bigger adventure than she ever anticipated.  Perry and Molly were great hosts, even if the cabin was very small and Margo had never been quite so close to any family ever… even her own.  But, Bellingham, Washington reminded her a lot of Romania – well, as far as forests and trees and weather… plus, the likelihood she was going to run into someone she’d shagged also seemed oddly high for a country she’d never actually visited.  (Seeing Nick for the first time since the reserve, on the arm of his brother no less, would have been weird for anyone else, but not Margo). 

It was at least fortuitous that he didn’t live with Perry and Molly! As it turned out, Nick lived with their cousin – Ash – in a ritzy condo by the water.  She’d yet to meet Ash yet though.  That was all going to be happening soon. 

Despite the fact that she was achy (like an old woman whose joints hurt every time it was going to rain) and still a little crabby from the time change, there’d been a big family get together planned and she had to drag her arse out of her comfortable clothes and actually try.  She wasn’t going to admit it, but she was a tad bit anxious about it.  Normally, she wouldn’t care how her shirt rode a little high over her mid-drift, but as they had approached the Bigfoot Bay Brewing Company, she couldn’t help but notice that she was trying to tug it down… more than once.  Luckily, she could make excuses about not taking off her jacket (wet weather be damned). 

She was just glad Nate’s family picked somewhere that emphasized drinking.  Given Nate’s particularities about beer, she was excited to see what he always seemed to be going on about.  Settled in between Nate and Callie, she eyed the beer selection curiously before leaning over to Nate, trying to be as discreet as her usually loud voice would allow.  “How many do you think I can get before everyone arrives?”  Not for nerves, obviously.  Of course not.

1.	Staff page

Nate was not listening.  This was not entirely surprising, really, but still.  “I don’t care what his full name is, Nate!” Margo rolled her eyes, “But I definitely called him Nick, and everyone else on the reserve did too.”  Maybe Nate and his brother weren’t close. 

They obviously couldn’t be or else he would know that everyone totally called him Nick and that Margo wasn’t crazy and totally knew about his birthmark.  The look on Nate’s face was confirmation enough for that though, and the satisfaction that washed over her like the swift onset of a pain relief potion taken for fun. 

"Did you fuck my fucking brother, Margo?”

Margo nodded slowly.

“I totally fucked your brother, Nate.”

 “His name is also totally Nick,” Margo argued and rolled her eyes in disgust.  How could he not know that this person was most definitely a person that Margo had worked with and tried to bring up before only to be met with blank stares?  And like, obviously, Nate had a small point. 

His parents were some of the strangest people she’d ever met.  That was no exaggeration.  That was actually a pretty terrifying thought; given the people that Margo made a habit of hanging around.  And sure, they gave their kid a terrible name but that didn’t mean that they also didn’t go completely off the charts and name the other one something sensible.  It seemed like the type of thing that they would do.  Or you know, he had a nickname! 

Sighing disgustedly, Margo shoved her plate on the coffee table and glowered at him.  “It bothers me because I’m right,” she accused, wracking her brain for anything she could think of.  Then, in one gloriously (round and perky) swift memory, she gasped before blurting out, “Nick has a café au lait birth mark like a star right above his butt cheek.”