It was strange to get an own from one of her assorted cousins at any point (unless, of course, it was Rosheen, and then that was fairly regular).  The last time she had run into Charlotte had been… an assorted (sordid) gathering, at best.  Margo could didn’t know what Charlotte had gotten up to, but based on personal experience (though not with the same individual), she was pretty sure she knew. 

It’d been quite a while and Balfour had taken a position elsewhere (truth be told, Margo was sad to see him go), so she hoped Charlotte wasn’t looking for contact or anything… That’d be awkward, considering Margo didn’t even actually have it.  It was in a file somewhere, but that seemed wrong. 

But, no – she’d written to her inviting her out for some “early evening cocktails.”  Margo, of course, read this as afternoon drinking, and was happy to write back that she would be absolutely free in order to take advantage of such a Saturday ‘early evening.’  In what world was three o’clock early evening? 

Margo wasn’t in a position to argue: she liked Charlotte, as far as other purebloods went.  Plus, Margo had a history with their family, as many purebloods did.  It might have been at a St. James social gathering that Margo had perhaps gotten too familiar with one of the St. James brothers.  It was, of course, one of her greatest success stories as a student.  Now, it seemed like something she’d heard on the wireless and laughed at: completely unbelievable.

Thankfully, Charlotte hadn’t been involved at all in that, except finding out later… and thankfully it wasn’t incredibly awkward.  These things happened, apparently.  But, Margo was running late (as always) and she tugged on her jacket while she bumbled out the door, slamming it just a little too hard (it seemed like the whole wall vibrated).  Oops. 

Cringing, Margo dashed toward the stairs, awkwardly plunking down as her thumb got caught in the slightly tattered lining of the well-worn jacket.  Grunting, Margo twisted her arm, contorting her elbow and shaking the sleeve simultaneously.  She cursed all the way and could only breathe in relief when the fabric tore just a little more and her thumb was released. 

Thankfully, Charlotte had given her an address close to where she lived and Margo pushed her hair back with her hand and glanced at her watch.  Bloody hell, ten minutes late.  Walking a little faster, Margo approached the crossing streets Charlotte had indicated they meet on, and her eyes darted around nervously, in search of her smaller, distant cousin. 

Looking the opposite of Margo in virginal white (obviously a factual representation), Charlotte leaned forward, pressing a hand to the dragon reseacher’s arm, glancing only momentarily at the small tear in her jacket, and smiling wide. While Charlotte was more likely to be squeezed into a dress than wrapped in leather (or, occasionally, both together— if the jacket was someone else’s and oversized), she could appreciate Margo’s style. It was chic and dark, with a rough edge.

And the very small stipulation that she needed to glam it up for charity events.

What better way to raise money for fiery, scaly, sick little babies than to squeeze into a waist-cinching, (tastefully) twins-bearing, too-expensive gown and shake hands with strangers?

“I didn’t lie—” she began, in place of a hello, and as if she anticipated some rebellion. “We are doing drinks. Just not the kind you think.”  Her smile was still huge and lovely, though it worked better on some than others. She gestured to the little shop behind her. Conveniently next to a bar. “We’re going to pour you into a dress.” She turned and began to open the door, but slowed just slightly, looking over her shoulder, her glowing grin aimed at Margo. “You’re welcome.”

Once she was sure Margo was still behind her, Charlotte took it all in. It was familiar— as this was a regular haunt for the socialite— but there were plenty of new arrivals. Immediately to her right was a rack of vintagey, lace and chiffon outerwear (somehow more fragile than the standard cloak). The display sat beneath a mannequin in a champagne gown. Charlotte ran her fingers over the lace and glanced up at Margo again. “How are the dragons? Has there been any progress?” If she had any ulterior motives for her sudden interest, she did love animals. “Has our fair… ginger-haired friend saved the day yet? I’m sure we still have a lot of money to raise…” Charlotte was doing several things at once in one little line of questioning. She knew how much they had raised thus far, and what their current goal was. “I think you would look ravishing in black. Which you already know.” Her eyes moved up and down over Margo’s attire.

 When anyone started anything with ‘I didn’t…’ it definitely meant that they did and Margo immediately froze in her steps.  Charlotte was not one to mince words, at least not in person (clearly she was completely capable in letter form), and Margo blanched. 

A dress.

It was like cold water had been poured down her spine.  That sounded… so completely unpleasant… The witch dug her heels into the ground for a moment, this was definitely not happening.  But oh, the promising looking building with the word “bar” across it was passed in favor of the hell that was next door: a clothing shop. Charlotte was grinning… Margo was helpless: she did not take no for an answer.

Reluctantly shuffling forward, Margo immediately felt out of place inside.  Everything looked like she might break it or get it dirty by just looking at it and the stark modern white of the walls and floor.  It was like the equal horror of a shop and a hospital had merged into one.  Looking around confusedly – a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, if she was being perfectly honest, Margo kept close to Charlotte with her hands in her pockets.  She suddenly wished she her cousin’s size.  It’d be much easier to sink from view if she wasn’t a giant. 

Furrowing her brows, Margo licked her lips (everything was dry) and tried to lower her voice, although she had trouble with that.  “None we know of,” she shrugged, feeling extra awkward when her ginger ex-boss was brought into the conversation.  Margo chuckled, complete with awkward snort and rolled her shoulders.  “Haven’t heard from that side of the world recently either…” That was suitably awkward.  Margo hunched her shoulders and avoided touching a rack as she continued to follow her cousin. 

“Money?” Margo blinked, suddenly confused by what they were talking about – dragons, Balfour, raising money?  The bludger was starting to turn, but unfortunately the beaters were a little late… “Charlotte,” she asked suspiciously, not responding to her comment about black, “what is this about?  Did you talk with my grandmother?” her eyebrows shot up – it was a likely possibility. 

“That’s terrible. How quickly is it spreading?” She asked, looking up from a price tag. Which was only a minor detail.

“Oh.” The flat disappointment in her tone was followed by a pause. “Well, if you do… let him know we’re making good progress. For the event.” The dragons would be in their hands— his and Margo’s— ultimately. But Charlotte knew how to raise money. And CeeCee was exceptionally talented. If Charlotte hoped for Margo's charismatic boss to make an appearance... she couldn't let their efforts falter if he didn't.

Charlotte's head turned sharply. Margo could not possibly be in the dark on this. People in her department knew about it, were involved in the planning.

“The Save the Dragons event. What do you do all day in that office?” Honestly. Charlotte had paused before a black gown to stare at Margo with wide, childish blue eyes. “And your grandmother is lovely, but this was my idea. We need to raise as much as we can and we need our experts looking sharp. I’m not letting those long legs go to waste.”

She pulled the next black gown from the rack and held it up to her. “Try this. But I think we’ll find you something red, too. It would go great with your coloring, and it might be more appropriate.” Dragons were fiery, colorful. Without giving Margo much time to answer, Charlotte pointed toward the dressing room and began to hunt for one such red gown.

“It’s in reservations all over now,” Margo informed Charlotte, much more comfortable talking about dragons than whatever fluffy messes she was surrounded by at the moment.  “We’ve stopped transferring people, hoping to stop the spread, but it might’ve happened too late.”  They didn’t even really know if humans carried it, or if it was the sort of disease that travelled through species. 

Shoving her hands further into her small pockets (or at least trying), Margo blew a strand of long, dark hair away from her face and laughed awkwardly.  “I’ll definitely let him know – forward another invite and all that.”  Margo would have liked to see her previous boss again, of course, he was a riot and she’d genuinely liked him.  There weren’t many bosses she could say that for.  Especially for one that had denied her request to go into the field a dozen or so times.

But, when Charlotte looked at her like she had five heads and a lisp, Margo blinked.  The event.  “Ooh,” she breathed, remembering vaguely talking about something of the sort when she’d been restricted to the inside.  “I don’t do anything in the office,” Margo replied smartly with a half-grin, “I’m out playing with eggs and wee dragons,” she assured her cousin: a much happier place for her than trying to negotiate a high money event.  She’d gone to the opera thing she’d be forced to and that was a complete disaster. 

The idea of going to something else was horrid.  But, Charlotte had her here and she was looking at her – talking about her grandmother, which made Margo pretend to gag.  “Leg, you mean,” Margo corrected, lifting up the fake leg with a smirk.  If she was uncomfortable, she’d return the favor. 

“Are you sure I have to go to this?” Margo asked, holding onto the dress merely because it had been thrust at her, “I mean, I’m not exactly the person you want talking to anyone with money.”  Distract, assert doubts, and conquer.  “And that,” she motioned to the dress, “too sparkly.”

Charlotte offered a soft look of sympathy— and it was sincere. Dragons mightn’t be her passion, but it was still terrible. And the consequences it had for the wizarding world at large were… equally problematic, perhaps, if one really dwelled on it. Her face became a little more put together and she nodded in thanks, a small smile spreading on closed lips. “Thank you. I would appreciate it.”

There. Now it seemed to be dawning on Margo. “Oh, right, I don’t know why I was under the impression they had stuck you on desk duty,” she said easily, eyes roaming gowns. She caught Margo’s eye again. “Maybe it’s your well-behaved demeanor.” There was humor to her tone. “Do you train them?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, curious now.

If her own compliment was matched by sass, Charlotte was in good company. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to let Margo get away easily. The dragon handler couldn’t avoid donning a stunning dress by offering sharp wit. “It’s still much longer than mine. Do you know how many women are jealous? You could wear any of these.” Charlotte knew that her tall cousin knew how attractive she was. “Please, Margo, it’s just a charity event. You smile and give a few facts to the chairman of St. Mungo’s and he empties his pockets for your cause. This will just make you glow,” she explained, re-emphasizing the dress. It was Charlotte’s way of confirming Margo’s question. Of course she had to go. “It gets good press for your office and more money will follow. You want to save your babies, don’t you?”

“[…] too sparkly.”

“It’s not. I picked it.”

With no more room for arguments, Charlotte continued to collect dresses, and within a couple of minutes, she had carried a sizable number of them back to the fitting room. “How’s it going?” She asked, tilting her head a bit as she peered through the slit between the curtain and the wall.

"Shortages and need made them pull me," she shrugged, answering the non-existent question about desk duty.  "If you'd said that a month or two ago, you'd have hit the nail on the head," she added with a half smile.  It was true, recent events had pushed her from the desk to the field and she was so thankful for it. 

Margo was starting to feel like herself again.  She was happier, enjoying the sunlight and the little ones.  She snorted though, since her demeanor improved, her manners had too.  Everyone at the office would be surprised.  "We don't really focus on the training bit," she shrugged - she was more into preservation and research.  Training struck her as more of a dog approach, and dragons were no dogs.  "Besides, at this point," Margo added with a more serious air about her, "we're really focused on keeping them alive." 

She shrugged.  She'd lost an egg recently and that was pretty shattering.  They were small, and the hatchlings were weak.  Somehow, Margo felt the same way, looking at all the fabric around her.  It was horrifying, like being suffocated without anything actually covering her mouth or nose. 

She'd never been part of the dress set, but she knew Charlotte was - obviously.  Aside from her suggestion that others were jealous of her height, Margo kept her mouth shut about all the things a person would not be jealous of.  She was thankful she'd avoided any major scarring on her upper body, but... Well, she shook her head, sighing as Charlotte brought up the dragons again.  "I do," her shoulders slumped, resigning herself.

She might have been headstrong, but she wasn't going to fight against something that would help raise money to fuel whatever they could use to help in the effort.  She didn't know how effective it would be, but it couldn't hurt to try. 

Dragging her feet, she carried the dress that Charlotte had shoved at her into the dressing room and hung it up, looking at the column of fabric skeptically.  It was black, which was good, but there were sparkles on it, and Margo wasn't sure that she liked that.  The last event she'd attended had been in something suitably feminine but she did look like she'd just stepped out of a fireplace, ablaze.  This was... slinky.  She wasn't sure slinky was a word that anyone would apply to her. 

Without much of a choice, Margo stripped down, struggling with her shoes and pants (knocking her head on the dressing room wall in the process), before she was able to hold up the dress, wondering how on Earth this dress was going to get onto her... she looked at the fabric, tilting her head to the side and blew out a long stream of hot air.  Suddenly, she felt a little like she was sweating.  Fumbling a little with the zipper, Margo gulped before stepping into the heavy fabric, trying her damnedest not to rip anything.  She was not the most graceful, evidenced by the little sort of half dance-wiggle she did to shimmy the thing up and slid her arms into the sleeves. 

She reached behind her back and struggled to get to the zipper.  Margo grunted, trying to contort her shoulders, which only made it harder to grab onto.  At the sound of Charlotte's voice, Margo jumped, surprised to see a blue eye peeking into the room - seriously!  "I can't get it," she frowned, her fingers flailing for the zip again.

“So should we be happy this epidemic has given you a new job, or upset for the dragons?” Charlotte asked, a bit of a smirk framing the question. “I wasn’t sure whether you could teach them when to fly, when to breathe fire, when to come.” No doubt dragons would come for food, whatever the source, but she supposed that might be the summary of their training. Some animals weren’t meant to be domesticated. “Well, let me know if there’s anyone who isn’t on the invite list who might be able to help move your research along or help you with resources,” she added.

Dragons still held plenty of mystery, but Charlotte knew the ins and outs of dressing. She simply gave Margo a casual look that said 'I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.' “Maybe we should have done drinks beforehand,” she observed. If Margo was going to have reservations about highlighting her own beauty, drinks were one way to solve it. And yet, this required a certain amount of sobriety.

Waiting for the reveal, Charlotte shoved the gowns at an attendant, who hung them on hooks beside the fitting room.

“Here. That’s a normal reaction.” The petite witch pulled the curtain back just a little, and slipped in without invitation or reservation. With adept but slight fingers, Charlotte helped zipped the dress. “You would think that by now they might have better charms to help us dress.” She caught Margo’s eye in the mirror. “Ravishing.”

“It’s complicated,” Margo laughed at Charlotte’s question, though not in a bad way.  She wasn’t being mean, but it was sort of funny, considering.  It did take something pretty tragic to get her back to doing her real job, the one she wanted to do.  That was kind of messed up.  But, Margo shrugged – she was sure Charlotte could handle the guest list.  “Sure thing,” she didn’t really commit, but she would offer some people if Charlotte needed it.

The woman was doing her… would they call this a favor? 

Margo wasn’t sure.  She didn’t know if she wanted to actually go, even though she knew she had to, and she probably could have had her mother pick something for her and not care too much.  But, her cousin was at least a little more sensitive (if that was possible) and Margo, who wasn’t accustomed to being embarrassed, felt a little hot in her cheeks. 

She let Charlotte zip her up and pressed her hands to her stomach, flattening the fabric over her body and gnawing on the inside of her cheek.  “You’d think,” she said, lacking the normal amount of confidence that usually swelled in her voice.  She wasn’t sure what she thought. 

She knew she was tall, and that the dress was flattering.  Margo didn’t have many curves to speak of, she was flat pretty much all around and her hips were small.  She was athletic, to be sure, but she felt awkward in the dress, like her shoulders were too big.  She felt like a quidditch player more than a girl.  She also felt like she could tell the fabric fell strangely on her leg, and she didn't like that at all.

“I don’t know,” she searched for Charlotte’s eyes in the mirror.  “I don’t think it’s… me.”   

“Not to corner you…” Innocence flooded her face. She paused. Whether it was a purposeful shrug in the conversation or out of sincere introspection was debatable. “I’ve already done that,” she said, almost self-congratulatory. With the best intentions.

She thought she could understand, and knew on a logical level that Margo didn’t wish ill on any dragons. Sometimes it was hard to stick to the little boxes people wanted to put them in. Charlotte found desk work tedious, craved a social aspect to what she did and quickly grew bored of repetition.

Charlotte noticed the blush only barely held back a more teasing smile. There would be time for that. But now, Margo needed to know how hot she was so that they could buy a dress and move on to makeup get those promised drinks. Not that Charlotte wouldn’t spend hours shopping, if her company was agreeable.

Her gaze moved up and down before locking on Margo’s. “It looks amazing, but I think I agree. Something sleeker, maybe.” Which might have been a feat. If Margo was right, that sparkles weren’t the route, Charlotte conveniently left that bit out. She unzipped her cousin and then swept back through the curtain, filtering through the dresses hanging just outside. “You know we should get you some shoes to try on with them. It will give you a better visual.” At that, she smiled at the sales assistant, who had picked up on the coded language and quickly produced a few boxes of shoes.

“This one is a little less showy,” Charlotte said, coming back through the curtain a few minutes later with a dress held up with one arm and a pair of stilettos under the other. “Don’t worry, they’re the right size. That woman can look at someone’s feet for a half second and know their show size.”

Margo was happy to be rid of the first dress.  It made her feel flashy, like everyone would look at her, but not for the reason she normally gained attention.  Margo was used to being the center of attention, being loud and the life of the party, but when it was stares for some perceived sense of attractiveness, Margo became uncomfortable.  She was not the type of woman who wanted others to come up and tell her how pretty she was.  Being too pretty was out of her element.

Besides, she was getting out of that dress and at the sound of the word shoes, Margo immediately blanched.  She was terribly clumsy, oafish had been uttered in her direction more than once.  She really hoped the woman did not bring heels over.  Not only would Margo fall flat on her face, her prosthetic was not made for them, and she wasn’t going to get fitted for a new one and have to risk the chaffing and pain of breaking in a new one to learn to walk in heels.  Learning to walk the first time had been hard enough. 

Honestly there was a little panic in her voice when she cleared her throat and peeked out of the curtain, trying to hide her body from view.  “Shoes?” she laughed nervously, “You know… my boots are fine.. under a long dress…” she licked her lips glancing at the boxes, then back up at Charlotte with a pleading look.  She was already out of her comfort zone.  Did this whole event require her to have an uncharacteristic anxiety attack? 

She pulled back through the curtain and breathed deeply through her nose.  It’d be okay.  She’d be fine.  Looking down at her feet, Margo felt her stomach churn.  She couldn’t blame Charlotte, she probably didn’t even realize as she came in with the shoes that would probably kill her and a dress that had significantly less flash than the last. 

“It’s not about the size,” Margo, suddenly feeling a little more exposed than she was really ever comfortable with, grabbed the dress and held it in front of her, trying to hide the skin below her waist that was covered in patches of scars that couldn't be salvaged by magic.  “I can’t wear them,” she repeated with wide eyes, hoping Charlotte would get the point.

Charlotte opened her mouth to insist, when it dawned on her that the specifics of Margo’s condition might make impossible. She was simply so accustomed to the way Margo carried herself, to the quirks that made the witch, that it was sometimes easy to forget… And it was a rare that Charlotte was left without something to say. The rare feeling of guilt crept up her spine and she closed her mouth, staring softly into the mirror and blinking.

Unfazed by bits of skin— Charlotte had spent enough time in dressing rooms and in her own underwear— she let the shoes drop a bit under her arm. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry. We’ll just pick something that matches them.” She smiled, and turned to poke back through the curtain, setting the box on a little table near by. Black or red would both still suit things perfectly.

Turning back to Margo, she added, “But if you did want to find some new flat boots to go with whatever you pick… We can easily squeeze it into our errands.” Even so, she thought it was rather fitting, in a way, that Margo keep something of hers to compliment the dress. It was for her, after all. So long as she agreed to a dress. “That one should look great with your shoes."

She gestured for her to carry on with the second dress. And then, after pause, sighed and turned her back to let her start changing. “Are you still seeing Kurby? You know your names get around a lot…” She smirked at the wall.

 Margo felt a small victory when Charlotte said she could wear boots or pick something else that would match whatever they picked.  She needed a little of herself in whatever this was going to turn out to be.  She was glad her cousin had the social grace she did.  If their positions had been reversed, Margo wouldn’t have been as smooth about it. 

“Errands?” Margo repeated with a skeptical look.  She didn’t know this was a multiple part thing, though she supposed drinks were maybe the second errand?  Could she survive another round of shopping?  She wasn’t sure as she shimmied into a different dress.

Of course, the dragon researcher jerked awkwardly, afraid she might have heard a rip – oh she hoped she didn’t hear a rip (she wasn’t sure this was something she was willing to buy) when Charlotte mentioned Kurby.  And rumors.  She hated those rumors, he had hated them too, once upon a time - even more than she did.  Then, all of a sudden, he got zen about it and Margo had been the one freaking out about magazine inquiries and whatnot.  Then the blow out in January had thrown her entire life into a tailspin.  She supposed he got what he wanted: she was looking at her life more critically, but it made her want to go crazy sometimes.  Plus, she missed him. A lot. When the discomfort of that thought hit her, Margo could only laugh awkwardly and pause for a moment before she tugged the dress up a little more delicately.

Clearing her throat, Margo finally answered.  “It’s… well…” she paused and pursed her lips, trying to figure out how to put it without being clichéd.  “You know, a lot has happened recently.  It’s not serious.”  That was easiest to say, even if it felt like a cop out – and sort of actually felt bad to say.  Margo scrunched her nose, unsure of why she felt so bad saying it, and slipped her arms into the arm holes on this dress. It was a little better than the previous… but still…

Margo frowned.  “Did you happen to grab a red one?” she asked, glancing over at her cousin.  Maybe it was just the color that was driving her mad.  Plus, it was just a little too modest for her. 

“Once you have the dress, the rest is easy,” Charlotte offered by way of answer. Still vague. They had time figure it out. She had time to gauge Margo’s level of participation and whether she was pushing too many buttons. As long as they got the dress…

Charlotte's smile widened at the laugh, and she turned around a few seconds later, assuming Margo had managed to cover everything important. Her eyes roamed past her to the mirror again, finding the taller woman’s face as she spoke. Forthcoming. Finally Charlotte’s gaze settled resolutely on the dress, and she spoke. “A lot has happened but it’s not serious,” she echoed, adding in the all-important but. She did understand: she had had her share of trysts fueled by drama, and none of them had been serious, but she was sure Margo was holding back on something. “So does that mean he won’t be your date for the event or…?”

“I like that one on you. The draping is perfect, but it still shows off your figure,” she appraised. Her eyes roamed up and down, approvingly. And, again, the color suited her. “Maybe something a little more fitted at top, though…” Her teeth showed as Margo requested red. “Look at you, getting into it.” Charlotte didn’t waste her time wandering through the curtain again.

What she brought back was probably the best contender yet. “This one says dragon.”

“I’m not sure any of this is easy,” Margo cautioned to Charlotte.  She might have not been pitching a fit, but it didn’t mean she was comfortable.  Generally, when sober Margo did not make a scene – unless it was warranted, and Charlotte wasn’t really doing anything terrible.  She wasn’t make snide, passive aggressive comments about the way she looked or how she acted.  It was a lot easier to be nice to someone when they were returning the favor. 

The further the conversation about Kurby got though, Margo realized she felt much more comfortable about talking clothes.  The idea of taking Kurby to this thing… it made her heart beat faster and her stomach sink at the same time.  The opera had been a thing… they’d showed up together, but they’d never confirmed that it was a thing.  It made her afraid… to think that it could be. 

There was a lump in her throat and Margo felt sweaty.  This dress was a little oppressive all of a sudden. 

At least she could ignore it by rolling her eyes at Charlotte’s declaration that she was getting into and sighed.  “It could be worse,” she informed her.  There could be hoop skirts and frills involved.  Not taking no for answer on sparkles or flounces… those things would have made her go off the deep end. 

She was happy to get rid of the dress, shrugging it off, the high neck getting caught in her hair for a moment before she was able to wrestle her way out of it.  She did like that the fabric was stretchy – she’d probably miss that in whatever Charlotte came back with. 

She looked at the color of the dress in Charlotte’s arms and was immediately far more interested.  It was bright – eye catching – and looked soft.  That was enough for her to consider it.  She didn’t want to say she liked it… yet, because that would show interest in the process and she didn’t want Charlotte to pat herself too hard on the back – she might break a bone. 

Instead, Margo took the garment (pleased to find it was soft) and let out a deep breath.  “Alright…” she mumbled to herself, letting the fabric fall to the floor a big, crimson wave.  “Let’s see here….” She muttered to herself as she stepped into it, careful not to rip anything… and the best part of this dress?  No zipper.