Margo was very pleased when Charlotte had owled her about the bar.  She was still working on this dragon epidemic that did not seem to be slowing down.  They’d managed to at least isolate some things on the Welsh reserve and her position with the younglings wasn’t being touched (or even hinted at changing), so that was keeping her sane.  The transportation back and forth was a little taxing though, even with the portkeys – Margo hated the long distances.   

Thankfully though, Thursday was a short day on the reserve for her and she had a point to prove to her cousin.  In their short notes, she’d been made fun of for the torture that she’d been suggested to, so Margo had used her time wisely.  Her nails had a fresh coat of lacquer, one nail on each hand was decorated with some flames that somehow moved – Margo wasn’t sure. 

She didn’t entirely love the process, but she got to sit there and sip drinks while they did it.  The woman had been horrified at the state of her hands and nails – but what could Margo say?  She worked with dragons all day!  It wasn’t exactly light work.  But, the drinks helped and they were enough to make her just a little more loose as she walked through the doors of the bar that was fairly busy.  Tossing her long, brown hair over her shoulder, she was fairly sure anyone would consider her a regular of the Rover by now, and the bartender nodded at her as she walked up, a bright grin across Margo’s face.

She loved being recognized and the fact that she didn’t even have to ask before a glass was placed in front of her.  The last time she’d been here, she had managed to make quite the evening out of it.¹ She hoped the trend continued in much the same way.   

Not with Charlotte, obviously.   Though… her brother…

She picked up her glass and raised her chin to the bartender – he knew, and she saw a quill on a small slip of paper.  A tab had been started.  She could now go reserve a table, plopping down into a chair, putting her feet up on another one of the chairs at the table.  She balanced her glass in her newly manicured hand and took a well-deserved sip, the liquid burning all the way down. 

So much more fantastic than tiny flutes of champagne (as bearable as that did make the entire process). 

---

Title taken from "Take it Off" by Ke$ha

A holiday away from the summer holiday of children was exactly what Charlotte wanted. And she usually got what she wanted.

The witch swished into Rover’s Fancy after a band of chanting men who were clearly on their third pub, despite the early hour. It was impressive more than anything, and Charlotte smiled at them as she wove her way around the traffic jam, narrowly slipping between one tottering wizard and the back of a chair.

If the top shelf or the lengthy wine list called Charlotte’s name, it was the little flames pressed to the full glass that caught her dollish gaze— which widened as brows lifted, and then seemed to crinkle into dangerous little smiles that matched the witch’s smirk. “I see I’ve created a manicure addict,” she observed, the last two words a pretty replacement for monster, and spoken with motherly pride. The only motherly thing about Charlotte St. James.

She slipped into the chair opposite Margo, settled into trained posture, and then leaned back just a little to catch the bartender’s eye. The man nodded an acknowledgement and Charlotte mouthed her order at him.

“I like this new you, Margo.” Charlotte’s eyes took in the other woman again. Even if it was just a manicure. “Does she buy the first round, too? Or the second,” she corrected herself quickly, eyes flicking down to the glass and back up.

Charlotte reached out a hand to take one of her cousin’s, uninvited, and looked closer at the designs. “These would go great in someone’s back,” she added with quiet, singsong playfulness. Lips spread to share a glittering smile. “My brother’s if he’d hurry up and get here. But why not have a few rounds to loosen up first? I need the company.” Geoffrey could wait. Ladies first.

Despite the fact Charlotte was one of the tiniest people she knew, Margo spotted her almost immediately as she entered the pub.  The crowd had livened up some as well, but her cousin was not a hard girl to miss.  She strode into any place as though she owned it and Margo grinned as she took a swig of whiskey from her glass.   

Raising her eyebrows, Margo leaned a little further down in her seat and kicked out the other chair for her.  “Addict is a stretch.  I just like surprising people,” Margo informed her.  She didn’t want it to be misconstrued that this would be a normal thing.  She was just proving a point. 

Tapping her nails against the glass, Margo smiled as she took a seat and laughed.  “If you’re tapped out, I have an excellent vault for every round imaginable,” she teased and sat up straighter, scooting forward a little to get the bottle of firewhiskey she’d asked for.  Her hand, however, was grabbed and Margo sighed dramatically as her cousin took a closer look. 

“I wasn’t going to go all pink and girly, you know,” she snorted.  Of course they would look good in someone’s back.  Margo rolled her shoulders brusquely, shoving her jacket off and onto the back of the chair and laughed as she made a comment about her brother.  “Cheers to that,” Margo raised her glass and was relieved that the bar girl brought over Charlotte’s drink rapidly.  It helped being at a table with Margo.  She was universally known at this place for her rather generous tips (a distinct inability to determine the value of a galleon helped). 

She looked at the drink and then Charlotte’s face and sighed.  “I should have known he would disappoint  - to start, anyway.  I’m hoping he’ll prove me wrong.”  She was able to pour herself another glass of whiskey.  “So – how did you actually manage to get away from the children?”

Ahmes had been a last-minute addition to the evening's plans--having just run into Charlotte an hour or two before at Diagon--and she had rushed home to squirm out of her dull, corporate khaki-and-white in favor of something more simple.  One piece of clothing,  not much fabric.

That was how you could tell you were going out.  You wore very little, prepped very little.  That was obviously what the dim lighting was for.

Ahmes--already moderately tall, had a good vantage of the two ladies in her heels.  Smiling and waving above the congregating patrons before shouldering her way through them.  Once there, she thunked her purse down heavily upon the floor, then shimmied onto a stool.  "So." She said, looking the two witches over, "What have I missed? Have you picked your ride for the evening?"  She quickly skimmed the room.

Charlotte was probably too classy for that comment--Ahmes held the styled goddess in high esteem where manners were concerned, but did not go so far as to flatter through imitation.  Besides.  Charlotte probably had no need for the game, knowing her string of suitors. 

“We’ll get you there, don’t worry,” Charlotte promised, smile predatory. “I’m happy to enable bad habits.” And this one would surprise. Margo with freshly painted nails: who ever would have thought? “Do those flames burn?” She asked mildly.

Laughing, Charlotte considered the offer. Neither were short for galleons, but why pay for a drink if someone else was willing? “I would never stand in the way of your charity, Margo.”

Our her secret fondness for manicures. Charlotte’s eyes soaked up the details as if the flames might dance away that night. Which would only result in the St. James woman dragging her off to a spa the next day. “Don’t disparage the color pink,” she warned, letting go of Margo’s hand. “There’s nothing more beautiful than a blushing man.” Not that her drinking mate necessarily needed the color painted on her nails. “But red suits you.” Which Charlotte, of course, already knew.

There was only a slight lapse between Margo’s cheers and Charlotte being able to raise her own fresh drink. She seemed to hum into the first sip of the night’s first drink, a welcome thing, like clean sheets. As she pulled it away, she tilted her head. “Oh, he’s probably unintentionally playing hard to get. Fashionably late.” Even if Geoffrey had the irritating capacity to run his hands through his hair, pick a shirt at random, and look perfect. Effort was optional. “Or he knows there’s incentive in annoying you before he charms you…” Charlotte smiled and took another sip.

“I spent all of my drinking money on alcohol for them,” Charlotte lied. Really, she’d let them order in and have a bottle of wine to split, which was plenty for Julian and his little girlfriend. There were all sorts of things on the Wireless to keep them entertained. Or muffle things Charlotte didn’t need to hear when she returned.

She was about to ask how Margo had escaped her adorable gaggle of coworkers when they were joined. Charlotte’s smile redoubled. “I haven’t. It’s best if I leave my brother all to Margo.” She looked Ahmes over— an impressive change from only a short while ago— and waited for the woman to sit  before raising her glass again. “Who cares about Geoffrey, then? Witches' night.” Her eyes landed playfully back on Margo.

Margo flexed her hand and looked at her nails, considering the question: did they burn?  Her eyebrows furrowed and she slowly lifted her hand toward her face, narrowing her eyes to examine more closely.  The flames were jumping and she got caught up watching them for a moment before she shook her head a little and pressed the nail to her lips.

No burn.

Frowning, she removed her finger and flexed her hand again.  “I wish they did,” she said resigned.  Maybe next time… oh wait – no! There wouldn’t be a next time.  Never.  That was not Margo’s thing.  It would not become one of her things either.  She was just proving a point.

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she rolled her eyes.  “I’ll leave the pink to you – and your blushing men.”  She snorted.  No self-respecting man would blush.  It was definitely not something Margo looked for in her type.  Red was more a sign of a screaming match than anything else for her.  Not that there wasn’t a place for that in any healthy relationship.  It also paired nicely with the type of person Margo naturally was. 

It was a good thing she’d developed her personality young.  Her inability to be fazed by gangly limbs and a dopey face as a teen had paved the way for an adult who was virtually without the capability of feeling shame.  Honestly, sometimes she would be unable to tell the difference between shame and a particularly bad bout of indigestion. 

So, hearing about hard to get and charming – naturally, the very adult Margo, stuck out her tongue.  “As if it was ever about his charm,” her face softened before she started to laugh – rather hysterically.  She imagined Charlotte probably thought him much more charming than he actually was – once you got to know him.  She hoped Charlotte didn’t know her brother in that way… she shuddered.  Such a weird thought.  Perhaps a worse thought than spending all of one’s alcohol money on children.  Margo made another face. 

Shaking her head, she was about to add a comment when Ahmes approached.  Margo grinned and lifted her glass to tip it at her.  She took a sip and sighed.  “It was supposed to be Charlotte’s prat of a brother,” she smirked, letting Charlotte cut in with her comment… “But, she’s right,” she lifted her glass again, “Feck ‘em.” 

She tipped her head back and the fluid burned down her throat.  A sigh (with perhaps just a puff of smoke) left her.  “What about you?” she asked, “you couldn’t walk slower over here, so you had to be watching something.”

"Oh," Ahmes said with a shrug, glancing over to a scruffy looking man in the corner and giving a coy smile, "I was just scanning the options.  No one in particular, though.  You know me.  I'm not picky."  They just had to be interesting.  And not mangy. 

Well--several exes came to mind--not very mangy.

And also, considering a turn of events in the conversation--she realized a new standard. "I might not be a genealogy guru, here, but wouldn't Geoff be... your cousin?"  She held her hands up. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that... I'm all for free love." Or, you know... whatever the haphazard justification for that might be.

She held up an imaginary glass as Margo took a celebratory sip to "witches night" before leaning over the bar, arm wispily extending to beckon the bartender.  "What she's having," she jabbed her thumb in Margo's direction.

"I mean, anyhow--it's a work night..." she grumbled sourly.  "So nothing too crazy..." she cringed, hardly able to recognize herself.  "God, I think I just aged 10 years in one week."  She looked at her friends solemnly.  "If I become too stodgy with this grown-up job business, I want you to make a solemn promise that you will take it upon yourselves to get me as drunk as possible."

“I’m sure you do. Especially in one of those Ministry elevators.” Or at home, during leisure time. There was nothing wrong with a little burn, a touch of pain, tiny flames to spark the fun. Just like there was nothing wrong with sinking one’s nails into… convenient co-conspirators.

And what was wrong, if they blushed sometimes? It was flattering. “It’s always the blush-prone ones who are savage animals when you get them to let loose.” Charlotte meant it endearingly. “But then there are lots of types who are like that.”

Charlotte laughed, even if she didn’t need to know certain details about her brother. She knew enough. They were related. “We St. James do have prowess.”

At the mention of cousins, the witch’s face only brightened. “Margo isn’t picky, either.”

Really, though, there was enough distance. The Pureblood world was cramped as it was, and there had been a normalcy in growing up with cousins marrying distant cousins. Sometimes one had so many cousins and such picky parents that cousins were the only friends one had before school. Charlotte had escaped such a fate, luckily, but she was fond of some of them, Margo included.

She looked between them, still lingering in her own cheers. “He’ll show up eventually.” And until then, they could have fun. “We’ll do our best to un-age you before Margo runs off to land him in the burn unit at St. Mungo's.” Charlotte took a sip of her own drink, perhaps thinking about it a little too vividly. “No anti-aging spells this week, then? You would never have to work again.” Anti-aging without the mess of a potion. Charlotte could imagine the chaos that would ensue.

Margo had to roll her eyes at Charlotte.  “I think you imagine a lot about my life at work,” she informed her.  The elevators were blessedly untouched by Margo Amherst, unless she was fighting in them – that’d happened more than once.  With the same person… over and over again.  Others though, she was sure, had taken advantage of the opportunity though.  There were so many reasons to not touch the walls if you were in the lifts…

Shaking her head, Margo shifted in her seat – Charlotte was absolutely ridiculous.  It was also probably something she didn’t want to think about in conjunction with her boss.  That just seemed… wrong.  Balfour was good looking, but it wasn’t something she needed to know.  Wasn’t her type like that – perhaps too close to home, which, considering Ahmes’ point, was also ridiculous. 

“He’s not my first cousin,” Margo pointed out, “distant cousins – related through a great aunt or something,” she shrugged.  It was how purebloods were, there weren’t necessarily taboos against that sort of thing and often more senior members of the families encouraged it.  They wanted the lines to stay pure, and as a result, they crossed paths a little more often than some would naturally like.  “I’m not that disgusting,” she smirked at both of them before tipping her glass back so the fiery liquid could pour down her throat. 

It wasn’t that weird – was it?  It was just she found it easier to focus on people she had history with – and not just random people she met. That tended to end with her being stalked and direwolves, and that wasn’t going to happen again.  Her eyebrows pulled in when Ahmes said she was working the next day though – obviously.  Wasn’t everyone? 

“Just drink a little more and you won’t notice the wrinkles,” she said with much less tact than Charlotte did.  Truth be told, Margo didn’t notice the difference, but sometimes it was just up to the person to say something she knew she could capitalize on.  “If you’re worried about growing up, you should make pranks – like McByrne.  Or take that anti-aging potion very seriously and call a do over.  I’m sure your parents would love to raise you again – fix their mistakes… Drop you one times fewer than they did…” her grin was lopsided as she sunk back into her seat. 

"Oh," Ahmes cooed.  "Distant cousins.  Kissing cousins, then."  She shook her head slightly at her pureblood friends.  Ahmes had grown up in the magical world since infancy, but it was through spending time with these self-assured inhabitants of its inner circles that helped her realize how very different her magical world was, at times.

For her, it usually meant fewer expectations.

"Hey, I mean, if you're going to narrow, I guess it's better to stick to the devil you know than the devil you don't..." she leaned back on her elbow, once more scanning the crowd.  But there were a few devils here she wouldn't mind getting to know.  "I mean, you've got the sister's stamp of approval, access to some kinky lifts, apparently..." she once more scanned the Rover's Fancy before glancing at Charlotte, unimpressed. "Just need the man.  He's not always like this, is he--invisible? Because I'm afraid if he is, Margo'll never be able to see their gorgeous future love-babies." She clucked her tongue.  Either they'd take after their father, or Margo and the kissing cousin would never get the opportunity to make it happen in the first place.  "Such a shame."  Unrealized potentials were always the worst to stomach on a Thursday.

“We’ll do our best to un-age you before Margo runs off to land him in the burn unit at St. Mungo's.”

"Godpleaseyes," Ahmes muttered under her breath.  The bartender slid the drink across the smooth countertop, and Ahmes downed most of what she could in one go.  "For now--this is the only anti-aging potion I've got."

“Just drink a little more and you won’t notice the wrinkles,”

Obliging, Ahmes finished the glass, shaking her head.  "If you're even implying that I'm the sort that looks better with more liquor, Margo..."  She narrowed her eyes with a smirk. "'Pranks' won't even cover what I'll do to you."  It was all talk--Ahmes had yet to be truly vicious to anyone, but these two were as likely as any of her friends to bring it out in her.  "The anti-aging potion is brill, though.  Damn.  I should have talked to you weeks ago..."  She was considering how this could tie in to some of the research currently going on at St. Mungo's.  "You know, though... there's a branch for regeneration--healing and the like, but I wouldn't be surprised if that sort of work could suit..."

Her mind started cartwheeling through a series of possibilities--and Ahmes almost forgot to wheel back and respond to Margo's jab.  "You and I both know that the head-drops have only added to my endearing eccentricities.  No.  The real shame in my upbringing was obviously the lack of eligible distant cousins to well, grow close to.  Maybe there's a spell to fix that."

Charlotte could imagine it, which was partly why she left the Ministry work to others. But there were some perks.

Raising her brows in light agreement, she seemed to be on Margo’s side of the cousin argument. Not that she’d made a habit of it herself, but it was still something normalized growing up. And people were probably more related to others than realized.

“I’ll drink to devils,” she said, eyes turning Ahmes. “Of any sort.” Strange or familiar. Each was fun in its own way. “Margo always has my approval with Geoffrey. I would be thrilled if she forced him into fatherhood. I might finally receive exciting holiday mail.” Her parents still insisted, despite all of their children being adults, that they take a family portrait every year. That Charlotte only had one nephew meant that she and Julian were often sandwiched in the middle, the only daughter and the only grandchild. She had once or twice convinced him to wink at the photographer with her.

Margo also had a fair point about drinking more. Charlotte laughed and took another sip. She could agree for the night that that was the truth, even if it showed on one’s face the next morning. There were plenty of other ways to stay young, though, and she added her own two sickles. “Or get plenty of cardio.” Test-driving those nails, among other things. Her face seemed to add that detail. “Inside. It keeps your skin youthful.” There were elements more tantalizing than weather, after all. “You’re lovely always, Ahmes,” she added, a bit more soberly— not that she wasn’t sober.

“You really think it wouldn’t be incentive to drop you more?” She thought it should be illegal for parents to have to raise children again. Mostly for the parents’ protection. As much as she’d loved giving her own mum and dad minor scares, she didn’t wish it upon herself if she ever had children. “Assuming they remember what a perfect witch you were the first time.” Charlotte looked between the pair of them. It was a general address. The odds were zero percent that this group had been perfectly behaved, and she had proof for two-thirds of it.

“Mmm, how would that spell work?” Charlotte, asked amused. "Some kind of magnet for family members, or maybe a revelio charm that lets you know when a single cousin is nearby and looking for company?”

Alright, so Margo wasn’t a one-trick pony when it came to men.  She just so happened to find it easier to repeatedly meet up with people who could not avoid her – or she could not avoid through one family event or another.  They were constantly being mixed together and if you could bring or be with someone who was not a horrible waste of time or energy at the event, why wouldn’t you be?  It didn’t seem to be something either of her companions were understanding.  Her frustration was obvious as she rolled her eyes, “I’ll drink to anything right now,” she heaved a sigh and took a very big gulp from the glass in front of her – she’d need a refill soon. 

Charlotte, of course, sort of did (to an extent) she grew up in the same world, it was an endless loop of expectations and parties and whatever else could get thrown at someone.  You couldn’t avoid everything they tried to teach you and some lessons were harder to get rid of than others.  Just like some conversations were easier to drop than others.  Rolling her eyes at the whole things. 

“Dragon bullocks!” she swore out loud, “I’ll curse the tongues out of both of you if you ever mention children to me again.”  She cut them both a very severe look and cradled her glass in her hands, “or if you keep on with the cousin jokes – I think we’ve all got it, yeh?” she said crossly.  Margo pretended things didn’t bother her, but she was a little tired of this line of conversation.  She’d much rather talk about something else at this point!   

Couldn’t the girls just be around one another without talk of very annoying cousins?  Babies were a little scarier of a thought, but she wasn’t the one creating the anti-aging potion, and she laughed at the threat.  “Everyone’s the sort who looks better with more liquor,” she made sure to point out, taking another sip for emphasis.  There was never a moment someone complained about who they were with (at least what they looked like) when they were blasted.  It was basically potions, right? 

“My parents would definitely drop me more,” she informed them, “ensure I had less of a hard head, eh?” she pointed out, leaning her elbows on the table.  And then there it was again – the cousins thing.  Rolling her eyes, Margo pushed herself off the table and leaned back, letting her head flop back over the backrest of the chair.  “You’re just jealous of your personal, growing up tragedy,” she whined, and then sprawled her legs out under the table. 

“I won’t be held responsible for your family’s lack of quality cousin to spend time with during events.”  She rolled her head to the side, opening up her left eye to take a peek at Ahmes, “you should really take that up with your parents, maybe right before you do the anti-aging spell?  Then at least they can do you the favor of turning out like me – or Charlotte.” 

Charlotte was a wonder.  She could turn anything, even exercise--hands down Ahmes' most loathed activity--into a sensual purr. With a crooked smile, Ahmes shook her head at the mention of cardio, swatting the air as though here words were some heavy, seductive smoke hanging overhead. "Pfff.  I'm counting on my strategy of poor decisions to keep me young." She shrugged.  "I think it's been working."  Which would explain why this new job--a "good," respectable decision--was already giving her grey hairs.  But there were more than a few attractive healers.  She could arrange some bad decisions--even cardio--she was sure, in time. Well... not with the certainty that Charlotte might have.  But, it was a goal at any rate.

“You’re lovely always, Ahmes,” her friend--her very lovely, also-always-lovely friend cajoled. 

Ahmes raised her glass in acknowledgement before tipping the glass--only to recall that it was empty.  She frowned and titled her head towards the bar before her attention was drawn to her other friend.

Margo--she was a whole 'nuther breed from her cousin.  Ahmes regarded her with fond amusement as she irascibly combatted her remarks.  All things considered, Ahmes found her spitting and hissing no less endearing than Charlotte's subtle, smirking demeanor. "Aw," she cooed pityingly in response to Margo's threats, smiling suddenly in the anticipation of her friend's further irritation.  It was too easy.  But Margo wasn't done.

“You’re just jealous of your personal, growing up tragedy,” she whined, and then sprawled her legs out under the table. 

"Apparently my life is no tragedy compared to yours: having to put up with me for an entire evening! God, how will you survive?!"  Ahmes rested her hand dramatically against her forehead, holding her glass daintily in the other hand--caught up in the melodrama of it all. 

Abruptly, and with a cleansing breath, Ahmes recollected herself, smoothed her skirt, and looked Margo levelly in the eyes.  "But you're in luck. I'm done martyring you for now.  I hope you can bear me," she said with a wave of her hand as she placed her empty glass on the bar, raising her eyebrows in the bartender's direction--indicating the clear and urgent need for another.

“I won’t be held responsible for your family’s lack of quality cousin to spend time with during events.”

"Responsible?" Ahmes repeated, with an incredulous laugh.  "That is not what tonight is about."  Ahmes had burned out by about Tuesday afternoon of all her good decisions.  Tonight was intended to be a crash-and-burn night.  I mean, no one really got work done on a Friday, right?

"First of all," she said, regarding both friends from beneath raised eyebrows, "so that we're all clear--I was a goddam gem of a witch as a kid. Obviously."  Really--all things considered, Ahmes had been a decent enough kid, in her mind.  Sure, she had killed the grass in the back yard so often that her father had stopped trying to plant any growing things. And yes, she'd messed with some recreational drugs--but all things considered, Ahmes had remained her parents' darling.  She'd never felt the need to rebel, and really didn't feel the need to break out on her own.  It was why she still visited her parents every weekend.

"Ohgod," she muttered under her breath.  Maybe the thing wasn't staying young...   But it wasn't like she was living with her parents.  She had a job.  She just... used them for laundry and homemade food. That was acceptable, surely...

That Ahmes might still be caught in some vague sort of adolescence was an unacceptable train of thought for this evening.  She did what she did best with all introspective moments: ignored it.

"Char, I think the revelio spell could work.  But it'd work best tied to an object.  I mean, honestly, an enchanted map would probably be the most practical.  Family lineage in mind, it could work off of some sort of blood magic, but... that's a bit dark for a sort of... hook-up..."

A hook-up map.

Ohmygod. 

Ahmes eyes went wide.  Why--why--would people bother with schoolboy pranks when literally hundreds of desperate people were looking for... well, something like love. And desperation was where the money was.

"Ohmygod," she repeated.

"If there was a shop... like in Diagon... for you know, romantical spells, devices--" she held up a finger to halt their train of thought. "I mean, not just toys but real-- potions and ocular devices to give you insight into who you should be with and maps on how to find them--all for dating and for romance..." she frowned and looked at both of them.  This was getting exciting.  This was obviously a harebrained idea she'd make a child out of for a week or two, then kick to the curb, but... but what if it was a good idea?

"Would you throw money at a shop like that?"

“My tongue is happy where it is.” Pretty, pink, and in-tact. At this (easy) confession, Charlotte took another sip of wine, letting it roll over said tongue to reassure herself. Not that she suspected Margo would really curse her. (Well, yes, just a little bit.)

But she owed her, didn’t she, for helping pick that fabulous dress?

Oh, and the brother negotiations.

“But if you ever change your mind, I’m excellent babysitter. Just ask Julian. He has such a rare attention to wardrobe detail for a sixteen year old boy.” Obviously Charlotte’s good aunting skills. “And he’s a little gentleman.” A bright smile followed, as if they should know (and know better).

Margo was right: she could use a softer head. It was impossible enough to get her to agree to something when she was handcuffed to a table, let alone when she was free.

“Putting up with you is half the fun,” she retorted, smile still turned on Ahmes. “If I wanted responsible, I’d go to the Department of International Magical Cooperation and find a date.” Then again… Charlotte took a sip, pulling it away with a thoughtful look. “Speaking in a language I don’t understand can be sexy, though.” Unless it was Mermish or the goblin’s tongue.

“See?” She asked, pleased that Ahmes seemed to have run away with the idea of a human magnet spell. Or whatever it was evolving into. “There are easier ways to make up for the lack of cousins without having to turn back time.” Completely, that was. Charlotte might take a de-aging spell for her skin (after it was tested and marked successful), but she wasn’t planning to turn twelve all over again. “Because I’m not going on that trip with either of you."

There was a limit, to Charlotte’s affection.

But the mention of the shop made her smile again, this time with some not-so-hidden knowledge. Charlotte might have been in a toy shop or two. Devices. What an appropriately vague and all encompassing word for it. “If it has everything I love and more, sure. I don’t know that I’d want to map my cousin potential, but I would be interested in some of your other... creations.”

“Exactly!” Margo laughed and rolled her eyes – she just didn’t want to listen to anyone talk about things with the hindsight 20/20 view.  It happened from time to time, and as far as Margo was concerned – this was not the gathering for that.  (At least, it appeared, her mates were of the same mind tonight.)  Tomorrow as Friday, which was a day as good as thrown away in her own mind, so she didn’t really care what happened.  Additionally, with the girls, it was sort of a chance to play the drunk Olympics.  Who was going to get the most drunk?  Who would be the first to do something stupid?

There was hardly an opportunity for Margo to not win the drunk Olympics.  But, she supposed she might at least try to give the other girls a chance.  Maybe.  She’d consider over the next swig of firewhiskey if she was actually going to let that happen. 

While she was occupied trying to find the bottom of her glass, her cousin and Ahmes had meandered onto a subject that made Margo’s ears perk just a little bit.  “Blood magic?” she said incredulously.  “I am not joining some bloody cult,” she informed both of them and pushed her chair back from the table for emphasis.  If that’s what it took to get some attention nowadays, Margo would go home and promptly inform Lizard he’d be getting fifteen brothers or sisters and invest in a a shack in the country where her cat children could live in peace. 

It appeared, however, that the Charlotte had picked up on another part of what Ahmes was saying and Margo cautiously turned her head to look ather – she was smiling and the larger idea of the store finally fully materialized in her head and Margo first laughed and then a wide grin spread over her face.  “Already had enough of making the boring stuff?” she asked, holding up her cup to whoever would notice and then come over with more to drink. 

Thankfully, she was a good enough customer (and tipper) that the waitress only gave her a slightly disgruntled look before going to the bar to get what Margo wanted.  “I mean, I’d definitely come in and take a look around,” she smirked and scooted her chair back to the table.  Now that she wasn’t being asked to cut her hand open and pledge her never-ending loyalty to some fake leader, she could get back on board. 

“But I mean, this map – it shouldn’t be limited to cousins,” she grinned, “in case that’s not your thing,” she winked at Charlotte and angled her chair more toward Ahmes.  “What else would you stock in this quaint shop?  I can just imagine the window displays…”