In typical Margo fashion, language is an issue.  Don't read if you dislike f-bombs.

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It was finally time to come home. 

Margo had felt ready to leave after the first week of healing.  After a month, she felt like ninety percent of her brain cells had wasted away along with much of the muscles in her body.  Lying in a bed all day didn’t do much for muscle tone.  Even then, walking around the floor was… less than ideal.  And nothing in comparison to running about on a reservation all day.

Her brother had tried to convince her to go to his house while she was in recovery, but Margo couldn’t.  She didn’t want to be held back anymore.  She didn’t want people to dote on her.  Margo wanted to do on her own.  So, when she had healed enough that she could convince everyone it was time for her to just go the fuck home, she threw such a fit no one could really argue.

Plus, one of her doctors being her neighbor was a bonus.  She hated to think this, but she supposed all the poisonings probably didn’t… keep her there.  Thankfully, Johanna had sent her a… not hospital approved parcel that had greatly diminished her reliance on potions or else…

Well.  Brushes with death were not uncommon, but she generally didn’t make a habit of having them in the hospital. 

Riding up the elevator, Margo felt… nervous?  She clenched her good thing, thinking very deliberately about flexing her fingers on her silver hand.  Glancing down, she felt her cheeks heat up with frustration: nothing.  It just hung there. 

She was thankful when the lift door opened and she lumbered out – still a bit unsteady on her legs.  She readjusted the duffle on her right shoulder and lifted her left arm to dig into her pocket… only to creatively curse as the limp fingers just brushed against her trouser pockets.  Completely useless thus far. 

Grumbling, she reached across herself, patting her hip to check her pocket.  That was odd.   She pulled her hand back and patted her right pocket.  Flat.  Swiveling her bag around to the front, Margo pulled it open and dug her good hand inside.  She pushed her clothes around, shook some of them out and dug deep into the bag.  Her hand just hit canvas. 

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” she breathed, dipping her hand back in to rustle it around again.  No metal.  No nothing.  She hefted the bag back over her shoulder and walked up to the door, making a fist and pounded.  Fuck. 

“Open the fucking door,” Margo leaned her forehead against it and sighed, her left arm hanging limply at her side.  “Nooooooona,” she whined, “come the fuck on.”  Her roommate was probably not home.  Good on Margo for not writing to say she was coming back.  Her homecoming should have been a bloody national holiday. 

Now she was just stuck outside.  No keys.  Useless hand.  And a flat she couldn’t get into. 

---

Title taken from Hugh Mackay, "I suspect the secret of personal attraction is locked up in our unique imperfections, flaws and frailties."

Likewise, Adon jumps on the cursing wagon.

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"Nooooooooooona" came the plaintive cry.  Adon heard it echo and cascading down the stairwell, which he was methodically climbing up, several bags of groceries draped about his arms.  "Come the fuck on."

God, they were at it already and it was only... Adon glanced down at his wrist watch, nearly dropping the bags as he did so. Nearly half-past six.  Adon was now approaching his neighbor's door--conveniently on the way to his own flat--and took a moment to scan the woman.  This leather-clad brooder seemed different from Nona's typical dalliances.  Well, the couple he'd seen, at any rate.

"Nona's out," Adon informed blandly to the woman. If she was locked out, it was probably for a reason.  Unless... "You the roommate?" he asked, taking a moment to scan her.  She had what looked like an overnight bag, though. Couldn't be too certain--even with that brooding sense of frustrated entitlement. 

With no answer in hearing range, Margo sighed in what could only be described as anguish and pounded one more time on the door before she turned her head and pressed her whole body against it, leaning into it her cheek going first.  This was unacceptable.  How could she lose her keys?  Oh right… it would have been really easy to lose them… explosions didn’t make it easy to keep hold on your things.

Margo had lost a fucking hand.  “Ooooopen,” Margo whined at the door before another voice cut in.

She opened her eyes slowly, readjusting to actually see who was approaching.  The face was immediately familiar – definitely knew this guy from somewhere.  He seemed to know Nona.  “Of course she is,” Margo sighed again and groaned in the back of her throat while she tipped her head back and bounced a little bit before turning. She should have figured if it was after six o'clock Nona wasn't in the apartment.  But Margo just wanted to be inside... maybe catch a glimpse of Lizard... it didn't even really matter.  She just didn't want to stand anymore. 

With her back was now pressed against the door, she could see out of both eyes – as well as take in that he was carrying grocery bags.   Just getting home too.  Though, not from the hospital, obviously. The mostly familiar (but still a little hazy on the recall) man asked her about being the roommate and Margo let her shoulders drop.  “Yeh,” she exhaled deeply, “and I lost my keys.” 

"Hm. I don't think that's it." Adon said skeptically, "I think a fucking explosion lost your keys."  He gave a hesitantly sympathetic smile, not sure how she'd take it.  But all cards out on the table.  She knew that he knew where she'd been--he'd heard enough from work and Nona and the news to put it together, and they didn't need to dance around niceties of mundane getting-to-know-yous.

Considering the situation a moment--eyes regarding the top crown molding of the doorframe, Adon dropped his grocery bags carefully upon the floor.  "So." He broke his eyes away from the frame to regard the roommate, now.  "I'm Adon." Comically but quite courteously, Adon briefly made leg in the traditional fashion, hands sweeping subtle to his sides in an antiquated display of refinement.  "Your neighbor. And I'll be breaking you in this evening."  He touched his fingers to his lips as he added, "You probably won't want to be leaning against the door in a couple of seconds, though.  Any enchantments or security measures I should know about?"

Now, there were two ways a witch could react to the bluntness in front of her.  Thankfully for him (and her, really), Margo’s reaction was positive.  She laughed and dropped her chin to her chest.  “That’s true,” she snorted once more before lifting her chin.  “Don’t suppose I can trade out my tab for replacements, eh?” It was so much easier to talk about something in a joke and then move on instead of actually talking about it.  It was a complete waste of time – and a total buzzkill. 

Margo was not a buzzkill. 

Nor was her neighbor – who, when he said his name the picture in her brain became a little less fuzzy.  “Oh yeh…” she nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes like that would help her remember anymore.  Fruitless, since she just knew she had seen him before, because the name clicked.  She had no idea why.  Dipping her head in a faux return of courtesy, the corner of Margo’s mouth quirked upward, “I’d curtsey but…” she looked down at her leg, and then back up, “not my style.” 

Pushing herself off the wall at his request, Margo kicked out her foot and landed hard – a lot less languidly than she had planned on moving and assumed a spot beside him, after regaining her footing.  She looked at the door and pursed her lips, lifting her head up a little.  It’d be too bad, having to write the landlady for a new door.  At least it wasn’t late yet. 

“None that I know of,” the muscles in her face tightened and her mouth twitched downward in uncertainty.  “Unless Nona’s trying to keep me out,” she rolled her chin down and her cheek over her shoulder so she could look out from under her eyebrows, “Nothing she – or anyone else – has told you is true, by the by.  I’m an excellent roommate.”  Incidentally, the only roommate that she’d ever had besides Nona was Kurby… and he was definitely not impartial.  He was totally lying, if anyone had talked to him about it.  “I’m Margo, by the way,” she shrugged, “Now, how do we bust this shit open?”

"None that you know of?" Adon repeated with raised eyebrows, a smirk not far from his lips.  "Two..." he gave a preparatory laugh at his own humor, "delicate and defenseless ladies such as yourself?" 

"Well, Margo," he said, grinning as he said the name. Margo.  It made him think of someone--that journalist girl. Maggie. Maggie Groust. Whatever happened to her?  "As neighbors, I am sure you will give us ample opportunity to prove yourself."

"As for our approach to the present predicament... that depends on the setup.  I can't tell," he said, once more focusing on the upper right corner of the door.  "Do you have a lock on the top of the door? Dead bolt?" He wasn't sure if others had as elaborate a setup as his family tended to have--with good reason.  "If not, we'll just kick it in." He braced himself, postured preparatorily, and lifted his right leg before abruptly pausing and adding, "Unless you think Mlles Kettleburn and Andrews would take issue?" 

Another smirk before dropping his leg with a loud smack, "But it would be no problem; they kind of love me." He shrugged. "Still, getting creative can't hurt. Unless you're the door. We could just take the bolts off the frame easily enough, but if you have a top lock or enchantments, that could still pose problems.  If not those methods, we could always use preliminary curse breaking or alohamora.  If not that, I'm sure that you may have an unprotected bit of plaster or brick along this wall that might make Apparition easy enough.  Or get in through your fireplace with some rejiggering of the floor.  Or there's your windows to consider.  Any wards set up around the perimeter? No? Not that you know of?"  He grinned cheekily. 

“You really think anyone would want to break into a place where Nona and I live?” she asked him with raised eyebrows.  Even if he didn’t really know her, he probably knew Nona and he’d very soon know her.  Margo’s habits were not going to change… much.  She was determined to remain a functional person (in as much of a way that she ever had).

She took to standing with her arms crossed, popping her hip to the side as she looked at the door with her head tilted.  He asked a question about the lock on the inside, and Margo wrinkled her nose in thought.  If they did have one, she didn’t use it.  Wasn’t like she perceived her neighbors were the breaking and entering types…

She was beginning to reconsider that opinion, however as she realized 1) how much her new neighbor liked to talk and 2) how many ways he knew how to get into an apartment that wasn’t his.  “Looks like I asked the right criminal-in-training for help, eh?” Margo commented dryly.  “Will you forgive me if I handle replacing the door by myself… and keep it a secret?” she snorted and looked back at the door.  She really had no idea about anything that had to do with this door.  Letting out a deep breath, Margo shifted her weight.  “I’ve been good for a month… I don’t bloody remember.”

She pressed her lips together and considered, staring at the door.  “Just wreck it.  The landladies like you, you said.  You’ll ask them for the new one.” 

“You really think anyone would want to break into a place where Nona and I live?”

Adon turned, giving her a once over.  "Yes," he said with an easy certainty.  "Besides. You're a good roommate, I hear, so the place must be in great condition." 

At mentions of "criminal-in-training," Adon nodded absently. "Something like that. But please. Replace the door."

The lack of precautions people in the... normal world took was alarming.  An ounce more of caution--some said paranoia--would reduce the number of successful criminal activity. But no.  He forgot: people liked to be able to just have one lock. Leave the door unlocked.  Apply minimal effort themselves, then consider themselves wronged when their trust in others failed.  People liked to feel safe.  And, for some reason, people felt that the true manifestation of "feeling safe" was doing little-to-nothing.  It defied all logic.

He gave her a stern look, which melted quickly into his customary smirk.  "And I insist upon secrets. Can't trust anyone you know," he said, lifting his leg and delivering a swift kick just above the lock.  The door swung open with force, swinging around and slamming the interior wall.

Adon have a single bark of laughter, quite pleased, before putting  his hands on either side of the doorframe.  "Minimal damage," he said, now downright proud.  He stepped away, and with a sweeping gesture of his arm, signaled her in.  "You have really shitty locks."

Margo beamed.  Someone had mentioned she was a good roommate?  It had to be Nona.  That was nice, made her feel like she wasn’t a total burden on anyone.  Standing up a little taller, Margo smirked.  It was nice to know there was some confirmation behind the wild claims she made.  She was sure she’d quote that forever if anyone dared question her roommate capabilities. 

That could be shelved for the moment though.  The door was in the way and Margo had few resources.  It wasn’t as though she had the… skill required to kick it in and her wand skills were… just about the same.  So, at the mention of secrets, Margo lifted her good hand and held her pointer finger over her pursed lips, the universal signal for ‘it’s going to stay between us.’ 

The next part happened so fast that Margo actually didn’t expect it.  Adon reared back and then kicked in the door – the lock must have popped or snapped, or whatever.  It made an excrutiatingly loud sound and the door smacking into the wall behind it sent another rapid fire burst of sound into the world.  Margo grabbed her ear with her good hand and let out a yelp.  “Holy fuck!” she lowered her hand slowly, “Bad ass.” 

Impressed, Margo stayed back and surveyed the door.  She didn’t care much about the damage.  Whatever it was, she’d be able to take care of it.  “I’ll make sure to request the top of the line when I owl,” Margo snorted, not really taking that part seriously at all.  She had plenty of reason to care, but she usually wasn’t in one place long enough to have it be a problem.  She used to also have somewhere to run.  That part didn’t sink in yet. 

Margo picked up her bag before crossing in front of him on her way in.  It was very… Nona.  Granted, Margo’s stuff was only really in her room.  Most of it was deemed... not apartment material.  So while she'd have had heavy blankets and big, comfy couches in dark colors around... not so much in the sun soaked apartment.  Margo would have to get used to that too.  Glancing behind her, Margo motioned Adon inside.  "C'mon, the Door Slayer deserves a drink for his victory."

"That?" Adon said, not bothering to choke back the surprise.  He looked at the door, back to the woman again, down to his foot, the door... "That was badass?"  He shook his head. Her standards were disconcertingly low.  He could do so much better than that to earn the title.  "Margo, Margo, Margo--who do you spend your time with anyways?" 

He trailed in after her, "Not that I'll complain to a drink," or two--but just two--he said as the kicked the door closed casually with the toe of his boot.  It hit the frame and bounced back open, clearly off kilter.  "You know," he said, considering the frame, "you're lucky.  It's just the inner wood of the frame that's got some splitting. Door itself is fine."  It was a nice, dark wood that was also found throughout his flat.  "You'll just need new locks, really." Adon ambled into the front room, taking the place in.  His hand rested on the back of the chair before hovering over a brown ruffled monstrosity that perched there.   He picked it up, tossing it between his hands like a hot potato.  "And you'll need new pillows. What is this thing? Looks like the lovechild of Muggly the Bear and a puffskein."  He held it up for explanation.   The tags were still on it.  Well, that was a relief at least.  Eyes catching something new, he dropped it unceremoniously back onto the couch.

"Oh my God they are breeding," he gasped, eyes wide. "Margo--" he said, pointing accusingly at a bedazzled cushion on a loveseat.  Shaking his head sadly once more, he added, "The pillows don't lie, Margo.  It is now very clear to me the types you spend your time with."

He crossed over to the kitchen, where--hopefully--Margo was ready with drinks. "Only alcohol can fix this," he said solemnly. 

“When you put it that way,” Margo grinned over her shoulder, “I guess you are pretty lame.”  She thought of her colleagues at the reservations, in the offices.  They did badass things routinely.  Usually not involving breaking and entering, if she was going to be fully honest.  But, dragon taming and researching was not for the faint of heart: far from it, actually. “Maybe my judgment’s off from brain damage?” she laughed and strolled through the open layout of the living room into the kitchen.

She prayed there was whiskey left.  She didn’t know what Nona had been up to – except for apparently decorating the flat.  Everywhere she looked there were tweaks and changes to things.  Her month long absence had provided the opportunity to spruce things up, it appeared.  And the changes did not escape the eye of her guest. 

As Margo pulled some glasses out and a bottle from the cabinet (all taking so much longer with only one good hand), she pushed her frustration away and laughed as he mentioned Muggly.  “Hey! The girl who writes that is a close, personal friend.  Watch yourself,” she chastised playfully and poured two whiskeys.  Unfortunately, the ice tray was woefully empty – only someone who didn’t drink at home regularly wouldn’t fill the ice tray.   

“Interior decorating is one of my weaknesses,” she wrinkled her nose and shoved the glass toward him.  “What would you suggest to replace them?  Since you’re obviously an expert or something.”  Margo swaggered back around in a small circle to get her whiskey and frowned.  Where was the parchment and shit to write the landladies?  She shrugged.  Wasn’t dark yet.  “I’d love to know,” she took a decent sip and smacked her lips as it burned down her throat.  Best feeling ever. 

"Psh," Adon rolled his eyes in disgust. "You don't know me, Margo.  The door kick--yes, underwhelming. You don't even know what I'm capable of."

Well, the ease at which breaking and entering had come to him might tip her off...

She didn't particularly seem to care how he'd acquired that skill. Unless she already knew his day job.  If Nona'd mentioned him--not that she'd have any reason or that it particularly mattered... Still...an interesting question to consider for later.

Definitely later. She was already getting defensive all up in here.  "Whoah, there. It's not like your friend came up with the original design of Muggly, is it?  Hell, I watched that as a kid."  No 'girl' could be that that old. They'd need to be... math...

Like 50 plus.

"Does a sofa really need throw pillows?" He took the glass and too a hefty swallow.  "I'd just stick with the sofa and some blankets, really.  Otherwise you're trying too hard."  He exhaled, fingers tapping absently on the glass.  That did burn.  His tolerance seemed to be down a little. ... Probably for the best.

"But I'm guessing that pillow business is Nona's handiwork.  Unless you've got a knack for bedazzling?"

Margo snorted.  “Tha’s true,” she shrugged.  She didn’t know him – Adon, the neighbor, now that she thought about it – had been mentioned to her before.  Nona, however, did not talk about kicking in doors or anything.  She mostly talked about a dreamy, broody romance novel kind of dude.  Looking at him, Margo shrugged.  He wasn’t bad looking… in fact, the problem might have been that he was too pretty. 

It was just one of those things.  Margo could see the appeal, you know, since she was being objective.   

Turning back on him for a second, Margo returned to her drink and scooped it up in a fluid movement.  “Nah,” Margo smirked and held the glass up under her lips, “I rub most old people the wrong way.” It was true.  Ask her great grandparents...  And her grandparents… And her great aunts and uncles…

Not pretty. 

Taking a quick sip of the liquor, Margo let a deep breath out of her nose.  The burn was just sharp enough to send a kick through her spine and she stood up straighter, trying to avoid a little cough.  It was even better now that she wasn’t sneaking sips in her hospital bed. 

“I don’t know what bedazzling is,” Margo said pointedly, “but it sounds evil.”  To punctuate the point, she took another drink and smacked her lips after.  “If it were up to me, frills and sparkles and… pastels,” she looked around. “all out.  Give me a bit of leather, yeh?” 

She raised her glass and leaned before sitting on the back of the couch.  “So, Adon, outside of carrying groceries and breaking and entering what occupies your time?”  She raised both of her eyebrows at him. 

"Give me a bit of leather, yeh?"

"Yeh, okay," Adon considered, looking at his leather boots, considering his leather jacket. "Well, you won't want the boots, you can't have the jacket, so... I guess no."

Ah--finally to the staple of stranger-talk. Jobs.  And groceries.  Shoot, those groceries...  Adon tried to remain attentive and shook the thought away momentarily.  Raising his eyebrows, an unconscious echo of her expression, he took a sip to draw out the suspense.  Man of Mystery, Door Slayer.  The next sip completed, he sighed out, "Justice. Mostly."  He shook his head before adding, "Big hobby of mine. Not the social kind, mind you. That shit's too hard.  That's all my older brother's doing."

He looked back at the door, trying to tactfully do this. He'd get to her in a minute, he would.  But...  "So... you bring up a good point with my groceries though... Do you want  to stop over at my place while I unload them briefly? I know you just got home.  But, think about it.  That gelato in there will start sweating out in that hallway and that is unacceptable." He hesitated, looking into her kitchen. "Or I could stash them in yours. Just while we talk."

Unless they ate the gelato. That would be acceptable.

“I’ve got a collection of my own,” Margo regarded his boots and jacket.  If someone were to enter her closet, they might assume a lot of things about Margo that were not necessarily true based on the profound amount of leather present in almost all aspects of dressing. 

Wrinkling her nose, she wasn’t sure what to make of his answer.  Justice?  That was bloody ridiculous.  Did he fancy himself a super hero?  Swirling her whiskey in her glass, Margo shrugged and took a sip.  Her face remained scrunched as she tried to figure out… it was like she could hear Nona saying something in her head… But it was too quiet to hear and that was too much thinking.

Adon’s voice knocked her back into reality and Margo blinked twice while her vision refocused.  He was talking about groceries?  Oh yea, he had those.  Shrugging, Margo shifted her weight so she could slide off the top of the couch and her boots hit the floor with a gentle thud.  “Sure, let’s go play Susie-Homemaker and put the groceries away,” she offered teasingly. 

“Take this party on the road,” she drawled to follow up and walked toward the door.  “We can’t let that gelato suffer – since you’re into the justice thing - unless it’s mint,” Margo grimaced.  “Then we’re just putting it out of its misery.” Mint was not an acceptable taste for a dessert.  It was for toothpaste and breath mints.