“I was here first,” Margo declared righteously.  Even if she had only moved in a few weeks before she’d spent a sizable amount of time in a hospital bed.  So perhaps amount of actual lived time in the building was roughly the same.  The only reason she knew he hadn’t lived here longer was she remembered the last tenant… very well. 

Her eyes roamed toward the kitchen.  Great counter space, truly. 

Wrinkling her nose, she readjusted her gaze on him and snorted.  “We might be fighting a war on two fronts, I’m afraid.”  She at least thought that was the right way to say what she was trying to say.  If not, she was confident when she spoke anyway.  It hardly mattered if it was right or not. 

“I think you’re underestimating the pillows though,” Margo nodded thoughtfully, “I feel like the scratching and biting would be…” she curled her nose.  “Not the nice kind.”  A true tragedy.  Well, she guessed it might have been if that was what she wanted.  (It wasn’t).  Letting out a deep breath through her nose, Margo slouched further forward and rested her elbows on her knees.  “I believe we could distract the other Spectre quite easily to defeat him.” 

“But then again…” she pursed her lips, “I guess something might do the same for the other?” 

"I was here first!" she whined.  Adon clucked his tongue disapprovingly.  "That is not how you talk to your allies, Margo.  I can see why you have so many enemies," he countered.  If she was gonna take jabs at his reputation...

"I did forget how you rough you are with the pillows." She liked the rugged body pillows for a reason, he imagined.  "I had no idea it was reciprocated."  That would make for an interesting bed experience.  Dominated by pillows.

A brief pause. "If it is too much for you to handle, Margo, I am happy to lead the charge.  I don't think you need to worry about my ability to handle that situation."  No one questioned his ability in a bed. NO. ONE.

"Though I am a bit concerned about your boss. If he is so easily distractible how has he not been turned into dragon-kibble by now?"

Well, Adon certainly thought a lot of himself!  That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, since Margo was often of the same mind.  She was the hottest thing since firewhiskey!  “People just can’t handle me,” she tossed her hair over her shoulder and waved the spoon triumphantly. 

She was, after all, something of a queen.  Perhaps a queen of disasters, but it didn’t make her less in charge by any means. 

“Which is why I need you to deal with all of the unpleasantness – like pillows and bosses.”  Okay, so Balfour wasn’t entirely bad… but he had given her bad news.  She was one of those people who did hex the messenger so until she was entirely over the fact that her career was on hold again for another year, at least!   There had been an at least. 

Worse than that, her term in paperwork prison had only ended like nine months ago.  Everything was terrible.  Blowing a definitely mastered in her teen years raspberry, Margo raised her eyebrows at his question: considered for but a moment before the answer was very clear.  “Eh, his distractions aren’t in the field.” 

She slid him a look and raised her eyebrows, “I mean they’re not exactly secret either.  Besides, all the paperwork keeps a division head out of the field.”  She nodded thoughtfully.  “I’d rather have no limbs than be stuck under paperwork for the rest of my life.” 

There was a beat and Margo stared forward.  “Much more pleasant things to be under, you know?” 

“Much more pleasant things to be under, you know?”

Adon's eyebrows shot up at that one. "Such as...?" he said, a playful--and far from innocent--lilt to his voice.  He shrugged it off, showing that they were on the same page there; no need for elaboration. 

"I think you have this wrong.  If people can't handle you, that would be to your advantage in overpowering them, yes?" He shook his head.  "Margo, Dragon Handler, it seems like you cannot handle people."  He thought a moment.  "What do you do to handle a dragon, and how is it so different from people?" he ticked off the arsenal of likely approaches, "Stunning, petrifying, bribing, drugging... I see no reason why these skills cannot easily cross over."

He shrugged. "I hate to say it, Margo-a-go-go, but it is just possible," he flicked the spoon into his mouth, taking a few moments to savor the taste, "you do not need me."  The wonderful thing about not having an agenda, not knowing the person, and having no deliverables in a conversation like this was that Adon could change tack and argue for, then against, as many things as he wanted.  Unencumbered by things like... logic.  Continuity.  Necessity.

"Unless," he said challengingly, tilting his chin downward to regard her beneath raised eyebrows, "youuuuu are not as good as you say."

Prove it, Margo Amherst.  Prove it.

 “If you don’t know, you must not be as familiar as I thought you were,” Margo smirked.  Of course, he obviously knew.  He had that aura about him.  Margo didn’t care much for divination, but if someone could like… actually read someone it made total sense that neighbor Adon just had it. 

She figured she probably had it too.   Obviously.

Listening to him though, Margo was still sniggering.  She didn’t know much about her neighbor, but she did know he was a right idiot – in the best way!  Plus, he had gelato.  “You have a point,” she shrugged, “but you forget: You provide the gelato – and while I could probably go to the shop and get it myself, it’s so much easier to take it from you.”  This was true.

Margo would always take advantage of the resources present in her life.  “Besides, anyone on Level 4 could tell you – you don’t want to be on the business end of my wand: likely to end up burnt to a crisp,” she shrugged.  It was true.  Bagnold’s desk had suffered more than one fire at her hands and she had never been talented when it came to wand work.  Margo was more of a brute strength kind of person… when she wasn’t being clumsy and falling over herself. 

It struck her it was a wonder she was still alive.  Others had been saying the same for ages. 

“It’s not about you anyway,” she noted, “it’s all about the gelato.” 

"Oh, well," Adon said casually has he nabbed the gelato back once again.  He balanced it on the open palm of his right hand, daring her to grab it. "The Gelato Gods giveth.... " his voice trailed off; Adon's face became a study of deep concentration as he twisted his wrist suddenly. "The Gelato Gods...taketh away."  Inexplicably, the gelato was suddenly in the palm of his left hand--well out of Margo's reach.  Nothing like some good ol' legerdemain.

"The Gelato Gods may be willing to let Margo Amherst have some back if she does not abuse the good name of their devoted servant, Adon Eleor."  He'd make her promise first.  Far arm still outstretched its full length, he considered her discussion of Level 4 dynamics.

"Hm." She'd thrown out a challenge--not particularly a threat.  Business end.  What did she think his business end was, exactly?  "Well, I've played with fire more than once," Adon said with an arch brow.  One: dating Raizel Cohen more than once.  Two: Well, summoning Fiendfyre.  But that had only been once and never again.

Moloch, the blood was draining from his hand.  She had better promise absolute and utter respect, soon.

“Nooooo!” Margo cried in her most dramatic, wireless show soap voice possible.  She’d heard hundreds of them – the only entertainment available in the middle of a blizzard or coming from the wirelesses of her sisters or mum.  Her mum was a particular fan of the Spanish wireless shows – that scream was familiar.  It was only used in moments of true anguish and despair.

A lack of gelato, in this case, fit that bill. 

So, her shoulders slumped and she curled her good fingers in silly defeat.  Though, she had a choice: the ice cream could be back.  But she couldn’t abuse him.  This was a conundrum. 

She could agree and then break her promise promptly (it seemed reasonable) or she could just refuse to agree and be denied gelato.  Glancing over with a sour expression, Margo Amherst had a choice to make in order to appease the gelato gods. 

“Can’t do it,” she finally sighed, a heavy heart and honest, “it’s just not in my nature.”  Margo held the spoon back out to him (it was easier to accept defeat when one was nearly full as well), “You best just take it away, servant of the Gelato gods.”