Margo was set to the task of cleaning her flat.  This was not an altogether easy endeavor; in fact it could actually be classified as torture.  If she had not found her wand in the pocket of her coat, it would have been even worse.  Having only practiced a handful of spells to the point of even attempting something resembling mastery, cleaning was one of those unfortunate ones that was necessary unless she wanted to waste a lot of her life picking up after herself. 

Collection the clothes, blankets, and various pieces of dish wear from the front room, she zoomed each piece here and there (where it belonged) and tossed the clothes in the hamper, the blanket on the back of the couch and the dishes in the sink.  Those got done with another spell, and finally, when she was done, Margo drew her hand across her forehead – man, cleaning was a drag!  But, there were things that needed to be done, and she had got home from work, managed to clean up and take a bath, take a two hour nap on the couch, and then realized, much to her dissatisfaction she had to clean.  Of course, she did not change from her relaxation attire, as that would require too much effort, and hoped everyone would remember to bring their own comfortable clothes.

She had an assortment of things, but for some of them, they would most assuredly be too large or something, and it was awkward sharing clothes, but whatever.  By the time they realized they wanted to change everyone would be a few drinks in – her ice box was filled up to the brim with beers (a sizable corner was also dedicated to juice for Tilly) and the liquor cabinet was well stocked.  Then there were the snacks, which were laid out on the counter – most still in the bags, but they were big girls and didn’t need things on froofy platters – she was at home, not at one of those horrendous parties her family members threw.  They’d just play it casual, no reason to go overboard, plus it would mean more dishes to do, and really, who wanted to do that? 

It was bad enough she had done some earlier (as though it was really a big deal, a simple spell and they were back in the cabinet), but then she’d have to do laundry later too – bah! Clothing was such a nuisance, if she didn’t have to wear it, she probably wouldn’t.  Unfortunately, it was a necessary she did not invest too much into.  It had shocked and horrified her cousin, who seemed to think, upon their last meeting, that he needed to educate her or something, but she was going to spend money on good stuff – not clothes.  And the memory of that spurned memories of other things from the same day, and Margo immediately decided to mess with the radio, just to distract herself. 

She inwardly sighed at the memory, attaching it to other memories from the evening and pushing on very quickly at that.  Once she was sure the front room was in order, the wireless set to Quidditch for the time being (just a talk show), she plopped on the couch, glancing at the clock.  Wow, she had actually finished in a rather timely manner.  Grabbing her blanket, once again, from off the top of the couch, she threw it over herself and curled her left leg up under her, and let the right foot balance on the coffee table in front of the couch.

It was only 7:50, so she had at least… well, she didn’t even know when anyone would show up.  But they werne’t here yet, and that meant that she had some time.  Cuddling up in her blanket, she glared as the wireless declared the French were doing well on the International circuit, mumbling something about filthy frogs and shifting on the couch, watching as the coffee table shook with her movement and grumbled, idiot announcers and their idiot ideas about international quidditch.  What did they know anyway?  A bunch of bleeding idiots! 

outfit | pyjamas for later

Flooing straight from the shop, Tilly had left a note on the fridge that morning to remind Dennis she wouldn’t be back, and that he could invite the guys over to do whatever it was they liked to do when no women were around to keep the place fireproof. Not really much of a militant cleaner herself, though more organized than, say, the average 20-something male, she had left the place looking shabby chic and comfy. Dressed in an equally comfy mismatch of old jeans shorts, worn-in boots, and a loose band t-shirt, she arrived at Margo’s for a much-needed girl’s night.

“Hello?” She called in a sing-song voice, already grinning in anticipation. On one shoulder, along with a free-flowing waterfall of messy curls, hung a bag with a change of clothes, her toothbrush, and an extra blanket. Under the opposite arm was a box. Its contents included, but were not limited to, a half-dozen records, old board games (muggle and magical alike), wine she’d been meaning to get rid of, an assortment of candies to add to the already magnificent pile of sweets and junk food, and a Polaroid camera.

Margo’s unmistakable rich, dark hair was visible from a bird’s eye view of the couch. Tilly crept up behind it as if her voice had not already given her away. Leaning over, she planted a kiss atop the woman’s head, and let her bag slither down onto the couch with the curled-up, blanketed friend. “Am I actually early?” She asked excitedly. Rounding the couch, she plopped down beside Margo and set the box down gingerly beside her own feet. “Look at you, already in your jammies. Excellent. I feel like a slacker.” She grinned and looked around the flat, taking in the cozy sights with sunny, Tilly-ish approval.

"Where should I put the snacks?" She asked, gesturing toward the box on the floor. Her hair seeped over her shoulders, spilling into her shirt as she reached down to grab it. "I'm so ready for a feast. I swear this thing is already the size of a gorilla," she announced, playfully patting her own abdomen, which showed no signs of the tiny Dennis growing inside it. There were weeks to go yet before anything would be visible. But the strange cravings, the morning sickness, the heightened senses-- they'd all swooped down on her like an army of diligent owls delivering a plethora of Howlers.

Margo was apparently too busy kicking at the wireless to hear anyone enter her flat, a problem with a woman who had worked with dragons all of her adult life – small sounds weren’t the ones she ever listened for, it was the big ones – and the voice on the commercial masked Tilly’s voice – something about gnome repellent or something for the garden, Margo rolled her eyes.  How many people in London actually had the time or space to garden?  Stupid commercials, targeted toward the country dwellers.  She could not help but roll her eyes and sighed – gnome removal wasn’t that hard. 

As she opened her mouth to explain that to the bloody contraption, she felt something hit the top of her head and her limbs flew out, tossing the blanket aside, attempting to jump up, but getting caught in the blanket and falling right back into her seat.  She turned her head upward and her heart stopped beating furiously as she realized it was not a burglar who wanted to take advantage of her and then steal all of her stuff ,not that she had anything that would be exceptionally valuable – though, she reasoned, that would be the reason they would have to take advantage of her, to make up for the fact she had very little to offer in the way of monetary assets. 

But, this was Tilly and if she was going to rob her, she would probably just knock her out and do something humiliating like draw a male organ on her forehead before she left so when the hitwizards got called in she would be totally embarrassed by the whole thing.  Of course, Margo would probably – after a healthy amount of swearing – find the whole thing hysterical, but it wasn’t going to happen… yet.  “Shock and awe, Tilly Quinn is early!” Margo called out, laughing as she sat on the couch next to her. 

She had managed to, by this time, readjust herself in her fuzzy blanket and was comfortable, once again – real leg underneath her, fake leg outstretched with foot poking out from under the edge of the blanket.  “You should just change now, make everyone else feel bad they came in real clothes,” she teased, sticking out her tongue briefly.  Of course, when Tilly asked what she should do, Margo shook her head – “Just leave it – when we start eating, we’ll get them out,” she smirked, “Unless you’re feel ravenous now and it’ll be the only thing to satiate your dangerous hunger.” 

“When I studied feeding habits in Sweden, it was always the mum dragons that were the most vicious and voracious when it came to food.  So I know never step in front of a pregnant lady on her way to a buffet,” she teased, looking at her friend patting her stomach, no visibility on the munchkin yet.  “So bizarre – a little person in there,” she pointed out, “I hope it won’t traumatize it to hear anything we have to say tonight!” she laughed out loud, beaming in a typically devious sort of way, “I got pumpkin, apple, and orange juice for you, by the way, so whatever bizarre craving you have – you can mix and match as you please.” 

outfit and pjs

Tilly was Jacoba's sole connection to this little estrogen-laden get together.  At the close of work on the previous Wednesday, the casual, laid-back and totally unbosslike woman had mentioned the girls' sleepover and had invited Jacoba to tagalong.  Meet some of the young women of London's wizarding world. 

An opportunity Jacoba was unlikely to pass up on.  Six weeks had passed since she'd found herself back in London; she'd found herself a job, was (relatively) settled in a flat (okay, so it was someone else's) and had reconnected with family (her brother, at least).  If she'd intended to turn around and head back to Holland or Germany after determining her brother wasn't in a circus or Lord of the Rings cult, she'd have done so by now.  She'd resolved to stay in London - at least for the foreseeable future.  But, she hadn't ventured much outside of the wizarding world.  Largely, that had been intentional.  This social get together would only confirm her belief that she didn't need to go beyond it.

As Adon was still out on his soul-searching, self-finding quest, there was no one to notify of her night out and about.  She'd simply gathered a few things, stashed them in her bag, strapped her sleeping bag onto the bottom of it and hoisted it on her back.  She had no library of games to contribute and all of her music was on her ipod - though Tilly suspected it wouldn't work at this Margo's flat.  But, they had a wireless radio so, if it did happen to work, she could rig the music player up to play through that.  She did pack an alcoholic contribution and, no, it wasn't Adon's.  She'd promised not to raid his liquor cabinet too much and she'd stuck by that promise.  No, when she and Sasha had ventured over to Germany for his wand, she'd taken the opportunity to stock up on some Stroh's 80.  The full strength Austrian spiced rum wasn't always easy to find in London. 

But, it was good.  Great for spicing and spiking some mulled wine with. 

She'd gone the muggle route and had taken The Tube.  Mostly because she was paying for the bloody subway pass, she might as well use it.  Had it been Tilly's flat, she might have just let herself in but as she didn't know this Margo, she opted for the traditional knock and wait approach. 

Maggie rushed around her apartment, shouting at Colette whenever she tripped over their pig - yes, their real, live pig. It was pink and small and cute for now, and Colette had somehow managed to potty train it (mostly). But it kept getting in her way! Oinking at her in the middle of the night and waking her up, stealing her ham and pickle crisps (which was such a cannibal move, by the way), and generally being a nuisance. She liked to call him Skeeter. It was much kinder, she thought, than Kia naming him 'Ottoman', which Colette said reminded him of his past life.

The problem was, Maggie had a party to go to tonight, so she was especially annoyed at the pig who kept trailing after her as if she held the holy grail of crisp crumbs. She was actually a bit nervous about the party too, since it had been so long since she and Margo had hung out. She liked and remembered her from her Hogwarts  days, but both of them had done so much traveling after school that they hadn't kept in touch very well.

When she'd found Skeeter munching on a letter a few days ago, she'd pulled it out of his slimy mouth and been shocked to see Margo's handwriting, inviting her to a sleepover on the night of the 14th. Maggie hadn't been to an official sleepover since... well, since she'd been a teen. Even then, she  and Kia had never been the sleepover type.

Finally, at the bottom of her dresser drawer, she managed to find a pair of pajamas that didn't look like they'd been chomped to bits by the pig, and stuffed it in her bag. With a final yell to Colette that she was welcome to stop by later, Maggie then grabbed her wand and apparated a few houses away from Margo's flat.

Maggie walked up to the door and saw someone that looked familiar. As she got closer, she realized it was the woman Niobe had introduced her to the night of the Halloween party. Oh Merlin, that incredibly awkward, disastrous night. Maggie had abruptly left the Halloween party after trying to give Jacoba cryptic secret messages, probably confusing her and making her think she had some kind of  brain malfunction. Shite. Maggie felt awkward.

"Oh, hey," she greeted her, managing a half smile and deciding to wait by the door with her rather than barge in. She wondered who else Margo had invited, and how Jacoba had gotten to know her.

Tilly grinned, deciding that she would, indeed, like to change into her pajamas sooner rather than later. But first she had to finish greeting her favorite, fearless dragon researcher. “I’d love to do that-- make everyone feel bad. It’s sort of my memo. But if I disappear to the washroom and Jacoba shows up, how I can be so sure you won’t scare her off?” She asked playfully, narrowing her eyes in quite the un-Tilly-ish way.

“My grumbling tummy for two can wait, don’t worry.” She looked at her stomach once more, and rather fondly, as if it were some kind of puppy. “That’s very wise advice. But if it’s this bad now, I think I might give the dragon’s a run for their money in a few months...”

She tilted her head toward Margo, furrowing a brow. “Traumatize it? Where do you come up with these things?!” Nevertheless, Tilly was now dwelling on the idea, letting it bloom in her brain. Could it hear-- and interpret-- everything they said? “Maybe it only speaks its own language.” The language of baby. It was fairly universal, wasn’t it? “Otherwise Dennis and I are in deep shite.”

Popping up from the comfy couch and its pile of blankets and Margo-ish presence, Tilly made a bee line for the said collection of juice. “Awesome. I think I’ll go mix those now. Want anything?”

But before she could get there, the door sounded, and Tilly changed direction, swerving toward the echoing knock. “I’ve got it,” she announced, swinging it open without bothering to ask who it might be. She beamed at Jacoba and Maggie. “Come in! I mean-- this is technically Margo’s job, but she’s sort of very busy at the moment,” she said in a loud, carrying voice, so that their hostess might hear, and winked.

“Me?!” Margo yelled in faux-mortification.  “Scare someone away?! I would never!”  Of course, this was a blatant lie, as Margo had a strong personality that, when someone wasn’t prepared for it, they might be overwhelmed by the whole package – tall, dark hair, bright eyes, and on occasion, revealing of the leg thing, which was proudly displayed in this setting – shorts on and all, but normally, would be pretty much covered up for social situations.  It was a complicated relationship with her hardware, thinking it looked pretty badass and had a good story behind it that would really resonate with fellow creature-lovers, but knowing, at the same time, it wasn’t exactly something people WANTED to see. 

She felt that way about a lot of her scars, and if the people coming to her flat tonight had not been her friends – or friends of her friends, in the case of Jacoba, she would have opted for pajama pants, instead of exposing the scarred flesh on her legs and the big, metal pole that constituted the lower half of her leg.  Thankfully though, she was not obliged to have those concerns this evening. Nor did she have to have the same concerns that Tilly had, specifically related to the creature growing in her stomach like an alien and having to deal with even more hormonal mood swings than were normal for a human being.

It was like constantly being watched by some higher power to take care of yourself.  Margo was not quite a fan, as she had a tendency to drink, and when she was drunk she would sometimes smoke – it seemed inevitable that she would like to do something so bad for her that produced smoke and heat, and then there were the times where she made absolutely atrocious decisions… Sometimes, as much as she hated to admit it, perhaps her family’s declarations that she be sterilized were not that far off – or a bad idea.

She didn’t have to admit to it though and she shrugged.  “They say they understand music or something, and come out to recognize mum’s voice – which is totally creepy as it’s like… floating in goo or whatever, but I bet it’s like hearing under water, you know?”  She imagined, just sitting under water for like nine months, wondering how the hell the whole need for oxygen thing worked, though she supposed it was all in the development thing, which she was not completely familiar with outside of how a dragon formed in an egg, which though similar, could not be the same thing.  “So it’s all fuzzy and they can’t really hear, but the sounds and stuff, and that’d probably be when their ears actually develop – which probably won’t be for a while anyway…” she looked cautiously at the bump and smirked, “And if it’s not, I’m sure it’ll come out with a colorful vocabulary after tonight!” 

It was teasing, and Margo would never really want to screw up her friend’s baby. It was just weird, and to only be able to drink juice at a party?  It spoke to Margo’s unending immaturity that she was not sure that she could do that, no matter what the circumstances.  “I’ll come with you,” Margo said as she tried to break free of the confines of her blanket, hurrying as she heard the doorbell ring.  Of course, hurrying for Margo meant the spastic flying of limbs and she got tangled in the blanket, falling off the couch in a blur of red fabric from the blanket, orange from her clothes, and dark brown from her hair that whipped around.

The thud that accompanied her fall shook the floor and Margo tried to peer up, hearing Tilly’s voice over the welcomes.  “Coming!” she scrambled and crawled out of the cocoon of blanket on the floor and lifted it with her, throwing it back on the couch as she brushed herself off and headed toward the door, “Sorry… dealing with… an emergency,” her eyes shifted quickly from side to side, trying to cover that graceful maneuver she had made for herself, “Come in,” she grinned, “throw your junk wherever, snacks are in the kitchen – so are drinks.”  She didn’t even care about introductions or anything, she gathered who they were, since she knew Maggie already, and the only other person was going to be Jacoba, who she was glad was as tall as she was! Success! 

No longer would she be the lone amazon.  That was a pleasant thought, and she beamed, "I'm Margo - this is my flat, and watch out for Lizard.  He's around here somewhere," she looked around for a sign of the grey tabby cat, who really didn't bother to come out if he didn't want to - she didn't suspect he would, but one could never really know with him.  He was as flaky as his owner.

Jacoba looked up from the door and grinned at the familiar face approaching.  It was Maggie - the nice looking woman who'd made a sudden and curious exit at the Halloween party.  At first, Jacoba had wondered if the woman had some weird wizarding version of Tourette's Syndrome.  When Jacoba's future boss had explained the dynamics of those at the party, Jacoba had found it easier to give the jumpy Maggie the benefit of the doubt.  It seemed Jacoba wasn't the only one remembering the awkwardness of the evening.

"'Allo," she offered with a slightly amused grin.  "You're acquainted with our hostess?" She asked.  One might think it a logical question but, of course, Jacoba herself was an exception.  There was no real reason why Maggie couldn't be an exception as well.  "I've not met her.  Tilly recommended I come - I'm working for her, now."  Really, having any job was worth gloating about.  Working for a witch.  Ok.  So, a squib.  Though, honestly, to Jacoba those seemed like close to the same thing.  The woman managed a record store in a wizarding alley and navigated this world like a native; it mattered little to Jacoba she couldn't make things levitate.  She still could do more than Jacoba could. 

The door swung open and the woman in question was standing on the other side, beaming.  Jacoba grinned back, shrugging unconcernedly when Tilly brought up job descriptions and specifics.  As far as she was concerned, opening doors was quite fitting of whoever was closest to the door. A loud thud and the scrambling of feet accompanied their welcome and, a moment later, a tall woman with (thankfully!) equally bushy-prone hair was standing behind Tilly.  Obediently, she slipped into the apartment and let her backpack collapse in a heap in the corner.  Before standing upright, she tugged the bottle of Stroh's from her backpack to add to the stock of alcohol.  "Nice to meet you," she offered in return, delighting in a new acquaintance.  "And, I'm Jacoba - resident tagalong German muggle.  I guess.  Or something like that."  Hopefully, Tilly had mentioned that.  If not, there'd be that moment of surprise.  Hopefully, followed by that curious delight so many of her recent new found friends seemed to know.  There were some who's surprise had a definite hostile edge to it but it seemed unlikely many of those types would be at this party. 

"Thanks for letting me tagalong.  I brought some muggle stuff-" she hoisted the bottle in further explanation. 

"Sure, I know Margo," Maggie told Jacoba, relieved that she didn't seem to hold any grudge against her. She was surprised that she was now working at Reducto Records, and was about to comment, when the door swung open, revealing Tilly, the owner of Reducto Records herself.

Then Margo appeared in a flurry of thrown blankets and lanky limbs. Maggie instantly felt more at ease. She liked Tilly and Jacoba, but still felt a tad awkward about her social blunders at Charlotte's party. Maggie wanted this night to be fun, relaxing. Hell, by the end of it she might even gain a large group of gal pals, something she'd never quite had (along with regular sleepover parties), but at the risk of getting ahead of herself, she shrugged that thought off and entered the apartment.

"Graceful as ever," Maggie grinned at Margo, throwing her bag in a corner, and turning around to look at her place. It reflected Margo's personality: carefree, a little messy, homey and comfortable. "Colette might be stopping by later," she added, thinking it would be alright since Tilly had invited Jacoba to come.

When Jacoba thoughtfully brought out the alcohol, Maggie had a classic 'oh shite' look on her face and glanced at Margo. Margo probably wouldn't give a flying hippogriff that Maggie had forgotten to bring refreshments and such, but then again, she wasn't just hanging out with Margo tonight.

"Oh sod it," Maggie grumbled. "I'll be back," she told them, apparating back to her flat with a pop.

She returned in a few minutes with a sixpack in hand and a big bag of crisps. "Dinner of champions," she announced, setting the things down on the table and opening up a can of beer.

"Can I just say how glad I am to be out of my apartment? The ottoman Colette transfigured into a pig is still running amok, and it's driving me bonkers," she shook her head, leaning against the couch. "I've nicknamed it Skeeter," she smirked, with a glance at Jacoba, thinking she'd appreciate it after the articles Rita had written about her brother.

Colette had heard Maggie was going with Jacoba to a slumber party. Now, she knew Jacoba. And she knew Maggie. So she didn't quite understand why, on a Friday night, she was sitting at home. Of course, Maggie had, on her way out the door, asked if she was sure she didn't want to come. Colette didn't receive a personal invite so, grumbling, she'd settled down with a good book. But it wasn't good enough, because Colette was bored out of her mind and about to bore her wand into her eyeballs from the silence. People were doing stuff. She should, too.

So, with that decision and a light grunt, Colette rose from her seat upon the sofa and stuffed some clothes, nailpolish, margarita mix, and a pillow good for whacking into a duffle and set out for the night . . . and probably next morning. Unless it was lame. Then she'd just be checking in on Maggie. As she closed the door, she heard a pop from inside and frowned . . . Maybe Maggie was already in for the night? Colette would never admit it, but  . . . hanging with the girls sounded like a good option. So while she could just open the door to see if Maggie was there, if she was, Colette'd likely not be going anywhere that evening. Looking for Maggie at Margo's however, would at least get her out.

Colette had a vague acquaintanceship with Margo Amherst: she'd heard of her. She was a few years older and in her house, but she didn't get to know her as well because Colette didn't spend much time in the Common Room (spending a good chunk of her time with the Slytherins) and Margo, to her knowledge, hadn't played Quidditch in her time. They'd never overlapped on the team, at least. Colette'd remember that.

Despite Gryffindor ties, it was still a little awkward showing up on her step. So Colette decided to make as little a deal of it as possible. She knocked, heard laughing, turned the knob, and walked in.

She heard her name, which usually would have made her scowl and grumble something, but this was the perfect segueway. "Can I just say how glad I am to be out of my apartment? The ottoman Colette transfigured into a pig is still running amok, and it's driving me bonkers."

"Hey, you named it," Colette retorted as she sat down next to Maggie, trying to appear for all the world as though she, in fact, belonged there all along. "I just called it Dinner. I would have been happy to have facilitated that transformation." Not really; she'd probably want her Ottoman back before she'd want to slaughter a pig and eat it,  but for now, a pet was fun. And she was not going to let Maggie get off that easy. It was becoming a default joke; which meant pig-oriented jokes were getting old. "She likes to think I don't know how to change it back," she said, looking at the other girls, "but the pig's a great prank accessory; I like to let her loose in Maggie's room. Never know who the squealing's coming from, though." There was a bit of a vicious grin -- perhaps too vicious, she decided, as she didn't know all these girls yet. "Not really," she added quickly.

Feeling now was about the time for a peace offering, she unzipped her duffle to produce the margarita mix.

((Oh my golly, sorry this took so long! I didn't realize it was my turn. I'm trying to fit everyone in, but had to skip over some stuff so this didn’t turn into the eighth HP novel! love you all. LOVE THIS THREAD. ))

---

Tilly grinned, giggling to herself as she floated cheerfully toward the knocking, obviously energized by Margo’s refreshingly honest, bold persona. “I’m gonna have nightmares about birthing an alien, thanks,” she called over her shoulder, winking at her friend as she swung open the door. The sounds behind her were as animated as anything Margo ever did. Tilly was torn, momentarily, between finishing her sentence at their newly arrived friends, and making sure Margo was still in working order.

“Alright there?” She asked good-naturedly, glancing over her shoulder.

She looked back to the women at the door, who were multiplying as effortlessly as the music-consuming things which supposedly swam in one’s uterus. In the World According to Margo. Which, admittedly, was a world Tilly quite enjoyed visiting.

“Hi Jacoba, Maggie!” Stretching onto her tippy toes, she offered her newest employee a one-armed hug, and grinned warmly at the blonde behind her. (Who disappeared in a flourish, only to reappear in that same, wonderfully witchy-- not quite squibby-- manner, holding more refreshments and faintly echoing that pop to which Tilly had become so accustomed).

Amidst the confusion, Tilly sat down again, making herself cozy and shaking her mane of curls. “You’re not a tagalong anything. You were invited, remember? Although I would have kidnapped you if I had to... I hear I could make a living doing that, if I wanted another life.” Something about children, and wardrobes, and raging levels of adorableness which were hard to exist for guitar-carrying, wandless hippies with too much enthusiasm for the non-business aspects of life. Not that Tilly planned to open shop on Knockturn anytime soon. And she had her own growing mystery seed to contend with.

“Dinner... the pig.” The shopkeeper quirked a brow and raised the back of her hand to her mouth, poorly covering her smile. “That’s a little gruesome. You should consider cutting a hairband tribute album, Colette. By then Jacoba will probably be producing...” She nodded to the muggle, and took a sip of the juice Margo had lovingly bought for her.

“So, Maggie, do you ever work with that woman Skeeter?” She turned her attention to the blonde writer, her ears having pricked up at the pig’s name. Er, other name.

The flurry of new faces in her flat didn’t really bother Margo.  She was not the type to frown or disprove of a massive influx of people – she lived by “the more the merrier,” and in this case, it was sure to be true.  The crowd that had assembled was sure to be fun – particularly because they were all very, very different.  Maggie was the slightly grumpy one of the group, Tilly was the pregnant one (as if she needed ANOTHER identity), Jacoba was the muggle possibly posing as a squib (Margo had some serious considerations about Jacoba being a squib researcher or something – sent to join their society and report to the muggles, though none of this could be proven – she was pretty cool, so Margo didn’t dig).  But, with the assortment, it wasn’t surprising that everyone had brought something delicious along with them – and by delicious, it meant booze.

She was glad she had gotten plenty of juice – at first anticipated to be mixers for drinks, and then realizing that Tilly also needed things to drink, and if she couldn’t have the vodka, she might as well have the cranberry juice, right?  That was how these things worked – as simply as people came together, there was usually some form of liquid bonding to put them that way. 

When Margo was finally standing up straight and well enough to actually get to the door, she was glad to see everyone and continued to grin.  It was refreshing to see, and greeting Jacoba, she could not help but laugh.  “Instant friend!” Margo declared, looking at the bottle, “You can add it to the others in the kitchen, if you want,” she offered, waving her hand haphazardly toward the area in which it was contained. 

It seemed that Maggie got the same idea though, popping out and in without so much as a blink from Margo, instead a very wide-set grin greeted the bottle she returned with and Margo giddily clapped her hands like some toddler, “How could this party get any better?!” 

The question was answered swiftly, however, when another person entered the party.  Another voice chimed in, one about the ottoman turned pig that Maggie had named Skeeter – something that Margo laughed at, for a vague memory of someone unpleasant named Skeeter – she didn’t read the Prophet much, but the name of the reporter could not escape anyone who even casually glanced at the paper.

The fact that her picture hadn’t changed in like… fifteen years was just about enough to make anyone suspicious.  Margo didn’t trust anyone who looked the same for too long, it meant contentment and settling to her, she always wanted change – like the time in sixth year when she dyed a strand of her hair red for the hell of it.  Well, more than one strand… really… like several awesome patches that her parents almost killed her for… Oh! She was drifting off again! 

Shaking her head, she pulled herself out of the daze and looked at Collette Wheaton, someone she vaguely recognized from school and other such things that were amiable to people their age – like a bar or two, every once and a while when she was actually in England.  Just another body to add to the ever growing party, which Margo never minded.  Who didn’t want to share and open their house to as many people as possible?  Margo could never turn somebody way, and hobbling away from the door, she made way for everyone to enter and grinned easily as she twirled around the open door frame that separated the living room from the kitchen. 

“Make yourselves comfortable – PJs, whatever – food is over here, so are drinks.  I’m getting myself something – anyone want something?” she looked around, “perhaps to dull the pain of a notorious co-worker,” she looked at Maggie, turning her sights on Tilly immediately after, “or satisfy some bizarre craving, like pickle juice and cranberries or whatever you preggo ladies want.  As for me, it’s some whiskey and pop.”  She started to meander in, grinning lopsidedly as she hobbled in, “Last call for this bartender! After this, get your own, arses!”

Maggie was happy to see that Colette had decided to crash after all, and did the obligatory eye-roll at Colette's teasing about the pig. They pretended like it was some horrible burden, but in reality, they liked the pig. When it behaved.

"Oh no, I've avoided her so far," she told Tilly, when asked if she'd ever worked with Skeeter. Who would voluntarily work with Beelzebub? Most reporters and those types fared better alone, anyway, and Maggie was no exception. The Prophet was competitive, and though she got along very well with Niobe, they didn't quite 'work together'. Work was accomplished huddled in a cubicle, at home, or around town, but not with fellow DPers. Merlin, the thought of sharing!

Tilly didn't know that. But the alarmed, slightly disgusted look on Maggie's face at the mention of Skeeter probably gave her some idea.

"I'm afraid she'd poke me with a poisoned quill or something, if I ever got too close to her victims." The poor souls! "They probably need years of Stevenson after she's done writing about them." Maggie and some others familiar with the Ministry liked to call therapy 'Stevenson', after the well-known bubbly Candice Stevenson, who dealt with all the strung-out Aurors and supposedly reformed criminals.

Maggie was about to tell Jacoba to save up for her brother's therapy now, but then realized that might be in bad taste, so she sent her an awkward, apologetic glance instead.

She shook her head, raised her beer, and grinned when Margo offered food and drinks, letting her know she was content with what she had.

Colette - that had been the interesting girl who was living with Maggie when Jacoba and Niobe had stopped by.  A little grouchy, a lot of fun, all in all, a guaranteed good addition to the night's slumber party if she showed.  Jacoba glanced over her shoulder just as Maggie vanished with a loud crack, shaking her head with a slight chuckle.  "I swear, that's just the weirdest thing," she admitted, turning away, only to look back when the woman reappeared with another crack. 

"Scheiße, when can we divide Skeeter up into chops?"  It would be just Jacoba's luck that Colette would chance to join them just in time for Jacoba's request to butcher their pet.  She offered both women a sheepish grin.  Hopefully, neither would have developed such an emotional attachment to the furniture-turned-farm-animal that they'd take offense to the recommendation.  But, there would be something vindictively satisfying about boiling some Skeeterwurst in a nice lager bath.  And, at first glance, it seemed Colette had some similar ideas. 

Theoretically speaking, of course.  "Can't you all make that woman disappear or something?  She's a menace." And, that was putting it lightly.  "Who's Stevenson?" She asked, glancing towards Maggie.  "Well, she's managing to do a number on us.  I wouldn't mind meeting her again, someday."  And, giving her quite a piece of her mind.

"I hear there is money to be made in kidnapping," Jacoba offered Tilly as she returned the one-armed hug.  "However, I'll follow willingly just about anywhere if there's booze involved."  No kidnapping necessary.  Just a Hansel und Gretel trail of shots along the sidewalk.  "Though, it's never too late for a career change if you get bored." 

She followed Margo over to the assortment of liquor, opting for a beer to start with before chuckling over her shoulder.  "Yeah, I'd produce your album.  Could find you some musicians, too.  Might actually make enough to find my own place, then."  Which, she almost did now - she could certainly let a room.  However, she wasn't exactly hurrying to get off Adon's couch.  She knew she'd, eventually, overstay her welcome but, until then, she was content to squat.

"I wish; would you sell it?" Colette said, grinning at Tilly's comment -- like she'd be worthy of starting a glam, hair band. Brilliant idea, though. If she had any musical talent. She listened to Jacoba's proposal, nodding in a business-like fashion. She used this expression on her interns all the time."How's this: I be talent scout, we put on some karaoke once we're good and drunk later tonight, and I let you know who made the cut. We'll cut out the 'our people', 'my people' thing and just get right to the chase." She paused. "But if that happens, ah. . . Tilly, right? If that happens, Tilly, no recordings of any proceedings going on tonight will be sold. Anywhere." She looked about for silent or vocal confirmation from every individual before moving on.

They then moved on to a relished topic; Colette's smile grew wolfish. She used this expression on interns as well. "I would love to dig my claws into Skeeter -- reduce her into chops." For Colette, the "her" here was clear enough. She was talking about Rita. The pig had been a prop for her costume as Circe -- a man turned pig. Which really wasn't much of a Transfigurative act; all men were pigs anyhow. Skeeter-pig was clearly male. "Her writing is atrocious and her journalism greasy. I bet she sharpens her fingernails to get a better grip on her victims." She sighed as she uncrossed her legs to tuck them under her feet as she sat down on the carpet. "She's the one journalist I can't lay a pen to paper to edit or revise. Readership and all that." She grinned over at Maggie. "And Mags here is one of the journalists I don't need to revise. Though if you let that go to your head, you'll start gloating and we know that does nothing for your sentence construction," she added hastily, lest the compliment be taken too far. The compliment, however, served its own purposes; of course. Maggie wasn't the only person who worked at the Prophet. In fact, Colette was the reason why she'd gotten the job, merit aside. And it didn't hurt to imply that while Maggie was a very talented writer, she did report to Colette. Perfect. Everyone came out looking good in this one.

Margo barked back to the girls from the kitchen and Colette cackled out loud gleefully. She loved this girl. About to bellow back her requests, Colette realised she hadn't made a present of the margarita mix yet and so rose from her haphazard position on the floor, snagging the bottle and moving towards the kitchen. "Brought this -- what do you need help with?" she asked, manners kicking in as she began to fumble around to find ingredients. "You have rimming sugar?" she asked. It didn't matter that this was a margarita and she should be using salt. That bit of "bitter makes the sweet that much sweeter" never made sense. More sugar was more sweet. Adding more sugar made it even sweeter. Duh.

As she went about preparing some drinks -- she assumed the girls would want some,  excepting the preggers music gal -- she kept an ear out for conversation. "Stevenson's the bint -- sorry. She's the girl at the Ministry who psycho-analyses people. Really chipper. Reaally chipper." Colette'd only met her once in passing that time she was hanging around the Ministry waiting for Raynor, but it had been enough. "Nothing wrong with that, of course," she felt the need to hastily add.

She glanced back to Jacoba. They were losing Kia in their apartment, soon, and would be looking for another. At least that was what she thought. It didn't hurt to put an ear to the ground, at least. "Where do you live right now?" If she was living in mummy's basement, still, that would be awkward for her to answer; but her own fault for bringing it up.