Margo Hanson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
not_a_goddamn_princess) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2021-08-25 05:05 pm
not_a_goddamn_princess) wrote in fandomtownies2021-08-25 05:05 pm
Entry tags:
Pick Your Poison, Wednesday
You ever just have one of those years? ‘Cause a year ago all Margo worried about was what she was gonna wear to the Trials, and maybe what cocktail was going to feature at the next Physical Cottage rager.
She sure as fuck hadn’t wasted an entire day yelling at a bunch of gnomes back then, or lost a whole evening on enchanting a medical horror cabinet masquerading as a mini-fridge until it could store a reasonable amount of delivery. She’d wound up so tired she hadn’t had the juice to make the mattress more comfortable while she was at it.
The gnomes hadn’t panned out, and that small-town take on sweet and sour chicken fit just fine in the back of her thrice-as-big-on-the-inside fridge now. Time to take stock. Literally. Nobody had shown up to the lotion store downstairs since she’d gotten here. Hell, something had left the keys sitting on top of the fridge that morning, along with a letter addressed to the place with her name on it.
It smelled like a big fat hint.
“Starting to wonder if this isn’t one of Fogg’s shitty witness protection spells,” she muttered as she stood at the counter, looking at the letter. Something about more inventory coming in tomorrow? Fuck if she got it, she didn’t do retail. But if she opened the door and people came in, well, people were going to do what they did, right? Maybe they’d buy something without bothering her, and she could put off spelling the local ATM into spitting up cash for her wardrobe replacement fund for another day.
[ open! ]
She sure as fuck hadn’t wasted an entire day yelling at a bunch of gnomes back then, or lost a whole evening on enchanting a medical horror cabinet masquerading as a mini-fridge until it could store a reasonable amount of delivery. She’d wound up so tired she hadn’t had the juice to make the mattress more comfortable while she was at it.
The gnomes hadn’t panned out, and that small-town take on sweet and sour chicken fit just fine in the back of her thrice-as-big-on-the-inside fridge now. Time to take stock. Literally. Nobody had shown up to the lotion store downstairs since she’d gotten here. Hell, something had left the keys sitting on top of the fridge that morning, along with a letter addressed to the place with her name on it.
It smelled like a big fat hint.
“Starting to wonder if this isn’t one of Fogg’s shitty witness protection spells,” she muttered as she stood at the counter, looking at the letter. Something about more inventory coming in tomorrow? Fuck if she got it, she didn’t do retail. But if she opened the door and people came in, well, people were going to do what they did, right? Maybe they’d buy something without bothering her, and she could put off spelling the local ATM into spitting up cash for her wardrobe replacement fund for another day.
[ open! ]