fandomtownies | Pick Your Poison, Monday

There was a limited amount of money you could get out of a small-town bank. Enough to do the kind of shopping that let Margo hit that I'm-a-queen-in-Earth-exile-but-I'm-still-High-fucking-Queen vibe she was going for, not enough to keep it up for more than a week. Maybe a week and a half, if she went into fashion starvation mode. And it didn't seem like she'd be getting out of this shithole that quickly, so. . . the stupid lotion and bath bomb shop would have to make up for her missing credit card.

For now. Sure, Ember was dead, she wasn't in a time crunch, but she had a kingdom to run. She couldn't let Eliot unravel into a champagne glass forever.

With some luck she'd make the kind of cash she needed to pay a Traveller or whatever to get her out of here, or to get a message back to Penny. . . Maybe she could sell some of this stuff online? The island wasn't exactly overflowing with clientele.

She slapped the 'open' sign on the door of the store when she rolled out of bed around 11. She found a seat somewhere in the corner, stretched out, and pulled out her phone. "Google, how the hell do I open up a webshop?"

[open]

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Buy stuff without Margo.

She's in the corner, preoccupied with her phone.

Travis would have simply walked on by with Probie, as was his usual -- he wasn't the sort of gay man who went all in for manscaping or pampering -- but he recognized the one-eyed woman in the shop from their run-in at the Perk and his curiosity got the best of him.

"So! I see you're starting to settle in a little."

“Christ, could you make that sound more like I’m settling for middle class suburban hell with a dumb cock and a poodle if you tried?”

Don’t be fooled, Travis, because Margo was looking up from her phone, so at the very least you had her attention. “I’m just trying to earn some quick cash, since someone dumped this place in my lap.”

Edited 2021-08-30 19:27 (UTC)

"Sure I could," Travis said easily, unphased. "I could have said 'I see you're settling for . . .' et cetera, et cetera. You do have a way with words, don't you."

He looked around the shop, Probie heeling obediently at his side.

"So I take it you're not a true devotee of the bath bomb?"

“No. Upstairs is the murder hellhole of an apartment I fell into when I got here,” Margo said, pointing that way, just in case Travis had forgotten what way up was. Hey, she had no idea, he was coming in here talking about settling, who knew what else went on in his head? “And when I came down here, the paperwork had my name on it. It’s the level of bullshit that makes me wonder if maybe someone put me in witness protection without asking, and I don’t know about you, but I’m big on consent.”

"I'm generally a fan of that, too," Travis said. He was lucky he'd been only offered his position at the fire station and not actively roped into it, huh. "But, uh. Let's circle back here. What do you mean 'murder hellhole'?"

Was that just a creative turn of phrase, or were there like, bodies up there?

“Half the place’s right out of a mad surgeon’s laboratory and the other half is basically full of plants,” Margo said, rolling her eyes up at the ceiling, like that would do something. “If it was weed, I’d get it. But I don’t know what that shit is. The only reason I’m sleeping there is because it’s got a bed and it’s free.”

"A mad scientist's lab," Travis said, and looked pointedly around the room. "Or . . . possibly one for distilling aromatics from the plants for bath products?"

“Yeah, I guess, but why the fuck would you do that in your bedroom?”

“I try not to judge what people choose to do in their bedrooms.”

That was a blatant lie. Travis judged everybody all the time.

Oh, Margo eyed him hard over that one. Definitely some judging! “Well, maybe this is a great time to start,” she said. “I downloaded this app on my phone that says at least one of those things up there is poisonous.”

Travis sighed. He really wished he could be surprised by that.

“So the name of this place isn’t just a quaint affectation then, huh.”

“Every time I touch a wall or a floorboard,” Margo said, sitting forward as if she was letting Travis in on a secret, “I expect at least three ex-husbands to come tumbling out.”

“How very Bluebeard,” Travis said. “. . . You want me to check? It doesn’t happen a whole lot, but I’ve stumbled over a body or two in my line of work.”

“I mean, so have I,” Margo said, waving her hand casually at the world, like she was saying both shit happens and enh, dead bodies all at once. “Though the day I stop a hot fireman from rummaging through my apartment is the day they find me cold, dead, and clutching the lifeless body of the bastard that killed me.”

Edited 2021-08-31 12:34 (UTC)

Travis chuckled. "Well, fair warning, just so you don't get your hopes up, I'm gay."

Margo snickered. “I know, honey,” she said. “I know.” She shrugged. . . expressively. “I’m a grown-up, I know how to appreciate things I can’t touch.”

“Well.” Travis flushed ever so slightly. “Good, then. Ogle away.”

“Thank you,” Margo said, a little higher in her register just to drive home her gratitude.

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