fandomtownies | Pick Your Poison, Monday

Quentin had vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. Cue the tears, etcetera, whatever. (. . .Margo had been happy to see him too, and she was. . . kinda disappointed he’d gone so quickly. But when was she ever the one to let that out? Fuck, with the way their lives worked, she’d be mourning the missing non-fucking-stop.)

They were on a quest now, which felt like some kind of momentum. That was actually important. Margo fielded some text messages from everyone’s least-favorite fear entity host on her way into the store. The concern was almost adorable, if there hadn’t been the whole Eliot-mindfuckery situation, but if anyone had a book situation handled, it was. . .

Okay. Probably not Q. But he came close.

She sat down by the counter once the store was up and running, and flicked to the spell she’d been cobbling together on her phone. She was close to getting everything together. Hopefully. If this didn’t explode in their faces, like shit usually did.

Shit was exhausting.

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Get your body lotion or your bath product and get out.

She doesn't look like she's working here as much as wasting some time here. Like every week.

So, Pick Your Poison was open again, and Lucille even recognised the person working there. That was enough reason to stop by on her way home, she was hardly in a hurry.

"Good afternoon," she greeted as she entered the familiar shop.

“Goth chick,” Margo greeted, looking up from her phone. “Lookin’ for something?”

"I just walked past and noticed it was open."

She smiled at Margo.

"I used to work here before I became the owner of the flower shop. Did Iris employ you or is this your place now?"

“Is Iris the old owner?” Margo asked, raising her eyebrows. “Because I think I crashed in her. . . lab. Apartment?”

"She is," Lucille said. "You... crashed?"

“Fell in right through the ceiling,” Margo confirmed. “It’s fixed now.”

"Oh," Lucille said. "That is a rather dramatic way to arrive. You have settled in, then?"

“If you mean I moved out of the weird botany lab upstairs, yeah,” Margo said. “Still trying to figure out how to break out of this joint entirely.”

"That can be tricky," Lucille acknowledged. "There are worse places to be stuck in, although it depends on where you are from, of course."

And, since Lucille knew what Iris had been selling apart from bath products, added: "What happened to the laboratory?"

“Upstairs wilting, probably. I didn’t think to check. Did you know half that shit is poison?”

"Yes," Lucille said. "I know. We used to sell it under the counter."

After a brief pause, she added: "I am sure you can find the list of the customers interested in them."

Margo stared at her.

“I’m not selling people poison, get outta here.”

Lucille snorted. "Oh, you are that kind of person," she said. "Well, I am sure the customers can find other places to buy it from."

Maybe they would be interested in poisonous plants?

“Jesus christ,” Margo muttered. (Okay, she might save some of the poison plants for herself. You never knew.) “Yeah, let ‘em."

"I won't keep you busy any longer," Lucille said, smiling coldly. "Have a nice afternoon."

With that, she turned towards the door.

“Yeah, thanks for the update on the poison sitch, Mary Ann Cotton,” Margo said, pulling a face at her retreating back.

Pick Your Poison, Monday

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OOC