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Pick Your Poison, Thursday

You ever just have one of those days where everything on the planet seemed design to fuck with you? Because Margo had a lot of 'em, and most of the time she faced them with all the anger and pushback they deserved.

Not today, though.

Today she was hanging out on a daybed she'd moved into the back of the store, near the perfume aisle. Legs stretched out, a book in her hand, and a notepad by her side. Just in case she suddenly got some big time party planning ideas.

Ugh.

Even the book wasn't that great.

[[ open! ]]

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Amaya had been meaning to reach out to Margo about that axe finally being finished one of these days, and, well, since the shop was a bit on the chaotic side of things at the moment with the new counter being worked on, she figured, if she was going to take a break and seek her out, today might be a good day for it!

So she wa glad to spot her there toward the back of that store she owned, greeting her with an enthusiastic punch of her fist. "Margo! Just the gal I was looking for! Have I got some news for you!"

Sure, Amaya had wrapped the axe in a cloth for protection on the way over, but, really, there weren't many ways to wrap an axe that made it really hard to guess what it was she'd lugged into the shop with her.

"Please tell me it's good news, or I'm gonna grab my mace and I'm just gonna start whaling on something," Margo said, lowering her book.

Okay. That didn't look like anything that would screw up her day...

"Well," said Amaya, somehow managing to find a few bars in front of her to lean on as she heaved a sort of sigh, "it's not terrible news, although a part of me almost wishes it was. This place has got loads of good whaling material in it."

Which probably wouldn't be good for Margo's profit margins, sure, but apparently smashing that counter earlier this week hadn't gotten all the destructive tendancies out of Amaya completely.

Margo would've said something, but she suddenly felt the strangest and most impossible urge to pull one arm back as if she was about to actually whale on something.

"What the fuck."

Bars now gone, Amaya just ducked her head, as a sudden wave of disappointment fell over her that she could't quite escape.

It really didn't help, either, that their interactions thus far had felt a little...well, not exactly right.

"I just..." she said, feeling impossibly sad about the thing she'd just been excited about two second ago, which would have been more immediately confusing if it weren't for this overwhelming oppressive feeling, "...wanted to bring you your axe, finally. That's...that's all..."

"I can't believe my axe is finally ready!"

Actually. She'd been shooting for the word 'actually'. But well, it was Margo, and anger came as second nature, and she was very, very annoyed-angry right now for a reason she couldn't place.

"Sorry it took so long," Amaya started, holding up the axe for a moment and pulling the cloth off to reveal it, but, as soon as she had, she blinked at it. "Wait. Hold on a second, actually."

Apparently, she'd noticed some minor flaw in the bit that she needed to fix right away, so it was a good thing, when she turned around, she already had a nice warmed forge and hammer ready to go so she could hammer out that last minute imperfection.

"HOLD ON TO WHAT?" little Margo demanded, glaring up at Amaya imperiously.

And Amaya looked over at little Margo with doubt and uncertainty. Not so much about the forge that had already disappeared, which seemed like it would have been something to notice, but more about a certain reluctance to give a weapon to a kid that part of her brain probably figured was still Margo, but still...

Frowning slightly, she tentatively held out the axe.

"To this," she offered, "I guess?"

Boy, she hoped she wasn't about to regret that!

Little Margo padded towards her from the daybed, her expression skeptical. "Is that an axe?" she asked. "Is that my axe? Gimme!"

"It is an axe," Amaya confirmed, but since the kid was still a kid, and she wasn't even sure it really was Margo, or something else going on, she hesitated, pulling the axe a little closer to herself as she regarded the kid with reluctant skepticism right back. "But it's actually meant for someone a bit...uh....bigger'n you..."

"I'm just big enough for this, thank you," Margo said.

She wanted to let her eye go big and maybe baffle about what the fuck just happened, but instead she found herself leaning forward and reaching for the axe.

And now it was Amaya who seemed to be lacking in a certain bigness, although she hadn't gone down quite as much as Margo had. It was enough to make her stagger a little with the unexpected weight of the axe in her hands, which she passed on the Margo eagerly, because she could hardly believe she had been holding one in the first place.

"Wow!" she gushed, grinning big. "Is this yours? That's a mighty fine axe, if I'd ever seen one! Thanks for, uh, thanks for letting me hold it!"

She just assumed it was the older woman's axe. She looked fierce! Like someone from all those stories!

"It's mine now," Margo said, annoyed, which at least felt like the appropriate emotion for the moment.

Irene had intended to just come in to peruse the spendy lotions and bother Margo -- both, of course, worthy pastimes -- but almost immediately upon entering the shop, she found that she was no longer clad in the cozy wool coat she'd set out in, but instead a near-translucent, lacy green dressing gown.

"Margo? Are you doing a...thing?" she called, fairly willing to roll with it as she looked down at herself, shrugged, and made her way over to see about a good body butter.

"I'm not doing anything!" Margo yelled.

Tried to yell. It came out attuned - bizarrely enough - to the basic melody of the classic song 'Under Pressure' by David Bowie and Queen, and she was grinning at absolutely nothing like an idiot.

Well, that didn't seem very accurate, then.

Irene followed the sound of her voice, wandering out of the perfume aisle with her phone out for some reason. "Just felt like singing, then?"

"No," Margo said sharply, through her smug smirk. "There's some weird shit going on and it's trying to get on my nerves."

Irene, now in what was certainly a man's coat, leaned down to peer at Margo critically. "And you don't know what's doing it? I was nearly naked when I walked in, for some reason."

Give it time, Irene. You would probably be actually naked within a few minutes.

"If I knew what was doing it, do you think I would be this upset?" Margo ground out tensely.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Irene asked the newly-appeared Mycroft Holmes, though she looked fairly smug about it. "Margo, this is new to me, I have no idea what the hell is happening."

But maybe she could figure it out! Magic and all!

Edited 2022-01-20 15:17 (UTC)

"To me this looks like some whimsical fuckery," Margo said, "The likes of which is completely fucking random on this godforsaken whimsy-fest of an island."

"But I do usually like whimsy, at least," Irene offered, and just as the narrative had predicted, all she was wearing now was her jewelry and a be-lipsticked smile. "...even if it's a chilly sort of whimsy today, my goodness."

"Sounds like someone who's never had to deal with the really fucky kind of whimsy," Margo spoke from the floor, her hand tangled in--

"Eliot?"

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Pick Your Poison, Thursday

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