Pick Your Poison, Friday

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"Am I depressed?" Margo asked the bath bomb, staring it in the face.

She was draped across a bench in a corner of the store, with a bottle of red wine at her side. "Can't even pull off a bank heist before my co-conspirator bailed. Seriously. The fuck is wrong with me?"

Was she losing her edge?

She blamed Fillory.

... Either way, Pick Your Poison was open.

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[single_man_tear]

It had been a while since Dean checked in on Margo.

Let’s be honest: it had been a while since Dean had annoyed Margo just by existing.

So, after a week on the road, he decided to swing by and see if today would be the day Margo finally hexed him.

"Hey there, your majesty," he said as he stepped into the shop, his eyes catching on the bottle of wine sitting next to her. "I see we’re starting happy hour a little early today."

There was no judgment in Dean's tone. After all, he was known to have a beer for breakfast now and then.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"Sometimes a girl's gotta do what she's gotta drink," Margo said, lifting the bottle in vaguely irritated salute. "Now what do you want?"

[single_man_tear]

Dean chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with smirk and raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just here to see how you're doing, maybe bug you a bit. But if you're in the middle of some serious day drinking, I can come back later."

He paused for a beat, his expression softening just a touch. “Or if you have whiskey, I could join you. I’ve had worse ideas.”

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"What, wine too good for you now?" Margo asked.

After a beat, she nodded towards the back. "Whiskey's on the second shelf behind the counter."

[single_man_tear]

"Wine’s for people a hell of a lot classier than me," Dean said heading behind the counter for the booze. "Plus... I just like whiskey. I’m a whiskey kind of guy. You got a problem with that, sue me."

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"I would, but you look poor," Margo drawled. Stretching out again.

[single_man_tear]

“I am poor,” Dean agreed with a chuckle. “Only thing I own is my car, my gear and a bunch of credit cards that aren’t in my name. So what’s new with you?”

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"Nothing," Margo said, pouring herself another glass. "Which is the problem."

[single_man_tear]

Dean started to pour himself a whiskey as he listened. “Does that mean you are just bored or that someone needs to give you something to do?”

[witchoftheflesh]

He'd been told that the woman who owned the store he was now providing Blackwood cosmetics and products to would be available on Friday and so here he was, once again clad in black on black on black, in clothing that had been custom tailored to fit him, presenting himself to meet her.

No hat today; there had been an argument about it in the hotel room, with Adrian arguing that of course he should wear it, she was expecting a witch, and Boston reminding him that it was a parallel dimension and she might not even know it meant he was a witch, with Bran breaking the stalemate by siding with Boston.

...Or maybe just falling over, sometimes it was hard to say.

"Hello?" he called, stepping inside the shop, the name raising both an eyebrow and a side of his mouth in a quirking smile.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"Yeah?" Margo deigned to sit up on the little padded bench in the corner, but she was still firmly holding on to that glass of red wine. "Pick Your Poison, what do you want?"

[witchoftheflesh]

"I'm supposed to be meeting with the owner today," Adrian said, looking around the shop with open curiosity. "Adrian Blackwood. I was told she..." He turned towards her. "You?...were expecting me?"

He'd thought this had been a pretty cut-and-dried interaction, but he was starting to understand that nothing around here was as simple as it seemed on the surface.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

The look on Margo's face made it clear what the answer to that was, and also how unimpressed she was about whatever act he was putting on there.

"I've been drinking," she said, though, "So how about you remind me what you're here for."

[witchoftheflesh]

He wasn't sure what kind of act simple curiosity was, but okay.

"I work for you now," he said, managing to make that not sound like a question by force of will. "Supplying you with products my family makes. Magical soaps, cosmetics, and other luxury magical goods."

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"You work for me," Margo echoed. She sipped her wine. "And how much do I pay you, exactly?"

[witchoftheflesh]

"Uhhh..." The Old Wives usually handled pricing. Hell, with him not being allowed to leave the groves, he hadn't even been to an Anchor Market to see how they haggled over this kind of thing. He thought he was doing very well with someone who hadn't been outside the boundaries of the Blackwood since he was thirteen, but then something like this would happen and he'd come face-to-face with the realization of just how limited his knowledge of the outside world really was.

"Well, I guess it depends," he said slowly, trying to remember what scraps of information he'd picked up over the years. "If you're buying everything from me directly and reselling, that's one price, but if I'm selling here myself and paying you a commission for the storefront, that's another." Another brief pause as he considered what would be a fair price for time, effort, materials, and quality, then quoted her two figured that were at the very upper end of what he considered fair, assuming she would try to haggle him down a bit. "And if you wanted me to actually work your shop, that would be a different thing altogether, at whatever fair rate you'd pay any employee," he added. "Unless we wanted to just add that amount into the mix and call it good?"

Was it hot in here? Because Adrian was sweating a bit.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

Aw, was he sweating? That was adorable. And funny. Margo let the wine glass linger in front of her face for effect.

"Aw, are you offering yourself as a minion?" she said. "I do like minions."

Provided they weren't as completely incompetent as her Fillorian minions.

[witchoftheflesh]

"Not even a little bit," Adrian said, politely but firmly. And then, a little more uncertainly, "Unless that's what you call all your employees?"

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Jon had tried to get sympathy from Summer about his class, and struck out.

Why he thought Margo would be any better, he had no idea. But at least she might have something else to distract him.

He stepped in and waved tentatively with the hand that wasn't holding his latte tribute.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"Jon," Margo said dryly. "Caffeine doesn't mix well with booze most of the time, just fyi."

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

"There are all kinds of booze and coffee drinks," Jon protested. "Though I don't know of any with wine, admittedly."

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"That's why I said 'most of the time'," Margo said, rolling her eyes. "Irish car bombs and espresso martinis are a different class."

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

"Right. Well, I...I could probably get you one of those if you don't want this," Jon offered.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

Margo let out a loud sigh. "Whatever, Jon," she said, "You can keep the latte, and I won't kick you out for another five minutes."

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Jon frowned and set the latte down. Margo could always have it later.

"I...Are you...You don't seem to be doing well," he offered carefully. "If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."