On Mr. Holliday

Will

It had been a couple of days. Because of the timing of everything William hadn't really had a chance to get anything settled at the intermediary residence. Not that it would have mattered, he didn't seem too keen on doing much in the way of anything beyond cooking. Not that he really ate much of it, but he made enough for an army for the purposes of grazing. He'd made pancakes because crepes were hard. Muffins, or really any kind of breakfast food that he could make with the things on hand or with minimal effort regarding summoning and transfiguration. It was hard to turn flour into bacon, but it did happen once. The bacon ended up chalky, but it was bacon and that was good enough. 

Beyond that he spent most of his time on the back porch. He'd once asked Doc to pop his wrist back into place and then seemed surprised that he'd done it without it actually hurting. Gratitude was given and then it was back to sitting outside and occasionally talking to himself. 

You're outside. It's daytime. Margot and Ned and Sepúlveda are in the house and they're fine. It's Tuesday (it's Wednesday, it's Thursday, it's Thursday? It's Friday.) There's grass in the yard and a hole at the back of the property; this is real.

Sometimes, he named different things that he saw. Grass, birds, squirrels. But always, always ended with this is real.. Somewhere between naming the things outside and making breakfast, he came back in to find Margot. He wasn't entirely clear on the day today, but it was easy when you lose track of time courtesy of reality shaking you like an angry babysitter.

"I need to change clothes," he told her, "can you take me home? I can buy Taco Bell after."

Margot

During the time he'd spent recovering at the house out in Boulder where this weird morbid little cabal lived, Will wouldn't find himself restricted.  It was common sense and courtesy not to go poking around in a Scientist's lab, but beyond that all he'd catch was the occasional hawkish watch of Ned Gaites and a single warning that Margot had offered while rinsing blood from towels in the kitchen sink: "Better to just stay out of the tunnels.  For now, anyway."

This time when Will came inside and found Margot in the kitchen she was sitting on the end of the bench of the breakfast nook.  She had her legs folded up into a pretzel shaped lap and was examining the top of one foot up close.  There was a small pile of abandoned bandages (lightly stained now, as opposed to just the other day when they were bleeding through every six hours), and Margot appeared quite pleased to find that, at long last, the weeping holes at the tops of her feet and palms of her hands (unwrapped as well) had gone away.

"Hm?"  Margot's attention popped up when Will spoke, and big eyes blinked a couple of times while she processed what he was saying about clothes.  Then:  "Oh!  Ah, sure.  Hey, look!"  And, with a grin, she held her hands out to show him the smooth backs.  There was a mug of coffee on the breakfast table with her, and she reached over to take a sip before leaning down to gather up the shed bandages in a wad.

"Are you grabbing up more than just a suitcase?"  She asked with her mind on the several storage tubs that she had stashed in the trunk of her car, figuring she would need to bring them inside before they left if so.  There was another question that was unknowingly laced in with an underlying assumption in what was said, though:  you are coming back to stay, right?

Will

She shows him the back of her hands and he visibly brightened, the first instance of actual delight on his features (or really any kind of emotional response) since he got back. William looks most like himself when he smiled. "Oh Hell yes," he said. "That is awesome. And less gross, but you could totally bottle that so you have ritual blood on hand. Stock up while it's free?"

William looks like someone tried to kill him. The bruising and the scrapes and whatnot wasn't much of a physical problem anymore but he still looked horrible. Blood vessels burst in one , likely a result from what looked like where someone choked him out. Scratches on the wrist that spontaneously dislocated, scraped knees, the telltale signs of what happens when you shoot up wrong littering the inside of one of his forearms, and (the most innocuous) a bruise on his shin that looks like he kicked a coffee table. It hadn't all happened at once, but the culmination of all those incidents remembered courtesy of paradox were awful. 

But! There was a question, he leans carefully against the kitchen counter- very, very careful- and he blinks. Slow, not measured but assuredly distant. He was thinking before he finally nodded and-

"Yeah, I plan on grabbing a couple of suitcases," he half laughed but his heart didn't seem in it, "your couch is way more comfortable than mine. A friend made mine for me and it is still kinda pointie feeling because he literally materialized the couch in my apartment."

Followed by a little 'heh' before something seemed to strike him as awkward (no, uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable) and he retreated to the fridge. 

Margot

During the several days that the pair were confined to the house, recovering from their individual wounds of Paradox, Margot was self-confined to the basement.  The bleeding just would not stop, and though she bandaged her hands for comfort she would still end up making a terrible mess of the living space upstairs.  She had been miserable, cried in frustration and worry at least once a day up until today when the effects had finally come to an end.  During that time they had seen little of each other, each miserable in their own ways, waiting for the storms to pass.

Today was better though; Margot's first genuine grin had provoked Will's, and for a time the clouds had cleared, both figuratively and literally.  Margot had pushed open curtains and opened the windows to let air and light both into the home, wanting as much of it as possible following her stint in the basement.

"No."  Margot shook her head to the notion of collecting the blood, and moved to wash her hands in the sink after tossing the bandages in the garbage.  "That blood was cursed," she said resolutely.  "I don't trust it to behave right for any Work."

Talk of couches and an air of discomfort joined them next, and Margot flexed her brow downward while drying her hands.  She padded across the kitchen tiles on bare feet that still needed the last of the blood washed from them (but it was dry and minimal now at least, largely soaked up by the bandages), scooped up her mug, and discarded it in the sink to fetch herself a to-go thermos instead.  Raised her eyebrows back at him to inquire if he wanted any as well, obliged accordingly.

"You know there's another bedroom upstairs.  It's the door right to the side of the stairs.  It's... I mean, it's small, but it's not the couch, at least."

Will

"Yeeaah, you have a point. You could be inadvertently starting some Steven King level stuff with that kind of blood," he agreed. Followed the point and continued along. There were thermoses to be given, and he did take her up on the offer for having a To-Go drink. He put his hands to his side, only to remember that these shorts don't have pockets and that his bag was still at the train station along with, presumably, his cell phone. Assuming, of course, that nobody stole his things. 

He was lucky in that regard. He wasn't going to have to replace too much, but that was neither here nor there. Pocket watch stayed at home that day. 

"You sure everyone is going to be okay with that?" William was cautious, "the only time Ned's talked to me was when he proceeded to call me a colossal fuckup and threatened to kill me if I didn't join the cabal and I'm pretty sure Sepúlveda can't remember my name without being prompted."

A beat. 

"Does the door lock?"

Margot

"Of course the door locks."  Margot didn't bother locking it when she walked away from the house, though.  While Doc had a day job to hold down and was typically absent during the daytime hours, Ned was in and out of the house as freely and frequently as she could be.  It wasn't long after this that Margot wiped her feet down with a bath rag, dressed them in sandals, and was headed out the house toward the driver's seat of her little easily-overlooked sedan.

"We're a cabal.  I mean, I suppose that doesn't mean cohabitation, but look at what just happened-- we took how long to know something was wrong and you needed help?"

A sip of coffee was pulled before she started the car, backed up down the lengthy driveway and out onto the narrow residential street, then shifted to drive and started back toward the city.

"If Ned didn't care to keep you around he would have seen you killed instead of inviting you into the cabal."  She paused for a beat, frowned softly, and took another drink before adding: "If I were him and wanted that I would've gone straight to Doc and not called the meeting; left me out of the whole affair.  Of course I wasn't going to let that meeting close with the alternative ending.  But he called the meeting instead, didn't he?"

Will

"Ned is very loyal and very committed to your-" he gestures, there is no English equivalent to the plural you, "-well being. I wouldn't blame him if that was what he wanted to do and it's good that he didn't. I don't-" 

There was a hitch there, something that stuck when he was getting into the car and buckling up. William looked at the window and tried to determine whether or not he needed to roll it down. It wasn't small in here, and it wasn't suffocating, and this was real and everything is okay. 

"I'm not mad that it took long. I... I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I didn't want this but-" he inhales slow and deep and it makes his lungs burn when he does if only because it feels bitter, "-but it doesn't matter what my intention is. Good intentions do not negate bad results, and continued things like this? It's... it's a sign of bad judgment."

This is my fault. 

Margot

"We all have bad judgment, Will."

Margot said this in a tone that was patient and old sounding for a voice as small and young and clear as hers.  She glanced to him from the road, momentarily, before looking back through the windshield and minding traffic safety once more.

"That was the point Ned was making when he brought us together.  If you want to look at it in terms of fault I guess you could, and you could say it was yours, but then any number of Bad Things have been the fault of any one of us.  Shoot, the time that Doc got his wrists fused...  Or hauling Ned to the E.R. in the middle of noplace Iowa because of my poor choices and Ned's encouragement of them...  I've.." She trailed off and swallowed, scowling at the hard memories.  They did not cause her paroxysms of terror or the sensation of bad history imminently repeating itself, not any longer, but some things were still very hard to talk about all the same.

She cleared her throat and took another sip from her thermos.

"The cabal's us trying to keep all of Us alive, because the paths we're all walking otherwise would get us killed if we were alone."

Will

I've-

He turned his head and looked at her, studied the side of her face as she cleared her throat and noticed things like how fast they were going and the road signs they were passing and all the things he didn't need to focus on. Tuning out the noise made looking at another person easier, though. Made it more meaningful because it meant you needed to be present. 

"I think... we're putting unrealistic expectations on ourselves. Everyone seems to have their shit together because they fake it better, or maybe because they have support or-" he waved it away, "I'd rather have someone around who is indifferent towards me at best than being alone anymore."

"Aren't you ever afraid people will get sick of you and leave?"

Margot

"You're probably right there," she agreed about the unrealistic expectations.  Put on her blinker, switched lanes to get around a slow SUV hauling a boat.  "But we're unrealistic people.  It makes sense that everything about us, including our expectations, would be that way too."

The question that followed earned him another glance past her right shoulder, this one a little lengthier, but prevented from going on too long by being behind the driver's wheel.  Her expression was a thoughtful one; introspective, as opposed to somewhat hurt/somewhat pitying as it has been in the past.  She reached for her thermos again but held it in the air, paused before drinking so she could answer.

"I was, once.  I never had many people... it was pretty much just my Mom and I for a lot of the time, and I never worried about her leaving.  I..."  A swallow.  A sip from her thermos, and then she continued in a hush of resigned confession.  "I was the one who wound up leaving her.  And when I got out here I suppose I worried people would leave me because of what I'd done, what I can do.  I met Ned and the Doc...."

Her eyes and expression went blank while she analyzed the memories, as opposed to searching them alone.

"....I worried Ned would leave when he found other Mages; we were the first that the other had discovered, y'know.  I worried Doc would leave us both once we were no longer Apprentices; once I became a Verbena.

"But neither of them did.  Ned's still here grinding through books with me and helping teach me to defend myself.  The Doc's still here, teaching us, keeping us safe, giving us a home.  We've given one another all plenty of times and reasons to leave, but no one has.  I don't worry about that anymore.  It takes time, but that worry does die."

Will

"You were afraid he'd leave... like he'd find someone better and leave you since you weren't the world anymore?" William stopped, "... I'm putting words in your mouth."

He had an opportunity, to either ruminate and give background and history. To prattle on about himself and there is that silence when he looks for something to say. There is more silence there than need be, all things considered. She talks about having a friend who stuck with her, having a mentor who decided to keep teaching them and didn't cut ties the minute that there was some sort of divergence. 

"Kalen wasn't like that," William confessed, "he was the first person I met after almost four years of being alone. I thought he was the sun, he gave me that pocket watch I use, and a lot of other things."

He inhaled, shook his head and realized that his gaze had gone distant and that he had lost touch with his reflection. That he had been staring at the faint showing in the side window and that he couldn't quite place the person there. Familiar but not. 

"Coming here sounds like it was really nice... what was it like studying with Doc?"

Margot
Big hazel eyes flitted toward William when he began what sounded like projecting abandonment fears, and the corner of her mouth that faced him turned downward in sympathy when he stopped himself and stated precisely what he was doing-- putting words in her mouth.  To answer that she just rolled a shoulder in a shrug-- maybe, the non-committal answer of the ages.

"Not even that I wasn't the world.  I didn't ever think that I was.  I just used to think he'd find a Tradition and run away to a new land with new people to learn how to be One of Them."  However, as Will had to be aware by now, Ned was traditionless; truly an Orphan, even if he did smack of those who fiddled much with Entropy and Death from time to time.

She grew quiet after that, and in that quiet William spoke up about Kalen, who gave him much but wasn't 'like that'  She kept her eyes forward this time, and kept her quiet as well, though she didn't seem uncomfortable in it.  Just thoughtful, then companionly.  She didn't want to press for details, as the subject seemed tender, and trusted he would offer more clarification if/when he wanted.  After a time, they would instead talk about studying under Doc.  It was around this time that Margot was getting off the freeway to enter Denver and get William back to his belongings.

"Harsh," she answered without hesitation.  "He more or less built out a roadmap and dictionary and then kept us mostly safe while we figured out hard lessons.  He'll bitch at you for asking stupid questions, or sometimes outright forbid them if he's lecturing.  He'll be mean and roll his eyes and groan, but he makes sure that we know what we need to know, and lets us use his books even if we disagree on the fundamentals of how Magick works."

Will

I just used to think he'd find a Tradition and run away to a new land with new people to learn how to be One of Them."

"That he'd join another tribe, so to speak?" like that made more sense to him. The idea of finding your people and learning their dances and becoming One Of Them, or discovering the part of yourself that was there all along. 

The apprenticeship she described was harsh, which made him seem to brighten at the mention. Of something that was informative and interesting and, at that moment, he could hold onto it and be engrossed in the process. "I think cantankerous is a good word for him. Like that old guy that wants you off his lawn, but is going to make sure you don't step in any holes and gives you practical presents because he won't come out and say he likes you."

"I think Sepúlveda likes you."

He continued on, "Kalen... was great for a good two months. He was attentive and interested in having someone there that he could teach but then it just... stopped. The contact, the connections- he was off infatuated by someone or something else. Collecting projects or buying things or some weekly fling. I learned the vast majority of things about the Order from a book instead of him; we're not even members of the same house. 

"I didn't get to ask questions- he wouldn't answer if I asked him and if I asked someone else he'd get mad and say that I wasn't trusting him and that I was shutting him out."

Margot

"Yeah..."  The first time she said this was in agreement about tribes and running off to find them.  She felt hesitation in joining her own Tradition because of that; she'd felt a witch from the very start, and she'd always felt a primal one connected to the earth and the oceans and the blood that would soak the both of them.  When she learned what the Verbena were she knew it was where she belonged, but loathed the thought of leaving her mismatched little cabal behind to learn from a coven someplace far away near the sea.

The second time, though, was after Will concluded his analysis about her mentor, how he must like her.  "Yeah."  A small smile touched her face at the corners of her mouth and eyes. "I know he does."

Following that she listened and learned about Kalen and the kind of mentor/apprentice(/something more?) relationship that existed there.  It had her scowling gently, a set of lines appearing between her eyebrows where they pinched together.  Again, it seemed she didn't quite know what to say, but it could be that she was focused on pulling them into a parking space before the building where Will lived.  She parked the car and hesitated before getting out.  Making up her mind, she reached across Will's legs to tap the latch to the glove box, which fell open to show a neat and typical stack of papers in clear plastic bags (registration, manual, insurance), a number of clean napkins and a to-go package of tissues, and a black zipper pouch; it was the lattermost thing that she snatched up and over into her own lap.

When the pouch was unzipped it wafted the smell of a number of herbs; pine and sage being the strongest smelling.  From the bag she pulled an oblong wooden cylinder about half the size of her small hand, and a miniature sky blue lighter.  The cylinder was revealed to hold a false ceramic cigarette-- a one-hitter for weed, which she packed into the device from where it was stashed within the cylinder's chamber before offering it over to Will along with the lighter.

While he got his hands and mouth situated around taking a hit that was offered apropos of nothing, she spoke at last.

"Obviously I'd never met this Kalen, but it sounds like he was something of a jealous and emotionally abusive shit.  And I'm sorry for that."  When it was her turn to take the hitter back she did, and re-packed it as she continued.

"We're all shits too; me and The Doc and Ned, all of us suck pretty hard in our own ways.  But we're here to learn and grow and survive, and I think we can help you do a better job of it than books and some guy who can't be assed to remember you unless he's feeling slighted."

Will

She retrieved the one hitter-

"Margot, you fucking saint," he laughs, again with something like sincere joy. He took the one hitter and inspected it quietly, rolled ceramic between his fingers for a second before poising the lighter where he needed it to be. He took his drag. 

They were parked in front of a place called Floral and Hardy- it was a florist shop that, once upon a time, people cared about. The neighborhood has since fallen into disrepair and the little door next to the shop that led to the apartment looked like it had been replaced several times. It was an older part of town that had yet to feel the effects of gentrification. The rent was still reasonable, and that was good enough for Will when he was paying for two people. 

He held his breath while listening to her. Nodded once and then twice before handing the one hitter off and exhaling slowly. He didn't hack his lungs out, clearly subscribing to the idea that if you cough you did it wrong, versus being of the camp that you have to cough to get off. Who knew where the truth in the debate actually went. 

"I'd tell people and they'd either deny that he'd act that way and shut it down or say that it was the way he was and I should get over it or that, y'know, I had to have done something to deserve it, right?" William laughed, shrugging his shoulders before unbuckling and getting ready to head up to the apartment, the sound wasn't so much laughter as a release of tension, "he didn't even tell the Order about me... after all that, he never brought me up apparently. I had to convince the representatives that I needed to join."

"I mean, I am a shit, though. And I'm glad to be in similar company. Besides, you're prettier than most books," Will grinned, "have you seen medieval manuscripts? The ones from 1200? Better than a centerfold."

Margot

Margot was of a similar camp as William, and held her smoke within her lungs for a good time before blowing smoothly over her shoulder and into the back seat of her car.  She did cough a little, though, and brought her hand to press a fist to her mouth to muffle the sound.  The coughing bled into a sentence.  "Wh-what--" koff! "What kind of gaslighting community used to live here?"

When the coughing subsided to let her face find its own expressions again, she appeared alarmed and angry both.  The hitter was re-stashed appropriately in the zipper pouch, from there in the glovebox, and the two were climbing out of the car and up onto the sidewalk in front of the floral shop.  Margot didn't carry a purse with her anyplace, just kept her important cards and cash in the wallet folds that were built into her phone case.  This meant she was without any sticks of gum, though she did pat her pockets just to confirm that none was there (it was not).

She stepped around the headlight of the car to join Will's side, and would fall into step with him to lead the way to the apartment he'd been residing within.  When he paid his compliment, proclaiming her prettier than any ancient centerfold, she appeared momentarily taken aback, as though having seen something as unusual as a deer go sprinting across a downtown avenue.  Then she blinked and put a smirk on her face that helped her pretend she didn't feel blush blooming tell-tale in her cheeks like it always did.  "Oh, stop.  It's not the centerfold's fault that it never knew about modern hygiene and fashion."  Said while wearing flip-flops, cut-off denim shorts and a gray v-neck tee that was a little too large and stretched from too many washes on top of that.  Clearly the height of fashion.

"Where did he go?"  This was asked after a few moment's lapse into quiet, clearly kicking the conversational can back to Kalen.  There was a particular note to the question, delving and hinting of threat, that sounded very much like something she'd picked up from either/both of her cablmates... or possibly the Goddess that rode in her bones.  It did seem like the macabre aura that stuck faded and sticky in the air about her rolled comfortable as a tide to shore while she waited for the answer, whatever that may be.

Will

It was a two way security system that, as it turned out, was a really ineffective system. There was supposed to be a passcode lock on the door, but Will shoved his shoulder into it while he opened which jarred it with enough force to actually open the damned thing. It was up the stairs then in a narrow hallway with aging floral carpet covering maple wood stairs. This place had potential- the architecture, the molding, the opportunities again and again to be something truly beautiful if someone had actually cared about it. 

Luckily that disrepair came in handy because in order to get the spare key to his apartment, William jostled a piece of molding that wasn't quite attached as well as it should have. It moved the key out just enough that he could reach the tip and pull it out. he numbers on his apartment door had long since come off. 

"It's true! I'd daresay you even hold a candle to the calligraphic prowess of twelve cloistered monks. You're Book of Kells caliber," he gave her a thumbs up and a playful grin. Seemed more himself when he was playful and poking fun. 

The lock, however, was well cared for. It turned without a sound beyond the resounding click that came when one felt the deadbolt fall into position. He pushed the door and it opened without any real effort. The apartment was beautiful, but one could tell that it hadn't always been that way. The tile in the kitchen still needed to be tended but the exposed brick walls were clean and the ceilings were high. The molding was restored, the plaster was redone in the places that needed it. Fresh paint- it had to have taken time to do, and given the condition of the rest of the building it was clear this unit did not start out in the condition it happened to be in now. 

Upon opening the door there were a set of stairs that led up to a loft with a wrought iron bed that probably cost a small fortune. There were places where there should have been pictures on the walls, but those paintings were taken down and facing the wall. The floors were sanded and pristine, save for the chalk outlines and circles and what-have-you written there. It very clearly used to be an apartment but now felt more like a Workspace with a bed. There was a bedroom off to one side, and a balcony that had a lovely view of a wall. His plants were dying from the lack of waterings they'd received. 

"I've got water and stuff in the fridge, you're welcome to anything that isn't spoiled," he told Margot. Avoided the gaslighting question in favor of being preoccupied with these sorts of things. Like looking around and figuring out where he put his suitcases. 

Where did he go?

William didn't answer that one, instead he went to the bedroom down the way and retrieved a piece of rolling luggage, "Kalen?" Nope, couldn't buy himself any more time there, "He just... left. Left Denver, left the Order of Hermes, packed up his things and flew to South America to live with some priest named Ramon from the Chorus."

"He was one of the big movers-and-shakers when things first seemed to be going down in Denver. He knew all the right people, was in the thick of everything. He was a hub for the city-" he tipped the suitcare over and started to unzip it. A smaller suitcase fell out, which made William look relieved. 

He stopped for a second, that weird moment of reflection, "-and... I was a fuck up who made stupid mistakes very publicly- who kept getting in trouble and meant well but it didn't matter. I made him look bad. I mean... so it made sense. It makes sense, if I was better things would have been different." It had been said in a convicted fashion, like a genuine core belief. Not self-pitying, but rather like he was delivering an undisputed fact to Ms. Travers, "I had it coming."

Margot

In a home not her own-- nay, clearly a Workspace not her own, given the chalk on the ground and the much-cleared space-- Margot did her best to explore with her eyes and not with her hands and feet.  William was pulling suitcases out like nesting dolls and busying himself with his packing, and seeing this as a one-man job that she'd slow more than speed by trying to get involved, she settled herself hovering on a chalk-free spot on the floor near the middle of whatever space Will was in at that time.

She looked down while he spoke, pulling at a stray thread in the hem of her left sleeve and watching it unravel.  Her nose wrinkled when she saw the thread wanted to continue pulling further than she anticipated, so around the time that Will was proclaiming himself a fuck-up the little witch bared her teeth and used them to sever the thread abruptly at its end.  She pulled fibers from the tip of her tongue with her index and thumb finger pads and, still scowling, brushed that on the stunted thigh of her shorts.

"You had something coming," she agreed, now fixing the scowl onto him.  Her arms folded over her narrow chest, uncomfortable but braced (body language betraying what she was convincing her face and voice to go in a different direction from).  "But it wasn't any of that."

Her arms squeezed a little tighter, and the subtle aura ever-present around her, as it was around any of them, seemed taut like a well-controlled pull of a bow string.  It was anger, roiling under the surface at these figures of the past, prickling and pleasing the touches of Andraste that were with her always.

"I mean, yeah, sure we're fuck-ups and we do stupid shit that makes it to a lot of ears, stirs up fires that other people have to come put out.  We're humans<-- fucking kids who are wielding tools to break and make Existence.  That's what happens.  Yes, we should be yelled at and scolded when shit goes awry like that, and we should have our faces turned in the direction of the lesson we need to take away lest the next time kill us.

"But fuck his ego, Will.  And fuck him for thinking that was what was at stake.  I'm glad that you weren't 'better', because it sounds like the way things did turn out is actually 'better' than the kind of 'different' you're probably meaning."

Will

"I wasn't kidding when I told you a few months back that the fastest way to get people to leave is to be human," he said to Margot. Will starts to drag the larger of the two suitcases up to the loft area with the bed and the chest of drawers and implements of living. Whatever he used the bedroom for was questionable at best, and not something he seemed too interested in explaining. 

He threw his shirt over the railing, which was followed by the shorts he had been wearing. There was the sound of wrestling to get clothes back on, "I guess that's what I'm worried about. I keep thinking that you guys are going to figure I'm not worth it or I'll piss you off and I won't be able to fix it."

A pause, then peeking over the railing. He didn't have a shirt on, and he still looked awful but it wasn't as bad as it could have been, "I am probably confusing different with better. You think you will get more enlightened and get over your shit but it just makes you more aware of where you need to get over yourself."

"I wish I hated him. It would be easier."

Margot

"Well....," Margot started and trailed off at first, the argument reeled back as soon as it began to tumble from her mouth.  She analyzed what she was about to say, a habit she's always carried with her that's often given her pause before speech, which was doubtless murder for an impatient soul trying to have a conversation with her.  As always, though, she did continue.

"Well," she began again, and this time continued on. "Who needs the kind of person that would abandon you for being you in the first place?"

She stopped glowering at an intersect of chalk lines on the floor and lifted her gaze to find it meeting Will's over the railing.  She probably would have blushed and flustered some time ago to find him without his shirt, but that was another time, and another Margot who was worried about far smaller things.

Her mouth pressed to a sympathetic line after he spoke next, and her voice was still bothered but trying to be gentler when she replied. "The important lessons are never the easy ones.  But they are good to know, none the less."

She cleared her throat before adding: "Remember, though, we are They Who Make Change: if you really wanna hate him, we could find a way to make that happen.  Hey, can I help gather anything up for you?"

Will

It was the sort of interaction that was born of mindless comforts. That it wasn't a flirtatious gesture to be half clothed and conversing. Anything that started with well was likely to be predicated with something thoughtful. Margot didn't talk like Will- who spoke frequently and thought outloud and looped around and eventually got to a point because he talks when he's nervous and excited and the only time he ever shuts up is when things Are Not Okay, which is really what made this situation stand out because he didn't say more than a hand full of words for the most part. 

"Truth," he replies, nods. And then after a second of thinking.

"Yeah, yeah you're really right. And.. uh.. I think hating him is going to come naturally later... aaaand, can you grab my notebooks? They're... uh... on the kitchen table? Take the notes that are with it."

A beat.

"Or you could help me pick out clothes. I'm totally like a fucked up Barbie right now."