high king margo the destroyer (margohanson) wrote in saveatlantisic, @ 2019-02-01 15:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, *kristy, *tiny, ian malcolm, margo hanson |
It’d been such an eventful month that Ian was actually rather glad once Christmas was over. Perhaps the quiet of having some time off work and a less chaotic holiday ahead would settle everything and everyone down a bit. He didn’t really celebrate Christmas, not entirely, but the hubbub had always been one of his least favorite parts of the year. There was always just so much to do, and he wasn’t always great at anything but the parties.
He missed the rest of his kids, in truth. Having Kyna was so wonderful, and helped to soothe that a bit, but he always did get to see the others during the holidays. This would be a novelty for him. He didn’t let much of that conflict show, though, eternally calm and collected.
“Well hello there, Margo,” he said, catching sight of her and offering a grin. “Escaping the sloth?”
Eventful was definitely one way to put the way December had been going. Between the crazy ass advent calendar and you know, the whole figuring out she might actually be capable of being a Mom thing… Margo was having A Month. Atlantis had been a wonder at first, something that seemed like a magical little distraction from how her own world had been going to shit and a whimsical way to spend some time, lose a few responsibilities, and just relax before you know - she had to go back and deal with said shit show that was going down in Fillory. But really, Atlantis had become a lot more. She sort of loved it here. She loved it in a way she hadn’t been expecting those first few weeks and it probably did help that Eliot was here and basically anyone she gave half a damn about from their own world. Plus she’d made some pretty damn good friends. She was actually happy here, for the most part, but she could handle most of Atlantis’ little blips. This one? Abigail being in her damn bedroom? That was a blip that caused all sorts of new headaches. She’d been avoiding being in ear short (sort of just, you know, hoping Fray could just talk the sociopathic sloth down, at least until they found her a new boytoy) and just you know, generally out when she’d heard Ian’s voice, a smirk immediately appearing on her features. “Too obvious?” She teased. “No, not at all. We are just bonded by our very close, often very sexual connection, and now I’m equipped with Margo Vision, which allows me to sense your intentions,” he answered, shrugging a shoulder as he joined her. “Whose shit list have you found yourself on to end up with a sociopathic creature, your majesty?” Margo gave a little look of psuedo-defeat accompanied by a little wave of her hand, “Maybe my own as it turns out.” She actually had to think a little on that, Marina had so generously pointed out you were supposed to get things you wanted. But Margo didn’t really wish for things and overall wasn’t too sentimental of a person, but Christmas a few of her gifts (in particular Ian’s as it were) had her missing Fillory a bit more than she would have on your average day. Why Atlantis had decided that Abigail of all things were the thing to throw at her, that was beyond her. “But, you know, she’s a hell of a representation of Fillory so. Maybe that’s all… party of the whimsy.” She said, huffing in a rather amused manner. “To be honest with you, it’s not altogether surprising to me,” he said, laughing a bit in spite of the conversation. “Based on what you and Eliot have told me about Fillory, and how utterly batshit it is so much of the time, the idea of a villainous sloth being a good representation of it makes… more sense than it probably should.” He shrugged, and smiled down to her. “So. What are you up to in your avoidance of the problem?” Rolling her eyes playfully, she looked up at Ian (not that Margo didn’t have to, you know, look up at basically everyone but Alice and Julia but that was so totally beyond the point, of course).”Not surprising? Well, clearly we’re just giving too much away too easily and I’ll have to get careful about that.” Not that of course, Ian couldn’t have just looked up anything he wanted about Fillory, but Margo wouldn’t have been Margo if she hadn’t taken the opportunity to make a fairly suggestive joke when the opportunity was laid before her. Giving her arms a little well placed stretch she folded them over her chest, as if she was putting on a little extra dramatics purely because she could. Not that that would be surprising either. “Oh, I don’t know. Too petty and lame to just say getting the fuck out of my house?” Ian was always a proponent of taking advantage of a fairly suggestive joke when the situation arose, so he appreciated her choice. “That hardly sounds like the fun choice, though. I say continue being easy,” he shrugged a shoulder. He grinned at her dramatics, and nodded at her reasoning. “As an incredibly petty man, I think that’s a perfectly respectable response.” He offered an arm to her instead. “How about I buy you lunch?” Furrowing her brow devilishly, Margo sighed softly, “Well, I’ll take it into consideration at least.” She said, smirking over at him. She really did enjoy being around Ian, granted, Marog tended to enjoy anyone with a good, fun personality. But he had his own spin on things that kept things different and interesting and she had an extra appreciation for that. And unlike most people? He hadn’t traded in intelligence for personality, ugh, that was one of the biggest reasons she was glad she’d ended up at Brakebills and not bored in some normal graduate program. Too many people thought you could only have fun or smarts. Not both. Or really boring combinations of both. As far as Margo saw it, her intelligence only made her more fun; it made her more creative at times, that was for damn sure. “It’d be just so rude for me to turn you down.” She teased. Ian had more personality than most knew how to handle, truthfully, and the combination of it with his intelligence that Margo liked was exactly the combination that had made him a bit obnoxious over the years. He considered that part of his brand, though, and wasn’t bothered by it -- he’d determined long ago that he wouldn’t sacrifice his own thoughts for being likable. Considering the brood of children and string of people he’d convinced to marry him or partner with him over the years, he’d had reasonable success in spite of the sarcasm. “Even if you did, I have fairly damning evidence of the fact that you find me tolerable. Skipping lunch doesn’t ruin that,” he teased back. Bringing a hand up to her chest she gasped in complete mock surprise, “Why I never.” She said with a sarcastic flare that was every ounce a representation of Margo’s personality. Everything had to have that little bit of extra added to it. Whether it was a dress or a hand motion or the way she twisted her words to be just precisely how she meant; but maybe confusing enough that someone else might have to think on them. Margo thought of herself as an actress, a crafter in many ways - and not because she thought knitting was the fucking bees knees or some dumb thing like that, but because everything was a performance and a creation in its own right. Very, very few people (and none outside of the Magicians she was closest to) ever really got a glimpse into what was below the surface. The evidence, oddly enough, would have been too damning for Margo’s comfort. But for now, she smirked. “Well, touche.” She said, her lips curving up even more, “But, I’m still taking you up on it so - clearly your lucky day.” |