Margo Hanson (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} highqueen_bambi) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valarlogs,@ 2018-04-05 00:30:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
When: Backdated: Mid March
Where: Roman's Place
What: Talking about Margo's recent upsetting dreams
Rating/Warnings: Mention of death
Status: Complete
Anyone who knew Roman knew not to come to his house unless it was evening or a weekend. In this case, it was evening and a late one at that, when Roman had already changed to a t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants and when he’d already sank his teeth into a bag of AB Negative from his own clinic. Patients there had no idea that some of the blood they were giving was going directly to a vampire, but it was better than paying someone to let themselves be eaten by leeches.
After his dinner, Roman poured himself some wine, half expecting a cry from Nadia upstairs. Of course, there was none. She was something that wasn’t coming over from his dream and she was also the reason he now couldn’t even look at his cousin. Roman took another pull from his wine glass when the doorbell rang. Another half expectation was that Peter would be on the other side of the door, but when Roman opened it, he saw Margo, looking distraught.
Roman opened the door wider for her to come in. “You okay?” he asked.
Margo hadn’t intended to stop at Roman’s that evening, but part of her almost didn’t want to go home. She was sure that she had already thoroughly freaked Eliot out that morning, after she told him about the dream she’d had the night before and she knew that he was spending the night at Felix’s so going home just meant she would be going home to an empty apartment where she’d be alone and wondering the entire time if he was okay. Sure, she could still wonder the same thing at Roman’s, but then she wasn’t alone.
“Yes and no,” She said once she was inside, “Fucking dream shit.” It seemed like the easiest way to tell Roman what was wrong without getting into details just yet. She didn’t want to drop it all on him right away and make it seem like that was the only reason she’d come over.
Dream shit was really all she needed to say for Roman to understand why she looked...off. He closed the door behind her. It gave a chirp, letting him know it had locked itself. “What do you want to drink?” Roman asked her because, of course, this called for one.
“I’ll take whatever you have.” Had it not been for the fact that she’d had a meeting that afternoon with a new client, she would have started drinking the moment she woke up, but instead she’d put it off and now she was going to have as much alcohol as Roman would provide her with.
Taking off her coat, she dropped it and her purse over a chair then took a seat on the couch, running a hand through her thick, dark hair.
Wine was the easiest. Roman poured a glass for her, but didn’t forget to bring the bottle when he went to join her on the sofa. The bottle was placed on the coffee table and the glass was handed to her. Roman leaned back, his fingers following hers in her silken strands. “Did someone make another golem?” he asked. Roman was really no good at trying to joke.
Margo let out a short laugh before taking a sip from her glass, “I’d take another Golem over this one.” She took another sip, this time longer, letting the wine numb her a little bit, “No this time was worse. We were doing a Probability Spell to find out the most likely outcome of our problem with The Beast. We died every time. All of us.” She couldn’t shake the mental image of Eliot dead multiple times.
“Shit,” was Roman’s response to that. He stared at Margo, wetting his lips. Trying not to picture her, lying lifeless on the floor was challenging, but it was all a dream, right? Just some stupid spell to predict the outcome of some deadly fight with an apparently unbeatable creature. It didn’t stop Roman from feeling sick to his stomach.
Roman tipped back a swallow of wine for himself from the bottle.
“It’s just a spell, right?” he asked. “Just an image of possibilities, like a projection.” He placed the bottle down again and reached for Margo’s hand, unsure of how to make her feel better. He knew telling her it wasn’t real didn’t help anything.
Margo took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She felt ridiculous, being so worked up over a dream, but these dreams felt so real that it was hard not to think of them more as memories and the memory of sobbing over Eliot’s dead body was too much, “Yeah. spells to see what possible outcomes we have against The Beast to try and figure out how to stop him,” She squeezed Roman’s hand, “And so far we’re fucked.”
That’s right. It was just a spell and that crib that Roman had disassembled and stuffed into his closet was just part of a dream that was just a dream. Roman looked down at their hands, blinking slowly as he stared for what might have been a full minute before he lifted his gaze to Margo’s. She was breathtaking and, despite the dreams, on the most normal end of the spectrum as they came if you asked Roman.
He slid his hand out from under hers to touch the side of her neck. He could feel her pulse underneath his palm and his tongue ran between his lips. “I’d advise you on what to do, but I don’t think it’ll make a difference in your dreams.”
Margo’s eyes closed briefly as Roman’s hand moved to her neck and when she opened them again she exhaled, “I don’t know if there’s much that will make a difference. We’re trying to master Battle Magic though so we can go to Fillory and try to kill the Beast there before he can come to Brakebills and murder us all.” They had less than a week before the latter happened and based on how little they had gotten done, even with their emotions bottled, Margo wasn’t sure that they were going to live out the week.
When Margo closed her eyes, Roman couldn’t resist leaning into her to touch his lips against the warm pulse of her neck. Surprisingly, he was still listening to her as his hand moved hair from her skin for him to kiss. “You can do it,” he promised. But the thought of it, of the possibility of Margo dying in her dreams and it carrying on to this world, was making his stomach drop.
A hand held on to the back of her neck and he willed his mouth from her neck to her lips. “Nothing better happen to you or I’ll find a way into your dreams and kill him myself,” he swore to her. There had to be a way to do it. In this place, anything could happen.