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not_a_goddamn_princess“I look like John Starling if he were played by a man.” Life without depth vision was bad enough. But integrating eye patches into your wardrobe? Fuck those pale-assed jangly dicks right up their sparkly plumbing, Margo didn’t deserve this shit.
Eliot, the fucker, looked thoughtful. “I was thinking more like a Fembot Nicholas Rage,” he said. He approached Margo with care. “Look. . .”
“No,” Margo said. “I need it.”
“I know,” Eliot said. “I was angry and scared of what you were capable of, but you were doing your best in an impossible position that would've crushed anyone, myself included.”
Was he seriously doing this right now? Apologizing? After all the shit she’d pulled? After all the shit he’d pulled--?
“Wait, is your good eye crying right now?”
“No,” she said reflexively. “Yes,” she corrected herself. “It’s not my good eye, it’s my only fucking eye!” Asshole!
Asshole smothering a laugh! “It’s not funny!” she cried. “You dick! I’m a cyclops!”
The laugh faded from Eliot’s face. “A mythological monster at last,” he tried. Half-assed snark. Great. At least he realized it was half-assed and fucking stupid, because he muttered “Box, checked” to the floor instead of her face.
She wished she took more satisfaction from that. But no. Being angry at El’s dumb wisecrack was just a distraction. She sat down on the bed. “We’re trying too hard,” she said.
Eliot looked at her in confusion. “Pardon?”
“To just blow past it and banter,” she said. She looked up at him. “It’s not the same, let’s not pretend it is, ‘kay?” She’d sold his unborn baby to a bunch of fairies, he’d thrown her in the dungeon. Kinda not a thing you just blew off, even if they both wanted to.
Needed to.
“That makes it hurt worse.”
“I guess we'll just have to live with the strain till the future reveals itself,” El said. He squatted down in front of her, so they were kind of on the level. Physically speaking. “Meantime, that future is going to be a big, blank, post-apocalyptic nada unless we do what we do best.”
Margo frowned. “Act out with a complete lack of empathy and impulse control?”
“Party like the world depends on it,” Eliot said softly. “Because Bambi One-Eye? It do.”
~
She just needed a walk to clear her head first. Yeah, party planning was second nature - she’d been party royalty before she became actual royalty. But all that shit with El and the fairies and Fen, poor, dumb, sweet Fen who was still stuck in the fucking Fairy Realm of her own choice. . . it stuck with her something hard.
You wanted to throw a massive, God-summoning rager, you needed to be able to get your repression on.
And fine, a walk was not the ideal option here, but the castle was running low on workable dick. Margo made it work. Or she thought she was making it work, anyway. Would’ve been helpful if Fillory cooperated for a change.
“What the f--”
Instead of taking advantage of her fucked-up depth vision to send her tumbling down a hill, right into a hole, into a dark, damp. . . “Herbalism lab?”
Margo yanked herself up by her arm, staring fuzzily at a bunch of plants. Some of them looked downright unpleasant. The lighting sure as hell did. The whole place smelled like plants, and they sure didn’t reek of lavender. It was almost enough to distract her from the pain in her legs where she’d fallen.
“Josh?” she called. “This better be your secret weed closet I just fell into!”
. . .
“Right, nobody’s here,” she said, brushing the dirt from her dress. “Fine.” Dirt? She looked down. There wasn’t any on the floor. She looked up. No hole in the ceiling. “Fuck,” she said. Wasn’t this the same shit Ember had pulled on Eliot just--? “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
No. No time to get bogged down in a freak-out. She had to figure out where she was right the fuck now, get a message out to Eliot, and fix this crap before Ember destroyed the whole world. “Focus,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “Okay, first things first--”
And that was when the drop-out bed fell out of the wall and hit her squarely on the head.
[partly adapted from The Magicians season 2 episode 13, “Have You Brought Me Little Cakes”. parts above and under the cut NFB, NFI!]
Eliot, the fucker, looked thoughtful. “I was thinking more like a Fembot Nicholas Rage,” he said. He approached Margo with care. “Look. . .”
“No,” Margo said. “I need it.”
“I know,” Eliot said. “I was angry and scared of what you were capable of, but you were doing your best in an impossible position that would've crushed anyone, myself included.”
Was he seriously doing this right now? Apologizing? After all the shit she’d pulled? After all the shit he’d pulled--?
“Wait, is your good eye crying right now?”
“No,” she said reflexively. “Yes,” she corrected herself. “It’s not my good eye, it’s my only fucking eye!” Asshole!
Asshole smothering a laugh! “It’s not funny!” she cried. “You dick! I’m a cyclops!”
The laugh faded from Eliot’s face. “A mythological monster at last,” he tried. Half-assed snark. Great. At least he realized it was half-assed and fucking stupid, because he muttered “Box, checked” to the floor instead of her face.
She wished she took more satisfaction from that. But no. Being angry at El’s dumb wisecrack was just a distraction. She sat down on the bed. “We’re trying too hard,” she said.
Eliot looked at her in confusion. “Pardon?”
“To just blow past it and banter,” she said. She looked up at him. “It’s not the same, let’s not pretend it is, ‘kay?” She’d sold his unborn baby to a bunch of fairies, he’d thrown her in the dungeon. Kinda not a thing you just blew off, even if they both wanted to.
Needed to.
“That makes it hurt worse.”
“I guess we'll just have to live with the strain till the future reveals itself,” El said. He squatted down in front of her, so they were kind of on the level. Physically speaking. “Meantime, that future is going to be a big, blank, post-apocalyptic nada unless we do what we do best.”
Margo frowned. “Act out with a complete lack of empathy and impulse control?”
“Party like the world depends on it,” Eliot said softly. “Because Bambi One-Eye? It do.”
She just needed a walk to clear her head first. Yeah, party planning was second nature - she’d been party royalty before she became actual royalty. But all that shit with El and the fairies and Fen, poor, dumb, sweet Fen who was still stuck in the fucking Fairy Realm of her own choice. . . it stuck with her something hard.
You wanted to throw a massive, God-summoning rager, you needed to be able to get your repression on.
And fine, a walk was not the ideal option here, but the castle was running low on workable dick. Margo made it work. Or she thought she was making it work, anyway. Would’ve been helpful if Fillory cooperated for a change.
“What the f--”
Instead of taking advantage of her fucked-up depth vision to send her tumbling down a hill, right into a hole, into a dark, damp. . . “Herbalism lab?”
Margo yanked herself up by her arm, staring fuzzily at a bunch of plants. Some of them looked downright unpleasant. The lighting sure as hell did. The whole place smelled like plants, and they sure didn’t reek of lavender. It was almost enough to distract her from the pain in her legs where she’d fallen.
“Josh?” she called. “This better be your secret weed closet I just fell into!”
. . .
“Right, nobody’s here,” she said, brushing the dirt from her dress. “Fine.” Dirt? She looked down. There wasn’t any on the floor. She looked up. No hole in the ceiling. “Fuck,” she said. Wasn’t this the same shit Ember had pulled on Eliot just--? “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
No. No time to get bogged down in a freak-out. She had to figure out where she was right the fuck now, get a message out to Eliot, and fix this crap before Ember destroyed the whole world. “Focus,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “Okay, first things first--”
And that was when the drop-out bed fell out of the wall and hit her squarely on the head.
[partly adapted from The Magicians season 2 episode 13, “Have You Brought Me Little Cakes”. parts above and under the cut NFB, NFI!]
