Margot
Less than 24 hours had passed from when Margot left Nick and Arianna to their picnic in the park before the Chakravanti had reached out as he said he would. Margot was on campus, walking back to her car after finishing her morning classes, when she received the call.
Let's meet and talk. Coffee?
Sure. I know a place. I'll see you there in about 30 minutes.
It was midday and for how brisk and chill the weather had been yesterday it was equally warm today. All of those clouds had blown over quickly in the evening, and by the time the morning came the skies were clear and the cold front gone. Now the sun was shining bright in the blue and cloudless sky, and were it not a Monday there would certainly be more people crowding the coffee shop patio along with Margot to take advantage of the beautiful day.
The fact that the patio was clear save for herself was a relief to the little Witchling. She had a pretty good idea of what Nick wanted to talk about, and it wasn't a conversation that she wanted to have in hushed tones around many eavesdropping ears. She figured if people began crowding up the surrounding tables then they could stand and start walking to finish the conversation instead.
For now, though, Nick would come upon the shop and find Margot sitting in a corner out in the sun, dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a black T-shirt and flip-flops. Her hair was braided into a crown to keep it out of her face and off her neck and her legs were stretched out to rest in one of the extra chairs around the table, placed intentionally in the sun to soak up some color for the Summertime that was inbound (or here, if you asked Pagans instead of the goddamn calendar). She had sunglasses over her eyes to shield them from the sun's glare, and was drinking from a hot beverage paper cup.
When Nick did appear (she'd been watching for him so he wouldn't surprise her this time), Margot offered up a small smile and lifted her hand in a still-frame of a wave to greet him.
Nick Hyde
There are some Mondays that leaves one wishing that the weekend had been just a little longer, not because they are terrible but because the kind winds and gentle sun leave one longing for more time outside. It's midday and Nick has just left work, and if he's seeing Margot a little sooner than he might have intended, well: he is concerned. Maybe he's right to be concerned. (He usually is, he finds, when apprentices are involved. Apprentices, they get up to some shit.)
When he arrives at the coffee shop he is wearing a pair of light grey cotton pants and a shirt that is a light blue, the color of the sky at its washed-out edges where it and the clouds blur and merge. His sleeves are rolled up, his badge has been tucked away in a pocket, and if he had a tie it's been discarded and left back in his car. The blue makes stark the light brown of his skin and the black of his hair, somehow, paints a contrast.
Margot is alone and he too is glad of this. He dislikes eavesdropping ears.
He doesn't return the wave but instead approaches her, and she might be glad that she is watching him because his footsteps are utterly silent, as though his feet were planted in a world beyond this one while the rest of him stayed behind. He must have gone inside at some point: he's already got a glass in hand, iced and pale brown. "Hello, Margot. How are classes going?"
Margot
Let's just go ahead and assume that Nick's still an expert at reading people, and Margot is still nervous and unskilled at hiding her motivations that well. She was learning, not quite so plain in showing her emotions on her face as some, but her poker face needed a lot of work to stand up against Nicholas Hyde.
Though the girl's posture was relaxed to the point of lounging there was still an air of tension around her; much like somebody steeled for a trial-- not an attack, though, that was a tiny detail that many would miss but Nick certainly wouldn't and it was an important one to note. She wasn't worried about attack or accusation, but was prepared to defend herself all the same. He's probably had a lot of people try to defend their decision making. This wasn't new. She straightened up when he came near but kept her feet up in the spare chair so that her legs (pale, pale, winter-flesh-white pale) could drink up the sun still.
"Oh they're fine. I'm still holding up my 4.0 somehow, even with Everything Else on top of it." She smiled (small, flimsy, a front and not a great one) and waved her hand generally through the air to go along with the indication of 'Everything Else'. You know, the Universe and Reality and manipulating it, that kind of stuff. Her hand came back down to dual-cradle the coffee cup and sleeve between her palms, so that way her fingers wouldn't have to hunt for things to fidget with to give her away even further.
"I'm still deciding whether or not I want to stick it out or focus on my Craft entirely instead. I'm going to be meeting with Thane again soon, and another lady named Kat too. Maybe spending an evening with them will help me make up my mind."
Nick Hyde
Nick pulls out a chair and seats himself after he has set the coffee down on the table in front of him. His own posture is relaxed, though of course he hasn't missed hers: that she has come in with ready answers, armored with shield held at the ready. It's a posture he recognizes. He's seen it on more than a few clients. He's seen it from time to time on friends.
"That's impressive," he says when she tells him she's been managing to keep her grades up. "It's good that you've been able to maintain your focus. My grades suffered a bit toward the end of grad school." It's not meant to discourage her; his voice is rueful, a reflection on his own failings rather than any expectation of hers. He has stretched his legs out in front of him, slouched back in his seat. He probably has to keep himself straight-backed all day, given the way desk chairs in clinics and hospitals are designed and in order to present himself professionally; it's probably a relief.
He takes a pull of his coffee through his straw, and it is as expected pleasant and smoky and bittersweet. "What would you plan to do with a degree, if you got one? Do you think it would supplement your Craft?"
And maybe she knows, or believes she knows, his thoughts on that: he after all has kept a profession, even in spite of the long hours it forces him to keep on top of his magickal work.
Margot
"I don't know."
The answer wasn't sullen, but it was moody in its own particular way all the same. The subject wasn't exactly her favorite one. "Ned keeps saying that I should stop wasting my money and energy and time on it. I'm unlocking the universe, as he points out, so the point of attending class and getting a degree kind of becomes moot." It seemed that she didn't entirely agree with him (yet), but she couldn't quite argue the logic with him or herself. She was really only going out of commitment at this point.
"But look," she said, and dropped her feet from the chair so she could sit up straight and closer to the table. The cup was situated into her left hand and rested on the table, while the right hand was set beside it palm down.
"We're not here to talk about my degree and GPA, are we?"
Nick Hyde
There is a flat sound he makes when she tells him what Ned thinks, something noncommittal, as he takes another sip through his straw. Perhaps he is considering how to frame a reply, because a man as insightful as Nick Hyde picks up easily on her uncertainty, that this subject is still a tender one, something to be handled with care. And indeed his eyes are not focused on her, but somewhere across the table probably near her elbow.
Whatever commentary he was going to offer dies unsaid because: but look. This draws his eyes up to hers; his are a warm pale brown when the light strikes them so. Just now there is something amused in them, some crinkling at the corners of his eyes and also: something sharp. You could cut yourself on it if that was how he intended it to be used. Does he?
"We could be. What do you think we're here to talk about?"
Margot
"We could be, but I already sink enough of my time into academia as it is."
What did she think he wanted to talk about? Margot cast a glance over the rim of her cup at him, hazel eyes upon his own (hers angling more toward moss and stone than the light tan of worked hide). She took a drink, a deep one, then set the cup back down and touched at its edge with the tips of her index finger and thumb.
"I'm here because you asked me to come and talk. Because I think you saw through my shitty attempt to look unbothered and got worried. Because I'd rather just talk to you directly instead of let you wonder, speculate, confer with Pen, and ultimately get back to Doc that I'm acting weird and have him sniffing around trying to find out what's up."
Partway through that Margot's eyes had fallen to her fingers, bare of any rings or polishes. She looked up again, though, to finish.
"You want to know what I'm looking over my shoulder for, don't you?"
Nick Hyde
Her answer, her initial one, brings something forth in him that might be rueful, might be touched with apology: that she sinks enough of her time into academia. Because, well, he was there once too (though never uncertain about his academic pursuit. Nick has been uncertain about many things regarding himself and his future, but not that.) There are things he could say, except that he asked her another question and ah: getting to the heart of things.
There is a point as she is speaking at which he looks amused, as she begins to list off the things he might do if she did not speak with him directly. He does not interrupt her though; he lets her finish, and as she levels her eyes at him he meets them. There is still humor there, and maybe it springs from something gentle but that keen glance is still offputting, isn't it?
"I suppose so," he says. "Mostly I was just worried about you. And I am interested in your magickal studies, and hearing about them," he says. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I just wanted to know that you're all right."
And because he can't resist, because Nick in spite of whatever ethereal gloom lingers about him has a good sense of humor, "Did you really think I would go to Andrés about you before I'd go to you about you?"
Margot
He was worried about her. Margot didn't look skeptical, even if she was being a bit defensive on the matter. She believed him when he said this, trusted in Nick and his Cabalmates good natures. She wouldn't have bothered to come in the first place were that not the truth. He wanted to know if she was alright too, but posed another question instead of asking directly. Margot chose that opportunity to slip past the subject of how alright she was or wasn't (an act that probably answered the question itself), and instead answer the humor-touched inquiry in the same flat and serious tone as before.
"If you thought coming to me first would be more harmful than having the Doc intervene directly himself, yes."
She glanced back up and found the Chakravanti's eyes again. "Whatever's going on, I want to take care of it myself. I don't want him involved. He'll overreact."
Nick Hyde
Her reply elicits a thoughtful noise, some perhaps carefully hedged acknowledgement of what she has said. He doesn't deny it; either she hit upon some truth or he doesn't feel he needs to.
Nick has settled back in his chair, one of his arms lightly draped across the armrest, the other hand resting across his lap. She'll find his eyes still on her when she looks back up. "I respect that," he says. "But would you feel comfortable at least telling me? It sounds as though what you're doing is risky, and it might be good to have me or someone else know what's going on so we know how to help you if it isn't something you can handle on your own."
A beat, and he raises his arm, drops his chin into the curve of his thumb and forefinger. "I trust your judgment, and I also think you know that it's smart to take precautions."
Margot
For a minute or so Margot hid the lower half of her face behind her coffee cup, sipping it dutifully while she heard the man out. At points her brow flexed with disagreement or protest, but he showed her the respect of listening to her without interrupting. She owed him the same at the very least.
When the cup lowered back to the table, Margot left it there (it was largely empty now) and folded hands together with fingers knit to rest in her lap.
"I'm not on my own. Ned's known from the start." There's a small flint there, like a challenge. Waiting for the argument that he was just another Apprentice and what could Apprentices really do against... well, anything? They were baby mages, after all, still floundering to manipulate and touch and change, only just understanding. After a few moments that softened, though, and she looked at him with consideration more than anything else. Weighing options and consequences until...
"You remember my brother?" Of course he would. "He's out and on a path to come find me. I don't want the Doc to know because I don't want him to go killing my goddamn brother."
Nick Hyde
Perhaps in another life, Nick might have been an advisor to kings and queens, or in another place he might have been a healer, a sort of wise man, favored of the gods. This isn't that place, but maybe in another life he was one of those things. Maybe that's what he echoes. See: he doesn't rise to whatever glint of challenge he sees there. He either knows better or he does indeed trust her and Ned: who's to say?
There is some light of recognition there when she mentions her brother, and this slight inclination of his head, because of course he remembers. "I don't want that either," he says. And maybe she finds that suspect: he is Chakravanti. "What do you think your brother is likely to do when he finds you?"
He hasn't gone through his coffee at nearly the same rate as she has hers. He picks it up, takes another pull through the straw, and sets it back on the table into the ring of condensation it was sitting in before.
Margot
Margot was still and quiet after the last question posed. What did she think Luke was going to do? Eyes focused someplace in the middle distance while she considered.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "I used to think he would do some really shitty things-- steal from us, belittle us, run away and worry us to death then come back and disrespect, but never actually hurt. After what happened, though? I'm not so sure anymore.
"I'll find out, though."
Nick Hyde
Nicholas nods once more, a few slow movements of his head, though his eyes have wandered off again and no longer have that clear sharp focus for her and her alone. If she'd look at him now she'd find something distant in them, questant, and something maybe a little soft and vulnerable there too. But she's not looking at him; no one is. They are still alone on the patio, drenching themselves in sunlight.
"It makes sense to me that you would want to handle it on your own," he says. "After what happened, it must be pretty scary for you to know that he's trying to come and find you."
His finger is laid up along his cheek, his thumb along the underside of his chin, and he'd turned his mouth into it when he'd looked away. Now his attention has returned from whatever thing it had gone to seek out, either in the world around him or the one within. "You know, I never told Pen what you told me about him. I told her that you'd been through a lot, but I didn't tell her what."
Margot
Eyes came back from the middle distance to find Nick's face, and one dark eyebrow quirked up at him. Mustn't it be scary, he'd mused. The look she gave him said 'of course it's scary, is that even a question?'. But she didn't call him out and didn't really answer either. This gave him room to run into the next statement.
"I know," Margot assured him. She looked like she meant it too.
"I didn't think that you would go and tell her what I told you. You do this for a living, you have too much respect for that. I just figured you might tell Pen about the situation because of the inherent danger to a couple of Apprentices that think they have shit under control but probably really don't."
Nick Hyde
That look she gives him: was it unexpected? He just meets her eyes then, and his are watchful, and sometimes some people say a thing just to see how the other person will react. Sometimes some people say a thing because it helps them process their own feelings, to empathize out loud. Sometimes, sometimes.
When she finishes speaking there is a flicker of amusement again, and here: there's an edge to this where there might not have been before, and he laughs once, letting his hand fall away from his face and back across the arm of his chair. That knife's edge fades, softens as he considers his question long enough to frame it. "Do you think Pen and I have shit under control?"
And he smiles once, and it's not bitter precisely, and not melancholy necessarily, but it might be: knowing, and wistful. "I can't protect you, Margot. I know that. Our lives are dangerous, and you're probably as much a danger to him at this point as he is to you. I just wanted to make you aware that I'll help you when and if you need it."
Margot
The laugh was unexpected but not really surprising. The question that he asked afterward, though, gave Margot pause. She realized that she did indeed believe the two to have their shit quite resoundingly together. They certainly gave that impression, didn't they? That had her starting down a rabbit hole of considering what constituted having one's shit together in the first place.
The empty coffee cup was taken up in her hand once more, and Margot swished it around as though wishing there was more left behind.
"I appreciate it, Nick. I don't think protection's what I need anyways. Trees don't grow in the shade of shields."
Nick Hyde
"No," he says, swirling the coffee and ice that remains in his glass, "they don't." He drains the remainder, slides it back across the table, and it neatly settles back into the ring left there. Rings and circles - they're more the domain of his cabalmates than his own.
"I really would be interested in hearing sometime about what you're learning though. Thane is a good person to learn from. He might've had me sold on the Verbena, if I'd met him before I met my mentor."
A lie, perhaps: he was too long a Disparate for him to have chosen a Tradition idly. But if it is it's still given weight, and carefully considered, in the way of a person pondering other ways fate could have led. "If you're in over your head, please call me. We all find death sooner or later anyway, there's no need to go rushing towards it."
Margot
"When I've learned more, I'll let you know all about it. Right now I'm just trying to survive to the summer." She grinned a wry grin and pushed her chair back so that she could stand. Carried the empty cup with her so that she may throw it away as she went to take her leave.
"I get the feeling that I'll be seeing plenty of death in my time. I'm not planning to rush it along, though. I'll see you around, try not to worry as much as I do-- it's exhausting."
Again, the wryness to her smile, but it wasn't a hollow expression. Grim, braced, but seeing the horizon at the very least. She tipped the empty cup in gesture of farewell. "Bye, Nick. Thanks."
And off she went.
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