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Alice was in the shower. Margo had already subjected her to a short fashion show of trying on dress after dress (“I don't think your clothes will fit me.” “Magic, sweetie, it's called magic.”) in an attempt to prove that Alice has the kind of measurements most women would kill for. Not Margo though. She figured out how to work with what she had in middle school and it hadn't failed her yet.
Until she set her sights on Alice, at least. Jesus on a bicycle, the girl was the biggest seduction challenge of Margo's life to this point.
At least Eliot had saw, conquered and came with his own little freshie target. Margo may or may not have hurried that along in order to peel Quentin's eyes away from Alice. Surprisingly, Eliot hadn't even kicked Quentin to the curb yet and, from what Margo could tell, her bestie was in severe danger of catching feelings.
Margo's aims for Alice were simpler. She'd wanted little miss priss from the second they'd met outside the classroom after the Beast's attack. All soft curves and hard glares, Alice Quinn was a contradiction and Margo wanted to unravel that tightly tied-up little package so bad she could already taste her.
Now that Alice and Quentin were permanent fixtures in the Physical Kids Cottage, Margo began her calculated approach.
Eliot, bless him, was too busy bonking Q's brains out every night and metaphorically carrying his damn books to class to be much use as a wingman, so the plan was moving a little slower than anticipated.
Now, however, Margo had Alice naked and wet in her shower with only a robe that Margo had “accidentally” forgotten to charm to fit as her only clothing option.
Alice, though, took long ass showers. After the fifteen minute mark, Margo had fallen back on her bed, bored and horny.
A weight settled against her hip and Margo felt around until she found the shape of Alice's bag. A little snooping would pass the time, so Margo pulled it up and began to dig.
Books, more books, notebooks, a truly unholy number of pens, and an iPod were the sole contents. “Geez, taking the bookworm aesthetic seriously, aren't you?” She asked the general direction of the running water. There was a sophisticated locking charm on the iPod that roused Margo's curiosity enough to break it in order to see what sort of music Alice thought needed to be held under spelled lock and key.
It was actually... pretty bland. It was like a Top 40s radio station boned an oldies station for most of it. Some scatterings of soundtracks and rock music. Nothing damning or too surprising. Margo settled on Sixx: A.M. as she waited for Alice to finish toweling off.
“Margo, this doesn't-” Alice cut herself off as she took in the tableau of Margo lounging on her bed, music playing through the tiny speaker “-fit.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, which only amplified the cleavage the too small robe wasn't able to hide. “That was locked.”
Margo nodded. “So it was. And well done on the spell. It took me an entire minute to get through it. The twist you gave to Fairweather's Walling Ward was inspired. Kudos.”
“Thank you,” Alice said, unsmiling and fidgeting. Poor thing must have paid too few or too many compliments in her life to have instant gratitude that instinctive. “Give it back.”
“I haven't stolen it,” Margo said. She nodded towards it. “I have to say, this isn't the damning evidence you seem to think it is. Everyone listens to depressing rock music at some stage of their life.”
“That's not why- It's not- It's not even mine, it's Charlie's.”
Margo blinked up at Alice, who froze as though she couldn't be seen if she didn't move.
Charlie Quinn, the boy who committed suicide over some girl he couldn't have. Margo had heard whisperings from upperclassmen. Sitting up, Margo dropped Alice's bag over the side of the bed, iPod still clutched in her hand. “Shit, kitten. I didn't know.”
Alice frowned. “Why do you have to go poking through other people's things anyway?”
“You were taking for-fucking-ever in the shower,” Margo said, tone calm to match Alice's calm. Well, perceived calm anyway. Margo didn't have to be a Psychic to know the girl was probably swearing up a storm inside that pretty blonde head. Margo wondered how many languages Alice could swear in. “If I'd known it was your dead brother's, I would have put on my headphones at least.”
That did the trick. Alice whirled from where she'd been retrieving her bag and all but snarled at Margo. “What gives you the right to be such a cunt?”
Ohh but the kitten had claws and Margo wasn't afraid of scratch marks. “Same thing that gives you the right to act all mysterious and superior to everyone else because you have a rich, magical family and a dead brother. Can't put locking charms on ourselves so we use misdirection. You think I'm a bitch, fair enough, I sure as shit am. But I bet you also think I'm some dumb bimbo who only cares about her clothes and magazines, right?”
Alice pursed her lips. “I've never seen you study,” she said, diplomatic but still judgey as hell.
Margo used to pretend that she'd be the best Ambassador Fillory had ever seen. Good thing it was fictional or Alice would give her a run for her money. “And you're the smartest student at Brakebills, right? You've studied magic forever and were able to sneak your way into the exam, like no one else ever has. Yet it took me almost no time to break through your spell and I've only known magic was real for a couple years. Trust me, when everyone assumes you're stupid, they don't care what they say around you since they're sure you won't understand it. Just like no one cares what they say around quiet girls who sit alone, because they assume they aren't listening.” Margo smiled. “We're more alike than you want to admit, baby girl.”
Alice froze again and Margo made some mental calculations. 67% chance of anger winning the day and Alice storming out. Margo spread her legs slightly to give angry sex's odds an increase to 28%.
The pretty face crumpled and the last 5% took it all: Alice started crying.
“Shit,” Margo muttered as she reached out a hand to pull Alice onto the bed. Instead of groping and making out, they ended up cuddling as Alice started babbling her heart out. Margo had already known some of it. Quentin told Eliot everything, in turn Eliot told her everything. But Alice dug deep. Maybe it was because Margo was a girl too; or maybe it was that Margo's meanness had scratched too hard at the surface so everything came rushing out.
For her part, Margo muttered soothing nonsense and stroked Alice's hair until it started to air dry.
When she was all cried out, Alice lifted her head from Margo's neck. “I'm sorry about,” a sniffle, “all that.”
“You don't need to apologize,” Margo said. “You will need to buy me a new, non-snotty dress though. I'll take you through the portal to the Paris boutique in the morning, okay kitten?”
Alice looked all over Margo's face before leaning forward to deliver a brief, chaste kiss. “I, I'd like that, Margo.” With that, she snuggled back down and fell asleep.
Margo stared at the ceiling as she looked down at Alice's face, smiling softly in her sleep. Her hand carded through Alice's hair and levitated the blanket up to cover them both. She felt a strong urge to kiss Alice's forehead and fall asleep beside her.
Ah fuck.