[ You’re surrounded by howling winds whipping past you. The sounds of snarling are growing louder and soon you can see the hellhounds responsible for making them. All signs are pointing towards your doom and then the hellhound closest to you is smacked into the distance by an unseen force. She comes closer, the woman responsible for saving your ass. Margo. If it’s possible to look proud and pissed off all at the same time, she does. She looks at you and nods toward the trailers driving off as you two try to get your shit together. ]
C’mon. We need to haul ass if we’re getting out of here alive.
[ There’s no explanation for how she threw that monster away from you without using physical strength, no explanation for how the two of you showed up in this, nothing at all. ]
[New World Order]
Magician’s Assistant?!
[ Margo shouts incredulously as she’s forced out of Mr. Fantastic’s trailer. She lets out a frustrated shriek and pounds on the trailer door uselessly, but there is no answer. After a couple minutes straight with no answer whatsoever from the big man, she storms off looking more pissed off than she ever has before. She’s a fucking magician and nobody’s assistant. Margo knows what old-timey magic is like and knows what role the assistant plays. The assistant is glorified T and A meant to distract the audience and, while her T and A are superior, it’s insulting.
She grits her teeth and sets about finding who she’s going to be working with, grabbing people by the shoulder and accosting them. ]
Hey. You the magician around here?
[Come One, Come Two, Come All]
[ It’s utterly exhausting making the audience look away from the magician’s tricks. Margo’s face hurts from smiling so much. She’s never missed Josh’s weed brownies more in her life. Once her act is over, she steps out of the tent into the night air still wearing her skimpy sequined costume and sighs. What are the odds someone around here has a beer?
Margo heads towards the tents, where she hears conversation, or is it just someone talking to themselves? No matter. It’s a long walk in those heels of hers and by the time she reaches a tent her feet are begging her to sit down. She lifts a canvas flap and steps inside, sitting down on a crate with a tiny coo as her feet are relieved of that pressure. Her gaze drifts over to the other person inside and she smirks slightly. ]
Margo Hanson | The Magicians | Magician's Assistant
[ You’re surrounded by howling winds whipping past you. The sounds of snarling are growing louder and soon you can see the hellhounds responsible for making them. All signs are pointing towards your doom and then the hellhound closest to you is smacked into the distance by an unseen force. She comes closer, the woman responsible for saving your ass. Margo. If it’s possible to look proud and pissed off all at the same time, she does. She looks at you and nods toward the trailers driving off as you two try to get your shit together. ]
C’mon. We need to haul ass if we’re getting out of here alive.
[ There’s no explanation for how she threw that monster away from you without using physical strength, no explanation for how the two of you showed up in this, nothing at all. ]
[New World Order]
Magician’s Assistant?!
[ Margo shouts incredulously as she’s forced out of Mr. Fantastic’s trailer. She lets out a frustrated shriek and pounds on the trailer door uselessly, but there is no answer. After a couple minutes straight with no answer whatsoever from the big man, she storms off looking more pissed off than she ever has before. She’s a fucking magician and nobody’s assistant. Margo knows what old-timey magic is like and knows what role the assistant plays. The assistant is glorified T and A meant to distract the audience and, while her T and A are superior, it’s insulting.
She grits her teeth and sets about finding who she’s going to be working with, grabbing people by the shoulder and accosting them. ]
Hey. You the magician around here?
[Come One, Come Two, Come All]
[ It’s utterly exhausting making the audience look away from the magician’s tricks. Margo’s face hurts from smiling so much. She’s never missed Josh’s weed brownies more in her life. Once her act is over, she steps out of the tent into the night air still wearing her skimpy sequined costume and sighs. What are the odds someone around here has a beer?
Margo heads towards the tents, where she hears conversation, or is it just someone talking to themselves? No matter. It’s a long walk in those heels of hers and by the time she reaches a tent her feet are begging her to sit down. She lifts a canvas flap and steps inside, sitting down on a crate with a tiny coo as her feet are relieved of that pressure. Her gaze drifts over to the other person inside and she smirks slightly. ]
You don’t happen to have a beer, do you?