"Damn, if that's not luxury, I don't know what is. Is it all bejeweled and stuff? Because a little bling never hurt anyone." Pause. Consideration. She looks away. "Midas being an exception to this, of course." Tough that one, being cursed or blessed to turn everything you touch turn to gold.

While commenting, Margaret reaches down into her bag and pulls from it a tangerine. Settling back in her chair she digs a thumbnail into the puckered flesh where the stem was and then completely stills in her action. Very slowly she lifts her head and gaze up to the man across the table from her and starts to laugh. "Wow, that's, I don't know what that is." Like, should she be offended? She's not, oddly enough. Maybe that speaks to her knowing those bad magic kids, kinda, tangentially and certainly not because all predators need to know where the potential threats lie.

The tangerine beautiful, it's scent is bright and floral. It's skin peels from it's body with ease, as she delicately works to unwind it in one long strip. "Who are you looking for and why are you looking for them? Bad is subjective, running under the radar of you or the White Counsel, and especially the cops doesn't make a person bad."