"If I see the garbage filled up, I take it out; if I cook a meal, I clean up what results; if I take something out, I put it away. Sometimes I spend an hour organizing. I don't really remember to vacuum or dust. I don't need to launder clothing, but I do launder rags and towels, and I do that at a laundromat."

Margaret nods. "Sounds reasonable. I'm a bit of a neat freak, but it mostly manifests as washing the kitchen table and counters a lot, and occasionally moving people's stuff or asking them to move it if it's in the way. And I'd be extremely surprised if you had my last roommate's tendency to leave dirty clothes on the floor," she adds with a smile.

Jaime produces a white, silken glove, conspicuously stained, and drops it to the ground; it disappears.

"Oops."

Margaret cracks up.

Was that a smile? That might’ve been a smile.

Their names are called; they can fetch their respective drinks.

Drinks are retrieved! Margaret focuses on hers for a bit and doesn't start talking again immediately.

Neither does Jaime. 

Sip, sip, sip, delicious matcha tea, sip, sip.

Eventually Margaret solves the urgent problem of eating all her whipped cream before it melts and says, "Hmm, anything else we should talk about before we commit to sharing space? Maybe how to handle the grocery shopping? Like, communal staples vs. each of us having our own supply of flour and milk and stuff."

“Everyone has a different color of sticky note, if they bought something and they want it to be non-communal they put a sticky note on it. Or an outright sticker. Stickers are less likely to fall off.”

"That's clever, that way you can get something for a recipe, mark it yours until you're done, then let the leftovers be communal. So, I think I'm all set for this roommates deal if you are." 

(Is it weird to agree to be roommates with someone after one meeting? Nah, this is basically the same as picking roommates in a dorm, and anyway if Jaime was a serial killer her danger sense would have noticed.)

Eh, you know what, why not. 

”Sure.”

"Great!" Then they can schedule a date to move in.

Margaret shows up to move-in with an elegant silvery push cart containing a few boxes of mostly books, plus some dishware and cooking equipment and her laptop.

Jaime comes by, bearing no wings and a previously nonexistent set of arms. Those arms hold a suitcase each, rolling merrily across the floor; each suitcase is wreathed in wispy darkness. 

“Hello.”

"Hi! . . . Why the darkness on your suitcases?"

“Thrift shopping is easier when you can buy something incredibly tacky and fix it up with a wave of your hand.”

"Ah, I see. I'll be sure to shield my eyes from the horror when you take the darkness off." She puts everything other than the book boxes on her bed, then vanishes the pushcart and lets the books go Thud.

Jaime sets down her luggage. It fails to disappear, or brighten.

”Otherwise you might encounter... neon green. You’d go into viridescent arrest. Your death certificate, as written by an extremely confused coroner, would have question marks trailing off the edge of the page.”

Breathless giggling!

"Or maybe," she gaps between giggles, "I'd just swoon!" She adds in a horrendous British-aristocrat accent: "Neon green! It's too much for my delicate nerves!" and makes a small fainting couch and collapses onto it.

Jaime approves of this person. She starts unpacking miscellanea.

”I hear that they have Xanax for that.”

Margaret gets rid of the couch and starts putting away her own possessions. "Funny thing is, I am actually more likely than average to get hurt by unexpectedly being tacky. One of my powers is a danger sense."

“I’m still unclear on what your specific set of three is.”

"I never did list them, did I? It's the danger sense, the prophecies, and then I can see where projectiles or swarms are going to go before they do it. And sometimes people. I can't turn it off and on, but it generally comes on when it would be convenient--mostly during swarm fights."

“My darkness doesn’t do much for swarms. I make up for it with aim.”

"I don't work swarm response anymore; I did for a bit in high school but lately I've had too much going on. I'm amazed you find time for it; I hear dancing is very demanding."

“I only do it for fifteen hours a week, and I have the time. Dancing professionally is normally very demanding but I’m filling a different niche than most dancers; I put up videos and busk and perform solo, I don’t have to work with a company or stick to a schedule, and I mostly rely on my sporadic corporate work for income.”