Nicole nearly jumped two feet in the air at the sudden apparent decimation of her front door, and her hand reached instinctively for her wand. Even when she heard Martin's voice echo through her flat, she didn't unclench her fist from around the thin piece of wood, a hex on the tip of her tongue in the very real scenario that he was either (a) drunk, (b) had gone insane, or (c) smelled like Lydia Proudfoot.
Actually, come to think of it, she was angry enough at him to just hex him anyway.
Nick listened to the footsteps come nearer and nearer until he was right in front of her, screaming at her at the top of his lungs about---oh for Christ's sake, he really thought she'd gone out with that little boy? He honestly knew nothing about her if he thought---how could he believe---well, she wasn't him, after all!
No, actually, after she was done at the pitch she had nicely (with two tight slaps--honestly, the kid needed them, talking like that to women) explained to him the situation, that she had no interest in going out with anyone at the moment, and had left for home. Where she'd been ever since, sitting up in bed and reading a book because the hell if she could sleep just thinking about what her boyfriend (or ex, what the fuck ever) was doing with that street walker of his.
Not that she'd tell him that.
"Oh? I'm very sorry to hear that," Nicole replied, her face deadpan and uninterested. "Now if you're done stomping around like a caveman, you can show yourself the door. I was just about to get some sleep."
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