a couple people make a little appearance (really really little...blink and you might just miss it...)

(in which Martha just gets angrier and angrier...)

l.e.

Chapter 3

"...can and do..."

Mr Rye is an idiot.

He's proven as much. What with his unnecessary babbling, blushing, and…beating around the goddamn bush.

Because apparently annoying her would make the news any easier to swallow. As if he wasn't aware that the longer he stalled, the longer this vicious and idiotic rumor would circulate and the more damage her reputation would take. Because apparently Jana Rye thought that would help her process the news easier. As if beating around the bush has ever made any situation better.

Or ever made any damn sense.

Why run around in verbal circles when being straight forward and facing your problems head on was so much more effective? Why waste time finding the warm and cozy way to have a conversation that will only end up being difficult, anyway? Why piss her off any more than necessary?

Martha loathes people who beat around the bush.

And so she isn't particularly fond of Mr Rye in that moment―and she made no efforts to hide it, her nice girl act had gone straight out the door a long time ago―but as much as she wants to call him a liar…she just can't.

Because while he is an idiot, Martha is an incredibly good judge of character. And as far as she can tell, from his clear eyes and his genuine concern, he is not a liar. God. The sincerity might as well be written across his forehead in some aggressive black maker for how obvious it was.

No challenge whatsoever.

It kind of makes her sick.

So when he tells her about this she has no choice but to believe him.

"Miss Martha?" He said, his eyes are brimming with worry and his scrawny hands are suddenly gripping her shoulders. She looks down at his pale fingers, and wonders when exactly they got there. Her curiosity is rather brief, though, seeing as she clearly has more important things to worry about than some stupid middle aged man touching her shoulders when her business could be on the brink of ruin because of some…some…oh god…"I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Are you okay, Miss Martha?"

The sympathy―pity, a spiteful voice in the back of her mind says― in his voice isn't surprising.

She is aware of the picture she must be painting right now. The poor, frail old lady shocked by the slanderous rumour circulating about her only form of income, her livelihood. It's a sight that no one with a working heart could possibly ignore without being plagued by their conscious for days, and she has even used a similar gambit to steal clients from competitors once or twice during her slower business days (not that she has many of those, thankfully). But it was never something she enjoyed. Something about the sorry expressions that remained on the clients faces as she steered them towards her office always made her uncomfortable.

And now, as she looks up into his eyes, the only thing that stops her from squirming under his gaze is pride. But she can't deny that the heat of his gaze still burns into her skin. The heat on her skin―embarrassment, shame, anger? ―so intense that it demands her attention. She feels it pulling and prodding her. Surrounding her till she feels it building in her lungs and the feeling is so real that she swears she is drowning in it. And she doesn't quite know whether she should be touched by the depth of emotion this man, whom she does not even wish to know, is showing for her or to be disgusted by the heart that he so clearly wears on his sleeve?

She steps out of his grasp and shakes her head, hoping the motion will organize her thoughts but… oh my god. Her mind cannot focus on anything but the look in his eyes and how it may be warranted should his word hold true.

"I'm okay, Mr Rye." She said. It's a lie. And she is sure that even Jana can tell, but she tells it anyway. "I hope you know―"

"That it's not true?" Martha's eyes widen and Jana chuckles awkwardly. "I figured as much."

She hates to admit it, but that does make her feel better. If only enough that she can once again look him directly in the eyes.

"So," she started, "can I persuade you to still take the apartment?"

He frowned.

"I'll be honest with you, Miss Martha." Jana sighed." If it were just me and Marge we'd snatch this place up right now."

He crossed his arms, and looked down at the small woman.

"I mean it's a great place and it is within our budget. But we have Emily. And after what those two told us, this…" He gestured at the apartment door. "This just isn't the kind of environment we want to raise our daughter in. Even if it is just a rumor."

"I thought you said you didn't believe it?" She retorts.

Jana sighs again, and the sound of it just makes her angrier.

"It really doesn't matter if I believe it or not. The fact is that whatever may or may not have been happening here is out there now. Other people believe it. And they associate this building," he places a placating hand back on her shoulder, "and your business with it. And I'd rather they didn't associate my family with it too."

"Whoever is spreading this rumor is lying." She says, throwing her hands up in outrage. "I can sort this all out."

He raises a brow at that. "Really? How?"

"Just give me her name. I'll talk to whoever is spreading these disgusting rumours and have this whole thing sorted out before the ink on your lease even has time to dry."

He sighs.

"I guess I can give you the name." He said. "But we won't be taking this apartment, Miss Martha. I'm sorry."

"I don't understand."

"I'm sure you'll give it your all but I can't make them wait for that." He says, and for once his voice is firm. "And in all honesty, I'm not sure what you can do."

"What do you mean by that?"

"From what I hear." He paused, moving his hand to rub at his chin." Whatever is going on in this place has been happening for a long time. That lady said years."

"I already told you―"

"And," he interrupted," I believe you when you say you don't know anything about it. But if this has really been going on for that long then someone had to know something, don't you think?"

"What exactly are you implying, Mr Rye?"

"That maybe a tenant may have been doing something less than legal on your premise?"

"I know the kind of people I do business with. "She openly glared at the man, and to his credit he only flinched away slightly. "None of them would be involved in something as ridiculous as this."

"How can you be so sure?"

She froze.

"What?"

"You live in a cottage slightly out of town, don't you? It must be quite a trek all the way from the outskirts to the town centre." He said. "Not to mention this isn't the only apartment building you own in Magnolia, is it?"

"And what has that got to do with anything? Are you implying that I don't know what goes on in my own buildings?"

"Not at all." He say. "It's not a matter of how much you do know. I just wonder how much you can know."

"Makorov Dreyer."

"What?"

"That's the name of the old man that the realtor called over to verify her story."

One.

"Dreyer?"

"Yeah. He's old, kind of short, snow white hair? Do you know him?"

Two.

"Oh."

Three.

"WHAT THE HELL?! That balding, elf-looking, short ass motherfuc-"

Martha hates for gossip for two equally important and highly specific reasons.

Firstly, on the rare occasions when she had been invited―or forced―to partake in what always promised to be the 'hottest piece of gossip you will ever hear, Martha. I swear.' she has always been sorely disappointed. And the look of deflated glee that always ended up on the face of the poor soul who decided to keep her informed only added to her disappointment. She would never understood why females―and males alike, who disregarded gossip an inherently feminine trait while flapping loose lips in bars and barbershops―found such joy in it.

But, she supposed, it really wasn't anyone's fault.

It's just that discussing the bakers decade long affair with the owner of the local laundromat, didn't interest her in the slightest. When asked about her blatant indifference by the local women―"Don't you find it interesting, Martha? Even a little bit?"―she had said nothing. Because quite honestly she did not want to have the discussion shift from the adulterous activities of the baker to herself when she revealed that backstabbing, deceit, and trickery were nothing new to her. Growing up as she had, had meant that she had been surrounded by a constant stream of the of negativity. The type of negativity that had serious, life-altering consequences. The type of negativity that she would rather not discuss. In fact, if other people associated home with the scent of freshly baked pies and their mother's warm smile, she associated it with the smell of dusty books and the mocking laughter that would fill her room every night when her mother would share scandalous stories while brushing her only daughter's hair. So when she hears the housewives tales while stopping to pick up flowers for her office or a cup of coffee to get her through the day, an attentive ear and a polite smile are the most she can offer before sneaking away.

In fact, while the other ladies discussed the baker-laundromat debacle with hushed whispers and feminine giggles, she had been lamenting her weekly order of macaroons and the lemon scent that usually filled her apartment when her clothes came back freshly cleaned. Because she was sure the wife would eventually burn both places to the ground.

Secondly, it always reminded her of her mother. And that never failed to put Martha in a bad mood.

So in that foul mood she made her way to the front door of the Fairy Tail guild hall because there was only one person in all of Magnolia who found almost as much unadulterated joy from sharing and spreading gossip as her mother.

"Would you miscreants cut it out?! If you keep this up this whole place will come down right on top of us. Is that what you all want? To fork out even more money to pay for a fourth guild hall?"

And with that she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"I know it was you, damn it!"

The room fell silent as the wizards all turned to look at her. They weren't very happy and rightfully so. She had just kicked in their guild door and from the pained groans, apparently hit the old man with it in the process. Makarov stepped out from behind the door, rubbing his head and cursing at the floor. She chuckled at the the baby glares she received from the wizards and warlocks dotted around the room. They were warranted, she guessed. After all she had basically attacked their guild master, but as far as she was concerned the old far deserved it. And so she glared right back at them all, taking pleasure as a number of the mightiest wizards in Fiore shrunk away from her gaze and ignoring the sight of one busty blonde wizard sneaking out the side exit like a frightened toddler.

Her smirk deepening as Makarov Dreyer's finally lifted his head and locked eyes with her. His eyes widened and the slightest wobble could be seen in his stance.

She smirked. Good, she thought, he still remembers.

"M-martha," the wizard saint stutters, "how have you been?"

Laughter erupts throughout the wizards still watching the display before being silenced by a heated glare from their bumbling master. The sight was almost impressive. The sight of the shirtless wizard turning paler, the pink haired wizard turning green, the red head bashing an armored hand against her forehead, and the blue haired wizard bursting into an inhuman volume of tears that pool at her feet are all rather entertaining. That is, until the man turns back toward her and shrinks.

She rolled her eyes. Pathetic.

"Cut the small talk, Dreyer."

"I was going to come see you about the rent, Martha! I promise! It's just…I've been kind of busy, you know? Running the guild and―"

"Your rent is always late. Honestly, I expect it now." She says. The sound of a nearby wizard chuckling―"Look! Gramps is shaking in his boots, Happy!"―followed by the sound of metal hitting bone rings through the air as she looks at Makarov's nervous face. He catches her eyes and replaces his grimace with a very tooth and very fake smile. Pathetic. "I'm not here for that today."

The guild master lets out a shaky breath before straightening. "Then what can Fairy Tail do for you, Martha?"

"Don't get me wrong," the smile on her face is downright evil, "I might not be here for the rent but I am most certainly here for you."

Makarov gulped. "M-me?"

"Yes, Dreyer. You."

thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. it really means a lot to me!

(next chapter is when this story is really going to kick off...we might just get a visit from a certain pink haired troublemaker and his flying blue accomplice!)

R&R