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Blackstone Foundry and Forge; Tuesday [04/09].

By now, Amaya had a little bit more of an inkling as to what was going on here; she definitely knew she wasn't feeling herself, and she remembered not feeling like herself in this exact way before last year, too. But the big different between this year and last was that, this year, Amaya actually had a forge.

And she had every intention to put it to good use.

It really didn't help that movie class last night had been such a...mess, too. Between missing it last week, the fuss involved with the week before, and the unfortunate choice of film stirring up the alredy too-thick miasma of high-tension emotions, that was three weeks in a row where one of the solid, dependable things she counted on had gone skewed. She didn't really appreciate that. Just how she didn't appreciate how she kept thinking about stuff like Peter's prettiness or Fjord's jaw or Fenris' lithe frame or...

...right. Forge. There was work to be done, and work would get done, because at a time like this, there was nothing was going to make Amaya feel better quite like pounding out a nice, long, hard sword or two.

And yes, she knew exactly how that sounded, thank you.

The Forge is open!

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If someone asked Seivarden, she would deny that showing up at the forge this week had anything to do with, well, this week. If she asked herself she would deny it too. After all, Amaya had promised to pick out a weapon for her, and leaving it for too long would be rude, wouldn't it?

She stepped through the door, hearing the pounding. She cleared her throat.

"Amaya?"

It would be kind of hard to miss the clear, steady, persistent ringing of Amaya's hammer on the metal as she poured all of her energy into beating it, forming it, shaping it; she'd worked herself into a pretty steady groove with it, really, and couldn't help feeling a little stab of irritation on hearing someone enter the shop to interrupt her. Nothing worse than getting really into something and then not being able to finish.

She got in a few more good hits, though, before she sighed, lowered her hammer, and turned from the anvil to see who it was. Breathing hard from the exertion, covered in sweat, hammer still gripped in one hand like she still might need to use it, and the not-yet-full-formed suggestion of a sword in the other.

"Captain," she said, nodding brusquely, running the back of her hand over her forehead to keep the sweat out of her eyes, and realizing that sometimes, you never knew just how hard you were actually working until you just stopped. She was a little surprised that, out of all the people that could be interrupting her right now, it'd be her, but... "What can I do you for?"

Seivarden should have predicted this, or rather, she probably had but was still in denial about it. Because not that she didn't know Amaya was attractive, but seeing her like that, with sweat running down those nice muscular arms, was, well, distracting.

So instinctively Seivarden leaned against the doorframe, smiled a rather charming smile and said:

"You said something about weapons."

Right. So. Smiling was clearly a problem on a week like this, and Amaya was very suddenly, very firmly in the mindset that they should probably be made illegal. But it disarmed her well enough, letting out a little breath of a laugh and relaxing a little, because it wasn't doing anyone any good to keep all wound up. Wind something up too tight, it's just going to break.

"I'm always saying something about weapons," she pointed out, rolling the tension out of her shoulders a little, setting down the pre-formed sword on the anvil (she was keeping the hammer), and offered a faint grin back, one that gained a bit of crookedness once it got going.

"Been thinking about swords, have you?"

YES, SHE KNEW HOW THAT SOUNDED.

That was...kind of the point, in this case.

Heh.

Point.

Seivarden had yet to figure out any innuendo connected with swords, but that didn't mean she couldn't talk about them.

"You think I need one?"

She just realized she had forgotten to bring tea. How could she have forgotten to bring tea?

Approaching the forge, she turned her gaze towards the sword-in-process, a more sensible focus of attention.

Which was a shame, really, because there were a lot of real gems were about to come out that would just go right over her head and be wasted.

"Everyone could use a good sword," Amaya said, the emphasis and the huskiness of her voice making it sound far more sultry and seductive than her usual marketing would go, and she wasn't even sure it wasn't entirely unintentional.

"Not that one, though," she added, following Seivarden's eyes. "That one's just," a pure, raw expression of frustration and denial, "practice. I've actually got something in mind for you."

She was going to wait until it was closer to being finished before mentioning it, but, if they were on the topic...

It was definitely not something she'd be working on this week, though. Too much fussy work.

....she liked for a sword to reflect the person it was intended for.

This might even be the week where Seivarden figured out sword innuendo. It wouldn't stop her from pretending she didn't know about it on radio.

Seivarden looked up and smiled at her. That voice, yes, it wasn't her usual pitch. And was that a drop of sweat running down her cleavage.

"You do?" She said, sounding a little bit more excited than she had intended. "Now I'm curious."

She straightened a little.

And there was a lot of it. Cleavage, that was, though there was no small amount of sweat, either.

Got mighty hot around a forge...

And that defiant lift of your chin was only going to bring more attention to those particular features, there, Amaya.

"And you'll stay that way, too," she informed Seivarden loftily. "I've already said too much. It was supposed to be a surprise."

Nor had she expected Seivarden to come around asking for one so soon after they'd talked about it. Especially not during a week like this. Maybe she didn't know? But how could anyone not?

Or...maybe she did. And that was why she was--

Oh, zards. Now that thought could just go ahead and march itself right back to where it came from at any moment now, and that'd be great.

Don't worry, Amaya, Seivarden would deny she had any such intentions, even to herself.

She met her gaze, smiling.

"So how long am I going to have to wait?"

If it was strange that she seemed so eager for a sword, Seivarden didn't notice.

It might be strange, but it was a strange week (and it was only Tuesday!), and Amaya was really going to just take a moment to soak in (and gloat...there was definitely gloating there) that notorious sword hater Seivarden Vendaai was standing there in her shop, asking after a sword and wondering just how long it would take.

That in itself would be quite the thrill of excitement even without the help of the pollen.

"As loooong as it needs to," she said with confidence and no small smirk. "Piece like that'll take some time...and care...and attention. Just can't rush a good thing, but I can promise you this much: it's going to be well worth the wait."

She...she was talking about a sword still, wasn't she?

Yes. Definitely. Definitely a sword.

"Well, then I suppose I shouldn't keep you from working on it," Seivarden said, not sure whether to take that as a hint to leave, which would have been a reasonable assumption, unless they were talking about something else. Were they?

"Or well, the other one. The one you're actually working on."

Right. She needed to leave. Soon.

Amaya glanced back over to the one she'd been working on and realized, with a little rush of eagerness to definitely get back to work on it....or get to work on something...that, yeah, she was not working on any weapons for any specific people this week because that...would be...

...wandering around an awful lot today, weren't you, brain? Amaya blinked, shook her head back to the the here and now and turned her attention back to Seivarden. "I'm sorry, you were sa--"

And then she felt a jolt that she not realize was her phone vibrating in her pocket, and made a very swift note to keep her phone out of her pocket for the remainder of the week. Digging it out hastily, though, she blinked at the screen and grunted a little.

"Hold that thought," she said, holding a finger. "I've got to answer this."

She set the phone down for a moment to take off her gloves and set those aside before picking up the phone again to hen-peck her way to a response. "I don't know why she can't ever seem to use her phone as a phone," she grumbled, mostly to herself. "She knows how much of a pain it is to text with these gloves on..."

Had it been any other week, Seivarden would have suggested getting a pair of gloves that allowed you to use the phone, and then probably make some comments on technology you were expected to use with bare hands.

Right now, her attention was more on the fact that Amaya was no longer wearing gloves. That was true for almost everyone on the island, of course, but Seivarden was used to Amaya not being one of them, and just taking them off like that, as if it meant nothing, which it didn't for Amaya, Seivarden knew that, but...

"Do you..." she cleared her throat. "Do you want me to leave?"

Any gloves thin enough to work with a phone would just be unsuitable for work, though, obviously.

"Oh, no," Amaya said, distractedly, unaware, giving one of those freshly baked, never-before-seen unloved hands a dismissive wave. "It's just Summer and a problem with the Squishy machine. Nine out of ten times, you can fix it just by turning it off and then on again, but I should just make sure nothing blows up on her or anything. Should just be a moment."

Seivarden had to remind herself that Amaya didn't know what waving a bare hand like that meant, and to stop herself from fidgeting she crossed her arms and leaned against... something. A practice dummy.

The practice dummy wasn't good for leaning against though, as it immediately fell over, making Seivarden tumble on to the floor, and this was followed by some very colourful Radchaai curses.

And if anything was going to be crashing at that moment, Amaya certainly wasn't expecting it to be happening in her shop. She looked up from her phone just in time to see the dummy start to topple, then Seivarden right after it, and then both of them were on floor before she could really move fast enough to try and stop it.

"Zounds, Seivarden!" Amaya rushed over, though she couldn't get there in time to be of any help for the tumble, but she could at least offer a hand--a nice, strong, ungloved hand--up. "Are you okay? Those things are on wheels; you've gotta lock 'em down if you don't want them moving around on you."

Seivarden looked Amaya's outstretched hand. She could just as well give up, couldn't she?

Letting herself be helped to her feet, awkwardly, she remained standing in front of Amaya.

"So," she began. "I didn't plan this, of course, but since it's this week, and, well, no gloves and I know that doesn't mean anything to you." She cleared her throat. "I guess what I'm trying to suggest is sex. Without talking about feelings afterwards."

Seivarden, Amaya did not understand you, not one little bit, not hardly at all most times, and she'd sort of come to peace with that and accepted it and figured most of the time, it was fine, she didn't really need to understand you...

...but that whole chain of events took her inability to understand the way that brain of hers worked to a whole new level.

Of course, because of the week, her first inclination was a surprisingly agreeable Sure why not, which was followed swiftly by a wait, no..., which was piggy-backed by a but on the other hand...

It had to beat just staying hee and pounding swords, right?

...but nothing was better than pounding swords.

Her brain was clearly not helping her right now, so she just settled on blinking a few times and asking a very succinct, "Do what now?"

Maybe she'd misheard.

The nature of the week was just putting all sorts of wild notions in her head now, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry if that was a bit forward," Seivarden said, looking awkward. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. We can... talk about weapons instead, if you prefer."

"Well, I'll always prefer talking about weapons," Amaya pointed out. Her heirarchy of needs was pretty straight forward in that respect.

But there was nothing straightforward about this week, was there? And that itch under her skin did a fine job of leading her into a spectulative addendum of, "Usually."

And then there was the fact that that itch, screaming out as it was just then to be scratched and making her squirm a little where she stood, was not likely to just go away just because they decided to give in.

And it was rather bold of her to suggest it. Amaya did always admire boldness, and remembering that reminded her that she herself was using far too much of her head in this situaiton and not enough of her own gut.

Always go with your gut, Blackstone.

Of course, her gut had never exactly had to contend with her loins like this before.

"I've got rules about that sort of thing," she informed Seivarden, trying to keep a stern gaze, but that gaze just wound up making her think rules could be damned, they had a problem, and there was a solution right there, "but I'm not so sure you'd be too good at keeping 'em, Captain."

That right there was what her gut was telling her. And...well, something else, too, but that one, she was trying to ignore.

Edited 2019-04-10 02:14 (UTC)

"What kind of rules?" Seivarden asked.

She regretted bringing the whole thing up. Her gloved hand nudged Amaya's bare one, then she took a step back.

For some odd reason she didn't quite understand, that weird little hand-nudged amused Amaya and she snorted a laugh, breaking some of the tension a little. She was just all sorts of twisted up right now, and she let out a breath.

Right, then. Rules. A part of her wanted to just go ahead and hang the rules, but parts like that were the reason rules existed. She brushed at her skirt a moment before starting, counting them off on her fingers as she went along.

"Rule one: no talking about feelings." And she nodded with appreciation for the fact that Seivarden had been perceptive enough to already pick up on that one. That one wasn't the one she was worried about.

"Rule two: no babbling about it to anyone else. It stays firmly between me and you and whatever squirrel is bold enough to face the squirrel-sized Crumbler after making its little notes."

Again, this rule was also not a problem she's suspect they'd have.

"And rule three," and this one was the doozy, Seivarden, the real kicker, the one she'd imagine they'd have nothing but trouble with and she fixed her with a steady look to emphasize that, "no attachments."

Seivarden didn't really get why any of those would be issues.

"No need to worry about any of those."

She liked you, Amaya, but she wasn't about to send anonymous axes to you. Or even expect that this would happen again. Those rules were actually a very good reason to suggest this to Amaya specifically.

"Especially not a week like this."

And just how many times had Amaya heard Seivarden say things that would suggest that Diaz wasn't someone worth sending anonymous axes to, either?

She saw far too much of that mess to watch any of that dirt to wind up on her floor. Especially because of a week like this.

So she folded her arms firmly across her chest and quirked a brow. "Is that so?" she asked.

Because nope. Not buying it. "Tell me again on how there was nothing going on between you and Diaz despite it taking her putting an axe in your door to get things cut off."

Seivarden fell silent, frowning. This was not a question she had expected, and definitely not one she wanted to answer.

"Well," she began slowly. "There wasn't. Not like that. It was just a bit more regular, and didn't have anything to do with this kind of week."

She paused.

"I think 'stop talking to' counts as admitting that something did happen. Why else would you stop talking? I just tried to apologize, because for some reason I actually missed being insulted at Caritas every Tuesday."

Seivarden didn't notice that her voice turned a bit emotional there.

"Won't be making that mistake again."

Oh, zards. Amaya wanted to trust Seivarden, she really did, especially since here she was, a woman with her own needs that were definitely not being met this week or any other week lately, but this was venturing very heavily into Rule Number One territory and she almost regretted saying anything about it at all. She grunted, closing her eyes a moment, rubbing at the dull pressure and pounding that seemed to have started up in her forehead.

The she sighed again, hands now moving to her hips. She felt she needed to do something with them, her hands, not even realizing how they were the ones that got them into this mess, and she just didn't know what.

"Is that a fact?" she asked.

"I'm relying on you not caring enough about me in that way to stop talking to me tomorrow. Even if tomorrow will just involve drinking beer and talking about swords and spaceships. Which I like, for the record."

Was this implying that Rosa had more feelings for her than either of them liked to admit? If so, Seivarden didn't notice.

"If I thought either of us did care more than that I wouldn't have asked."

And Seivarden was right, on that account, at least Amaya certainly hoped so, Papa Blackstone's advice on love ever present in her ear: because if you don't care, it doesn't matter.

And what say you, gut?

Amaya's gut at that moment was suspiciously silent, except for maybe a faint rumble that was probably just breakfast.

"Alright, then," she said, nodding, even offering a faint grin as her reservations were taken over again by what had gotten them into this whole conversation in the first place. The rules had been laid out; Seivarden agreed to them. Amaya knew she'd abide by her own rules; whether or not Seivarden did was out of her hands.

Her bare, exposed, enticing hands.

"Just give me a moment to close up the shop," she said. "I reckon this is going to take a little while. You wanna head on up, to your left's the kitchen, you'll find some rum for the squirrels in the cupboard."

Because if Amaya was anything, it was practical.

Those bare, exposed, enticing hands. Seivarden looked at them, half-wishing that she could have taken those gloves off herself, but maybe they wouldn't have ended up here then. There were still her own to take off, and after all that wasn't the most important thing right now, Seivarden already had a few ideas, the current state of the island was inspiring, after all.

"I'll go and look for the rum."

She could be practical too, sometimes.

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Blackstone Foundry and Forge; Tuesday [04/09].

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Probably Late Enough Anyway, BUT NFB JUST IN A CASE.

Re: Probably Late Enough Anyway, BUT NFB JUST IN A CASE.