Dite's Decadent Delights | Wednesday

[begmetwice]

It was the holiday season here at the sex shop, and the sex shop elves were hard at work.

Or, at least, the proprietress was. Irene had once more shed her heels in favor of climbing on her stepladder (safety first, friends!) in order to hang some very classy white fairy lights up along the upper inside of the windows.

There was also tinsel decorating the tables at the front of the shop, which now bore gift boxes with assortments of toys and edible knickers and lube within, as well as signs inviting patrons to create their own gift assortments for whomever was on their naughty list.

(Irene was fairly proud of that, yes.)

Anyway. Dite's was open! And festive.

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[pocketpretzels]

At some point in the early afternoon, Watts stopped by. His hat, much like last time, was deposited on something phallic near the shop’s entrance. Was it the same device as last time? Hard (heh) to say.

“Good afternoon, Miss Adler,” he greeted. Also much like last time, he ended up picking up something small to occupy his hands as he spoke, though this time whatever it was was striped like a candy cane.

[begmetwice]

"Detective!" Irene called in delight, her eyes going right to that candy-striped toy without comment (but with clear amusement.) "Afternoon. And how are you today?"

[pocketpretzels]

“I’m doing well,” he confirmed. “Adjusting to a new roommate- of a sort. And you? The shop is looking quite- festive.”

[begmetwice]

"It took me a bit to adjust to Clementine when I got her," Irene noted sympathetically. "And she sleeps when I sleep, for the most part."

Which did not sound much like the case with Watts' new friend.

"And thank you! I'm doing well enough. I like going all-out with the shop this time of year." Helped stave off the crippling loneliness of having faked your death several holiday seasons prior, you know.

[pocketpretzels]

“To be entirely fair, I suppose Raphael has really been the one faced with the bulk of the adjusting,” Watts admitted. Yes, the cat had a name now!

[begmetwice]

"Ooooh, we have a name," Irene noted, gingerly stepping down from the window and surveying her handiwork with a pleased little nod. That would do. "Fan of the Renaissance, Detective?"

Call her crazy, but she did not think that the cat's name had come from being a fan of adolescent sewer-dwelling reptiles skilled in martial arts -- the other cultural touchpoint for that name that her brain immediately provided.

[pocketpretzels]

“The School of Athens is a particular favourite of mine, yes,” Watts confirmed. Though his feelings on Greek myth were- somewhat fraught, these days- the same was not true of philosophy.

[begmetwice]

Irene was of the opinion that Greek myth was best appreciated with a hefty dose of skepticism, anyway. (So many acts that begged the question of how was that even anatomically possible, if nothing else!)

"Does he answer to it?" she had to wonder. "Or do you care if he doesn't?"

Cats seemed a little more resistant to needing a name than dogs were.

[pocketpretzels]

“It may be more the tone I use than the name itself,” Watts admitted. “But that’s fine by me.”

[begmetwice]

"There's always the magic kittycat noise, too," Irene added, making a little kissy noise in demonstration. "I had to enroll Clementine in puppy training classes when I got her; I assume such a thing doesn't exist for cats?"

The idea of Cat School was sort of hilarious, honestly.

[pocketpretzels]

“Not that I know of,” Watts said. “I think they’re all a little too independently stubborn for that to be all that successful.”

[begmetwice]

"I'm just imagining the looks one might receive for trying to order a cat to sit or stay," Irene noted, amused.

[pocketpretzels]

“Raphael can be quite friendly when he can be coaxed out of his hiding spot,” Watts reported. “But I don’t think that translates to obedient in any form.”

[begmetwice]

"Nor should it," Irene assured him. "And I suspect that the hiding spot bit might improve with time, as well. Cats seem like very shy creatures."

At least, at first. They also seemed like excellent midnight vocalists.

[pocketpretzels]

“And judging by the state of him, he had a rough time of it before he found his way to the shelter,” Watts reported. “On the bright side,” he added, a fond smile crossing his face, “he does seem to be rather sweet on Steven.”

[begmetwice]

"How strange," Irene remarked, a knowing smile playing about her lips. "Steven's so difficult to like."

(Irene was, in fact, very fond of Steven. He had managed to make it onto her very short list of people who she would at least wonder about if something bad happened to the island!)

[pocketpretzels]

It took Watts a moment to parse that, though the smile certainly helped.

“Ah. Sarcasm. Yes,” he nodded.

[begmetwice]

"Indeed. Your Steven is quite easy to like," Irene told him, her smile widening.

And don't think she hadn't noticed that he wasn't Mr. Grant. (Not that she'd expect him to be behind closed doors or anything, but she was fairly sure she had not heard Detective Watts use much of anyone's given name!)

[pocketpretzels]

She was correct; Steven had always been Steven, even before they'd been romantically involved; it had been a concession to Steven's own comfort levels and an exception he was unlikely to make for anyone else upon first meeting them.

He did blush rather furiously at 'your Steven' though. "Speaking of, ah. Him and I. I did come to visit with something of an ulterior motive."

[begmetwice]

"Oh, this isn't just a social call?" Irene all but actually lit up at the news (and the blush, which she both found amusing and a little touching for reasons she didn't especially want to articulate to herself at this juncture. No time for blacksmith daydreams, Adler; there was business to be done.) "Want me to get the rum for the squirrels?"

She usually waited a bit to offer, but that was a concession on Irene's part, in light of Watts'...time-displacement.

And the blushing, really.

[pocketpretzels]

"Oh! Er. Not- like that." He glanced around at the shop and its wares. "At least, that wasn't what I meant by-" but perhaps, once he was done with the actual reason he'd stopped by...

[begmetwice]

Well, now she was more intrigued, but nonetheless delighted. Maybe even more so for having mistaken his meaning.

"Oh! My mistake -- you understand, I'm sure," Irene replied, waving a hand out lightly in an effort to put him back at ease. (And now she had planted a seed, if nothing else!) "What other ulterior motives have brought you to my little shop, Detective?"

[pocketpretzels]

"I'm not sure if he's mentioned it, but Steven and I are hosting a- bit of a gathering, for Hanukkah? In a few weeks. The 19th. It would- please us both if you would attend," Watts told her.

[begmetwice]

"I would love to," Irene told him fairly immediately, her smile softening into something much less devious. "The 19th? I'll put it in my diary straightaway. Thank you both so much for thinking to invite me."

This time of year, between her history and the darkening of the days, often threatened to undo her. Having plans with friends (even if she would patently refuse to call anyone that) helped tremendously.

She paused, worrying her lower lip for a moment before offering, "Do you two need any help with planning, or can I bring anything to contribute?"

Wine, maybe? Was wine allowed?

[pocketpretzels]

Watts was right there with you when it came to a dislike of the darkening of the days, Irene.

“I can check with Steven,” Watts promised. “He’s handling- most of the details, being more familiar with the holiday than I am. This is- the first time I’ll be properly celebrating. Not,” he hastened to add, “That the party will involve any of the- religious aspects. Just food. And friends. Music. That sort of thing.”

[begmetwice]

"It's very food-focused, isn't it?" Irene noted, given that most of what she knew of Hanukkah was focused on the food of it all. (And also dreidels. But mostly the food thing.) "Which night of the festival is it?"

Not that she knew the significance thereof, but she was curious.

[pocketpretzels]

“The second,” Watts told her. “First full day, but it starts at sundown on the 18th and runs right through to Boxing Day.”

[begmetwice]

"That's right; I thought there was some overlap this year," Irene noted thoughtfully. "Could I bring a date, d'you think? It's perfectly fine if not."

She'd have to run it past her delicately, of course -- starting by not referring to it as a date -- but Irene couldn't imagine that a holiday so focused on the food of it all would go over poorly with Amaya.

[pocketpretzels]

A date? Ah, yes. There was a name he'd heard in association with Irene's with some frequency on the radio. Amaya. Miss Blackstone. He'd not yet crossed paths with her, but her shop was right next door to the Trooper Station.

"If you'd like to bring the lady you've been courting," and it really was something how easy that was to say something like that rather than just referring to 'a friend', "you are of course, more than welcome."

[begmetwice]

She couldn't help it -- Irene let out a very un-Ireneish snort, which slowly turned into a low laugh.

Which, really, was a testament to how comfortable she felt in Watts' presence, since she only let her elegant mask slip like that around people she actually liked.

"I think," she told him, "that if I called it courting, she might well never speak to me again." 'Dating' was already bad enough! "But thank you -- I'll run it past her."

[pocketpretzels]

“My mistake,” Watts noted solemnly. “But I hope to have the chance to meet her all the same.”

[begmetwice]

"Consider buying a weapon, and you'll give yourself a real head start," Irene noted with a wink. "But thank you, Detective. Oh! And -- dress code?"

She always liked to be sure.

[pocketpretzels]

“There isn’t one, really. Come in whatever’s comfortable,” said the man whose everyday dress was considered formal by the majority of the island’s standards.

[begmetwice]

Well. Look at who he was talking to. Irene was planning on wearing a jumper covered in Swarovski crystals to a party featuring bathtub punch.

"Careful, now," Irene replied, tossing off a wink. "You haven't seen how comfortable I can be. I once conducted an interview in the altogether because it was more comfortable."

Honestly, sometimes it was more fun to flirt with a gay man who knew she wasn't interested, either. Took any question of intent out of the mix.

(And comfort had also had very little to do with why she'd turned up naked to meet Mr. Sherlock Holmes.)

[pocketpretzels]

“… I wouldn’t recommend being that comfortable,” Watts managed. “If for nothing else than the walk over might not be.”