Dite's Decadent Delights | Wednesday

[begmetwice]

'Twas four days 'til Christmas, and once more, Irene was modeling one of the more festive options on offer if you needed a last-minute lingerie-adjacent choice for a loved one. (Why she did not dress like this for the ugly jumper rager was anyone's guess, since this little number would have likely gone over even better than all those Swarovski crystals.)

In any case, she was running a number of sales on general merchandise, and as far as holiday items, she had theming as far as the eye could see. There were couple's bundles and stocking stuffers, and Irene herself was quite happily rearranging the anatomically-correct gingerbread person ornaments on her tree near the front, humming little carols to herself as she worked (and occasionally pondering covering up a bit, as it was a little chilly, but -- no, sod that, she was being festive!)

[open, and I don't have to tell you not to click any of that in front of, like, bosses and parents, right?]

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[hasaknightjob]

Marc swung by late morning while there was plenty of time to run errands before sundown. As always, he took in the new displays. "One way to get your holly jollies I suppose."

[begmetwice]

"I'm always surprised by how much of this is out there, and how much people want it," Irene commented, wiggling a little gingerbread person (with little gingerbread breasts on display) at Marc as though to make her dance. "Morning, Marc."

She wasn't kidding when she'd said it to Steven the other day -- she'd known the moment he'd stepped in which of the two had come to visit, just from clothes and posture. But his voice did always help confirm.

[hasaknightjob]

Marc wasn't vain by any stretch of the imagination. But at the same time he did appreciate people who noticed the difference between his clothes and Steven's. Especially since Steven's always managed to look like they'd been laying on the floor before he put them on even when they'd actually been on a hanger.

"Irene," Marc said. He looked her over to see how she was. "Doing okay?"

[begmetwice]

Had Irene not trusted that Steven was already in very good hands with his own boyfriend, she would have taken him under her wing to her tailor already.

(And as it was, the way Detective Watts' ties tended to lay just slightly off drove her absolutely mad, so maybe that trust was more just faith and an attempt to mind her own damn business for once.)

"I'm doing quite well," she assured him, and the thing was, she actually was. Even the holidays weren't inspiring their usual gloom, though time would tell if it caught up to her. "No visitors last week -- Steven mentioned you'd been concerned."

And she, obviously, found that very sweet in a way she didn't quite know how to thank Marc for.

[hasaknightjob]

Look, when your totally not a friend was hiding from people who wanted her dead and a bunch of assholes from people's past showed up on the island you wondered how she was doing. You know, academically. Not because of emotions or anything like that. Don't be weird.

"Yeah," Marc said. "Got caught up in real life other shit going on. Managed to miss you I take it?"

[begmetwice]

"I helped build the time machine," Irene shared, by which she mostly meant she'd stood nearby and admired the blacksmith's arms while she helped build the time machine. "But no, I was safe. No one came looking for me. Though -- honestly, if someone did, you'd be one of the first people I'd go to."

Again, very possibly for help hiding a body if there was just one person, but if multiple people came after her....

Irene wasn't so arrogant as to think she would have been able to deal with those aggressive Americans in her own flat without Holmes' and Watson's help, at least. One man, she could handle. More than that, and it was just a numbers game.

[hasaknightjob]

Marc had plenty of experience killing handling multiple people.

Usually by killing them.

"Good," Marc told her. "If you'd called I would have found a way."

To which somewhere out there Layla was probably spontaneously breaking a mechanical pencil with her bare hands.

[begmetwice]

"I mean, I wouldn't want you to run out on a hot date or anything on my behalf," Irene teased lightly, perhaps having Layla's back across space and time without even meaning to. "But I've gotten by...nearly three years, now? without anyone finding me who didn't actually put me here himself."

Unless you counted Hamish, and she very much did not.

"Minor miracle, considering how much trouble they seemed to think I was back in London," she added with a slightly rueful smile. (They had not been wrong, either; Irene was still walking trouble. She'd just reined herself in a little, here.)

[hasaknightjob]

"Do you miss it?" Marc asked,since this was something he'd been wondering. "London?"

[begmetwice]

You know, much like with Amaya yesterday -- had it been nearly anyone else, Irene might have been tempted to lie? But on the heels of talking about Christmas crackers and how much Charles' stupid speech was going to make her feel like she was back home, coupled with how this was Marc....

"Every fucking day," she said quietly, shaking her head and offering out a little smile that didn't reach her eyes. "But especially this time of year."

[hasaknightjob]

"I can't offer this time of year," Marc said. "But if you wanted a London you could come back with us some time when we're there."

Blame Steven thinking Wanda might miss something from a universe like her own the last time they'd gone home. It put the idea in Marc's head.

[begmetwice]

Irene, as openly moved as she was by the offer, hesitated. "Remind me what year it is back home?"

The main reason she didn't dip into other Londons on the regular was that -- well, she'd tried it, with a 2011 London that was just different enough she wouldn't be recognized, and the experience had left her devastated for several days. It was too close to home without being right.

But that had also been years ago. Maybe she could try again.

[hasaknightjob]

"Just a couple years ahead," Marc said. "2024."

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Jon was shaking his head at the candy canes, because seriously? Then he got a look at Irene. "Good lord, aren't you cold?"

[begmetwice]

"Freezing my tits off," she replied cheerfully, flashing a smile over at Jon. "I've got probably another hour before I'm going to give in and just wear something practical, but I've actually sold a few of these!"

To unsuspecting NPCs who of course were convinced they'd look just like Irene did in this get-up.

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Jon winced at having asked. "Sorry! I, erm. Was surprised. That's not exactly your usual, though I, um. I'm pleased for your sales."

He would not be helping them, though. "You don't seem to have done badly last week, though."

[begmetwice]

"I got to help make a time machine!" Again, really playing fast and loose with the definition of 'help,' there, Irene. "But you're right -- no one came after me."

She tilted her head, skipping ahead to a logical conclusion, and eyed Jon. "Were you as lucky?"

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

"I...well, yes and no, really." Jon shrugged. "There was someone...if he came today, I would very much...that is, he's the one who...who set me up for...everything. But...but I wasn't myself last week, and I had no idea who he was." He managed a chuckle. "He also couldn't hurt me. So I was mostly just confused."

[begmetwice]

"If he came today," Irene said, watching him closely, "you come get me, all right?"

There was clearly some sort of like, protection phone tree going on here, considering that if her someones had turned up last week, she would have called Marc, but still. Irene still had the sense that she was better at...bad-guy thinking, maybe, than Jon.

"But the confusion doesn't sound great, either," she observed sympathetically.

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

"No!" Jon said, alarmed. "No, he...I wouldn't get anyone. It would be better just myself. But the confusion..." He shrugged again. "It wasn't bad. I was...well, I was better off, so I told him he clearly had the wrong Jon Sims and he should get lost." He smiled a little. "The look on his face was priceless."

[begmetwice]

"Oh, he's that bad, is he?" Irene asked, eyebrows going up at that reaction. "In general, I mean. I'm glad you got one up on the bastard, then."

She shook her head. "Not a particularly nice gift from the island, all of that."

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

"He...he likes to plant horrible knowledge in people," Jon explained. "But it has to be true, and for the other me...well, it wasn't. Other than that, I didn't mind it."

Except for all the thinking afterward about how much better off he and the world would have been if his parents had lived, but that was practically incidental.

[begmetwice]

"If the horrible knowledge he wants to plant in you must be true," Irene noted, curious about the actual mechanics of this, "then wouldn't you...already know it? Unless it's not meant to be something about yourself, I guess."

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

"It's..." Jon hesitated, unsure if it was really his to tell, but Irene needed to know about this sort of thing if Elias ever came back.

"He gave Melanie the knowledge of how her father died. Every brutal second of it. He gave Martin the knowledge of exactly how much his mother hated him and why." If he ached a bit more for Martin than Melanie, well, he was still only human. More or less.

[begmetwice]

"Things you have no business knowing," Irene said softly, her eyes going wide with realization. "Things that would -- disrupt the foundation of your life."

I took your pulse flitted across her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

"What a fucking monster."