Dite's Decadent Delights | Wednesday

[begmetwice]

March the fifteenth was not, historically, one of Irene's favorite days in recent years. More often than not, much like the winter holidays, Irene's birthday just reminded her of the things she'd lost and who wasn't wishing her many happy returns today because they supposed she was dead, actually.

This year wasn't exactly different -- she was still a little melancholy, but there was a little bit of a tone shift. She found she was less distracted today by what she had lost, and her past life actually was beginning to feel like just that. And maybe, just maybe, her present life was shaping up to be just as good, if not better.

After all, at a newly-minted thirty-four, she had already outspanned Jesus Christ's lifespan. That was something to be proud of, particularly for a woman whose death had been faked twice over.

In any case, work was also helping keep her occupied today, and she was giving the shop a good springtime once-over. Each shelf was straightened, errant condoms were fished out from between units, stray battery packs were located and stored. Things were put in order. It was nice.

Dite's was open!

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[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Jon came by in the afternoon, waving with a hand that was holding Irene's preferred hot drink. "Hello."

[begmetwice]

Sometimes there were advantages to having a friend who just knew things, huh? "Afternoon, Jon," Irene greeted him, in decent enough spirits.

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

The Eye had to be good for something, with all the grief it caused.

"Good afternoon." Jon passed her the drink and sipped his own tea. "I hope you're having a good day."

[begmetwice]

"It's not bad," Irene promised, taking a pleased sip from the cup and flashing him a smile. "Better than Caesar, worse than someone who can honestly claim she's in her twenties."

Didn't mean Irene didn't still tell loads of people she was turning twenty-nine today. (She was just turning twenty-nine for the...sixth time.)

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Jon huffed in laughter. "I promise not to tell anybody." He set his own tea down for a moment and pulled an envelope out of his pocket. "I, erm. I didn't cheat on this one, so I hope it's acceptable, but if not, I'll understand. I thought, in the other spirit of the day, maybe a knife, but..."

He held it out to her.

(It was a gift card for a knife from Amaya.)

[begmetwice]

Irene tore into the envelope with all the eagerness of a child, eyeing him interestedly, and then -- once she had it open, she had to laugh.

"You're too kind to think of me, Jon," she told him sincerely. "And -- you know, Amaya probably appreciated it, too."

Irene had herself a beautiful switchblade that had come to her by mysterious means, of course, but -- she also knew that when given the choice, Amaya would prefer paid work, rather than a gift, and this was the best of all worlds!

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

"I think she did," Jon admitted, relaxing a bit since it was well-received. "She liked the business, at least, though I won't make a presumption about anything else." He nodded. "This way you can have one to your own liking without having to rely on my sense of taste."

[begmetwice]

Irene bit her lower lip, shooting Jon a knowing look. "Keep a secret?"

It wasn't a very important secret -- it was just mostly that he likely didn't even know how well he'd done here.

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Jon gave her a wry smile. "It's one of the things I'm for." Yes, and another was exposing terrible secrets, but it was a balancing act. Personally, he was good at it.

[hasaknightjob]

Did Marc know it was Irene's birthday? No. But it had been a while since he'd seen her so hey there he was.

Marc would vehemently deny that this urge had in any way been inspired by a multitude of recent events in his own life. Or that said events had left him wanting to spend time with someone who knew who he truly was.

Whether someone with a keen eye could ultimately figure that out on their own was another story.

"Hey," Marc said, ever articulate as he came into the store around early afternoon.

[begmetwice]

"Marc! What a nice surprise," Irene teased, glancing up from where she was painstakingly lining up vibrators like little soldiers. "How've you been, love? It's been a moment."

[hasaknightjob]

"Busy," Marc said. Then, slightly more accurately, "Out. Steven's had shit to do."

And with everything going on Marc had been more than happy to take a back seat to let him. Though that did raise the question...

"Shit. When was the last time? Your party?"

[begmetwice]

"That sounds right, between trips and my having a mustache and all," Irene mused, thinking back. "I had the most darling mustache when I turned into a man this time, Marc, it was so dashing."

Irene had been turned into a man often enough to find novelty in the nuances.

[hasaknightjob]

Marc appreciated the immediate explanation because there would have been a confusing time delay on digging that information out of Steven's memories.

Instead Marc got to skip to giving Irene an assessing look. "Like handlebar or...?"

[begmetwice]

"A chevron," Irene corrected, because of course she'd gone and looked up precisely the correct term for her temporary facial hair, and fished out her mobile to show Marc the fetching selfie she'd snapped for Watts. (Featuring, of course, Irene's blue silk La Perla dressing gown draped around that strapping, male frame.) "I usually have this face when I turn, but the 'stache is new. I quite liked it!"

[hasaknightjob]

It wasn't the sort of thing that turned Marc's crank but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate what Watts would probably call the symmetry. "You know, I think you're the only person who could pull that off. The look, I mean."

Though knowing Irene as he did he imagined the robe had its fair share of being pulled off in whatever form Irene was in when she wore it.

[begmetwice]

That robe had been pulled off quite a bit that week, in fact. Not just off of Irene!

"You two ought to try growing one," Irene encouraged, only half-teasing. "Though I do think I benefitted from just waking up with the thing on my face. None of that awkward 'what's that on your upper lip?' business, skipped right to looking like a long-lost Selleck brother."

[okteiviakom]

And here was Octavia, just as clueless about there being anything special about the day as apparently half the clientele today.

"Hey."

And predictably verbose, to boot.

[begmetwice]

Clueless was how Irene would prefer her! Unless Irene found herself in a sharing mood, eventually.

"Octavia, darling, how are you?" Irene greeted her brightly, looking up from straightening bottles of lube.

[okteiviakom]

"Fine." Yes, of course. She was about to do the customary 'and you?' part, but then her eye caught what Irene had been straightening up, and -- "Oh, I should probably get that."

[begmetwice]

"Flavor?" Irene prompted, dancing a manicured fingertip along the mod away omg bottles invitingly. "I think you prefer fruity things, don't you?"

[okteiviakom]

"Yes," Octavia replied, instantly a little more raspy, "so I know that if none of the flavored ones taste like actual fruit, I don't want them."

To be clear, the dry tone was no slight against the suggestion, just the absolute disappointment that previous run-ins with the so-called fruity ones had been before.

[begmetwice]

"There's something to be said for the consciously-not-fruit-like flavor palate," Irene offered. "Unless you didn't grow up with cherry-flavored cough medicine or hard candies and ice pops that swear they taste of watermelon."

They super did not.

[okteiviakom]

"I didn't even grow up with fruit."

Somehow, that had made the fake flavors even more offensive to her.

[begmetwice]

"Is it not easier just to see the artificial nonsense as its own separate entity, then?" Irene wondered.

Probably not, no, but she could see it going that way! If one was discovering actual apples and apple-flavored things in relatively the same span of time, maybe one could develop a taste for both.