fandomtownies | Dite's Decadent Delights

Irene had never really been one for rabbits. Horses? Of course. Elegant, interesting cats? Naturally. Wrinkly, yet stylish little dogs? Apparently so, though she had, notably, gone ahead and taken Clementine to be boarded for the next week or so, pending Amaya's re-emergence. Just seemed wise, given the dog's interest in the rabbit when Irene had brought her home yesterday, and then had promptly returned to find Amaya nesting in one of her shoeboxes in the closet.

Thankfully, the shoes themselves had been unscathed, if perhaps slightly rumpled thanks to rabbit-nestiness. And while Irene did not predict that that pattern would necessarily hold for the rest of the duration of this, she at least was relatively confident that she didn't need to worry overmuch when she brought Amaya downstairs into the shop to open up this morning.

Which was silly of her, really, because there were so many nooks and crannies for a rabbit to fit into down here, and thus, Irene was doomed to spend her shift today saying things like, "Darling, how on earth did you even get in there?" while staring in dismay at drawer that had once only contained tubes of lubricant.

This was all pretty rich coming from Ms. Fancy Weasel, really, but Irene didn't always have the greatest self-awareness.

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Sometime in the morning Marc stopped by. He was carrying something in a plain paper bag. He looked around the store when he came in and said, "What? No Passover specials?"

"When's it kick off?" Irene asked, peeking up from where she was trying to lure out Amaya from under a rack. "I'll make sure to put out all my unleavened edible knickers for the occasion."

"Next week," Marc said. He looked around at the various displays. "Though I guess everything you sell counts as making this night different from any other."

"Depends on who you ask," Irene commented, giving a little grunt as she shoved her whole arm under the rack to pull out a squeaking Amaya. "Some people, all this is just Tuesday."

Irene herself was sort of one of those people.

Marc took in the appearance of Amaya. "Tell me the rabbit's not for sale."

Lie if you had to, Irene.

"For the kinkster magician who's lacking a little something," Irene told him with a broad wink, holding Amaya up before tucking the rabbit into the crook of her arm for the moment. She knew, from her internet research, that she really needed to make something low to the ground for Amaya to bounce around in, as rabbits apparently hated being picked up -- but that was tough, as Irene hated having to track a rabbit through her sex shop all day. "Just kidding. This is Amaya. Lucky me, right?"

"Radio said something about a rash of that crap," Marc said. "Here's hoping it's not catching."

If only there were some way of figuring out a common denominator. Sadly it would forever remain a mystery.

"You've not had the pleasure, have you?" Irene asked, lifting her brows. "I turn into a darling little...martin or something."

A weasel, Irene. You turned into a particularly fancy weasel.

Marc had no idea what a martin was so he decided to roll with why he stopped by. He held up the bag he'd brought with him. "This is for you. Want me to put it on the counter? You've got your hands full there."

"What's the occasion?" Irene wondered, nodding and looking more than a little curious. Maybe Amaya could be freed once more, now that presents were in play. "You lot are going to spoil me."

Look at that, Marc, you were getting lumped in with your generous associates.

Don't be ridiculous. Marc didn't do generous or nice. He definitely didn't form any attachments to people. If he showed up repeatedly somewhere that was pure coincidence.

"No reason," Marc said. Certainly no reason related to something about Irene that had been reported on radio which might relate to giving gifts.

Marc put the bag on the counter. If Irene looked inside she would find a decently priced bottle of rum. Not the most expensive in the world, but not the cheap stuff either.

Oh, sure, no reason at all. Irene sidled over to peek into the bag, Amaya still tucked in one arm, and immediately beamed at Marc. "You're too sweet," she told him. "And you're spot-on, gift-wise."

Sometimes the nicest thing about being the woman who had just about everything was that most of the time, people were either very creative with their gifts -- see also: hat, switchblade -- or they just gave you booze, which was always welcome.

"You can drink it or bribe with it," Marc explained. He held his hands out to indicate that the usefulness to Irene in either direction seemed clear.

"Or a combination of the two, for the best sort of evening," Irene teased, pulling out an empty drawer and dropping it on the ground to place Amaya in, with the foolish hopes she might stay there and Irene could get a better look at the bottle. She paused, slanting a look at Marc, and added, "I didn't tell anyone it was my birthday, you know. Jon just Knows things."

Look at those detective skills at work.

Marc's hands were already out in front of him so it was easy enough to raise them to indicate his innocence. "Never said birthday."

Besides, Marc certainly understand not wanting people to know about them. Or acknowledge them.

"Sure, sure," Irene agreed good-naturedly. "No one here has ever had a birthday, et cetera."

It was a little...nice, actually, to know that there were at least a few people here who felt inclined to celebrate her even if she didn't make it easy.

"But thank you, anyway."

Marc gave the barest nod to indicate he got she was including him in the "no one here" part.

"Use in good health," Marc said. "Don't know if rabbits can drink but whatever. You do you."

"Maybe I won't finish it all before she changes back," Irene offered, raising her brows like this was a new idea to be considered. "Usually these things don't last too terribly long."

Though Irene had some great transformative hookups, and if Amaya stayed stuck longer than a week or so, she'd probably be taking her over to Margo and Eliot's for help.

A pause, actually, in light of that, and Irene lightly rapped on the wooden counter.

Marc quirked his eyebrows up at the rapping. "Something up?"

"Been here long enough to believe in jinxes," Irene told him with a little roll of her eyes. "The second I start banking on her turning back by Tuesday next, I guarantee she's a rabbit until Memorial Day."

So, knocking on wood, like an idiot.

"Gotcha," Marc said. "At least so far seems to be a week or a weekend for any bullshit?"

You kept track of those things when weirdness could set Steven off on wondering if he'd lost his grip on reality again. Though he was getting better about that the longer they were on the island.

"Kinda surprised we had something as basic as a fire," Marc added. "Didn't even know that was an option without it being made of unicorn shit or something."

"Perhaps investigations will prove otherwise," Irene offered with a lift of her brows. "Though isn't that fun to think about? It's not just unicorn shit-fueled things we need to worry about here. Fires still happen, too."

"They really gotta come up with a better slogan than that for this place," Marc said. "I mean it's accurate but still."

Dite's Decadent Delights | Wednesday

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