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Blackstone Foundry and Forge; Tuesday [06/13].

She may have been just a slight bit late on the game, but Amaya was finally getting around to finishing up and putting some of her own more slightly Pride-themed merchandise front and center in the displays around the store, from the titanium finished throwing stars and the colorful kunai, to so many rainbow blades and even axes, hilt wraps, scabbards, even whetstones.

But, of course, in rearranging the counter and its displays to prominently feature some of these very easy marketing maneuvers, Amaya came across a small box that she definitely didn't remember putting down there. With a frown, she pulled it out, plunked it down on the counter and opened it up to see what was inside, with the usual wariness and caution that one should have when opening strange boxes around this place.

"Scalpels?"

The Forge is open!

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Irene usually came into the forge with a certain air -- a sway to her hips, a trill in her voice, flirty greetings ready on her tongue.

But today was different. Today, she came in clearly, visibly excited, almost bouncy as she clutched a slim, fancy-looking brochure along with her tea and Amaya's coffee.

"Ooh, are the axes new this year?" Irene had been such a fan of the stars, last Pride.

"Oh, no," said Amaya, which was, of course, the only reasonable response to Irene coming into the forge like that.

But she was more than happy to shift her attention over to the axes in question, although she knew, deep down, that no amount of shiny, colorful weaponry was likely to distract Irene from whatever had put that little extra pep in her step.

"They are," she confirmed, "and I wish I'd thought of 'em sooner, I could have maybe gotten in a deal with Eric about a temporary shift in the ones they use at the bar for the month. I have really been off my marketing game this year."

She would like to defend herself by pointing out that the whole concept of Pride Month was just something she wasn't used to, but she knew she'd probably been here way too long by now to be able to use that as an excuse anymore.

"There's still half a month left," Irene pointed out, magnanimously just ignoring the oh no as though she'd not even heard it, setting Amaya's coffee down without comment (but with a little flourish.) "Maybe he'd be open to having them over there the whole summer long, even. No reason to stop embracing the Pride of it all come the thirtieth, right? Ooh -- you could maybe lease out other throw-y things, too. Those stars wouldn't need a different range from the axes, would they?"

On the one hand: was Irene generously staying on shiny weapons and the marketing thereof because she knew that, in terms of the long game, putting a bit of time up front into these things would garner her a bit more...patience, shall we say, when it came to her proposal?

Of course.

But she was also genuinely interested in what was going on with Amaya, and the prosperity of her business, too. Two things could be true.

"And the knives, too," Amaya pointed out, with a little bit of a warning glance, at Irene, as she picked up the coffee, as if to let her know that she was not going to let herself be distracted by talk of weaponry to the point of forgetting about that practically bouncy entrance so that she could be caught unawares by its inspiration at the most strategic moment. "It has been a while since I've bothered him about axes, too. He's probably well overdue. Of course, he probably doesn't need to axes, yet, at this point, since he gets them from me, but who wouldn't want new axes?"

Edited 2023-06-13 12:51 (UTC)

"Everyone likes axes," Irene agreed easily. "I bet Margo might even wear hers to the gala on Friday, unless they have some sort of silly weapons check."

Oh, hark. A buried lede! And given the way Irene was now smiling at Amaya and had laid that fancy brochure -- a salon's menu, it seemed -- where it could be easily read....

Easily read, sure, if someone actually deigned to look at it, but it would seem that Amaya was very staunchly dedicating herself to looking anywhere but.

Brochure? What brochure?

Even if, by avoiding looking at it, Amaya was only making that spark of curiosity ignite. After all, shouldn't she be prepared for whatever new fresh hell Irene was plotting to throw her (very obviously kicking and screaming, ahem) into?

"I certainly wouldn't be against a new uptick in weapons as accessories around here," she said. "I'm honestly surprised it's not more of a thing! But if there's anyone to help push a trend along, it'd be Margo."

Yes, the hellish experience of being doted upon while perusing expensive fabrics followed by expensive treatments. Oh no.

"Agreed," Irene replied, since hanging an axe off her belt wasn't really her style, personally. (Having a beautiful switchblade hidden in a tall boot or her cleavage, however, was a different ballgame.) "See, there's an idea. Coordinating weapons with outfits. No sense in matching shoes and clutch if your sheath is all wrong for the gown, right?"

There may have been a playful, deliberate sort of edging of the salon menu towards Amaya just a bit more, in defiance of that obvious ignoring.

Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture. Oh, the things she put up with for lo--ong-term friendly associations with peers.

"I did sort of add all the neat little gold filigree to Margo's hammer with that sort of thing in mind," Amaya admitted, with far more pride in that than she would have preferred, and a pointed blink of her eyes to keep them firmly forward and toward Irene and not whatever ridiculousness she was trying to peddle. "She seemed to appreciate it....even if all she's apparently doing with it these days is smashing melons."

Friendly associations with peers. Why hadn't Hallmark come out with cards for that kind of a rela -- association?

"That's probably going to be how it is until she figures out a way to leave us all behind," Irene noted, leaning in a bit more in her efforts to shove the brochure into Amaya's peripheral vision, goddamn it. "But at least there's a gala to keep her occupied. And me, too. Are you planning to go?"

Irene had a sales pitch prepared just in case, fear not.

"Well, obviously," said Amaya, so at least that part in all of this would be a bit easier for you, Irene. "Been a while since I've had a good chance to do a little social marketing, and with no projects on the board at the moment, it's a great time to really see who might need some blacksmithing needs met."

"Oh, of course," Irene teased, putting on a very serious face for Amaya's benefit and nodding. "Just for the business, naturally. But you know, I noticed that the invitation referenced a dress code and -- well, you know me, any excuse for something new, but I wondered what you might be wearing?"

And oh, how that faux-seriousness melted into a carefully innocent roll of her eyes towards Amaya, one hand delicately bracing her chin as she awaited the answer.

Aaaaand there is was.

Amaya sucked in a bit of a bolstering breath and met that oh-so-innocent rolling of eyes with a steadfast look straight back at her.

"Clothes," she stated dryly, "more than likely."

"That's a shame," Irene replied instantly, brows spiking up just slightly. "Clothed is only my second-favorite look of yours."

Come on, that was easy.

Yeah, well, don't let it be said that Amaya had to go and make everything difficult, right? There might have been a small twitch in her lips, a little bit of a pursing against a smirk. "Pretty sure," she said, "that first one's not going to pass dress code, but that does make me wonder what would be considered a third option in this case."

Ugh, cute. Best not to get distracted by that definitely-not-a-smirk, though.

"You do shine up quite wonderfully," Irene told her, which was true even if she was posing it as flirtatious speculation. (Which meant -- even if it was left unsaid -- that sooty, busy, and red-cheeked was actually the clothed frontrunner there.) "So I definitely think it'd be worth looking into something new for you, too. It's a new season since the last couple events like this, too."

See, Amaya, you could hardly re-wear something you wore to an autumn wedding or a winter holiday event to a spring semi-formal, could you? Didn't make any sort of sense.

You most certainly could; Amaya was quite content in wearing practically the same thing to nearly any event, and just you watch her do it, if pressed!

But this was hardly pressed. This was (or so she perhaps foolishly assumed) a standard bid to be dragged somewhere fancy so that Irene could spend far too much money on something that was, apparently, only to be worn within a very small timeframe, and it had been a while, and, for all the exorbitant cost, it did seem to be a small price to pay for how much Irene seemed to get out of the whole experience.

And Amaya would be lying if she didn't get something out of it, too.

So there was sigh and a somewhat withering look and another softball thrown out in the form of, "Well, you can't expect me to be bothered with keeping something like seasons straight. Not if they keep on changing the way they do."

Not unless they were directly related to business-inducing holidays.

Irene was getting to the point where a withering look was basically like a kiss, honestly. It was all part of the dance.

"Global warming's just another excuse to make sure to keep your wardrobe fresh," Irene pronounced cheerfully. "Semi-formal's an easy target to hit, though. So many options. Especially if we mix things up a little in other areas, too."

And now the brochure was being brought up to Irene's face so she could peek over it at Amaya, fanning it out so it could be avoided no longer.

Like, yes, yes, of course this was all a bid to take Amaya to the shops and spend a truly insane amount of money on her and maybe try something discreet and fun in a dressing room again, because Irene did derive quite a lot of joy out of such things -- but she had also brought a surprise curveball!

It was considerably hard to ignore something when it was right there in the direct path of what you preferred to be looking at at the moment, this was true, and Amaya's eyes dropped from Irene's toward the brochure, before they flicked back. With a look that really hoped she wouldn't regret asking what she was about it, but that already pretty much knew the answer.

"What's this, then?"

And she even reached out to take it, as if, somehow, it felt slightly less dangerous in her own hands than Irene's.

"I am going to get something done with my hair for the gala," Irene shared, passing over the salon menu. "Probably a conditioning treatment, maybe a blowout, not quite decided -- and I was hoping you might like to come with and get something done, too."

As flirtatious and playful as she was being, Irene was also walking a careful tightrope here. On the one hand, would she desperately love to run her hands through her -- long-associated peer's hair without having to remove her jewelry first (and even then, tricky prospect)? Of course, which was why she was planning to gently guide Amaya to the relaxation treatments, perhaps something curl-defining.

On the other, she also did not ever, ever want to give off the impression that Amaya needed to change a damn thing to please her, that amazing cloud of hair included. In the immortal, paraphrased words of the poet Billy Joel, Irene loved her just the way she was.

But also. You know. Maybe smoother hair would be nice for a few days!

By now, Amaya had probably made it pretty clear that she had absolutely no intention of changing who she was for anyone.

Not on any kind of deeply fundamental level, anyway.

And right now, she was looking at that menu and shaking her head for not knowing what at least half of it was, and feeling pretty sure that was knowledge she could go the whole rest of her life without.

"All that?" she asked doubtfully. "For something that's semi-formal?"

And here she was thinking that just meant something that hadn't had grease on it somewhere. Maybe with a frill, or some lace. Or something.

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Blackstone Foundry and Forge; Tuesday [06/13].

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