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Blackstone Foundry and Forge; Tuesday [10/10].

With the school trip coming up next week, Amaya's focus this week was definitely on finishing and wrapping up on her small list of online orders and generally putting everything in order for having the shop closed for an entire week. Which was always a little bit of challenge...not in that it was a lot of hard work or anything like that, but just because there would always be that little pang in her gut of remorse for having to potentially miss out on a week's worth of work.

That pang was usually soothed with the reminder that she usually managed to be pretty productive, inspiration-wise, on these trips, so she'd be coming back with her pockets full of ideas, sure, but it still hurt, just a little.

It also didn't help, she felt, that she was thinking quite a bit on the whole roommate situations for these kinds of things, and what the best way to manipulate that whole 'plus one' system to better ensure that she didn't wind up in an unfortunate pairing for the entire week.

There was, of course, one very clear solution to this conundrum, but Amaya was firmly pretending that that actually wasn't on the very forefront of her mind at all. Definitely just focusing on wrapping up her current projects, that's all, certainly not obsessing over middling little details like plus ones....

The Forge is open!

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It was still fairly cool when Irene made her way down to the Forge, by way of the Perk - and good thing, too. Irene had been waiting, longingly, for cold days, and now that the thermometer was tentatively considering remaining below 70 all day long, at least, she was going to go ahead and call this a cold (enough) day for a new coat!!!

Most people would not consider a blacksmith's forge as the ideal place to debut a new item of clothing.

Most people were not, as one might have noticed, Irene.

"Morning, love," Irene called as she swanned in, bearing a pair of cups and a little bag with an apple scone in it. (Pumpkin had been tempting, but she quite honestly wasn't sure whether Amaya might not still be working on the last of that pie.) "What's on the docket for today?"

Not only was the location for such a debut (although, arguably, wouldn't it have technically been debuted at the Perk? But no matter, Amaya would take it) a bit unconventional, but it was also rather bold, with those colors, and if there was one thing Amaya appreciated above all else...

Well, it might be a tie between boldness and coffee, so Irene was coming out pretty well on top, there.

"Irene," she said, with a nod as she took a second to look over the few things scattered about in various states of being finished. "Just finishing up some of the last of my online orders to get 'em shipped out before I ship off for New Zealand." She then looked up toward Irene, maybe with the hopes to judge a bit of a reaction while also understanding that she was never really good at that sort of thing so why was she even trying? "And you?"

Look, tried as she had, no one at the Perk had cared about Irene's coat, so it didn't count. Inexplicable and tragic as that clearly was.

"New Zealand?" Irene echoed, making things easy for Amaya on that count, all things considered, as her brows arched up in interest. And while she might have been busying herself a tad with finding a surface for coffee, tea, and scone (while also minding her coat, though -- you know, Irene and her dry cleaner were pretty tight these days, too, for some reason), she also wasn't exactly letting go of that interest. "You know, I've never been? Australia, yes; Indonesia, yes. But not the Kiwis. Lovely people, though, in my experience. School trip, I presume?"

So she'd be texting Jon on the way out of here, then, that sounded like a plan.

"Mmmm," said Amaya, eloquently, just a rough sort of hum of a response with a stiff nod and an undue amount of attention into the piece closest to her, as the possibility of all the things she'd been comfortably just having to speculate on reared its ugly head toward potential reality. She told herself that the knots in her stomach were very clearly just the fact that the last of that pie really shouldn't have made it as long as it did and she was paying the consequences of it. "That's right. Next week, actually."

"Already," Irene replied with a little whistle through her teeth, taking a sip of her tea to cover any expression that might have made its way onto her face.

It wasn't that she wasn't thinking about it, of course. She had just gotten in trouble before by pushing. And in fact, just about a year ago, there'd been a shift, and she had made a verbal misstep so terrible she sometimes marveled at the fact that they were here, now. But that, probably, was just the power of a jerky bouquet.

"Seems like the semester just started," she added, pretending to really think about it (and not about how she desperately wanted to see what sort of hotel they stayed at in New Zealand, and feed Amaya meat on sticks in bed.) "Though I suppose it does fall around this time every year. Time flying, that's all."

Edited 2023-10-10 12:27 (UTC)

It was difficult to fight the power of a jerky bouquet, this was true.

"Yeah," Amaya agreed, suddenly surprisingly critical of her hammer work on the dagger in her hand as she inspected it, giving an overly casual sort of shrug, "kinda of sneaks up on your if you're not careful. Good thing I didn't get myself wrapped up in too many big projects, it would have been a shame to just leave any of them on the table...."

And as she went to take that a bit literally and set the dagger back down on the table so she could hone in on her coffee cup instead, she bit her lip a little, chewing on it a bit thoughtfully, distractedly, jaw shifting just slightly the way it sometimes did, when she seemed to be trying to muster up how to say them and testing them out before giving them chance to even think of making it out into the light of day.

Irene was a master of observation when it came to your average Joe. You had best believe she had Amaya's expressions (and what they meant, usually) fairly well catalogued in her brain, and was more than a little fond of her...well, what Irene affectionately might refer to as her thinky face.

The way she worked her jaw when she was thinking about something hard like this was just -- Irene could not explain why it was so cute to her; it just was. And watching Amaya's mind work on her face was such a gift for someone like Irene, too. It was usually a little mystery what exactly was rattling around in there -- additions to the Lady Crumbler, designs for new axe handles for lefties, an idea she had for Irene for the bedroom? -- but she was getting better every day at narrowing down those guesses, at least.

But watch her not get her hopes up, since it could also just be -- "But now you'll get to incorporate New Zealand things into your next designs," Irene offered, minding her coat as she found a spot to lean, sooooo casually. "I'd be shocked if you didn't get to see any Māori art or weapons and get inspired. I like how you do that."

And that sort of just...slipped out, but she did like that about Amaya. She'd liked that ever since they'd wandered around Boston for a moment talking about Etsy, in light of what the locals were selling.

"Well," said Amaya, the various aspects of her thinky face now traveling up to her brow, knitted so tightly that it could no doubt be sensed even under that thick fringe of bangs, especially since she was sipping at her coffee now, so all those little expressions had to go somewhere, "can't be helped, really. It's almost impossible, to not be inspired by visiting these places, it's been that way since the very first one I ever went on. I still remember it, too, it was in China, and a village where they had these great big old kilns, I mean, obviously, that'd be right up my alley. It's my favorite part about these trips, learning more about their weapons, their art, their craftsmanship, from one artisan to another..."

She trailed off a bit, her thinky face seemed to meet mass capacity for a moment with a truly contemplative frown, and she took a bolstering sip of her coffee before she, almost even feeling a little clever about it, then stated, "Though my least favorite part of them, really, if you get right down to it, is, uh..." Confidence and determination wavered, just momentarily, "well, I mean, it probably goes without saying, but, um...the...roommate situations."

Ahh, zards, better strap in there, Blackstone, there was probably no turning back now.

"That's always a bit of a mixed bag, isn't it? I mean, Jon sleeps with his eyes open all creepy, and half the time it seems like they just pair people up in the most awkward way for the fun of it, there's the effort of bringing along your CPAP...." Irene offered, wrinkling her nose in sympathetic ick to cover for how much she wanted to smile. (It probably showed right through in her eyes, though, no matter how hard she was trying to play this cool.) "Though I really quite liked the Africa trip. That one wasn't so bad, roomie-wise."

Maybe not playing it that cool. There was also always the danger of not seeming receptive, if Amaya was working up to what Irene secretly hoped she was working up to, here. And truthfully, the Africa trip had been sort of a...trial, for Irene. A week-long puzzle that she felt she finally solved at the end there, with a bit of help from a woman she really owed...like, flowers? No, wait. A bouquet of knives?

"Honestly," said Amaya, with a sort of determination to push right past any thoughts about the Africa trip that might threaten to make her feel uncertain or doubtful and attempt to pull out before she made an absolute embarrassment of herself, "the only acceptable roommate situations I've managed to get've probably been you and Diaz."

All apologies to most of her roommates who had actually been lovely and fine, especially with having to deal with the snoring, but she was trying to build up to something here.

"And, well, these days, she's got Miguel to stick with."

Kindly ignore the fact that Rosa literally took every opportunity she could to actually exclude him, just because she thought it was funny.

Edited 2023-10-10 13:28 (UTC)

"I imagine she'd want to room with her boyfriend, yeah," Irene agreed, winding her way idly over towards Amaya, just to close the distance a little. "So what's that mean for you, then? Leaving yourself at the mercy of Zoe and Anakin's dice roll?"

Was that...not how the rooms were decided, if you didn't bring a plus one? Maybe it was more of a dart board?

She smiled invitingly, almost encouragingly, as she found her way a little more into Amaya's space, but Irene was also desperately trying to maintain a light touch here. It was important -- to her, personally, in a way she couldn't quite put words to, but also in general -- to not lead Amaya directly to this, to not just invite herself along flirtily and see what happened.

Maybe autumn was just a time of change for them. A time for shifts. She could almost feel it on the air, and she didn't want to scare it off or fuck up, this time.

Oh, no. No, no, Irene, don't do that, don't move closer, where the diminishing barrier of distance would be slowing closing in on Amaya with a sudden kickstart of her heart toward a potentially panicked pace! Even just those first few steps seemed to inspire a bit of a fight or flight response in Amaya, the nervousness and the self-doubt rising like the lump suddenly in her throat that made it hard to swallow. But she tried, and caught her breath a little and reminded herself about fortune and favor and, above all, boldness, and was staring very intently at her coffee cup now, even perhaps picking a bit at the cardboard sleeve wrapped around it/

"Either that," she said, grimacing slightly as getting words out seemed a suddenly arduous, maybe in a little bit painful, task, "or, well..."

The rapid rabbit thumping of her heart felt like it was stomping all around in circles in her chest before it took a fleeting plummet into her stomach. Was it hot in here? Of course it was hot in here, it was a bloody forge, but usually she didn't notice it...

She cleared her throat.

Which didn't seem to help much, considering how quick and quiet the next part actually did come out.

"Maybewecouldjustgotogether."

With any luck, maybe Irene wouldn't have caught a word of that and then Amaya could pretend she hadn't said it, just like she was currently pretending like that was a chance that Irene wasn't practically hanging on everything she'd say right now.

Edited 2023-10-10 14:10 (UTC)

Irene had, quite possibly, never been so consciously in love with this woman as she was right now.

She wanted more than anything to take Amaya's hands away from her nervous ministrations with her cup and hold them. Or maybe to answer the statement she absolutely fucking heard with a resounding kiss that might wipe all the thinky face and doubt away. It wasn't even just that she'd been waiting for that kind of an invitation forever; no, actually, Irene was struck by how much she just wanted to reassure Amaya, to praise her boldness and give it the acknowledgement it deserved.

Was this what vulnerability actually looked like, when you weren't so terrified yourself that you could appreciate what you were seeing? She hated it, just for how she knew Amaya must be feeling -- the way her heart and stomach must be turning over and over with nerves.

She also loved it. What a gift, to be shown this.

"Did you --" Irene tread carefully, both literally and figuratively. Another soft step closer, and a lowering of her voice. She actually didn't need it repeated, and while she was tempted to ask Amaya to do so, just for flirtation's sake, she also...it seemed almost cruel? It hurt, to think about toying with her that way, when they'd taken so long to get here. So, instead, she paused, cutting off the question, and her smile took on a softer angle.

"I would love that. To go with you." There. Simplicity was the answer, here. Just that. She would love it, and that was true.

Edited 2023-10-10 14:33 (UTC)

Considering how Amaya was already wishing she could pull it back, even with that answer, how she was flailing around in her head to find some way to soften it or maybe harden it, she wasn't sure with, to just dismiss it, maybe, somehow, or find an out or an excuse...not teasing were very good instincts there, Irene.

Amaya's head tilted toward Irene, like she was going to look at her, but her eyes just wouldn't follow, not at first. They were on a delay, not quite making it there until about half-way through her next two sentences.

"It's fine...if you didn't. I know you usually do go with Jon, so if you'd prefer that, who am I to mess with tradition and all that?"

In the face of all that beautiful vulnerability, and then that followup -- well, Irene acted on impulse. And thus, out came her hand to gently -- so, so much more gently than she would be under normal circumstances -- brush Amaya's hair back a fraction in response to that delayed eye contact, a pair of fingers moving to skate lightly along her neck.

It was one part the reassurance she wanted to offer -- just careful and soft and hesitant, like this was all a soap bubble she was afraid of breathing near. Too bold, and it might pop; too light, and it might just dissipate.

But she also wanted to peek at Amaya's pulse.

It was all just chemistry, after all, wasn't it?

"Some traditions," she replied, her voice low and close, "are meant to be updated, I think." And she didn't really think Jon was going to mind, funnily enough.

Well, Amaya was certainly going to blame the mess of what her pulse right now probably was for the way her head just seemed to be drawn like a magnet closer to that hand pushing back her hair, which in turn gave Irene plenty of her neck to work with, conveniently, too, and her fluttering heart beat surged.

Leaving her expression maybe a little haplessly desperate, but that couldn't be helped, and at least she could look at Irene now.

Would have found it hard to look away now, actually.

"Just wouldn't want to leave either of you inconvenienced," she managed to get out, voice just a bit throatier and huskier than it usually was, "is all."

Pulse racing. Maybe a pair of dilated pupils, there, behind that haplessly desperate -- or, as Irene would have put it, incredibly kissable -- expression, too?

Biology had an annoying habit of telling the truth, didn't it? But that didn't have to be a betrayal; it could instead be gorgeous, useful, hope-inducing information.

"Hardly an inconvenience," she murmured, Amaya's huskiness perhaps providing unconscious inspiration. Those two fingers that had sought out her pulse now traced up along the underside of Amaya's jaw as Irene watched her carefully. "I'd rather hoped you might ask, actually."

All that vulnerability might deserve some in return. Irene didn't even throw in a comment about Jon's creepy open eyes or her inevitable piles of luggage to temper it. She had hoped Amaya would ask her to go, she could and would admit that, and she couldn't bring herself to couch that in jokes or teasing, just now.

Edited 2023-10-10 20:23 (UTC)

"Guess I'd rather take snoring over someone sleeping with their eyes shut, too."

Amaya, clearly, had no such reservations about that particular comment.

But Amaya was also leaning in to kiss Irene now, too.

Big day for boldness at the Forge, apparently! But between those lingering fingers and the adrenaline of all everything still racing through her alongside the new current of relief (that she'd said yes? That it was over? Both), what else could she do, really?

Maybe someone here had been hoping to spur on a bit more boldness with her lingering fingers. Could be.

Irene smiled into the kiss, though, her hand settling with that pair of fingers behind Amaya's ear in a slightly-less gentle, but none the less intimate touch.

"I don't mind your snoring," she whispered softly between kisses, which was a little earnest for Irene -- and, also, a fucking lie -- but what she added wasn't on either count. "Though part of me wants to watch you pack your CPAP."

But another kiss chased the comment -- one part wanting to temper the teasing and the reminder of the Africa trip, but one equal part just out of sheer joy, even if Irene would never call it that.

She just wasn't happy like this a lot, was the thing. It was -- nice. Uncomplicated. A little weird.

Amaya had a response to that on the very tip of her tongue, but she found, in that moment, that she was much more interested in kissing Irene back, especially since there was probably only so much time before the rush of everything that just happened started to wind down into her usual awkwardness, especially since, well, they were in the shop. She took a moment to try and set her coffee cup aside without having to break away; she needed a few tries to finally get it on the table, but she pulled it off, and now both hands were free. She turned a bit more toward Irene as one started to reach for her face in kind, but then it stopped a moment, remembering her probably greasy, soot-smeared gloves, and rerouted for her shoulder with the other one went for her hip, since that nice new coat was absolutely not getting the same consideration.

You're welcome, Irene's dry cleaner, for all the continued business.

And, eventually, that comment did still come out.

"Even got these new nose plugs that're suppose to help," she murmured. "Don't know if they'll work much, but..."

Irene's dry cleaner might, in all honesty, be an actual wizard. (She was fairly sure he was not, as he lived on the mainland, but she'd learned you could never be too sure there.) But in any case -- dry cleaning and fabric worries were just about the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. Sometimes other things did, in fact, take precedence.

"They sound very sexy," Irene commented, somehow making what was clearly a joke still sound throaty and suggestive and like Irene might well be dying to see these noseplugs.

Maybe it was that she barely bothered to stop kissing Amaya to mumble those words? Or maybe it was the way her mind had sprung right to what sort of pretty presents she could bring on holiday for Amaya to acessorize her noseplugs with.

The nice thing about actually going together -- well, one of many nice things, and Irene would be dwelling on how this felt for some time to come -- was that she could actually be prepared.

Despite herself, Amaya couldn't help snorting at the comment, and therefore a little bit into the kiss, while at the same time having to marvel a little bit at how it still managed to make her heart still flip a little and her face flood with red. A blush that got a little bit deeper when she really spared a thought for why they were discussing noseplugs right now at all.

"Probably a bit sexier," she murmured back, "than the machine, anyway."

And if that probably sounded a little uncertain, well, Amaya sort of felt like she could make a decent case for the machine, just on account of the fact that it was, in fact, a mechanical marvel of interest, but she had seen the appeal of something a little less intrusive. She did buy them, after all.

That trace of uncertainty was one of those new things that made Irene's heart do a stubborn little flop. Particularly when coupled with the blush (and, you know, the rush of feeling effective.)

"What actually matters here," Irene told Amaya, trying to take the wind out of this alarmingly kind comment she was about to make by reaching to sling an arm -- again, thank you dry cleaner, for your future endeavors -- around Amaya's waist on matters for emphasis, "is which one is more comfortable and gets you more sleep."

She could deal with the machine, or the noseplugs, or any number of potentially silly-looking things -- what actually mattered to her was the woman who snored, here, and less the problem of the snoring. She'd taken all those naps in Kenya and Tanzania, after all.

"Because I need you well-rested." And there you go, another knocking down of the potential look, I care about you's in favor of being suggestive, and another lean in, for another kiss.

Well, there were a few ways that could be interpreted, but Amaya was definitely going to take a moment to enjoy that kiss and the new firm closeness (oh, that poor, poor coat, but at least, by now, with her hands all over Irene's back the way they were, all of the damage that could be done was already done) before expressing any of her concerns on at least one of them.

"I hope that's not because New Zealand's known for its....fashion shopping..."

Real, legitimate concern! And also, so many better options instead!

"Not really, no." Though they did have many sheep there, so Irene held little doubt that there probably was quite a bit of expensive wool she could get her hands on. "I'm sure I'll find something, but that's not what I meant."

RIP Irene's watch, probably, because now that hand that had been lightly cupping Amaya's face was drifting along her neck and into her hair, nails lightly dragging just for a little extra attention-check. Irene would hate for Amaya to be all distracted by thoughts of shopping.

(Though it wasn't also as though shopping excursions hadn't, in the past, turned into little contests of how quiet one could be in a fitting room while under...duress.)

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Blackstone Foundry and Forge; Tuesday [10/10].

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