begmetwice | A Bar in Baltimore

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A Bar in Baltimore | Friday Evening

After this much fanfare and build up, it only made sense that Irene would work to make sure she got this date -- yes, here in narrative, where there was no one to argue, she felt free to call it such -- with Amaya right. Or as right as she could, anyway. So Irene had sourced a bar on the mainland that was both classy enough for her tastes, but had a casual vibe and enough bartenders with their sleeves up that she was fairly sure she wouldn't frighten her companion off with atmosphere alone.

Irene'd also toned down her own everything a tad, though that was an acquiescence she usually made on dates of the non-professional nature -- her hair was loose and curly, her makeup was less intense than usual,
she'd opted for a comfortable McQueen top that she knew would bring out her eyes, and she'd been saving these leather leggings for a special occasion. (Would've been better if that special occasion had fallen not quite so near the tail end of leather pants season, but such was life.)

Once they were settled at a cozy little table -- no, no, not the bar. Irene hadn't palmed a bill to the host to be sat at the bar, thank you -- and put in drink orders, she let go of a little bit of tension she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding onto. Kind of felt like this would never actually happen, and now that they were here, even if they'd taken the long road, it felt like an accomplishment in and of itself.

"I shall have to visit Kitty and Eric's bars both to make up for taking our business off the island, but this is nice," she commented lightly, and it was true because the bar was, indeed, incredibly moddable. "Quiet. The lack of karaoke adds something, probably." And axes?

[for the daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate!]

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The lack of karaoke, Amaya could easily agree with. But the lack of axes? She was firmly convinced that one could never have too many axes, no matter what the context.

Too many As, though, in a word that very clearly did not apply to this situation, that was definitely applicable. This was all just about settling a long-standing debt, and nothing more, though she did have to admit, at least going to the mainland also meant no squirrels mucking it up and misreporting any of the facts, especially when it would probably be easy to get confused, what with these very conflicting narratives and what have you.

"Eh," Amaya waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure they'll be fine. It is kind of nice, though, I guess. To get off the island," and away from pesky, nosy squirrels, "for a brief spell."

See, that was some common ground they had there, as Irene was also not overly fond of the squirrels and their nosiness -- though in her case, it was a matter of trying not to lose business to embarrassment, most of the time. (It had, at least, given her an excuse to start carrying a flask.)

But also: it was totally a date.

"Off the island and still in our own back garden, so to speak, rather than Africa or the like," Irene added with a smile. "I don't actually get over to Baltimore all that often these days, though when I was around the island the first time, I remember doing a bit of shopping here from time to time. Portals have improved in the interim, though."

False. No dates here! Not unless they had some kind of fancy charcuterie appetizer that just so happened to involve that particular fruit.

"I barely get over this side of the causeway at all, honestly," Amaya admitted, taking another moment to distract herself with just taking in the space a little to avoid thinking about what they were doing there in that space in the first place. "Might come as a surprise to you, but not a big market for handcrafted metalworks and medievalist weapons around here, although I have managed to find a few good niches here and there. Most everything there's just done by mail, though, of course, on spec, no need to make the trek out usually."

See? Business talk. For their business drinks.

"You know, I'm not that surprised," Irene admitted, "but I would think that there'd be a market with the renaissance festival people. Maybe the live-action roleplay types. But again, that's not a specific-to-Baltimore business, either way. How's the Etsy shop going?"

Perfect business date topic -- the Etsy shop was something Irene still privately took a little credit for, and moreover, she actually cared about it. Because she cared about Amaya's business. And about Amaya.

"Oh, that thing's been a goldmine," Amaya revealed, eyes going a little wide because she was still sort of astonished and honestly kicking herself a little that she hadn't realized what an opportunity had just been going to waste all this time, and she shook her head a little. "Definitely help fills in the gaps between the bigger orders, 'specially since there's not nearly as many sword-weilders running around the island as there used to be. There used to be a whole club, at one point. Unofficial, of course, but the enthusiasts are a bit more...scattered and incohesive these days, it seems."

She trailed off, just a little, as that thought seemed to run its couse. But with her supposedly newfound mantra of just getting it over with in mind and feeling like it would just maybe speed things up much more easily if she allowed a little reciprocity to grease the wheels of the business end of these business drinks a little bit, she forced herself to venture, "And, erm...yours? Your business, I mean. How's that, uh, been going? That party help give you the little boost you were hoping for?"

Then she braced herself for whatever ridiculous, probably flirty, definitely suggestive way in which Irene was going to decide to answer that with.

"Only the barest boost, just for a few weeks. Valentine's Day came and went, and strangely enough, the coming holidays don't quite spark the need for lingerie and sex toys the same way," Irene replied, wincing self-deprecatingly and rolling her eyes at herself. "Though maybe I ought to market for it anyway. Maybe we both ought to. Daggers and vibrators for everyone's Easter baskets this year. Break with tradition!"

The fact that nearly every scrunchable detail of Amaya's face was indeed scrunching at that moment was a good indication that she kind of hated that she'd even though what was about to come out of her mouth, much less the fact that she was saying it, but the fact that she was meant that no one could accuse her of not at least trying to make this conversation even on the business side of things.

"I hear there's also Mother's Day," she said, "coming up."

But that response hadn't actually been that terrible. Or terrible at all, really. Very straight-forward. Very professional. Very...business-y. This might actually not be too bad. This...might actually be fine...

Irene had, perhaps -- perhaps -- finally learned that coming on aggressively didn't yield great results with Amaya. Neither, it seemed, did unabashed sincerity. So she was just trying to be...normal. Abandon strategies and plans and her arsenal of lines for the most part, really.

(And all the while entirely ignoring the way that this was reminding her of how she'd ultimately gained the most traction with her great detective by just being herself and abandoning her spectacle and nudity and distractions.)

"Oh, that might actually be a limit for me. Picturing my mum in my shop now," Irene admitted, pulling a much more sincerely grossed-out little face. "Though she'd probably like daggers. Do you have much contact with your parents back in -- Daventry, right? Any brothers or sisters?"

What's that? Questions someone might ask on a date? Huh.

Amaya sucked in a small breath, as she realized she'd clearly let her focus on staying the course with strictly business talk steer her mouth into opening a door leading strictly toward personal. "We're not much of a...erm...keep in touch kind of family, these days."

This information would no doubt be shocking, truly.

"I'm sure Papa's still holding down the fort up north in Llewdor. No idea where my brother's traipsed off to."

Probably lost to the seas trying to chase down the Land of the Green Isles or some such nonsense, no doubt.

And Amaya figured, in a regular conversation, this would be her turn to volley that question right on back to Irene, but this wasn't a regular one, it was strictly a business one, so she nodded and hoped that that was enough of a consession to curb any absurd notion on Irene's part to want to know anything about Amaya beyond hammers and steel so she could steer this ship back on course.

"But if you do think she'd like some daggers, I'd be happy to whip somehting up for you. At a discount, too, even!"

Edited 2022-03-25 13:49 (UTC)

Irene offered a light, "Oh, we don't keep in touch much, either, unfortunately. Though I'll keep that in mind if I have any other dagger-gifting to do," and was pleased that it seemed their drinks were arriving and sparing her for commenting at all on why. (And a dagger showing up with a signed note from her dead daughter would probably throw Irene's mother for a loop and a half, and possibly open up a criminal investigation.)

With the agreed-upon drinks now in place, Irene was also given a prop to work with, and so she eagerly reached for her martini glass as well as a gambit to throw the conversation thoroughly back on Amaya before things got depressing. "What's your dad do? Blacksmith, too?"

You were asking about Amaya's father? And you wanted things to get less depressing?? Amaya was grateful for the drinks arriving now, not only because it was something else to focus on, but she was needing about half of that pint in her right about now as she figured out how to navigate this as far away from Irene's newfound interest in the great Blackstone lineage as she could.

Half the pint taken care of, she set it down with her hand still readily wrapped around the glass with a shake of her head. "Merchant," she said. "Dealt mostly with pirates, desert caravans. I picked up the blacksmithing when I set out on my own..."

Ahhh, zards. And now she was realizing that the best way to deflect this attention off of herself was probably to just volley the questions right back at Irene, wasn't it? So with one more (much smaller) gulp, she countered with, "And your parents? You carrying on a family business, Irene?"

Really, she was just interested in filling in the gaps of just one end of the Blackstone lineage. But that gulp -- those gulps, really -- gave Irene maybe even more information than the revelation of Amaya's father's job.

Interesting. Maybe sad? But interesting.

Irene swirled her drink thoughtfully, debating how much she actually wanted to share here -- mostly because if she wanted to build up to anything like a mood, all talk of her previous life would threaten to absolutely murder it -- but the question on its face was easy enough to answer. "Absolutely not. They'd be horrified if they knew what I got up to, actually. Daddy's a barrister," she replied easily. "Real estate law, nothing interesting. And I'm an only child, so I envy you having a brother, a bit. But I've not seen them in years. Part of it's the time jump, you know -- it was 2012 on the verge of 2013 when I left London."

Edited 2022-03-25 14:21 (UTC)

Well, if any attempt at a mood was ruined by any talk of family matters, Amaya would be the very first one to point out who'd been asking all those questions in the first place.

The comment about the brother got at least a snort, though, and Amaya shook her head again with another drink. "That whole time thing," she said, much safer and less complicated than family, surely, "...that's a whole trip, now, isn't it?"

"And then some," Irene agreed, widening her eyes. "The first time I came here, I skipped a little over a year, but when I came back it'd been seven. All the technology got rid of its buttons and my best mate had herself a daughter. Bit jarring, that. Though, really, I've got a bit of a leg up on some, when it comes to the time jumping -- London in the early 2010s isn't that different. We've got, you know. Electricity, running water...."

Oh, sure. Go ahead and list off Amaya's own personal favorites. Yeah, yeah, they were also the most obvious ones, but still!

Amaya shook her head a little again, but there was sort of an appreciation and awe there. "See, now," she said, "that's the kind of thing that's only tricky adjusting to once you got back. But I can bet you anything, I am going to make a killing with that kind of thing one day."

With another sip and feeling fairly confident that they'd stumbled upon, if not strictly business ground right now, at least safe ground, she leaned in a little as she added, "But I always figured, things being just slightly off is harder to deal with than things being widely off. When everything is so different, well, you know, that's just all so new and shiny and interesting. But when it's just a little off? That'd drive me crazy, like a piece of machinery that's running just fine, but you know the alignment is slightly askew from where it should be. And also something that leaves me a little mystified are the little detail that are, somehow, the same. Like did you know back home we've actually got the same days of the week as here? How does that make any sense?"

It didn't. It was just one of those things you weren't supposed to think about too hard.

"Really?" That really didn't make all that much sense. "Are the months the same?" Of all the things to keep consistent, that seemed like an odd one. (Was the alphabet the same? She'd be thinking of things for months, now.) "Things are just different enough with the time jump to be different, yes, and there's a few little cultural things -- mostly spelling and language. British English is different enough from American English that Jon and I could probably have a whole conversation that would make no sense to anyone listening."

It just made her homesick when that sort of thing happened, though.

"But yes, it'd be much easier if I'd found myself displaced by a couple centuries, in a way. I miss my phone's buttons. And 2012's silhouettes." Which was so silly, but still such a tangible thing.

"See, now," said Amaya, who was almost regretting mentioning it at all, but not quite, because, again, trying to make sense out of the things back home that weirdly aligned with some of the things here was still an easier thing to talk about than most, "the months get a little more iffy, though some are the same, but some are diferent, and it all depends on where you are, and some places don't even keep the same amounts of days in a week, either. Most people just don't even bother and stick to the seasons, anyway, and leave things like dates and what have you to the history books and gravestones."

A pause, and a drink, and the realization that that first gulp definitely made short work of the rest of the glass, now, didn't it?

"But now you do have me wondering about phones with buttons," she admitted. "And silhouettes?"

The first one sounded more intrigued, the second maybe just confused.

That all sounded fascinating, and, frankly, like it would be hell on Irene's sense of organization, but she was also a woman who'd be lost without her gadgets and timepieces and calendars even here these present-day United States.

"How is anyone ever on time for anything?" she wondered, mostly rhetorical as she pulled out her own phone as a prop so she could explain about the buttons of bygone technology. "So, with phones -- 'bout ten years back, your screen was about half of the thing. And your keyboard wasn't a touchscreen, it would just be here." She tapped the glass of her phone with one of those manicured red nails -- couldn't tone everything down for tonight, no -- before adding, "Though really, you go back a bit further, and they were really fancy. Keyboards that would slide out the back and you'd hold the whole thing horizontally. Phones that would flip out big or go more compact for travel. Seemed more secure, too."

Or maybe that was just her perception. Even if she hadn't learned her lesson, Irene would never keep a treasure trove on one of these flimsy little hackable things on the market now.

"And by silhouettes, I mean clothes," she added, unable to suppress a little self-deprecating chuckle. "Sleeves and dress silhouettes have evolved in the last decade." She was adjusting, but it was with reluctance.

Edited 2022-03-25 17:09 (UTC)

"Ah. Fashion," said the woman who'd been pretty much wearing the same centuries-too-old get-up with very few modifications for easily almost two decades now, with a nod and expression that made it pretty clear Irene was on her own with that one.

That other stuff, though....

"But a phone with buttons!" she remarked. "Now that just makes sense! Do you know how much of a pain it is having to deal with touch-screens when you've got gloves on?" She held up a hand, as if the reminder of the fact that she rarely seemed to be seen without a sturdy pair was needed. "Buttons sounds so much easier."

And don't even get her started on a phrase like keyboards that slide!

"They might still make some with buttons. All phones had buttons until the last few years. And before that, back when phones were wired into walls, they had a rotary," Irene offered, flicking her eyes to Amaya's hand with a slight smile. Granted, they did make cell phones with big, easy-to-punch buttons, but Irene was fairly sure they were for people who lacked motor control, rather than people who were constantly wearing gigantic gloves. But if it got Amaya to, say, text her.... "And they do make gloves you can text in, you know."

Much more the sort of gloves Irene favored more than the sort Amaya did, but still. Something to consider, there.

"Ahhhhh," Amaya seemed to suck in sort of an awkward breath, "yeaaaaah, I've...seen some, they've definitely been suggested before."

Especially back when her constantly taking off her gloves to use her phone around Seivarden turned out to be quite the isue, a reminder that seemed to spark up just a touch of that pink on her cheeks that Irene was apparently so fond of but she shook her head as if to chase any of that away, with a slightly more self-conscious tug at her current pair.

"But they're no good for work, and at that point, why even bother?"

"I mean, you're talking to the wrong woman there," Irene commented, noticing (and enjoying, yes) that little blush, momentary though it seemed to be. (And she wasn't quite sure what had prompted it, but she'd take it, and keep observing, and maybe the answer would reveal itself.) "I'd absolutely prioritize being able to text and having fashionable gloves over the actual efficiency of my blacksmithing -- which is why I'd probably be an absolutely awful blacksmith. It looks so interesting when I watch you, though."

Well, Amaya was glad Irene said it, so that she didn't have to, especially since that gave her a little more opportunity to convince herself that the only reason there'd be any watching at all was merely from a professional appreciation for an expert in her trade, and nothing more.

Of course, at this point, she definitely knew better, which was why no amount of convincing was going to stop that faint blossom of pink from darkening a bit more toward a stubborn red.

"I do probably make it look a heck of a lot easier than it actually is," she allowed. "But if you ever wanted to sacrifice fancier gloves to give it a try sometime, I could probably show you."

And then that would give Amaya something interesting to watch.

[[ hi, my brain is apparently the worst this weekend. ]]

"I would love that," Irene agreed immediately, because she'd never found anything in the world she hadn't wanted to at least try once.

And the watching, of course, had started as professional interest -- anyone with a craft like Amaya's was automatically worth watching -- but also, of course, it also had a lot to do with admiring Amaya's biceps. And cleavage. And craftsmanship and determination and oh god, Irene, this was getting bad.

"Maybe I could make a little horseshoe or something easy," she suggested lightly.

[<3 <3 <3]

"Well, I was thinking maybe something like a little shiv or dagger," Amaya noted, because of course that was where she went when it came to easy, "but....I guess I shouldn't be surprised," and she gave a faintly wry smile, feeling oddly guarded about making a joke she might have otherwise not given a second thought to, which, of course, just made her defiantly determined to make it anyway, "that you'd go immediately toward something to do with shoes."

That got an immediate, pleased smile out of Irene. It was always such a pleasant surprise when Amaya gave her those little hints that she did, indeed, notice a fancy shoe or a smart cape (or maybe these very leather leggings she'd been holding onto for a special occasion.) In a way, it was a nice respite from the usual, unequivocally admiring reactions Irene often got from other people.

"I do have a weakness for fancy shoes," she admitted, actually blushing a little herself for once, there. "Don't tell anyone. It's a big secret. But one can never have enough daggers, right?"

She also wasn't especially good with a dagger, but you know what that sounded like? An opportunity for Amaya to show her something else, that's what.

Amaya really didn't make jokes so that other people thought she was funny; she made them because she thought she was funny, and if anyone else thought otherwise, well, that was on them. So it was a bit...weird, really, that she felt as pleased and proud as she did that that one seemed to have landed particular well. She definitely wasn't going to think about why she suddenly felt so pleased and proud of herself, but it was there.

To be promptly dismissed, of course, and ignored, and buried in the metaphorical backyard, right along side that absurd notion that just hit her just then that it had actually looked like Irene had blushed, there, just a little bit. But, no. No, that obviously had just been a trick of the lighting, and, really, Amaya's eyesight really wasn't that great, anyway.

"Horeshoe is a good place to start, though," she pointed out. "Most apprentices tend to cut their teeth on horeshoes and metal spikes. Easy enough place to start. Some people'll even say a smith's first horsehoe's a bit lucky."

"Is that where that comes from?" Another pleased smile for you, Amaya. Irene loved learning new things, stealth nerd that she was. "Probably more decorative than a metal spike, too. Though I could probably find a use or two for one."

Maybe if she ever decided to dip her toe back into her old life, anyway.

"I don't know any horses -- but I also suppose a smith's first horseshoe isn't usually ideal for the poor horse. I know I wouldn't wear anyone's first attempt at a shoe, and it's not just that I'm prissy."

"There's always a good use for a metal spike," Amaya said with confidence and a nod, "and there's nothing prissy about that at all. It's just practical. You never want to skimp on anything that comes between you and the road, Papa always said, and that includes a good..." There was a pause, and Amaya grinned faintly, as if her choice of word was carefully avoiding other potential ones, like sensible, "quality pair of shoes. For horses and people alike."

Especially since, well, horses usually went between yourself and the road, too.

Sensible shoes were, indeed, very different from quality ones, and the nakedly delighted grin on Irene's face absolutely betrayed how much she liked that Amaya knew precisely the right word to use there.

"Your Papa sounds wise," she decided with a firm nod. "I tend to think anything shielding you from the elements, period, in any capacity, should be of the best quality. Shoes, gloves, clothes, lotions, cars -- horses, I suppose -- beds and bedding...."

The list went on.

"You only get one you," she added in explanation. "It only make sense to take care of yourself."

Edited 2022-03-27 14:37 (UTC)

The list went on, sure, but did seem to conveniently end where it did for the purview of this conversation, didn't it? Thankfully (?), Amaya was just a little bit more caught up in squashing down some seemingly unneccisarrily complicated thoughts and feelings borne out of that smile from Irene to think too much on the imagined quality of her bed and bedding as well.

"Or at the very least," Amaya added, knowing full well that taking care of herself was definitely the subject of many a withering glance from other people, "put yourself to good use. But any craftsman knows to take good care of their tools."

"I'm of the opinion that most people prioritize themselves last," Irene noted, reaching for her glass and flicking off a discreet signal to the barman for a second round. "Behind work, behind duty, behind obligations to other people. And isn't that funny? We spend the most time with our own selves and we're conditioned to ignore the hell out of our own needs if there's anything else that needs doing."

Just saying. No withering glances over here, just observant ones.

"Well, I've never had any problem at all prioritizing myself first and foremost," Amaya said with an assured, almost stubborn nod. "Can't really depend on other people like you can depend on yourself."

That was...definitely what Irene was getting at, right?

"Cheers to that," Irene agreed, lifting her glass in agreement -- truer words really never had been spoken. "And believe me, I quite like that about you -- but when was the last time you, oh, I don't know, took a bubble bath?"

She could have asked after that Valentine's door prize, you know. A bubble bath (and the smile Irene was sporting, which suggested she might well be picturing Amaya in bubbles) was the merciful option.

Amaya Blackstone enjoying a nice bubble bath with a good book was a much more frequent occurrence than people would ever suspect, which was exactly how she liked it, and she had no inclination toward dispelling anyone's suspicions in that regard, or even giving the slightest inclination toward anyone having any additional undue information on her bathing habits in general, thank you.

That smile certainly wasn't helping, either, and now it was Amaya giving the somewhat withering look, especially when it was a bit harder dodging more direct questions.

"Don't suppose," she tried, "you'd count bathing the lobsters."

"Do you give them little spa days?" Irene asked, lifting a brow. "I figured lobsters were more of a dish soap in the kitchen sink sort of affair. Maybe a nice castile soap, actually. Don't want to dry the dears out, probably."

So no, that did not really count.

"I think," Amaya mused, "they like the tub because it reminds them of home..."

AKA the bathroom of a hotel in Tokyo.

"The ocean?" Irene prompted curiously. "I mean, at that rate you ought to throw some salt in there for them, too. Or really just take them down to the shore to visit the sea."

Look at Irene, proposing an outing for lobsters. What on Earth has happened to her.

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A Bar in Baltimore | Friday Evening

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