begmetwice | Canyon Brewing, Queenstown

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Canyon Brewing, Queenstown | Evening

Was it a date, strictly speaking, if you'd spent the entire day together? Irene fancied she'd found another loophole there, though she was also much too pleased (and, admittedly, a bit too tired) to dwell on any psycho-romantic victories achieved this Thursday. There had been a wee spot of hiking early on, because apparently that was just the done thing around here, followed by what Irene firmly felt was the vacation find of the century: real-deal, not-for-children go-karting.

Not only had she been able to nose around the big muscley fast cars she'd never be able to have on the island (it was beside the point that Irene didn't really know how to drive a big muscley fast car, nor had she ever driven a vehicle on the right side of the road at all), but it had -- as she'd hoped -- given Amaya more than a little opportunity to get a good look at some small engines, and if Irene knew anything (and she thought she did), there were hopefully some figurative, inspired gears turning now.

And now, dinner at a brewery, chosen perhaps for the sheer number of foods on sticks on offer. Irene had considered going back to the room and changing out of the jeans and trainers and ponytail she'd been sporting all day, and into something more -- well, her, and seeking out something with linen tablecloths. But there was something more than a little appealing in just staying with the same sort of vibe they'd enjoyed all day, wasn't there? (And there was a tiny, secret part of her that was always pleased and flattered and warmed by the way Amaya's attention didn't exactly...evaporate, when she was dressed like this. She loved her armor, but maybe she didn't always need it.)

"Have you been anywhere they don't do food on sticks, full stop?" Irene wondered, once they were settled at a table with drinks. It seemed completely impossible, now that Irene'd had her eyes opened to the ubiquity of be-sticked food, as long as you took a liberal enough approach to the concept.

[for the blacksmith I've modded all over this post.]

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And, if anything, the two of them were sort of meeting in the middle, with Amaya taking that step toward modernity in her own jeans and top, workgloves nary to be seen--well, tucked in her back pocket, anyway, which had come in handy at the go-kart place! She'd also tried a ponytail, but after sacrificing one hairbrush and several snapped hairbands to the process, eventually just gave up. Perhaps not as big of a stretch in style as Irene, but being so comfortable throughout the whole day spoke volumes, even if the message wouldn't be heard clearly until much later.

"Well, I suppose that all depends," Amaya mused, with a contented, wistful sigh into her drink that she wasn't even really aware of, "on whether or not you're counting toothpicks."

"Toothpicks absolutely count provided they're being used in place of a fork or chopsticks," Irene decided after a thoughtful pause and a sip of her own beer (which was, in its own way, another concession towards ease and comfort and just enjoying herself, rather than putting on the Look at the Fancy Lady Enjoy Herself Show.)

"Well, then, there's another one," Amaya noted with an emphatic wave of her hand, "does repurposing chopsticks also count?"

"I think that counts mostly as a technicality," said Irene, after pretending to think about it and leaning her chin in her hand as she pronounced her ruling. "Since you're supposed to use both, really, and then the food's not really on the sticks."

Making up the rules here as she went along in the name of flirting? Where?

"Well, then, no," Amaya finally answered, an avid skewerer of sushi, with an almost smug little smirk and a proud lift of her chin, emphasized with a push of her hair back off her shoulder, "I have not."

That smug smirk softened and lingered a little as this declaration made it across the table, toward Irene and just a moment of thinking of how nice she looked, with that playfully thoughtful expression, that chin in her hand, all those freckles Amaya was kind of marveling over having never really noticed as much before....

"I've yet to come across a place where, even if they didn't stick it themselves, I couldn't find a good work-around to stick it myself."

"I do think it matters whether you're using the utensils as provided by the establishment," Irene noted, tapping on the side of her glass as though this point really merited a lot of pondering-over. "Not really playing fair if you're bringing your own skewer-y things, right?"

Which was not to say that Irene didn't fully support a breaking of the supposed rules here and generally didn't abide by much fair play herself; she was mostly just enjoying that smugness. So cute. So fucking cute.

"Oh," said Amaya, her usual staunch nod slightly different with the addition of a smirk, "couldn't agree more! It's right out, if you bring your own. Defeats the whole purpose! You gotta make do with what's available!

"Although that does get me thinking," she added, head now tilting and hand meeting her chin, before it went out with the other to stretch her fingers to make a small box shape with them as she explain, " what if I were to make little portable skewer kits, that you could take with you anywhere? Collapsible, maybe, different sizes for different meats...or veggies or fruit, if you're more into that, small enough to maybe fit nicely in a purse or a pocket..."

"Perfect stocking stuffer for the person who has everything," Irene observed, as a person who kind of had everything, but definitely did not have a little skewer kit-on-the-go of her own. "And you know, it's multi-use. Not just for ease of eating or just making your life interesting -- I bet you could use one as a weapon in a pinch. Or a lockpick."

Like a multitool! But less about screwdrivers and more about spearing food!

Also, don't mind Irene's foot there, Amaya -- surely that little, lingering kick against Amaya's foot was totally an accident.

Oh, little definitely accidental lingering kicks like that had no business creating little hitches in Amaya's creative momentum like that, but here they were, a little blink of surprise at the contact causing a slight hitch in her conversational flow. And, of course, a new spread of pink across her cheeks, though this time with a small, pleased smile and a gentle nudge of her toe right back.

"I really should get started on plans for holiday gifts," she said, continuing on as if with little, if any, regard for what might be going on under the table at the same time, "clever little kits and sets like that that might garner some interest."

And maybe even some things to be very subtly, secretly, and definitely anonymously delivered to certain doorsteps.

So very anonymous. Irene definitely still had no idea at all who had left her that knife last Christmas.

Irene's smile quirked a little at the nudge in return, and it was her turn for a splash of pink to spread across her cheeks at that reciprocal touch. And see, this was where dainty shoes really came in handy, since Irene couldn't slip off her athletic little trainer the way she might have shed a Louboutin -- but she still lightly snaked her foot against Amaya's ankle as best she could.

"We've got a good six weeks before it'll really kick into overdrive," she offered airily, waving a hand as though completely oblivious to any goings-on under the table. "You've got time to put together bundles and your usual giftie things. Though I suppose a skewer set might be useful for Thanksgiving, too."

A holiday she kept track of primarily because of the subsequent high retail holy days surrounding it.

Truly, it was a great mystery for the ages.

The red that was splashed across Amaya's face deepened, in no small part due to thinking that it was a bit silly, though, wasn't it? Feeling that much of a thrill over something like a foot? But, silly or not, she clearly was in no hurry to extract herself from this particular little entanglement.

"Sure," she agreed, "but, before you know it, those six weeks have dwindled down to three, and then just the one, and then you're left wondering if you should've gone into clockmaking, actually, because, boy, did that time manage to run away with you!"

See, and that was Irene's favorite thing -- the way that a little game of footsie could be taking half her attention right now, particularly after having already spent a substantial amount of time on this trip (and, you know, on a few occasions prior) in bed with this woman.

"Plus," she added, tone teasing to go along with the way her eyebrow spiked up, "you'll want to take time to enjoy the festivities yourself. And, you know, rest along the way. It's important to build in breaks for yourself."

Irene knew who she was talking to, and the level of importance Amaya had, traditionally, found breaks to be worthy of.

So, then, Irene was probably not even the least bit surprised when all that adorable blushing made way for a wrinkled nose of distaste.

"Some breaks," Amaya allowed. "A few. It'd be nice, actually, if I got so busy I'd have to actually make time for them, but the way business has been going lately, I can't imagine breaks are gonna be an issue, unfortunately."

And just like that, it all got cuter.

"We ought to take a look at your web traffic," Irene mused, taking a thoughtful sip of her beer and not actually teasing this time. When things were slow on the island, the internet was often the solution as far as commerce went. "I bet if we hooked you up with a slew of Google ads to support that Etsy store and drive a bit of traffic there, maybe hire someone to pump your SEO, you'd be so busy with internet orders, you wouldn't know what to do with yourself."

A pause, a slightly unrepentant grin, and, "And then I'll be there to help you remember breaks again when you need it."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Amaya asked. "Helping?"

Well. Someone's foot was getting an extra nudge now.

"And the web stuff has been fine," she clarified. "Pretty great, actually, but maybe too great. I feel like I do more packing and shipping that I do hammering and welding these days! I miss the times when someone would just wander in and ask,'say, what've you got to the tune of a good axe?'"

"I could call it something else," Irene suggested innocently, nudging right back. And she would, too -- here in the middle of this lovely brewery, just to see if Amaya's face actually caught fire when she did.

"And now you've got me thinking that we need something to rustle everyone out of their comfort zones," she continued, warming to the idea. "So many people are fond of what they have, they're not even thinking about whether they'd like to accessorize with an axe, or whether a mace might look nice mounted on their wall."

Just for example.

"Well, we've already tried party decorations and accessories," Amaya pointed out, deftly ignoring the part of her that did sort of want to ask what else Irene might call it, if only to see what she might actually say... "I'm not even sure what else would be left, outside of some guerrilla tactics of maybe knives and axes in doors and the like..."

Which had, briefly, been a thing before!

Then there was a slight pause, a reach for her beer and a good swig of it before she realized that she really couldn't escape her own curiosity and, despite her better judgement, she did, in fact, ask, while peering over her pint glass, "And what else would you call it?" A pause, then, to clarify: "If not helping."

Irene wavered for a moment, visibly. On the one hand, several filthy answers occurred immediately, but that also wasn't exactly the entire sum of why she liked to help Amaya take breaks. It wasn't just a matter of showing up naked under the occasional trench coat; it was also the conversation, the questions about what she was doing, the coffees Irene always pretended she'd just found somewhere -- a practice she was absolutely floored (in the best way) that Amaya had adopted, too....

And really, sincerity was much more of a gambit than something expectedly dirty, anyway. Always was.

"I might call it caring about you," she said, and flashed a smile at Amaya so quick, it might have been missed. And then she continued, as though what she'd said scarcely mattered, "Have you thought about branching more into kiddies and pets? I know you did her crib, but Prompto and Liz's kid could probably use Baby's First Hammer, right? And Clemmie can always use more accessories."

And see, Amaya, because she cared about you, she'd provided an out.

You know what was really unfair? The fact that, if Irene had given an answer more along the lines of what Amaya was expecting with that set-up, she knew her cheeks were going to practically be on fire, but she'd decided it was a risk she was willing to take. But the fact that she was pretty sure the answer she got set those cheeks off even more than that?

Truly, was there no justice in this world at all?

And, to really put the quench on that particular double-edged sword, after they'd been hammering away at this for as long as they had, even Amaya found it a little difficult to just brush that sincerity off or dismiss it or pretend she hadn't heard it or try to warp it around into something else. Not to mention the fact that she didn't really feel like she wanted to, anyway. There was that tug of feeling like she should, she absolutely definitely should, but...

She was just going to try and washed that all down with more of that beer for a moment, brain scrambling for the best response while her chest and her stomach joined in on the action her face was getting by adding fluttering and flipping to the whole mess, respectively.

"S'ppose that could be a new good angle," she agreed once she set that pint glass back down almost with purpose. "Seem to recall that at least someone wound up with a mace as a kid, so you could be on to something there."

Amaya? Leaning on that out? Don't mind if she did!

The thing was, for Irene, with her history -- Amaya's reaction was already nearly everything she needed in a response, anyway. Words were cheap, even if she had a very tight budget when it came to those sorts of words. But genuine, unfettered reaction was worth everything.

That had always been the draw of the blush, after all. You can hide and pretend and poker face the day away, but most times, your body would betray you. Irene knew it better than most people.

And now she wasn't bothering to hide her smile, and you know what? Maybe -- because she could tell, by now, that her words had been received well -- maybe she could also be so very bold as to lightly reach her hand out, just to give Amaya's free one the lightest squeeze.

A spot of hand-holding never hurt anyone, but it was, in many ways, so much more intimate than they typically got in public.

"Well, that person was a rather spoilt child who had everything but a mace," Irene pointed out. "Though that reminds me that we're probably due for that soon; I ought to make sure I've got braces-friendly sweets on hand."

Just as she'd leaned into that out, Amaya was also going to lean into a groan and a roll of her eyes that was clearly focused on just those words (she would hesitate to call anything about Irene cheap) instead of that light squeeze of her hand, the one that made her sort of want to squeeze Irene's right back but worried if she did that, she wouldn't want to let go of it.

(But you always did have to let go. Eventually.)

"Don't remind me," she said. "Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll skip me again like it did that time. Clearly, it was much better for business."

Yes. Business. And only that.

The way Irene's fingers drifted across the inside of Amaya's wrist -- no gloves to get in the way today! -- was threatening to become an unconscious habit of hers, now. One part an old curiosity that had been bred into her years ago that she couldn't help indulging, and one part (a more dominating, focused part) just wanting to idly touch.

"Did you have more paying customers than me that day?" Irene wondered. 'Paying customers' was also a bit of a stretch, considering Irene was fairly sure she'd pulled a couple quid out of her tiny little nine year-old's purse before backtracking later as an adult to take care of the actual value of the mace.

"Dwight, actually," said Amaya, with a staunch nod, because, oof, ouch, speaking of letting go and how long ago was that, anyway?* "Managed to score himself a nice sword."

And the less said about that, the better, probably, and Amaya was suddenly making it through that beer at an impressively quick pace with these last few beats in the conversation.

"Kinda interesting, though, don't you think?" she ~~pivoted~~ said. "That the island changes a bit for that weekend, like turning all my weapons all foamy and inflatable so's no one pokes an eye out accidentally. Especially since I wouldn't be surprised if some of the people on the island knew how to handle those weapons better as a kid than some other people on the island would as adults!"

________________
*Nearly two years ago, actually, not that anyone was feeling masochistic and decided to actually go back and find out or anything lalala.

Ah, well. Irene couldn't really fault her on that one. (Though she had -- and still occasionally did -- toyed with the idea of extending an invitation towards Dwight, or any other man Amaya might fancy, to a shared bed. Wouldn't be her first time, after all. But the whole matter of feelings did...sticky that up a bit.)

But anyway -- what a fortuitous time for their many skewers to arrive! And a refill for both of them! Like fucking magic, that timing!

Of course, it did also mean Irene had to withdraw her hand, which was regrettable. (But also sparked a little longing, and that was almost as delicious as her beer and these many meats promised to be.)

"Well, everything in my shop does that, too," Irene pointed out. "Probably saves the remaining adults a lot of uncomfortable questions, that. But you're right -- half the students know their way around weapons, usually, and I don't imagine they started as teenagers."

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Canyon Brewing, Queenstown | Evening

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