special_rabbit | 63 Serendipity Place; Saturday Afternoon [10/28].

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63 Serendipity Place; Saturday Afternoon [10/28].

All in all, Amaya was feeling like she'd really done a great job fixing up the place that the Merchant's "unicorns" had pretty much destroyed to the best of their abilities; it was habitable now, for one thing, and you could barely even smell the goat anymore! She'd built a little lean-to on the side to house the Crumbler. All the damage that had been done to the small lawn by the Merchant's cart was now gussied up and laid out in preparation for a beautiful little garden in the spring. It was pretty much perfect, really, just to her liking...

....and now she was going to have to go and ruin it.

There was no avoiding it. It was a decently sized house, really, and, when you got right down to brass tacks, the easiest way for Amaya to start earning some money to save up for a place for a forge was to rent out these perfectly fine rooms that were available in the house. Amaya had never had roommates before. Amaya would have never wanted roommates, but...desperate times called for desperate measures. How bad could it possibly be, anyway? If it meant she could start smithing again sooner, then it would all be worth it.

Right?

So, with a hand and heart as heavy as her hammer, she pounded into the ground a sign boldly declaring: ROOMS FOR RENT. Contact Amaya Blackstone, 555-AMYA.

Ugh. It hadn't even been in the ground for two seconds, and already, she wanted to take the Crumbler to it.

[[open to all potential roommates and passers-by alike!]]

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There was nothing like relaxing in cozy quarters after a successful night's business -- and that was nothing like what Quark got last night, bedding down in that damn shuttle on the roof. He was going to need some actual quarters, dammit. He was a businessman, not a sailor. He wasn't built for bulkhead bunks.

And so he found himself pausing outside the quaint little hu-man abode on his walk through town today, frowning at the sign. Ultimately, of course, he'd want his own place, but new businesses were notoriously draining on profit, so he needed to keep his overhead low. . . .

"How many people you got living here already?"

Also, hello, Amaya. How are you? And all those other social niceties. . . .

No.

...okay, unfair, Amaya didn't know who this person was, but anyone could have walked up and said that and gotten the complete look of defeat flashing across her face. Of course this sign would garner immediate attention while the shop one already had a cobweb on it (although that was likely just Halloween related).

Amaya sighed, and put on her big-girl business face. "Just me so far," she said, hitching a thumb to herself, then pointing to the sign. "I'm Amaya. And you are...?"

"Quark." Quark nodded to her, then looked up at the house behind her. "Looks . . . reasonably sized."

It looked huge. His last permanent residence had been a space station. Not tiny by any means, but space was always at a premium in, you know, space.

"You don't snore, do you?"

"As a matter of fact," Amaya said, "I do."

It wasn't that she was trying to dissuade him, she was just being honest.

"I work hard, I play hard, and I sleep hard. Sometimes it just comes with the territory."

But she wasn't working as hard these days, because she didn't have a forge and that reminder made her suck in her desire to make this sound as displeasing as possible. She. Needed. The. Money. Bottom line. A blacksmith without a forge was not much a blacksmith at all.

"But the walls are sound," she added. "Made sure of that myself. I'll be honest with you, Quark. This place was a dump before I got here. The little scab who lived here before let his two dumb little goats have full reign of the place, and I like to think you'd never know it by how I've spruced it up. It's a good solid place, nice thick walls, that I can promise you."

"Hmmm. Well, I suppose it can't be worse than the engine noises on Deep Space Nine."

Actually, those were constant enough to be completely absent after the first week or so. At some point, Quark might notice that he wasn't noticing the lack of them so much, then wonder about the very soft machine hum this island hand.

"As for the goats, I'm sure that won't be too much of a problem." He had no idea what goats were. "Looks like you keep a tight, orderly house. Are you an engineer?"

Engineers were extremely useful to have around. It was the only reason he was missing his brother Ram.

"I dabble," Amaya said, after a moment of thinking if she'd be comfortable under that title, and she decided that, yes, she would be. "Blacksmith by trade. Usually. Bit of an inventor, too. That over there's the pride and joy." She hitched her thumb over her shoulder toward the lean-to keep a squat machine with a lot of spiky things protected. "The Crumbler! Don't think I'll get a lot of use out of her around here, which is a shame. But if you need anything lifted, chopped, smashed, smooshed, crushed, or crumbled, you just let me know, and we'll put together a work order."

Quark stared at the contraption wide-eyed. It looked like something his Klingon ex-wife would have as an ancient family heirloom. "Useful," he squeaked, then cleared his throat. At least it was likely to disuade home invaders? "I'll keep that in mind. Now, uh. How much are you asking for the room?"

And that was something Amaya hadn't quite gotten to yet in this process, especially since this economy didn't run on the shiny gold coins she was used to. She narrowed her eyes in an approximation of what she thought looked scrupulous, rubbing her chin a little, looking thoughtful to stall for time.

"Well," she eventually said, "what's your budget?"

Oh.

Oh, Quark could work with this.

(Not that he was too familiar with the local currency, either. Who put value on strips of paper?)

"Well, I only just got my new business open," he said thoughtfully. "So I don't have a lot to start with, but I assure you, we can find a fair price for this little cottage you have here. I could maybe see my way around to affording . . . a hundred a month?"

True, Amaya didn't know what places around here rented for, but she did know that sounded awfully low if she was going to get anywhere in buying a place for her forge, not to mention having to build the damn thing. She'd spent that much on her gardening supplies alone. More, in fact!

...even if she did go a wee bit overboard with the garden.

"You won't be in business for long if that's all you can afford," she said. "That might work if we moved Missus Crumbler into the house and you took her shed there. This is some prime real estate; just look at that ocean view."

Facing the mainland, but shhhh.

Quark scoffed. "You call that a view? I've got six dozen better oceans than that in my holosuite programs." And could program more pretty easily, let's be real. He gave Amaya a suspicious look. "You're not trying to swindle a poor off-planet rube here, are you?"

She wasn't, but Quark was not above playing the victim if it got him a deal.

Amaya couldn't help but laugh at that, considering she herself had just gotten swindled...and she wasn't planning on doing it again any time soon. "No," she said. "Just trying to make a n honest living. But that's great, if your...holosuite programs," what in the world was a holosuite??, "can do better than this, I'm sure that means....business?," was it his business? She was really just guessing at this point, "should be picking up for you soon."

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, realizing just how out of her depth she was. She'd never rented before, only charged for actual services with physical labor and results that were way easier to gauge than just sure, live in this room in my house for a nominal fee! It was just weird and she almost felt a little bad about it because she wasn't even doing anything but tolerating another person in the same space as her but...let's be honest, that was asking a lot.

"How do you feel about...five?"

Was that too high? Too low? Just how much of a lowball (and she knew at least that much, it was a lowball) had he tossed her with one? But she felt comfortable with it. If it was low, it'd make him happy, and it wasn't like Turtle & Canary didn't put her in the black most weeks. And if it was too high...oh, she was sure he'd definitely let her know.

She'd just have to watch his reaction. And realize just how bad she was at that and how much she hated haggling, and, zounds, why couldn't all business just be upfront and frank and simple?

Where was the fun in upfront, frank, and simple?

"Two-fifty," Quark offered in return, chin up, full on in business mode. "And I'll throw in a discount at my bar."

Amaya met his lifted chin with narrowed eyes. Bar sounded promising.

"What kind of discount?"

And, she wondered to herself, how much would she need to use it living with him?

"Ten percent," Quark offered. "And line-hopping privileges at any of the game tables or holosuites."

If the holosuites took off the way he hoped they would, that last part would be priceless.

"What even is a holosuite?"

If she was going to potentially be dealing in it, she might as well know. Not that she planned on taking him up on it. Amaya was in this renting business for money. Line-hopping wasn't getting her a forge any time soon.

"Fully immersive, three dimensional holo-projection chambers," Quark said proudly. "With the safeties off, my holosuites are totally indistinguishable from real life. Not that you can use them without the safeties on, mind you. Not for cheap, anyway."

Amaya understood most of those words.

"So...you mean....like illusions?"

"Illusions you can touch, smell, and taste," Quark said. "Made to order. Ever want to live out your favorite stories? Experience far away places? We can do that! For a reasonable fee."

"Mmmm," said Amaya, "hard pass. I'd much rather make my own stories. Four hundred. Take it or leave it. A lot of fancy froo-froo fantasy magic and mugs of ale aren't going to help me like cold hard cash in the bank will."

Quark had to respect that. "You've got some lobes for a female," he said, with a respectful nod (what? that was totally respectful for a Ferengi!). "I suppose I can swing four hundred, so long as I'm careful with my replicator. But I get a big room!"

Amaya's hand gingerly lifted to her ear, where she awkwardly pulled at her lobe. She never even thought of her lobes before, but, looking at Quark, she could kind of see where the expression might come from.

The female part, however, made her want to tell him it was going to be five hundred and she might think about not punching him.

But she restrained her punching arm with thinking how much nicer it would be to hit him instead with something forged at her new shop. So she just let go of her earlobe, and turned enough to motion to the house. "Take your pick. I'm mostly just using them to store weapons and tools right now."

Careful about the weapons and hitting talk, Amaya, he might develop a crush.

"We have a deal, then." Which he would still try to weasel out of at any given opportunity. "Pleasure doing business."

Miguel was passing by and gave the woman a smile and a wave. "Hi there. Are you new? I didn't know this place was even lived in."

"Oh," Amaya scoffed. "It was lived in, all right. By a couple of goats. With horns strapped to their heads. The guy who had this place before me was more than a few screwdrivers short of a toolbox, if you get my meaning."

She twirled a finger around the side of her head for extra emphasis, then waved that hand dismissively. "But I'm there now, thankfully without the goats. So, yeah, I'm new. Amaya Blackstone. The one on the sign."

A sign that she regarded with a disgruntled curl of her lip. "You're not looking for a place, are you?"

Nothing personal. He seemed like a fine young man. But she'd already gotten one roommate too many as it was.

...still. Forge money.

Stupid conundrums!

"Nah, I have a place," he assured her. "I just thought I'd say hi." He held out his hand. "Miguel O'Hara. Congratulations on being goat-free?"

Oh, the relief on that face could probably be felt all the way on the mainland. Amaya's hand covered her poor heart for a moment before she met the offered hand in a firm (very firm, probably too firm, but not at all intentionally so) handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Miguel. And thanks. Glad to be, and I hope it stays that way. Interesting little island, this place. Are you from here?"

Okay, yeah, that was a little firm, but Miguel could just meet it in kind.

"No, I've been here...about a month, I guess," Miguel answered. "I'm not sure anyone's actually from here; it just seems to collect us."

"I sort of got that impression, too," Amaya noted with a nod. "Granted, I haven't had a chance to meet much of the local flavor except what comes into my a shop and a few people here and there, been too busy fixing up this place, but that's good. I like that. Makes things more interesting, and interesting is better for business. I hate when things get boring, can't stand it. That's half the reason I wound up here."

"And I came here to get away from excitement," Miguel said wryly. That said something about at least one of their worlds, probably.

"What shop do you run?"

"Well, that's not what I needed to hear," Amaya said wryly. "No offense, Miguel, but I hope I'm on the winning side of that one. And I....currently run Turtle & Canary. Long story, not my usual gig, hopefully just temporary. But for now, I guess it'll do. What's your line of work?"

"Genetic modification, saving the multiverse, and I work over at the diner," he said, hooking a thumb in that direction.

"Don't worry; from what I hear, this place isn't exactly boring. I'm just hoping for some downtime between crises. What is your usual gig?"

Amaya rubbed her forehead, just a little bit. The way these people talked sometimes. She felt like, contextually, it made sense, but the details were wrought with mumbo-jumbo.

So she was glad for the out to talk about something really good. "Blacksmith!" she said, squaring her shoulders with pride. "And part-time inventor. I invented the Crumbler over there," she hitched her thumb to the little lead-to shed housing a machine with plenty of sharp pointies, "she's sort of my pride and joy. I'd love to get a forge going here, too. There are plenty of places here where I could put one, but, alas, money's sort of...short at the moment. Thus," she gestured to the sign, "I'm in the landlord business now, too. And if you happen to catch wind of any opportunities, I'd be mighty glad if you passed them along to me. Maybe this town could use a good smith around, and I'm one of the best."

"If I do, I will," Miguel said. "What sorts of opportunities?"

Amaya shrugged. "Anything to get a little more money in my pockets," she said. "Odd jobs, this and that. Need something fixed? Call me up. Need something moved, crushed, or crumbled? Let's get Missus Crumbler in on it. If your looking for weapons...well, not much I can do without a forge, but maybe I can still pull something together. I'm pretty handy when I need to be."

"Oh, okay. Not just smith...things, then." Miguel nodded. "I'll keep an eye out."

He grinned. "If I see anyone needing a room, should I tell them, or not?" He hadn't missed that for someone putting out a sign, she didn't seem too enthusiastic.

The question seemed to have caused Amaya physical pain; a hand went to her stomach as if she was fighting down nausea. "Y-ye..."

Come on, Amaya. You can do this. Do it for the forge. Do it for all the beautiful weapons you could be making here...

She cleared her throat, shook her head. "Y-yes, please. Thank you. That would be..." She clenched her teeth into what was supposed to be a smile but was much more of a grimace "...very helpful."

"I thought I'd have my own place, and I have three roommates, if it's any consolation," Miguel said. "It actually isn't too bad."

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63 Serendipity Place; Saturday Afternoon [10/28].

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