special_rabbit | 6 Unicorn Street; Tuesday Morning [09/20].

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6 Unicorn Street; Tuesday Morning [09/20].

It had been the kind of week that made Amaya wonder if it was rude to just drop your friends off at the animal shelter for kenneling when they'd turned into something, but it had also been the kind of week where she figured even if she did drop Irene off at the shelter, she'd still manage to make her way back, if how often Amaya wound up having to unceremoniously remove her from the bedroom was anything to go off of. She wasn't really sure how much of that was the ermine or how much of that was Irene, but there had definitely been far too many mornings waking up with a fancy weasel curled up in the bed...somehow.

And, sure, when she had to take care of Seivarden as a cat, she got cat hair all over everything...but at least she stayed in the living room. And Amaya had given herself very firm, very arbitrary Rules about this sort of thing!

So when Amaya went to bed the night before, she was....well, she wouldn't call it confident that there was no getting into the bedroom that evening, because she'd just had the week she'd had, but...she had a good feeling that her efforts to stymie another bedroom breach were pretty solid.

Amaya was, of course, wrong about this.

If anything, her efforts only encouraged the ermine more.

But she'd she wouldn't know anything about that quite yet, as she herself was still sleeping, snoring away, maybe a little later than usual because proper weasel restriction was honestly a bit exhausting.

[[ obviously for the aforementioned fancy weasel, s'il vous plait!

and I would 100% like to leave it up to the squirrels if they decide to take Amaya up on her bribe or not ;) ]]

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Irene had been some sort of skinny little weasel thing for a whole week, now. And while most of it quite agreed with her -- the intrinsic sneakiness and how easily she could hide -- other parts were growing more tiresome. A lack of thumbs, for example.

But being thwarted by Amaya all week had only proven to be a delightful sort of challenge. A game, really! And this morning had proven no different, since it wasn't as though it was hard to tell when Amaya had drifted off and could no longer foil Irene's attempts to secret her ermine-y self into the bedroom.

It was equal parts general rodent-y, burrowing nature and Irene's natural inclination to fight her way into Amaya's bed at work, for the record.

And this would have all probably played out much as the last week had, if Irene had stayed a soft, snowy-white little weasel thing. But instead, cuddled up beside Amaya in bed, was a very naked woman, curled up and also fast asleep.

Still fairly weasel-like, though. No helping that.

The whole enterprise was doomed from the start, really, but Amaya was never one to let that stop her.

A sudden halt and hitch in the otherwise steady timbre of Amay's considerable snores was the first inclination that she was naturally pulling herself out of sleep, reliant on that internal clock of hers since alarms were mostly useless, she'd almost always sleep right through them. A few more short, choppy snores, as if still trying to squeeze that extra bit more in, and Amaya started to shift a little with the first threads of awareness, groaning slightly at the prospect of probably still needing to pointedly remove an ermine from her bed.

She decisively began to roll over from her side to her back, with a stretch of her legs, the kind of move that made it clear that, if she just so happened to roll over onto a sneaky little weasel or kick it oh-so-accidentally in the process, well, then it couldn't be helped, that'll show her...

But what she ended up rolling up against was quite a bit larger than the furry companion she'd had all week had been, wasn't it?

And a quick jolt of awareness allowed her to do the math. A week. To the day. So of course...

"Ahhh" Amaya murmured, wincing as it came out unbidden, but at least, hopefully, it had been quiet, "zards."

This was basically exactly how Irene wanted to wake up every day. Maybe less kicking, if she had a choice. And if she was making wishes, it'd be nice if she wasn't alone in her nudity. But at this point, she didn't even mind the snoring. (Much. She was, at least, generally prepared for the snoring, even in her dreams, which was what she kind of figured this was, for the moment.)

But all that being said -- she was sleepy, the bed was comfortable, and that stirring was enough to just jostle her into a murmured agreement. "Yes, zards," she decided in her not-at-all conscious state, making no move to leave the bed -- and, on the contrary, don't mind a slight stretch and her snuggling her naked little self a bit closer, Amaya. "Quite."

Double zards, even, as her half-asleep attempts at weasel-crushing (or kicking) had backfired spectacularly and had her rolling right into the clutches of exactly how Amaya didn't want to wake up, pretty much ever.

This was exactly why transformed people stayed in the living room. Only one person should ever be waking up in this bed, dammit!

And that one person was now giving a very decisive "Nope" and promptly rolling the other way, toward the side of the bed and, eventually, hopefully, the floor.

Best of luck with that, one person, as your formerly be-weasled bedmate had flung out a thin, bare arm and a thin, bare leg to wrap around Amaya in a vain attempt at keeping her right here. (Accompanied, naturally, by a muffled noise that fell somewhere between a protesting whine and an affectionate mumble.) This was comfortable and there were cuddles and Irene -- in spite of everything she projected -- was really very cuddly when it came down to it.

"Shh," she soothed, like that might help. "It's early, love. Just go back to sleep."

Irene was perfectly content to worry about all this nope and zards and confusion business later. After a leisurely lie-in, perhaps. She had no idea how she'd come to be here -- again, very strange dreams this morning -- but she definitely knew she didn't want either of them to go anywhere.

And - very true to everything she projected - Amaya Blackstone was not a cuddler.

She was cursing herself, though, for apparently prioritizing not sustaining injury in her attempts at escape; a more forceful roll would have easily broken free from any flinging limbs, but they'd proven (for now) to be surprisingly effective snares, and Amaya was forced to consider a secondary plan of action.

"Actually," she insisted, "it's quite a bit late, I'm sure. Probably should have opened the shop hours ago..."

Just let her reach over for her phone on the bedside table to see which one of them was correct on that, necessitating, of course, a long stretch away from Irene and toward that glorious edge...

"The shop can wait," Irene told her, predictable as could be, as she gave a little heft closer in the bed to match that stretch and try to nuzzle her face a bit into Amaya's hair. (A gift borne of animal transformation: no jewelry to mind not getting snagged.) "Give me a moment to convince you." It was all starting to come back to her a bit, now, and while she was eagerly using that snagged arm to, perhaps, engage in a little gentle tracing along a few of Amaya's softer edges, she wasn't so far gone as to not realize she was fairly sure she'd been...a stoat or something? Some sort of little creature?

And while many might reasonably think, 'You know, I'd like a shower and maybe some breakfast after being a weasel for a week,' Irene was not a person with normal priorities.

The sound that wedged out of Amaya managed to be a good mix of derisive snort about the shop, stubborn grunt in knowing Irene would hardly need even a moment (so time was of the essence here), and a softer groan that only proved that point thanks to that gentle tracing.

"Lotta work to do," she insisted, stoutly and also a bit more husky than intended, but she at least reached her phone by now so there was the pretense of checking it to confirm the time. Later than her usual wake up time, but not as late as she would have liked to help provide a more considerable impetus to be hasty. Not that she wouldn't be trying, anyway.

"And look at that time!" she remarked, with another attempt to pull herself out of the snuggle snare. "That forge ain't going to fire itself!"

"I could help," Irene offered, which -- if that right there wasn't proof enough of how far she was gone, what more did anyone need? (She would likely be more hindrance than help -- especially without clothes -- but still. An offer!) "Be your little blacksmithing apprentice."

Punctuated by a kiss behind Amaya's ear and an emphasized snag of that hooked leg (which seemed like a better prospect than trying to out-arm Amaya.)

Out-arming would be nigh impossible, but Amaya never skipped leg day, either. None of that was likely going to drive her out of that bed nearly as quickly as that word would. With a flash of something incredibly complicated that she didn't even want to get remotely close to disassembling any time soon, she found herself disengaging with a firm break for that edge, the resulting tumble and thump to the floor be damned.

And she sprung to her feet immediately after, lest Irene decide to just tumble right off the bed with her, shoulders squared against the indignity of it as she smoothed out her nightgown. Then, with a small huff instead of words that seemed to fail her at that moment, she made the short march (well, a bit more of a padding over to than a march, thanks to the nightdress and the lack of boots to really drive the point home) to grab her own clothes.

Irene, now with the bed to herself, was making the best of it by languidly stretching diagonally across the thing and eschewing any sort of modesty-granting blankets.

"So that's a no on the apprenticeship?" she teased, watching that would-be march with amusement. "I really owe you one for minding me the last while."

And you know what always worked out well? Irene feeling that she owed Amaya a favor of some sort.

Amaya was just going to let the slamming of her dresser drawer (not quite enough to make this her second dresser destroyed in the aftermath of an animal transformation, but it definitely seemed to be considering it) answer that question for her.

"Least I could do," she said, short, matter-of-fact. "Think nothing of it."

And, snagging her gloves off the top of the dresser, she made her way toward the bedroom door, because, apparently, the best way to deal with waking up to a naked woman in your bed was to just...not.

"I'll just stay here, then," Irene decided, watching all of this and deciding -- for absolutely not the first time in her life -- that her own naked presence was the best weapon at her disposal. She stretched again, turning onto her back with a decided lack of shame, and ran a hand through her hair to try to smooth the curls a bit. "Since you've got to be off to work, and all."

And poor Irene, with no clothes, would have no choice but to stay here and lounge about in Amaya's bed and...well, surely get bored eventually and start rifling through things.

That was a thought that would come to Amaya eventually, but not until well after she'd gone through the door, given a good slam behind her, and went to change out of her sleepwear in the privacy of her own bathroom, where she could also attempt to splash some of the heat out of her face with some cold water. And then, at least in the comfort of clothes and after a cursory attempt to run a brush through her hair that got about halfway before calling it quits, she set to the task of being determined to just ignore all of this and go about her day like it was any normal Tuesday.

Eventually, she thought, by now having moved to the kitchen for some well-overdue coffee, Irene would just get bored and decide to leave, right? Sure, she had no clothes, but she was resourceful, she could figure out something herself, it's not like there wasn't a lack of finer things she could borrow now, after their little shopping excursion, she'd could find them easily enough, they'd clearly be in the wardro--

"Zards." That was the moment the idea of Irene rifling through her clothes became Irene rifling through her other stuff, too, and the flaw to this plan because incredibly clear to her. She sighed, setting down the coffee pot in one hand while the other pinched the bridge of her nose, and went back to the bedroom.

"I didn't get the chance to grab any of your clothes," she announced as she came back in, after the briefest of seconds ensuring to look pointedly elsewhere, "but you know I've got plenty to borrow from in the meantime."

And here Irene had just been considering dipping her head under the bed to see if there was anything there, as a starting point. Pity.

"Oh, I'd hate to deprive you of anything of yours," Irene assured her. "Especially anything we've had tailored to you, love. I don't mind being in the buff a bit." A pause, a curious tilt of her head that probably had been shown up all week in adorable little creature form. "Is there coffee?"

Surely you couldn't kick a lady out without coffee, Amaya.

Curious headtilts like that were a small potion of the reason Amaya hadn't just chased Irene out to fend for herself after that first bedroom breach, but she was determined not to be swayed by them now.

Especially in light of a question like that, as if the sleepover hadn't been bad enough!

"Sure there is," she said. "But I think the Perk might have a no clothes, no service policy."

Actually, maybe not. Sidon could still get coffee there, no problem.

"I'm persuasive," Irene declared, finally offering out a bit of mercy in the form of a well-practiced crossing of her legs and arms to obscure her more interesting swaths of bare skin. "Your bedroom is lovely. Why don't we spend more time in here, anyway?"

And that right there was as good as declaring that she'd noticed quite well that she'd never been invited to stay the night before. (She, in fact, had not really been invited this time, either, but you know. Weasel gonna weasel.)

"Because bedrooms," Amaya stated, now looking at Irene and trying to figure out if that shifting made it better or worse, "are for sleeping."

And, if she was in a bed with Irene, that was the second-to-last thing she'd want to be doing.

(Cuddling. The first was cuddling, and she'd taken swift care of that).

Plus, it was her space. And only hers, except sometimes maybe the lobsters, and she was just very particular about that, and so...

"But you're up now," she noted, "and yourself, so grab a dress or a robe or just go out as-is and give the island a treat for the day, I don't care. I've got work to do, so..." She cocked her head toward the door. "Out."

"Will you throw me out if I don't?" Irene wondered, idly looking around for something to throw on -- tempting though it was to give the whole island a show, she did like keeping her battle-dress for special occasions. "Don't threaten me with a good time, darling."

She was at least moving to grab a dress of Amaya's, at least. Not one of the new ones, of course -- wasn't it cuter and funnier for Irene to mosey her way home in something that looked like she'd wandered in from the mainland renaissance faire? (And then, of course, for her to return the garment, lovingly pressed, in a week or so's time? Always build in an excuse to return, Adler Advice 101.)

Amaya wasn't so sure about cuter or funnier...all she knew was that, with the evocation of that word in play now, any of her usual clothes was skirting way too close for comfort, especially now that she had a whole wardrobe full of much more Irene-leaning pieces to choose from instead. So Amaya was quick to intercept, unceremoniously shoving toward Irene the green dress she still wasn't entirely convinced wasn't just a robe, despite the sleeves.

"This should work," she stated, "just fine."

"Maybe next time we can do this at mine," Irene decided, giving that entire lack of ceremony an amused smile as she took the green dress that was, definitely, a dress and not a robe. It was always fun to toe that line between making Amaya uncomfortable in the good way versus trying to figure out where the actual bad buttons to push lay. (And now Irene wanted to find a reason to get herself some sort of medieval fashion statement, just to follow up on how cute and funny she would find it.) "Without the bit where I'm a martin or something for -- however long it's been."

Really, Irene had figured she'd be some sort of elegant cat. At least she'd been an expensive sort of weasel, at least.

"A week," said Amaya, "to the day."

Said very much with a curtness to suggest that this placed it very firmly in overstayed welcome territory.

But the next part, admittedly, had a bit less edge.

"And you were an ermine," she added helpfully, "I think."

She knew.

She had researched it extensively, to the point where a keen eye might notice one of the books on the bedside table at the moment did, indeed, focus on that topic.

"Well aren't I the posh one, then," Irene replied, lifting a brow as she slipped on that insisted-upon dress with a slight uptick in speed. (Just in the name of not actually pushing Amaya all the way over into uncharmable irritation, rather than just pressing all the luck she could.) "Hope I didn't give you too much trouble."

Though how much trouble could one little ermine cause, anyway?

The book, of course, would be noted shortly enough now that Irene was back in possession of her keen eyes and a curiosity that would have put any member of the weasel family to shame.

"You were a bit....restless," said Amaya, after letting out a sucked in breath in a huff, feeling significantly more charitable now that Irene was on her way toward getting dressed and out the door. "And I'm sure if I never see your face all tiny and fuzzy again, it'll still be too soon, but, well, you're back now, that's what counts."

"Miss me that much?" Irene asked, fastening the dress with a smirk. "And here I was more than prepared to make overtures in light of your many dates a few weeks back. Turns out I just needed to turn into an ermine to keep your attention, hmm?"

All attention was good attention, when you were an Irene sort.

And the tricky part was...Amaya couldn't even deny that it had worked, either, because managing that ermine definitely had managed to take up a good deal of attention and energy.

"Well, don't go making a habit out of it on my account," she remarked. "I'll just foist you on someone else next time, and then what?"

"Then I suppose I'll be waking up naked in someone else's bed," Irene commented lightly, plucking up the book from the nightstand and turning it over, trying to mask a sudden bolt of warm, disarming sentimentality -- look at that, she'd been cared for and with intent -- by feigning interest. "Not my preference, personally, but it's not as though I've anything to hide."

Honestly, being disarmingly naked was one of Irene's favorite pastimes.

Oh. Oh...well, if there was anything to help Amaya get over the odd little quirk of suddenly feeling like she didn't very much like that at all (nor did she very much like that she didn't), it was someone going through her things...personal, private, in-her-bedroom things...to remind her that literally any bed actually would be better, because it was near her bed that those things were.

"You can borrow it," she stated firmly, with a nod toward the book in her hand and trying to ignore the no doubt complicated color to her cheeks right now, "if you're interested. A little dry for my tastes, but it's got good pictures."

"I do prefer books with good pictures," Irene commented, flicking her gaze back up to Amaya's with a smile that probably signaled what sort of pictures she meant. (Naturally.) "Though I can't imagine I'll come into possession of an ermine any time soon."

As it was, she'd be scouring and maybe donating a few of her furs for...well, reasons.

"You did research," she commented, unable to keep the note of emotion entirely out of her voice, much though she wanted it all to just come out as teasing.

"You know, I'd have said that same thing about ermines as early as last week, too," Amaya pointed out, deftly ignoring any comments (what comments?) about research; the room was fairly littered with books of all sorts, she very well could have just had it lying around!, "and now look where we're at."

Yes, but this book was specific and gave Irene annoying butterflies, so she was much more interested in it. (Though, again -- if Amaya hadn't circled back to chase her out, she'd have made her way through the rest of the books over the course of her own nosy research, too.)

"Maybe I ought to pick up a text on lagomorphs," Irene commented, drawing the word out as she smoothed her hair and replaced Amaya's adorable ermine book. (Irene didn't need it, in spite of any good pictures, and more to the point -- she'd much rather leave Amaya's room with some sort of stamp that she'd been here.) "Just in case I ever find myself in possession of a rabbit."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure the only thing you really need to know about those," Amaya noted dryly, "is just to keep them out of sock drawers."

You know, just like how you should really keep ermines out of bedrooms.

"And off high shelves," she added, after a moment of reaching even further back in the memory of times she'd been a rabbit.

"Well, they're usually quite small," Irene noted, though not without sympathy. "I'm sure it's frightening to be up that high when you're so little."

Her ermine self hadn't seemed to mind much, but her ermine self had also seemed to be fairly content to explore pretty much any and everything that she wasn't really supposed to, bedrooms included.

"I appreciate it," she added, actually sincere. "You could've turned me loose in the shop or something, you know."

And Irene could have come to naked on the floor of her own store, gorged on edible knickers and with an inventory of destroyed silicone, no doubt.

Amaya opened her mouth to point out that the height had actually been the point of going up on the high shelves at the time, and the problem came from the incredible timing of being suddenly not so small when up there, but then seemed to stop herself, shut her mouth, and shook her head as if to tell herself to never mind the finer details.

Instead, she felt it was much more productive to say, "I could have turned you loose in the preserve."

"Where I so easily could have been snatched up by a hawk or eaten by a...fox or snake or similar," Irene noted, clearly fishing around for what she supposed ate ermines. (They did not seem to be at the top of the food chain, exactly -- though, probably likely agile enough to avoid larger predators, and goodness she did not want to dwell on how appropriate it might have been for her to turn into this particular animal. Clearly it was arbitrary!) "In a way, Amaya, you saved my life."

Dramatic though she was being -- this was, of course, just a setup. She would clearly need to come up with something appropriately lavish as a thank-you gift.

Funny, that, because Amaya'd been hoping to use that as a set-up herself. One she figured was fraught with potential backfires, but, really, she was kind of at the point where she couldn't really find a good, polite way of saying it.

(Not that she felt terribly inclined to do so in these particular circumstances, anyway).

"Yeah, well," she said, "you can thank me by finally getting the hell out of my apartment."

"Amaya," Irene tsked playfully, meandering towards the door like she had always been planning to leave right around now anyway. "Careful, now, love, or you're going to hurt my feelings."

Lies. First and foremost -- Irene would love to argue she didn't even have feelings, but since that had already been admitted thanks to truth day, it was a lost cause. But more to the point: she did have feelings, both in the general and the specific, the book on ermines had hit her right in those feelings, and the gift in question would now be even more lavish and, in all probability, outrageously thoughtful to boot. A bouquet of meats on sticks, perhaps.

And that was a gift likely to hit Amaya right in the stomach, which was far more effective than anything that would hit her in the feelings, anyway. Especially since when making an appeal to feelings right now just meant she'd barely been able to hold herself back from responding with a very emphatic and decisive, Good.

Instead, she was just going to fold her arms in front of herself resolutely, looking at Irene with an expectant sort of expression, like she wasn't planning on saying anything more until she had an actual confirmation of this alleged exit.

"Thanks for a lovely morning, Amaya," she added, blowing a kiss over her shoulder as Irene made her way out. She was barefoot and thus much tinier than usual for it, but even she had limits, and stealing a pair of Amaya's boots firmly butted up against what she'd consider a limit. She'd just have to carry herself like she was in her heels, and with that, she had no problem.

Even after being a weasel for a week.

And Amaya waited.

And waited.

And waited, as if expecting either of those shoes that Irene was missing to drop, but when she was feeling sure that the other woman was good and gone without any sudden last minute revelations or realizations that would inspire a hasty return, she let out out the breath that it felt like she'd been holding all morning in a long, dragged out groan. She took a moment to rub her eyes and then her forehead and fought down the urge to just burn the whole place down at this point. But she decided she'd best safe the self-destructive arson as a topic for after she'd at least had some coffee in in her, and, in returning to the kitchen to continue where she'd left off, she realized something else.

"Ah, zards, the squirrels!"

But halfway to opening it, she sighed and almost wondered if there was really a point in even bothering at this point, but, well, if anything, this whole fiasco only went to show that she'd been slacking off in this sort of thing far too much lately, so it certainly wouldn't hurt. So out came the rum and a few little shot glasses, which were then lined up in a neat little row on the kitchen table for the taking while she went back to that much needed coffee.

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6 Unicorn Street; Tuesday Morning [09/20].

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