fh_trips | Manta Resort, Zanzibar [Friday Daytime]

Amaya seemed to consider that point a little with sort of a shrug and a scrunch of her face that seemed to suggest that it wasn't really that much of a concern, although she did add, "I suppose there's also the issue of potential shrapnel if you're working with live steel and then just positioning in general, you don't want to have your movement hindered at all, but...."

She squinted slightly, then shook her head. "Ah, well, obviously a work in progress, definitely something I'll need to be there for to really get a good grapple on, but! Not a bad start. I think I might just be onto something there. If anything, if not for the forge, then at least a little one at the business side of Missus Crumbler. It can take a lot of work pushing her around, a little way to snack and refuel without stopping might be helpful."

"Oh, I don't know that I knew that the Crumbler was a woman wed," Irene teased lightly, finally giving up on the whole daintiness thing. Fuck it. Meat on a stick was not meant for polite, little nibbles or whatever, was it? "Or that you referred to it as female at all, really. I like that. You could put a cupholder on her a bit easier, I'd imagine. Though straws are much less fun than sticks, admittedly."

Though probably tidier.

"Both pretty dangerous on the bumps, though," Amaya pointed out, her grin just that much bigger as it appeared all that daintiness had finally been abandoned; she'd put in a damn fine effort, though, Amaya would gladly give her that. "And I could always go with one of those twisty, bendy," her finger did a little curlicue in the air for emphasis, "straws, too.

"And of course she's a Missus," she felt compelled to add with a snort. "Married to the job! And she runs far too well to be a man."

"Cheers to that," Irene agreed, actually snorting out an undignified little laugh as she saluted Amaya with her kebab. Maybe this had been the secret the whole time? Eating things off sticks and maybe letting up on her own self-inflicted prissiness for a moment? "Bendy straws would allow a lot of freedom of manipulation, too."

She traced a similar curlicue in the air. "Ever see a Rube Goldberg machine? I bet you'd find them inspiring." Or she'd hate them for being needlessly complicated. The fact that Irene wasn't sure of the answer delighted her.

"Oh." That emphatic little syllable, accompanied with the almost immediate expression of awe and appreciation, should give Irene all the answer she needed. "I do. For the past few times I've taught it, a Rube Goldberg machine has been the final exam for my shop classes, and I don't see myself getting tired of them any time soon. It's amazing what some people'll come up with. Only bad thing about 'em is that half time, I wish I'd've come up with some of it first!"

"You're very cute when you're excited about something," Irene told her, as matter-of-fact as if she was simply relaying the weather. "I don't think I could ever engineer anything that clever. Not my specialty. Why have a machine crack an egg for you when your hands work?"

Amaya's mouth almost instantly fell open to protest that very first part, then clamped shut again, that first hint of that usually ubiquitous blushing in their conversations finally making an appearance (underneath the sunburn, anyway). That first clink of those defenses starting to raise back up as her shoulders squared a little, and then the flush was more of an angry one, at herself, for having noticed enough to distract herself past really hearing what else Irene was saying. Thankfully, though, she was able to focus back in on the last part, and she found it was something she could easily roll with.

And pretty well, too, she thought, grinning faintly now and shrugging a shoulder that was still probably too stiff to be as casual as she would have liked, but...

"Easy," she said, and, really, pretty proud of herself, because who didn't love a full circle? "Multitasking. Just think of all the other things your hands can do when they're not wasting all that time cracking eggs!"

"Oh, so much time," Irene agreed, clearly amused. "Goodness, there are just so many things I could do with my hands with all that free time."

Look. Look. Irene had been so good this whole conversation about not being suggestive. But it was right there.

But. She was also not without mercy, and was also treasuring what felt less like a flirtatious victory and more just -- sort of comfortable and nice, in a way she really quite liked, so she added, "Probably reduce my time getting ready in the mornings by a full half hour, that." Because of all the egg-cracking she did, and all.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now that a cute had been dropped into the conversation, Amaya realized that she probably could have chosen those words better once they left her mouth, which meant that she also realized that she probably got off pretty easy on that one.

"I'd maybe suggest," she offered, dutifully avoiding the vast possibilities of what those hands were capable of by narrowing in on the one mentioned, "something to help you with the whole getting ready, but those ones can only end up badly."

"Speaking from experience?" Irene asked, raising a brow teasingly. "I'm envisioning all kinds of hair-pulling and ripped clothes."

What? Those would genuinely be real concerns of Irene's, if she entrusted her entire morning routine to some sort of machine. That, and probably lipstick all over her face, but makeup did not seem to be one of Amaya's primary concerns.

And now Amaya was squinting just slightly, uncertain how much of hair-pulling and ripped clothes was due to the Irene-effect or something more concerning, but she decided firmly just to forget about it.

With a snort. "Please," she said, "it takes me more time making my coffee in the morning than it does getting ready."

"Then aren't you lucky to just roll out of bed looking like that?" Irene replied lightly, plucking up a new meat on a new stick and smiling brightly at Amaya before taking a bite. "And I suppose coffee's already automated."

A long-standing question from the mistletoe day was answered: Amaya was a coffee person!

Ah, zards. Amaya should have expected a comment like that; she was definitely blaming the false sense of security granted by these meaty offerings, and she should probably also introduce Irene to the graveyard of broken hairbrushes that would certainly prove that point very wrong.

It was just...so much hair.

"It's...not, actually," she said, sounding equal parts a little surprised by that herself and a little triumphant over Irene having guessed it wrong (little victories, and all that). "I rather like the routine of making it the morning; good way to get a focus on the day, really."

Irene was a bit surprised to have guessed that wrong, but more importantly, she was pleased that Amaya -- still -- was keeping her guessing.

"Really? I feel the same way about my morning tea," she admitted, smiling slightly. "The ritual of it is nice."

And, as much as Irene herself would never admit it, routines kept her grounded these days.

Manta Resort, Zanzibar [Friday Daytime]

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