Of Sabras & Sandwiches
--February 24th, 2017--

As of yet unwilling to surrender himself to the inside of the inn, Schmidt had set himself up in a casual lean against the porch railing. The fresh cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth almost forgotten as he engrossed himself in a quiet conversation on his phone.

The broad canopy of a black umbrella kept her dry and relatively warm but more importantly, it kept her phone from getting wet as she made the trek across town. One handing her messages, she fielded no less than thirteen emails and eight halfway important texts by the time she turned up the front walkway. Shy of the porch, she smirked at her phone, turned it off, and tucked it into the deep pocket of the red Burberry peacoat that seemed bright even in the shadow of her umbrella.

"Tomorrow's fine," he said into phone before inhaling, the smoke blown from the opposite side of his mouth a few moments later when he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll drop the Impala off sometime in the afternoon. I just need to get the new shocks on and get your stuff in the trunk situated. Yeah. That works. See you then." The call was ended with a pass of his thumb, the phone tucked away and his attention turning towards the door.

Climbing the front steps, she lowered her umbrella and gave it a shake before closing it up. She had plaited her hair over one shoulder, a thick braid that she smoothed before flashing a wry grin to the guy from the other night. He seemed caught up in business, a feeling she knew all too well, so rather than say hi, she passed those on the porch quickly and headed inside.

"Gesundheit," he offered over to one woman on the porch with a lift of the chin, his attention shifting to the passing Evia. She was there and then gone before he could manage a proper greeting, so he lingered where he was long enough to finish his cigarette. When the first burning embers touched the filter, he flicked it over the railing and moved for the door.

Her umbrella was left near the door, propped and left to dry while she took the increasingly familiar path toward the bar.

Schmidt was moving on and to the bar. Some cash made it to the polished wood top. "I buy, you pour?" To Evia.

By the time she made it to the bar she had shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over her arm. Dark eyes found Schmidt and her mouth curved her amusement. "One on condition." She said, setting her coat on an open stool.

"I don't dance," he warned her.

"That's tragic, but also not my condition." Her smile spread into a grin. "A name." He hadn't given it last time but already she was heading behind the bar.

"You've got one." His mouth quirked in a quick smile. "Anyone I might give you could be vulgar or at least a little misogynistic."

"Yours." She clarified, waiting for a chance to grab a Goldstar from the cooler. It was set on the bar before she turned back to Schmidt. The little bounce to her frame said she was tapping her foot.

"Schmidt." The delivery was flat, simple. There wasn't anything to embellish or add. "Pour."

"Manners. Say please." She found a pint glass, a clean one at that and held it up. Waiting.

"I did." As far as he was concerned. He did say he was paying.

She waggled the glass again.

A brow lifted.

Her chin lowered at much the same time the glass did. "Fine." She turned back to the taps, picked something dark and filled the pint glass two thirds of the way. After a minute or two to let it rest, she poured the rest, gave it a nice head, and turned back to set it in front of Schmidt. "You better at least say thank you."

"Appreciate it," he told her with a smile and lift of the glass in salute. "You are quite the magnanimous beauty, pourin' the drinks I paid for." A grin twitched against the rim of the glass in good humor.

"Considering I'm not a bartender, you're probably lucky I didn't just grab you something cold out of the cooler." The week was over, her mood was too good to falter much with poor manners. She snatched her bottle off the bar and left the service area before it got even more crowded.

"I've been in worse company." It was a milder compliment this time.

"I'd hope so." She laughed, leveraging the cap off. "Or else I'd either be forced to take a long look in the mirror or start questioning the sort of company you keep."

That had him eyeing her sidelong between swallows from the glass. "The first you probably already do. The second you're probably doin' right now anyway."

"Maybe a little." She played coy and drank. Which point, she didn't clarify.

"You're a vintage Sabra GT at a Boise, Idaho car show. It's okay to be a little vain."

"Boise's nice in the fall." She remarked but angled her stool to fix him with a more thorough study. He knew his cars but stranger yet he knew at least enough to make relatable comparisons that even the most savvy would have had trouble pinning down. "Eeva would like you, I think."

"Dog or overweight friend?" His chin lifted slightly.

"Sister." She laughed. "She's a car girl."

"Then I'll give you my card. Always lookin' for halfway decent clientele." Schmidt reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.

For a few moments she could be all business, straightening her posture and nudging her beer aside. "And better than halfway decent?" Mostly because people don't get away with calling her sisters only halfway decent.

"If the money?s quality and it's on time, the work will be too." Fishing a card free from his wallet, he handed it over.

She took the card and traded it in her pocket for one of her own. Eeva's Jill of all Trades didn't come with a card but Evia had no shortage of primly embossed business cards for Cohen Bank & Trust, declaring her Evia Cohen, Managing Director. "I think she's got a usual guy, but it never hurts to have competition."

"Nothin' wrong with that. So long as the work's worth the money." The stout was finished and set on the bar.

"Tolerating Eeva takes a special sort of patience, but barring that, it's worth it." She grinned, grateful her sister wasn't there to hear the dig. His beer was gone, hers almost so. "Have you actually seen a Sabra GT or were you just using it for impact?"

"I restored one for a client once. Was a rare and beautiful piece of work." A fresh cigarette was lit and he watched her through the growing smoke. "Ever driven one?"

Smile wistful, she shook her head. "No, but I took quite the ride in one. My old boss before he retired had one."

"That's one lucky fella, your old boss." Ashes were tapped out into the ceramic tray near his elbow. "Then again, you never know what you'll find around here. I've restored some crazy stuff."

"He earned it." Her smile was a fond thing, all affection for the old man. Cashing the last of her beer, she set the empty bottle beside the bent bottle cap she had removed from it. "Crazy stuff to go with the crazy people. Do you deal mostly in restos then?"

"Normal work and restorations. Depends on the workload and my mood. You got somethin' in mind?" He fixed her with a mildly curious look.



((This post and the following thread are taken from Live Play or cowritten with the respective character's amazeballs writers. Thanks to them for their contributions!))

Pastrami on Wry
--February 27th, 2017--

"And now that you're back after another long lunch, I'm taking mine." Evia called over her shoulder with no lacking amount of exasperation. Her teller Levi said something unintelligible back but she wasn't lingering to hear his excuse. Instead she tugged her jacket shut and stepped out through the glass doors of Cohen Bank and Trust. The afternoon was brisk but not unbearable and her destination was only two doors down anyways.

Bernstein's Deli was an unassuming brick two story with the eponymous deli on the first floor and an apartment belonging to the family of said Bernstein on the second. A whitewashed awning cast a drab shadow over the front bay window, leaving the faces inside dark as she passed on her way to the door. Merry tinkling ringing greeted her arrival in the busy shop and a portly man in a crisp white apron waved to go with the bells. Leonard Bernstein could count on seeing at least one of the Cohen trio once a day during the week. Evia was right on time. She stepped into line forming at the counter, wistfully wishing she had called her order in ahead of time.

Winter was often a time for weather-related repairs or pet projects, at least as far as a skim of the surface put his occupation on display, but it was exceedingly rare for Schmidt to have an entire Monday afternoon to himself. With only a handful of projects in his schedule, the mechanic had decided to take his work with him when stepped out for lunch, having his tablet to tinker on when he ranged farther afield than usual.

Thinking back to the pretty brunette whose acquaintance he'd recently made and a specific hankering for some good corned beef, it seemed academic that he would find himself holed up in Bernstein's for the time it took to polish off a pair of generous piled sandwiches on rye bread and a bag of homemade kosher dill pickle potato chips. The latter helped reduce the temptation in lighting a cigarette in a place that clearly didn't want the smoke and the fingers of his other hands dragged over the tablet balanced on an upraised thigh. His coveralls has been stripped down to bunch at his waist, leaving a Busted Knuckle Garage t-shirt visible through an open leather jacket.

Bernstein was a quick and thorough man and in no time, Evia had made her way to the front of the line. Seldom did she deviate from her norm and within moments of her confirming that fact for Leonard, she was paying for a pastrami and Muenster on rye with a side of thousand island dressing. During a busy noon hour, many of the tables were full, leaving her to decide whether or not to take a working lunch back in her office. Bernstein gave her back her change, a handful of silver and copper to go into the deep pocket of her Burberry wool peacoat. With her paper wrapped sandwich and a can of Coke in hand, she turned to find a table and instead found a face she'd not expected to see. Just beyond him was an empty table so it took little time to weave that way, pausing by the mechanic's table with a half pulled grin.

"Does it live up to your expectations?" She asked, shuffling both items to one hand so the other could stake claim on a chair at the empty table as if to say it was taken.

Quicker of mind than his appearance and general nature belied, the slouched ape of a man had been switching back and forth between two different interactive schematics. One suitably mundane for his profession and the other much less so. The former lit up his screen when Evia approached, a refurbishment job involving a 1940 Chrysler New Yorker Convertible Coupe, but didn't hold his attention long beneath the growing familiarity of her voice.

"Two down," he confessed and popped another chip into his mouth as he lifted his stormweather eyes towards her face. "And likely two or more to go home with me as to ensure a stay of execution for for one more night or a pair of barbeque beef Hot Pockets I know. Pull up a chair. You're too classy to bite. Better men have been put down for less."

"Two huh?" Her brows lifted in surprise. Surprise turned into mirth and a release of the chair she had wrangled in favor of one across from him. It left his tablet private despite a briefly curious look angled its way. A study in contrasts, she was all crisp lines and designer brands, fabrics of the highest quality adorning her frame from shoulder to toe. Her sandwich and soda were set down so she could shrug free of her jacket. Underneath, a maroon sweater dress belted around the middle in black made for a flattering silhouette while still maintaining a strict air of business professionalism.

"Truthfully I'd not expected to see you here, let alone so soon, but I'm not displeased in the least." She smiled, her gaze dipping as she unwrapped the paper from her rye wrapped sandwich. "You know, I've never had a Hot Pocket. Is that weird?"

"Bein' this sexy works up an appetite." One side of his mouth curled briefly along with the wink he gave her. It a subtle display of manners, Schmidt put the tablet down and gave her the full weight of his attention. "I'm sure my less than classy antics have been a break from the doldrums of everyday life. I sure made an impression on your friend last week."

Another chip was popped into his mouth and crunched on, affecting a silence between them until he spoke again. "I work hard so I can be lazy in other aspects of life. They're delicious, as garbage goes, but beyond a single experience, you ain't missing much."

"Does it?" She snickered, giving him a rather scrutinizing once over as if trying to decide if there was weight to that statement. Folding the paper wrapping with neat creases, she spread a thin layer of thousand island on the underside of the top slice of bread then squished it all together again.

"For what it's worth, I thought it was funny." She demurred a single shouldered shrug and took a bite out of the sandwich. Waiting until she had chewed and swallowed to speak again, her fingernail slid beneath the tab of her soda then cracked it open with the quiet hiss of released carbonation buildup. "I've just never thought much of the idea of Schroedinger-ing my food on whether it's going to be arctic or lava when I bite into it. But it's the small things in life, I suppose."

"It does." He snorted. "Cheap, desperate women throw themselves at me by the truck... handful." For all of his crude humor, a dose of realism didn't hurt. His own drink was grabbed and sipped from before he plucked up another chip.

"Hot Pocketing isn't rocket science. People just like to ignore the part where you're supposed to let it sit so the insides cook on their own a bit. Instead, they up the length of time it cooks and then try to go at it immediately. Amateurs."

"I bet strolling through Dockside makes for an interesting adventure then." Mirth came with the tease, crinkling at the corners of her dark eyes. The catch in his phrasing didn't go without notice but it did pass without comment. While he espoused the ideals of Hot Pocketing, a new verb if she'd ever heard one, she ate away at her pastrami sandwich in the sort of quick, efficient bites seen in military mess halls and soup kitchen dining rooms the realm over. "It sounds like a bit of a science, either that or a gamble if you're feeling like living life on the edge."

"That's one way of putting it. There was this one blonde Asian girl once," Schmidt said with a grimace. "Let's just say that when I got a feel upskirt, I got the wrong sorta surprise. Nothin' a good shower cry couldn't fix, thought."

She was eating and he made a flip gesture. "Most things are more science than luck. Gambling's for casinos, gunfights, and questionable asian hookers."

The Circle
--March 2nd, 2017--

"I'll get this round." Already at the bar, Schmidt took Jochin up on the offer of a drink. Cash was retrieved from his pocket and dropped on the bar, the tabet scooped up and dropped into the backpack at his feet. "You get the next. Beer's good. That Goldstar stuff."

"Perfect for Thirsty Thursday." She said with an approving smile as she approached the bar. Dark eyes sought out Jochin next. "Could you grab me one while you're back there?"

"You know..someone else I know s'kinda fond a that brew." There weren't many scars, if any. But his hands were a different story. He flexed the fingers once and moved to the ice chest. The bottle was set in front of Schmidt. "I got it. You get next round." Now Taneth. Evia walked up just in time. He dug around for another bottle and placed it next to the other. It was starting to get crowded so he slid away from the back bar and propped himself on a stool.

Upon hearing Evia and seeing the extra bottle, he smiled briefly and tossed more money on the pile. "Now someone's buyin' the third round." Turning half way around on the stool and stretching, he lifted his chin to Evia in greeting. "Just the person I was hopin' to catch tonight. We've got business, you and me."

"He's got me to thank for that." She informed Jochin, kipping a hand up to tip her thumb over toward Schmidt. Truthfully she hadn't expected to see him there but such a fact didn't have her displeased in the least. The second Goldstar was wrangled moments after it touched the bar top. "Thank you! Oh do we?" Both brows lifted, genuine surprise limning the slight purse of her mouth.

For Jo and Evia, he gestured to the open seats next to him. "Yeah, we do," he said to the latter, reaching down into his pack and retrieving a box. Rectangular and not very thick, the small package was wrapped in old newspaper that was held in place with zip-ties like they were ribbons. With an amused glance, he tossed it to her. The box was still cold.

She caught the thrown box one handed with minimal bobbling. Both brows turned into just one as she took up point between the two larger men. "What's this?" Beer set down, she held the box up to her ear.

"Balancing the scales for you sharin' the secret of the deli with me." It wasn't a secret but it had been a treasure he wouldn't have found otherwise.

Wary at best and suspicious at worst, she curled three fingernails under one of the zipties and wiggled it down the box until it popped off. The second one met much the same fate before she peeled the old newspaper off in thin shreds, piling them neatly on the counter. Every piece was removed. Then and only then did she open the box and peek inside. Straight white teeth pulled a jagged drag over one half of her bottom lip, the edges of her mouth lifting until her cheeks rounded with an exasperated smile. Once she was certain there was nothing horrifying (or dangerous) inside, she dumped the box on the counter. KosherPockets, like Hot Pockets but a little more Jewy but far less chewy, a pair of shiny knitting needles, and a bright yellow pocket sized book titled "Knitting for Dummies". By the time her gaze went to find Schmidt again, he was gone, halfway across the room for chest bumps and bright greetings. Evia exhaled a laugh, a soft little thing as she shook her head, then neatly packed them up.

"Oy gevalt." The Knitting Circle had become a reality.

Evia versus Zeva
--March 3rd, 2017--

"What do I wear?" Evia had asked a panel of both of her sisters early Friday morning. An assortment of outfits had been laid out across her bed but none seemed quite right. It was just lunch and a ride in a car that brought back touches of better days whether Schmidt realized it or not. But still, her outfit had to be just right. After much fretting though, the trio had elected something simple, something casual and suiting for the car show later in the day. Jeans, a light wash and a tight pit, low slung on her hips. A ruched top in a royal purple shade, low cut enough to be inappropriate for work but not so much to be scandalous. To make it easier to drive an unfamiliar car, she wore a plain pair of grey flats. Add a spritz of Shalimar on the pulse points, and white gold at her wrist and throat in the form of a Cartier watch and a plain chain bearing her Star of David pendant.

Bernstein's was only two and a half blocks from the triad of houses in which she and her sisters lived. Evia left at a quarter until noon and arrived by seven til. The late morning was chilly but not unbearable so she waited outside between the deli's front door and the wide bay window beneath the awning.

Priorities being what they were, Schmidt had other things to fret over. Like the car. The 1960 Sabra GT was a rare gem and while not the pride of Lisa's collection, every car was like one of her children. And even if the mechanic was damned near the de facto pediatrician for her babies, she never turned one over into his care without a degree of worry.

His own day had started before the rising sun with a trek across the city to where the Drift Queen kept her cars. Getting access was easy. Making sure everything was ship shape was just a matter of time. With a limited wardrobe to pick from and a minimalist (but cleanly enough) approach to personal hygeine, the baby blue Sabra came purring up the deli right on time. Schmidt himself had opted for clean jeans, new(er) Redwing work boots, and a plain olive drab green t-shirt on beneath a quilted denim jacket. The Busted Knuckle baseball hat was tugged low over his eyes but the smile was evident when he stepped out of the car and made his approach.

It was a familiar body and even from afar, the tiny cactus logo emblem brought a smile to her face. He wasn't kidding, it was fully restored. She straightened from her casual lean and freed her hands from her pockets to brush an errant dark wave out of her face. 1960 felt like it was so long ago but this, this tiny slice of yesteryear, found her working her teeth over her lip as she took it in.

"How gorgeous..." Evia exhaled the words with another once over sweep of the car before looking to the man who had brought it. The smile livened up further. "Hey. How's it going?"

"I wouldn't say gorgeous," Schmidt countered. "I'm more, let's say... ruggedly not bad lookin'. The car, she's gorgeous. You're lookin' as good today as any other day yourself."

"I'm good." He said it after allowing the bad humor to soak in a little. "Was up before the ass crack of dawn lookin' over Lisa's babies and then got cleaned up before motorin' over here. You wanna eat lunch inside or grab it to go with us?"

One sculpted brow high, she offered him the best of her most incredulous looks. That was bad and he should feel bad, that's what her look said. He managed to mitigate it with his compliment, feeding a deeper kiss of rouge in the apples of her cheeks, already touched with red from the early March chill. Dark eyes darted back to the Sabra.

"I'm loathe to consider food in a car that beautiful unless you've a destination in mind?" With that she looked back to him, turning aside just enough to keep both him and the deli's front door in equal view.

"I wouldn't eat in that," he assured her with a laugh. "Only some things should get eaten in a car this nice and they're not on the menu. Let's just grab a bite inside."

That said, he shoved the heel of his hand against the door and pushed it open, holding it for her. "Come on, doll. Swing those hips on in and let's get fed."

Her lips parted as if to ask but before the words could form, she closed her mouth and shook her head, her smile saying far more than the Common tongue could. The shove of his hand was answered with cheerful bell ringing as the door swung open and with a bobbing sashay step, his trouble was rewarded with a slight sway of her hips on the way through, the wrap of denim around them accentuating the motion far more than her typical business casual closet could have done.

"So how long before you have to return the baby to her mama?" She asked near the front of the line, watching the man behind the counter work quickly and efficiently to fill the orders ahead of theirs. When they came in, he had given the pair a scrutinizing look but settled with Evia's smile cast his way.

"We'll bring her to the show tonight. One of Lisa's people will take it off our hands when we arrive and everyone will get to stare at her for a few hours. Unless you've got somewhere to be, then we can just drop her off back at Lisa's place."

When it was their turn to step up, Schmidt had cash on the counter before Evia could protest and was gesturing for her to place her order. "Figured, if you wanted, I'll sideseat drive while you take her out of the city aways. She shouldn't be closeted up in here anyway. She needs an open road."

"I'd planned on attending the show anyways, took the day off for it even." Surely a travesty that she would regret on Monday, she could only hope it wouldn't be a complete dumpster fire by the time she returned. He'd already paid but that didn't keep the stern frown from forming across a mouth tinted cherry red.

"Thought I was catching lunch?" If he wanted to insist on paying, she wasn't going to argue but deals were deals and that only meant she owed him lunch another time. "Can we? Really? I know just the place then."

"You can catch dinner, dependin' on when we pass back into town." He dismissed it with ease and continued his patient wait. "Don't see why not. Paranoid as she is, she knows I won't let anything happen to the car and even if somethin' happened, I'd be the one to fix it anyway. So just enjoy it and don't mind my ghost breakin' in the passenger seat and sneakin' peeks down your shirt. Just open her up and let her loose."

He meant the car, not her shirt.

"Deal then." She agreed affably. Orders were placed, the ticket was paid and her wallet was left deep within the pocket of her jacket. Leonard Bernstein had their food to them shortly after, sending them to a table in front of the bay window with a perfect view of the baby blue dream outside.

"I won't let anything happen to it." Crinkling paper was folded neatly for a sandwich perfectly dressed. Kettle chips offered a bit of a crunch to go with it and she rounded out her meal with a can of Coke that sent dripping perspiration into a ring around its base on the table. "You'll have to forgive my nostalgia here but the last time I saw one of these, I was twenty-seven and riding through the Syrian mountains. It was nice of you to indulge me today, thank you."

"If you do, I'll just fix it. It won't be the happiest thing in the world but I'll take some joy in the doin'. There's always joy in the doin'." His own repast was a pastrami with muenster on lightly garlicked focaccia with some sea salt and cracked black pepper on the side. His own Coke was cherry flavored and he spoke to her between bites. "Nostalgia isn't the worst thing in the world if you've got the good memories to tug on. And it's funny how often they're triggered by things instead of people. A drink, the scenery, panties of a particular color hanging from a bedpost."

There was no small amount of cheek in the brief smile that he buried against his sandwich, quieting the moment until he added to it. "You're okay people, Evia. Not easily offended. I can get behind that. So if this little thing makes you happy, we'll call it a win and go get shitfaced together at some point. Maybe we'll find a stallion of a guy to send you home with. "

"People can prompt it but you're far more likely to have the nostalgia ruined by the feelings those people caused in the past. Places, things, the way they make you feel is all intrinsic so you can't fault them for such things." Her smile wistful, she worked through her sandwich and chips with efficient ease and before long, she was wiping her fingers on a paper napkin that had been wrapped around her sandwich originally.

"But you're not trying hard enough if they end up only on the bed post and never quite make it to the ceiling fan." That wasn't experience speaking, only lighthearted teasing punctuated by a swallow of Coca Cola from a red can dented just beneath the top's opening. "You know, people keep saying that. Am I exuding a, like, aura of needing to get laid or something? Jeeze."

"People suck and are far more unreliable than things." Schmidt rarely ate at a normal pace and, even in good company, was quick to wolf his food down (with minimal noises for her benefit). A broad sweep of the napkin cleaned his mouth off and was replaced quickly with the remnants of his can's contents. "Couldn't tell you, doll, but people also got a lot to say about members of the opposite sex bein' friends without somethin' goin' on. So, in this, I can say I'm bein' a good wingman and distract you from my attention paid to your legs."

With that, he winked. "You about ready to ride?"

"They can be." She agreed, her tone lingering within the realm of neutrality. A sweep of her hand claimed his garbage and her own for quick and easy disposal before she freed her jacket from the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulder. "People have a lot to say about everything. I don't pay attention to most of it. But really, no need to wing for me, regardless of if you need an excuse to check out my legs."

Ev granted him a chuckle, short lived as she glanced to the front door, her smile tipped askew by her teeth on her lip. "Yes. Though you should be the one ready to ride. I'm driving." One hand was extended, palm up, for the keys.

"Drive like a woman all you want. Just don't drive like an asian." The smile he gave her was big and full of humor before she was tossed the keys. He breezed past her to the door, nodding to Leonard on the way before holding the door open to Evia. "I'm not indestructible."

"I drive quite well despite my gender's stereotypes saying otherwise." She said with a haughty lift of her chin. The keys were snatched from the air and twirled around a manicured finger in a wave for the deli's proprietor. He watched the pair as they departed which only made Evia's grin grow. Sauntering through the open door, she wasted little time in rounding to the Sabra's driver's side to get in.

"I already said I wasn't going to do anything to the car. If you're inside, you're safe...ish." She buckled and waited for him to do the same before twisting the key in the ignition. As it caught and the engine purred its way to life, she groaned. It sounded every bit like the dream it was. Tempting as it may have been to put it to the test then and there, she eased it away from the curb to carefully navigate the narrow cobbled streets of the gated community in which Bernstein's resided. She didn't even give in to the temptation once they passed one of two entrances to the neighborhood, pulling out into Old Temple at large to angle them north.

"What has she got under the hood?" Evia asked as they crossed the bridge that separated the two sides of town, a practiced hand causing little issue along the way. The Old Market turned into Seaside and before long they were leaving the city behind for the hills north of Battlefield Park.

"I'm fretting on Lisa's behalf, since she's not here to do it." Inside and buckled, he made a point of hanging part of the way out of the passenger's side to smoke while slow progress was made through the city streets.

"Ford 1703 cc," he told with another look her way. "It was that they were originally built with. I found a scrapped engine salvaged by an outfit run by a guy I know and had to rebuild half of it from scratch but it was worth it. She's not gonna blow anyone away by today's standards but there's some things about a classic you just can't beat. Like the feel."

"There's a certain staying power, most definitely." Further agreement, her gaze intent on the road ahead. Fast the city was beginning to fade and her smile to grow. The hills were hardly precarious things, most of the snow pack having thawed thanks to a handful of unseasonably warm days. The roads were dry and populated only by the occasional vehicle. At first their pace was a leisurely thing, less Friday off work and more Sunday afternoon stroll. But a mile free of Rhydin City's edge, she cut him a grin aside and tipped a nod backwards.

"We may wanna put the top up before I do this properly."

"I feel like a need a scarf and one of those silly ass long-stemmed cigarettes." His grin was quick, there and gone before Schmidt was unbuckling his seatbelt. It didn't take much to reach over the back seat and start pulling the top up, and only got awkward for a moment when he pressed close to secure her side.

"Sorry, Ev. No road head this time. Not enough space in this lady." He winked and settled back in.

"Add some big ol' glasses and a nasally WASP accent and we can Gatsby this ****." She stayed easy on the gas and avoided the brake to keep him steady while he snapped the convertible's roof into place. His lean over her got a roll of her eyes and an easy smirk cut aside.

"Clearly you just have no imagination." Once he was buckled again and they were well out of the city, she really opened it up until the block under the hood purred with content. That was the feel he had talked about and in a car like this, it was good. So, so good. The Sabra under her guidance handled the hills' curves spectacularly, smoothly shifting gears with her right while the heel of the left kept adept control of the wheel. The elevation was rising, giving way to a vista that boasted the city below, the coast to the west, and a partially cloudy sky above. "Can't get a view like this in Boise."

"Don't be so hasty to judge, pumpkin." He loosed a rough chuckle and pulled is gaze from her to stare out over the rolling hills to his right. "I've got plenty of imagination when the situation calls for it. It's all a matter of time and circumstance. Plus Lisa'd cut me to ribbons if the interior got all stained up."

He let the silence stretch out over the miles after that, his fingers drumming idly on the window pane as they ate up the miles and enjoyed the ephemeral banter of companionable quietude. "It's nice to get out of the city sometimes," he said finally, a tiny confession that cost him nothing. "Away from the ****ty air, ****ty people, and all the bull**** that comes with it. It's liberating."

"It would be deserved." She said, without remarking a single word on the alleged judgment. Slightly euphemism filled banter, funny as it may have been, did not equate to action. But had it, those actions would have assuredly warranted a swift and harsh reprimand for their impropriety. Still, they could joke. As much a stranger as he was acquaintance, she took the quiet in stride and tried not to lose herself in it. Posted signed were ignored for a speed hardly befitting the curves, just as they had been the last time she had ridden in such a vehicle. The tiny two seat cars were barely big enough for their listed capacity but the one and only time she had seen the inside of a similar model, there had been three.

They had straddled the border between Syria and Lebanon, Mount Hermon a pinprick in the rearview as they raced along a narrow dirt road carved from the Anti-Lebanon mountain range. She hadn't been the one driving and thankfully this situation was a far more casual arrangement. Here the roads were paved and the danger cut to a minimum. They were at higher risk of some mythical creature wandering into the road than they were from being chased down the hillside at risk of life and limb. When Schmidt spoke up again, he jarred her from her thoughts and refocused her on the present. She glanced aside, her smile wan. "There's something to be said for fresh air. I've always been more of a city girl myself but there's a salve that comes from escaping, at least for a little while. Ever been up this way? There's an overlook a few miles ahead that offers a fantastic view. Can't be beat."

"Been past it on my way to points north but never stopped." A shake of his head came with the answer. "I got farther north and east to camp sometimes when I'd had my fill of the city but I usually drive without stoppin', unless I've gotta hit the head or somethin'. But let's stop up there and stretch our legs a bit. I could use another smoke anyway."

Knitting For Dummies
--March 10th, 2017--

Expectation Level: Zero.

Unless it concerned a paying client, it summed up Schmidt's day to day dealings with the world. He asked for nothing, he expected nothing. That approach kept the messy man's life much tidier. It meant that, despite his budding and uncharacteristic friendship with the Jewish banker, he was possessed of no illusions that she would show up at his door on a Friday evening when her home or the inn seemed such more palatable options.

Somewhere between Dragon's Gate and New Haven, the old bled into the new with an eclectic mix of styles and time periods. Old and storied gave way to something more modern. It was in that transitional place that The Busted Knuckle Garage went mostly unnoticed by the greater bulk of the community. Nestled behind a large plot of land occupied on one end by a towering church and between the rougher side of suburbia's meld with burgeoning industry, the building had originally been an old firehouse robbed of its purpose. It had been the victim of advancing times and flashier regimes. Three stories of sandy brown and gray stone, sturdy and squat, were fronted by vibrant red garage doors that received a fresh coat of paint every spring. A modest neon sign sizzled above and between them; a hand with a bandaged finger holding a wrench and proudly declaring the establishment's name. As a whole, it lingered as a stout testament passive stubbornness.

Within, the garage's owner was still hard at work despite the sun's descent to the horizon line and beyond, booted feet slamming on the floor to the tune of some vintage (ha!) DMX - Ruff Ryders Anthem. He liked it loud, so he played it loud, occasionally belting out some of the lyrics in a hoarse voice.

Winter refused to relinquish its hold on the city, a fact she disliked if only for the thought that despite the fact it was the middle of the night in Tel Aviv, it was still close to sixty degrees there. How was that fair? It wasn't, but few things in life were. Hardly inclined to walk from Old Temple to New Haven in the Oscar de la Renta heels, a cab dropped her off a block from the garage. After paying the driver, she spilled from the car into a pool of yellow-white light that poured from the gaslight lamp on the corner. The cab chugged off, leaving her in a cloud of exhaust for a few brief moments. It thankfully couldn't damper the faint touch of Shalimar dabbed at her pulse points in her wrists and throat nor the underlying grapefruit notes of her shampoo. Straightening out the hem of the red Burberry coat that was practically a staple of her winter wardrobe, long legged strides ate up lengths of pavement in an effort to put the single block between the corner and Busted Knuckle Garage behind her.

Fifteen strides out, she heard the raucous thump and bump of... was he listening to DMX? Was she suddenly transported back to 2001 without realizing it? Rhydin could do weird things, that much she was certain of. Evia glanced over her shoulder as she got closer but nothing seemed different. The engine red doors, possibly a nod to the building's original purpose she noted, were closed. He had warned her he may still be working though so she dipped around to the left and pressed through the customer entrance with only the briefest beat of hesitation.

"Stop. Drop. Shut 'em down, open up shop. Oh, no-oh, that's how rough ridas ro-oll." Every few beats, a wrench banged on something inside of the '75 Mustang he was working on, booted feet still stomping along with it. Oil-stained coveralls were only zipped about half way up, his broad body visible from the abdomen down and the bulk of his body laid out flat on a wheeled board made specifically for the sort of work currently undertaken.

Schmidt barely registered the electronic warble that escaped a speaker above the single entrance door; instinct dropped his hand to a pile of clean clothes within reach, where it remained.

"Closin' up shop," he called over the music. "Try callin' in the mornin'."

"Want me to just leave the six pack by the door on my way out then?" She called back, her mouth warbling with good humor as she watched and waited, a hip cocked to the front counter where said six pack had been set when she came in. Her ankles crossed and she looked every bit as out of place in the mechanic's garage as she felt. The starched red fabric of her peacoat hit just above the hem of something short enough to almost be scandalous but still long enough to play at modesty, black around the majority with a break of white up the right side. Dark hair, long as it may have been, had been twirled up into an artfully messy bun at her crown, held in place with what looked to be the knitting needles he had gifted her the week prior.

"Oh, shit." There was a clatter, one hand abandoning the pile of rags and whatever lay within and the other dropping the wrench to the smooth concrete floor. "It's about that time, isn't it? So much for the terrible porn fantasy of a surprise beejay while I'm workin'." The type to laugh at his own terrible jokes, he did so while pushing himself out from beneath the muscle car.

Stormy eyes immediately snapped to the coat. "That's an awful short coat and a whole lot of leg. Is this about to be a porn scene? No. Don't answer that. I don't think my pride could take the blow. Just appreciate that one good push isn't propelling me towards a peek under to be sure." He made a point of scooting the wheel board back and forth for emphasis before rocking up to his feet. His attention ticked upwards to her face, then her hair. The hair was worth an approving chuckle. "Pragmatic but elegant. I like it."

"If it's not a good time, I can go back to my Knitting for Dummies and the knot of yarn I've made at home." Mirth in the tease if only to keep herself from an exasperated roll of her kohl dusted eyes at his wistful jokes. Straightening from her half lean, she fixed him with a skeptical look for his rolling and glanced down at herself.

"One good push is liable to give you a good look of the sole of one of these size nines," Evia said sweetly, the curl of her smile matching the sickly saccharine tone. From looking down to looking up, she adjusted accordingly when he got to his feet. One hand lifted to touch at the edge of one of the needles, her smile turning wry with the rock of one shoulder upwards. "Well thank you. It was better than carrying them around because, really, how do you explain beer and knitting for the curious cabbie that brought me up this way?"

"Nah, you're good." The distance between them was closed in a handful of strides, drawing him close to the edge of her personal bubble. It was invaded for the time it took to reach past her and flick off the neon sign outside. It afforded him the faint scent of her perfume and shampoo, and a closer look at her attire. "Damn, girl. You look too damned pretty to not have a hot date tonight. You sure you'd rather be there than indulging my odd hobbies?"

"Well of course I'm good, there was no question about that. The question was whether you were." She was relentless in her teasing, touched with subtle notes of deprecation disguised as pomp. To contrast her soft scents and feminine angles, he was equal parts masculine musk, sweat, and grease. Despite that, Evia didn't shy away as he passed, leaning just enough to not impede his progress as he turned the sign off. Two fingers hooked the handle of the Goldstar six pack as she shrugged once more. "I told you, married to my job. Means I'm cheating by being here to begin with so I may as well indulge your odd hobby and learn something from it, no?"

"Okay but it's gonna be your fault when I stab myself because I'm starin' at your legs. Warning issues." He stepped around her then to lock the door up behind them before gesturing to a heavy metal staircase that spiraled up towards the next level. Off to their right was a singular firepole. "Tell you what. Head upstairs and make yourself comfortable. You can toss the beer in the fridge and help yourself to whatever's there. Since I don't smell Thai, we can always order a pizza. Only thing that delivers over here. Go on ahead. I need to get cleaned up."

"Do I need to draft a liability waiver before we get going?" She arched a brow, the perfect picture of skepticism. Her gaze followed his motion, astute in her observation as she swung a look from him to the indicated staircase. It was classic and perhaps even original though she couldn't tell for certain. That the firehouse's pole was still intact brought a smile to her red stained mouth as she looked back to him.

"Told you if you really want, I can get Thai Mai Shoo to deliver. But I wasn't carrying all of that, really you're lucky I remembered to bring these." Free hand touched to the crossed needles in her bun, held there like chopsticks. Still she started for the steps, her heels sounding soft clangs against the metal stairs with each step. "But if you'd rather pizza, I'll make it happen."

"Doll, I'll eat whatever you put in front of me." A gentle nudge shooed her towards the staircase. "Go get comfortable. I'll catch up with you in ten minutes tops."

The long ascension led to another classic look. It was everything one might have expected a classic firehouse to be. Medium-hued hardwood floors stretched from one side of the great expanse to the other, save for a large square of clean white and black checkered vinyl tile that marked the territory of the open kitchen. A single wide couch sat adjacent to a second-hand recliner, both facing a modestly large flat screen television hosting a number of small modern entertainments. Where the firefighters' cots traditionally would have been, a secondary work table had been set up, this with a number of knitting implements and no shortage of material to work with.

A more modern set of stairs at one corner disappeared upwards to whatever the third level held, presumably a bedroom. The place was cluttered with various books and crafting tools. It was clean, mostly. Just cluttered.

"That almost sounds like a challenge," she called back, firing off a grin before continuing up. The layout was an easy one to evaluate, entrances, exits, windows, doors, all noted and committed to her memory out of practiced habit more than perceivable threat. The kitchen stood out for the flooring alone and the six pack was stuffed in the fridge without taking time to peruse the other offerings. Evia slid out of her coat and left it hooked on a chair back, her phone slipped free of the inner pocket. He hadn't been kidding about his knitting habit and the sight of his various crafting tools had her laughing aloud.

"Well... okay then." With a shake of her head, she sat on one end of the couch, perched at the edge of the cushion with one long leg draped over the other. It left the hem of her black and white dress high and the shoe on her lofted top foot to dangle slightly from her heel. Phone in hand, she played the never ending catch up game of messages and emails, her face lit with the dim artificial glow of the screen while she waited.

It was only a matter of a few minutes before Schmidt came trudging up after her, the coveralls stripped to his waist to reveal the black sleeveless shirt beneath. Both thick arms were dotted with ink, indecipherable from the distance, and he was quick to disappear up the second set of steps. A few more minutes passed in relative silence before the lighter thump of bare feet on the steps preceded his return.

Black mesh basketball shorts reached past his knees and a long-sleeved Takamine Guitars t-shirt topped it. Two cold beers were fetched from the fridge and popped open, one offered over when he finally joined her. "It's not much but it's home."

Her chin lifted from her attention on her phone when he came up and her gaze tracked him across the second floor of the repurposed firehouse as he disappeared up to the third without a word. Down her gaze went again, back to messages, Elia's preparations for Fashion Week, Eeva's latest dates, and Jeshurun's Purim celebrations that weekend. When he reappeared, her bottom lip was half caught between her teeth as she locked the screen and set it on the arm of the couch so she could take the offered beer.

"I like it. It's, well, different. I think it suits you." It was a compliment or so said her smile.

Stormweather eyes lingered on her ensemble, sans coat. His head canted to one side in thoughtful consideration that wasn't entirely pure before one side of his mouth made a minor curl in a smile. "Getting the hydraulic lifts installed was an expensive mess but no regrets. Place is sturdy and it's got a lot of character, even if it's not readily obvious. It's as home as home can be. The commute's great."

No stranger to the sort of "consideration" he offered her, she brushed it off with ease with a long pull from her bottle, the red lager pleasing her tastebuds with its familiarity. After she swallowed she balanced the bottle on her knee cap, one hand hovering nearby just in case. "I'd think that it would be an expensive installation regardless of location unless you'd purchased a similarly purposed building. And yes, you can't beat the commute, I'm sure. Probably tempting to hang in bed until the last possible moment on certain days?"

"I don't sleep much." It was a small confession. A little piece of himself he offered with a wan, fleeting smile. "The wheels are always turnin' and the fingers don't like to be idle for long. Gotta put 'em somewhere and to work is as good a place as any."

A long pull was taken from the bottle before he set it aside with a satisfied sigh and moved for the work table. It was close to waist high on him and full of materials. As he stood at its edge, Schmidt picked up a pair of knitting needles and twirled them around in his fingers. "Ready to play with sharp objects?"

"No?" Her brows lifted with genuine surprise. Sure his phrasing left a little to be desired and she couldn't quite stifle the immature snerk, but she managed to bite it back behind the lift of the bottle and a slow drink while she put on her I'm-A-Grown-Up face again.

"You never did answer whether we needed a waiver for this, but yes." Beer set aside, she uncrossed her legs and smoothed her hands down her thighs to her knees. "I'll try not to stab either of us."

"You're a guest in Casa De Schmidt," he told her while pointing one of the knitting needles at her. "The only guests that get stabbed have to be super fine and get stabbed with somethin' much bigger than a needle. And, of course, have to be willing participants in said stabbin'. Just relax, okay. I'll guide your hands to start and explain as we go."

Evia snorted, a most unladylike sound that came with a roll of her eyes but more importantly a smile.

"Fine, fine." She acquiesced at last. Both hands lifted to grasp at the needles in her hair and with a practiced tug that may have been more accustomed to something larger than tiny knitting tools, she pulled them both free in one deft motion. It left her hair to spill down her back and onto her shoulders. She gave it a quick shake out, twirled the needles in her fingers with a pianist's grace, and pointed them at him in much the same way he had done to her. "Just relax, he said. This won't hurt a bit he said. Uh huh, that's what they all say, you know."

"And are they bluffin'? Do the boys usually not pack the punch they claim?" His own needles had been set aside and when Evia drew close enough, the work roughed underside of one hand took her by the elbow and bellied her up to the tall work table. Schmidt stepped in behind her, an arm to either side rising up beneath hers. "You ready for this?"

"Oh, I have no idea. I was mostly being facetious." She laughed, a sound that cut off quickly with the grasp to her arm. There was a subtle tension in the bare musculature, coiled and ready to spring at a moment's notice. The notice never came though, even after he stepped up behind her. Up close he smelled much better than he had before, likely thanks to the quick clean up job. Evia nodded once and fixed the needles in her hands like she had read in the little guidebook he had gifted her. "Be gentle, it's my first time."

"Relax," he told her quietly near her ear, pausing to inhale her in again. "You're wound a little too tight. I wouldn't do anything I wasn't invited to do. That's just good manners." This was oddly amusing, given his penchant for having such a loose and lewd tongue.

"I'm gonna start by guidin' your hands while explainin' a few simple things. You're gonna try some of it, then we're gonna switch. You'll guide my hands. Teachin' the motions is just as rewardin' and helpful as the learnin'. First you're gonna learn to Cast on." His hands eased beneath hers with a glide of fingers. His own very much fit the gorilla moniker that had been jokingly pinned on him, very long and dexterous despite his hand size. He guided her in the subtle movements. "First you're gonna make a slipknit by loopin' the yarn in a pretzel shape, leavin' a tail end at least three times the width you're knittin'. Let's say we're gonna do you a nice scarf. Eight inches sound good to you? That'll mean a twenty-four inch tail. Now slip the needle through the pretzel shape nice and slow, don't force it... Then pull those yarn end. Just like that, nice and tight."

"I am not," she protested with a snicker, her chin lowering to fix her attention on the task at hand instead of the man behind her. In his grasp her hands were pliable, easily manipulated into the motions he sought to teach her. Sucking at her bottom lip kept her from playing into the innuendos laden in his explanation and from pointing out how lewd the hobby as a whole was.

"So it's not about the length, it's about the width?" Her brows lifted and she slid a look over the slim line of her shoulder to him before she looked back down. The first loop was a little too loose but with a slight correction, she redid it, slid the needle through the replacement and gave the yarn end a tug. "Like that then?"

Schmidt snorted.

"A woman says that 'til she's faced with it. The mind changes real quick then. But you've got the right idea, doll." His fingers continued to play along hers, curling them around the needles and yawn and guiding them. "Drape the tail of the yarn over your left thumb, working the ball over your left index finger. Use your other fingers to catch the lengths in your left palm. Insert the needle upward but don't thrust too fast." He leaned in, pressing against her slim back. " With the needle, catch the workin' yarn that's on your index finger and pull it through the loop on your thumb. Remove your thumb through the loop. Keepin' the yarn ends secured in your palm, reposition your thumb, and tighten the new stitch on the right-hand needle. Repeat over and over until you've had as much as you want."

"Now you're just talking it up," Evia teased, looping the tail of yarn over the crook of her thumb. It was a new enough motion that it took more of her concentration than she wanted to admit but she was nothing if not determined. Head slightly bowed over the growing mass of yarn, she stiffened slightly when he pressed against her but exhaled and caught the bit of string on her index, drawing it through the thumb loop. The yarn caught on her thumb and her brows furrowed as she shook it free with a frown. All the dexterity in the world hadn't prepared her for the multiple motions needed to keep it going at once and she was vaguely reminded of playing the cat's cradle string game when she and her sisters were young. Only this was messier, a whole lot messier. "How do I know when I've had enough?"

"Monster can," he reminded her with wry amusement. "Can't make somethin' like that up." Schmidt was the epitome of control, and maybe even class, despite their exchange. He kept it to the playful innuendo. "Depends on how big you want it and what you wanna do with it. You can only take so much, so keep at it 'til you're satisfied with the outcome."

"If there's one thing I've learned it's that men always exaggerate." One corner of her mouth quirked high, the beginning of a smirk that couldn't quite get up fully thanks to the frustration of the yarn around her fingers and the needles that barely cooperated. She found herself knotted up with the next loop, a less than flattering swear catching her tongue as she tried to undo it without ruining everything else she had done so far. "Not really sure what I want to do with it yet. But help a girl out here?"

"Then call them on it. Simple as that." He seemed at ease enough with the situation, making no commentary on her frustration or the small swear that passed painted lips. When she hit an impasse with her work, he waited for the request before reacting. "We do it again. We do it as many times as it takes to get to get it right and get you comfortable with the feel of it. Here," he gently plucked it all from her fingers and leaned forward to set them aside just for the time it took to retrieve another set of needles and a new ball of yarn. They were set on the table before her, his hands dropping to the table's surface with the palms up. "Let's see what your remember. Take my hands like I did yours. Guide 'em where and how you want 'em."

"Right," she said dryly, her long fingers held nearly perfectly still as he untangled her. Model thin like her sisters, the bump of his hips put her right up against the work table's edge with little persuasion. The edge of the table pressed against her upper thighs and her lips pursed a smirk until he straightened up.

"Okay... so..." Evia took a deep breath and held it, her teeth on her bottom lip as she slid her hands beneath his like he had done. For all of the soft femininity she exuded, the slight subtle calluses on her palms and a few fingers spoke less of daily paper pushing and more of more active hobbies. Definitely not knitting though, that much was evident. With her hands in place, she tried to guide him through the motions. Not nearly as smooth as his demonstration had been, she at least remembered the general idea of each one. "You do the slipknit with the pretzel and this much of a tail... and... push the needle through here slowly to cast on but don't force it because you've gotta... yeah, make the end nice and tight. And ummm, hmm... take this here and that there, then loop around that way and push up but not too fast or you'll probably stab yourself and we can't have that."

Schmidt let his head bob with the explanation, the scruff at his chin occasionally brushing her shoulder and a murmur of approval for her recollection of his teaching. When she had gone as far as she was able, he loosed his hands from hers long enough to unwind all of the yarn and place the needs down on the table. "Again. Guide my hands."

Difficult to ignore but it went unremarked upon by both of them at least for the time being. Her hands fell away from his and a frown found him undoing all of the work she had taken him through. The drop of one shoulder led to her looking back at him, his face much closer to hers than she had expected. "I did but you undid all of it... why not continue what we'd already made?"

"Practice. You want to be comfortable with how you start before you move onto the main event. How you start is just as important as how you continue and how you finish. Think of it like foreplay. Who wants to rush through foreplay? Perfectin' it just makes what comes next even better." His smile lingered. "Wanna keep goin' on you wanna break to eat?"

"Foreplay," she sighed wistfully. Much like the rainbow unicorns of Rhydin that Jochin had spoken of, such a word was like a fairytale myth to the middle Cohen, read about but seldom if ever seen. Of course such an admission never made it to her lips. Instead she donned a smile, shrugged and dropped her hands to the table's edge.

"I'd say we oughta eat before you keep poking me in the ass."

"What?" He lingered right where he was for a moment. "You better not tell me foreplay ain't kosher. You'd legitimately break my heart, Ev. If a guy can't go ears deep between a girl's legs, then what's the point of livin'?" The tips of his fingers drummed on the top of the work table and then crawled across like some five-legged spider and drew along the inside webbing on her hands.

"I'm only pokin' you in the ass because you weren't bent over far enough for pokin' anywhere else. I blame your legs and that dress." He released his grip on the table then and backed away from her, making a curious face before smiling quickly. "Now let's get that Thai here before I decide to eat somethin' else."

"Oh no, it's plenty kosher," she laughed, bumping her hips back as if it would persuade him to move. After all, he had mentioned food. Instead he stayed right where he was, his hands grazing over top of hers, rough skin working over her own in a curious curl that drew her gaze and an inquisitive tilt of her head. Finally he gave her room to turn around and fix him with a sheepish, almost embarrassed smile as she leaned back against the table's edge for a moment. "Just been awhile, that's all."

After a moment she pushed away from the table, steadily regaining the will to lose the red in her cheeks. "You can't blame the dress, I doubt Tahari accounted for up close and personal knitting lessons when designing it. Surely had they known they would have changed the fit."

"A pretty dress on a sexy woman who hasn't properly worked over in a while? I'll blame whoever I damned well please, Ev." His fingers twitched with the desire to do something with then, likely a cigarette, more likely something far less mundane given the way she looked at him and the current topic of conversation. And if you can't be candid with a chump like me, who can you be candid with?" The question was posed with a mildly amused stare and light cuff of curled fingers beneath her chin. Schmidt was moving back towards the couch then, his back to her as he retreated towards where he'd left his beer.

"I'm just saying you can blame the legs all you want but the Tahari is innocent." She wagged a long finger at him, her fingernail bare of polish but neatly filed into a short, rounded tip. The movement of his fingers was easily caught considering the lack of motion anywhere else and the drag of her gaze across him likely just as blatant in return. She gave him six steps before following after, her own beer and her phone on the opposite end of the couch. Both were scooped up, the former for a drink, the latter for a quick call without sitting down. What followed was a short exchange in crisp Thai, polished but lilting in the way that non-native speakers often ended up speaking. Easily made out was her name, first and last, and the address of the garage. A brief interchange followed, likely persuading them to deliver that far north, but the blossom of a smile said she had won that debate.

"Laa gon, mmhmm, see you soon." Evia hung up and dropped her phone onto the couch face up. Beer brought up, she took a pair of draws, swallowed, and smiled. "Thirty minutes but hey, they'll deliver here now."

"Uh huh." There was nothing better in the room to focus his attention on than her, so while the lovely banker worked out the details of their order on the phone, Schmidt made an unabashed study of her from head to toe. A well put together and athletic woman, curved in all the places it mattered and in just the right proportions. His tongue ballooned out on cheek in appreciation between sips from his bottle but in the end, he couldn't prevent the rise of his gaze from her legs up to her face.

Zero guilt evident.

"What's the damage? I'll run upstairs and grab my wallet." He started to rise.

"I told you it was my treat. Payment for the lessons, we can say." Plural, there had been a plural there, intentional or not. Evia spun and dropped onto the couch, a graceful fall if ever there was such a thing. One leg crossed the other, loose rather than prim, a lazy drape that left her shoe to dangle from the flexion of her foot. "It's the least I can do for you indulging my whimsy for an evening."

"I like your company," he said without a shred of bashfulness. Schmidt was bar from the bashful type and had come off as nothing less than open and blunt about a great many things. "You'd don't take yourself seriously, you seem to appreciate simpler things, and you can't put up with me. Bein' easy on the eyes doesn't hurt either. Friendship don't get too much better than that, doll."

"Why thank you. I happen to enjoy your company too." He livened up the sort of smile that could have lit the dark, a genuine curl of full lips and even, white teeth. Evidently that orthodontic work had paid off. Her chin dipped for a study of her bottle's label. She had seen it a million times, it was identical to all of the rest, so her gaze traced each letter on the label with practiced ease. "It's like you said, should be willing to try anything once. You gave me the opportunity, here I am. And we've got Thai on the way so I'd say it works out nicely even if you kept distracting me."

"That doesn't sound like a complain, though," he pointed out, leaning the mouth of his bottle in her direction.

"You're correct, it wasn't a complaint." Called out, her lips closed but remained turned upwards, her smile dipping into the realm of coy instead of brilliant. "Normally I'm a bit better at ignoring such... distractions, but admittedly like a cat, I'm curious."

The last of his beer was finished off and the bottle was set on the long oak coffee table in front of him. Schmidt turned in his seat, one leg curling beneath him on the couch as he regarded her. "About?"

Evia still had at least two mouthfuls in her bottle, a measure she took with a side to side slosh of it. Her gaze ticked up to meet his then dropped with a laugh. Gently she shook her head, drawing her beer up to finish it off. "Mm nevermind. You any good with chopsticks? You've gotta be, right?"

"Ohnuhnuhnuh," he reached out and flicked her bare knee lightly with a finger. "There's no bringin' it up and then traipsin' off to a subject change. Spit it out, Evia."

Flicked, her hand came out to catch his offending fingers out of reflex more than need. Only a moment's contact found her dropping it soon after with another light laugh. "Really though, chopstick grip is less knitting and more pencil or paintbrush. So maybe you're not."

"Doll, when my mind sets my hands to somethin', you'd me amazed what I can accomplish." It was a confident grin she was given, there and gone, Jekyll and Hyde, before Schmidt rose to his feet and turned his back on her to fetch another beer.

"I'd believe it. Maybe." There was a hint of a challenge in both tone and smile, her legs uncrossing and recrossing as he passed to get another beer.

"Grab me one?" Evia asked, checking her phone for the time. Right on time, they rang her to notify her of their arrival and she hopped to her feet and headed for the spiral staircase to the first floor. "Food's here. Be right back."

"It's okay to be scared," he called to her during her retreat.

Sufficiently cold at that point, two Goldstars were tugged free from their cardboard carrier by the necks and popped open against the hardwood counter. His was sipped from and then both were placed on the coffee table before he flopped back down on it to wait for her.

"No such thing!" She called up the stairs. The clang of her heels on the steps disappeared, silence falling for the handful of minutes it took her to trade money for food. Soon she was clinking her way back up, two plastic bags around one wrist and one on the other. Rather than the kitchen, she brought them to the coffee table and carefully set them down, unlooping her wrists from the handles. As she unloaded the cardboard cartons and styrofoam containers, she rattled off the plethora of options she had ordered then shot him a grin. "Wasn't sure what you'd like, figured I'd get a couple things."

"It's fine, doll. Nothin' wrong with bein' a little intimidated." The words carried to her when she arrived and moved to set the food down, his beer claimed for another pull and his body then stretched out in a lazy slouch. For a few moments, he watched her work. Putting the bags down required bending over and while she might have considered him a decent man, he was still a man. "Told you. I'll eat whatever you put in front of me."

"Hardly intimidated, Schmidt," she told him with a wry smile. The neckline of the dress was high enough that he likely caught an eyeful of the swinging Star of David pendant hanging around her neck. She straightened only long enough to move around the table and sit to perch on the edge of the couch. Sen lek and pad thai were tugged her way, paper wrapped chopsticks and a plastic wrapped fork both opened for her use. One hand gestured to the rest of his taking. "Kinda the same way. Food's food. But if it looks good..."

"Who am I to deny a suggestion like that?" For a little while they got lost in Thai food and mischievous mouths. Before long, the empty bottles were all scooped up and carried to the kitchen. Schmidt liberated his cigarettes and lighter from the counter and then passed her by again, bound for a set of external doors a wrought iron balcony at the building's rear that overlooked the grounds of the old church.

He remained the subject of her scrutiny even as he rose and ping ponged from one side of the loft to the other and even as he made for the back exit. Balcony, just a balcony. Locating her missing shoe, she leaned and tugged it on and trailed after him.

She found him leaning against the railing with a thoughtful gaze cast out over the grounds. His posture spoke volumes about the time spent in that spot and what it meant, even if the details remained a part of his mystery. When she spoke, he glanced back her way. "Feel relaxed enough to try another hand at those needles?"

"This may honestly be one of the stranger nights I've had in awhile. And that's saying something considering my time spent at the Inn. But yes, I'd be willing to give it another try."

"This place breeds weird on an hourly basis," he shrugged and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in for a few moments before exhaling it in a flat cloud over the railing. "You get used to it and savor the weirdness when it's enjoyable."

"Well... it was that at least, enjoyable." She said thoughtfully, cocking a hip to the open door's frame. The view was nice if unconventional, peaceful in the sort of way that churches were. Wink, words, both were met with the reach of a hand to shove at his shoulder if he was near enough or a paw at the air if he wasn't.

His smile faded with a last look at the church before the nearly spent cigarette was flicked off into the dark and he was turning back to her. "You're shivering, Ev. Get your cute ass back inside. Move it."

He turned back and she rolled her eyes, walking backwards back inside. He threatened pinches to the insides of her thighs and eventually closed the doors behind them, leading her back into the apartment. With the doors closed, she was instantly warmer in her retreat toward the work table and its spread of supplies. Thai could either wait or go away entirely, Evia didn't care. There was a determined set to her shoulders as she stepped close to the table. "Okay, so... casting on or something else this time?"

"Tell you what," he teased. "Get casting on right flawlessly first, no distractions."

She threw him a scrutinized look, considering the offer as she turned back to where she had left the needles originally. "You know, I legitimately want to learn right? Not just for what you did on the couch."

"Relax." She was given a push to the shoulder. "I didn't invite you hear with the idea of gettin' into your pants, Ev."

"I am relaxed, thank you very much. I'm just more the type to make sure things are in the clear before they get misconstrued, that's all." She had set a firm enough stance, still in heels even, that the push barely set her off a sway. Without looking back at him, she took up the needles and pulled over the yarn. The yarn was pretzeled like he had shown her with plenty of tail for the slipknit. Evia lined the needle up and slipped it through then tugged the yarn end. Each motion was slow as if she had to think every step through before forcing her hands to complete it but they were clinically precise, her fingers steady in their curl as she draped the tail over her thumb and caught the lengths in her palm. Pulling loops and threading the needle, she tightened the stitch on the right needle and started all over again with the next one.

"That was a damned good start," he grinned. "Looks like the positive reinforcement paid off."

They made small talk with a casual ease and without Evia looking up, her focus better funneled into the slow work of the needles. In between, her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth, a marker of the attention it truly took despite how easy she made it look. "Something you might come to find out... I'm a bit of a perfectionist and a tiny bit competitive."

"Once we work you through the basics, the rest becomes a matter of practice and taste. Before you know it, this'll be a weekly thing and you can come over here and work on it with me while we watch somethin' shitty on the teevee."

A laugh drew her gaze and the righthand needle slipped, knotting the yarn and filling the apples of her cheeks with pink again. Carefully she worked to reverse it without making it worse, weaving the needle backwards and tugging gently on the string with a pinch of her nails. "It'll be a proper knitting circle then rather than some sort of awkward code for why I get to hang out with you but Eeva doesn't."

"It's 2017, in this reality anyway," he snorted. "Havin' a guy friend who isn't your boyfriend isn't exactly taboo. You'll come over, we'll eat, knit, and talk shit and do whatever. Somehow I don't think this is my only hobby you'll find interestin'. This is just the only one up for discussion tonight."

"I'm a little old fashioned, so sue me." She laughed, finally fixing the mistake she had made to start on the next. When she got to the end of the row, she tipped her head to one side to check it out then held it up for his inspection. "So mysterious, the only one up for discussion. Next time it'll be twenty-four seven brownie mix and clown porn or something equally ridiculous?"

"Pretty sure I can take that as you admittin' to being interested in clown porn." He pointed at her, grinned, and then gave a thumbs up in approval for her work. "Looks good. You're a quick study."

"Clowns not so much," she admitted with the twist of a smirk and left it at that, freeing the needles from the row she had made. "I like learning... and there's that perfectionist streak. So, to get the next one going, just cast on again from the end and repeat until you're either done or the monotony gets you first?"

"What kinda porn then? Inquiring minds wanna know." Snorting a laugh, he took up a lean against the table to watch her work. "Okay, okay, from here, you're gonna wanna..."

--March 25th, 2017--

Of all the weeks...

Regular communication had become something of an odd comfort over the last handful of weeks; traded texts and calls, a couple of lunchtime hangout sessions at Bernstein's, and the now regular weekend knitting lessons. Evia had taken to the knitting with the natural expediency of a perfectionist despite the handicap of the occasional wandering, teasing hand, leaving it only half a surprise that she kept coming back for more. For the knitting or the teasing, Schmidt couldn't have said. Whether it was the texts or the calls, the lunches or the lessons, it always ran the gamut from casual to cheeky, with the perpetual undertone of something deeper that came with the subtle illumination of the little things one had to take notice of.

And then a week from Hell. Schmidt's responses to text became shorter and farther apart. Some of his good humor had started to fade, though only a little, and the innuendo became disappointingly sparse. With the weekend rapidly approaching, it was any wonder if the mechanic would be available to steal away some of Evia's hours.

Was it him or was it her? She wasn't quite sure but Friday came and with it her dinner plans. Incommunicado was no new thing, not when they were just on the cusp of friendship with a dirty twist. But it had been ramping up, more talks, more lunches, more lessons, more moments. Then it petered off all at once. She knew of no discernible point at which she would have put him off but sure enough, he slowly slipped off the radar. Come Saturday she was left debating on whether to even make the jaunt across town.

After plenty of fretting over the right outfit, she eventually decided to try her luck anyways and in jeans and a long sleeved v-neck, she set off to the north side of town. Along the way she grabbed beer and greasy takeout from one of the many food trucks that dotted the city's streets and with both in hand, she made her way to the garage. It was late and the sun was almost set but she had seen the place open later before so with only the mildest apprehension, she hip bumped her way through the side entrance with a whistle to note her arrival.

The little sign had been shut off, but the dueling sounds of loud music and heavy machinery left no doubts as to whether or not the proprietor was in. She found him against the dim backdrop of warm lamplight, the bowels of the garage a hot, sweltering mess. Schmidt was there, his coveralls stripped to his waist and a stained white wife beater saturated with sweat as he worked on grinding steel parts at the workbench. If she lingered long enough to watch and listen, he growled his way through a number of songs as they played: Eminem, Disturbed, Johnny Cash...

His taste in music was eclectic.

Johnny Cash she knew, decently well even, but many of the others were unfamiliar. The open sign was off so she chewed at her lip there in the entryway for a few moments before venturing further into the shop. The grinding of metal grated on her eardrums but wasn't quite enough to put her off of at least seeing if he wanted company for the evening. For a few minutes she stood and watched, her arms folded beneath the modest swell of her bust before finding a break between songs to clear her throat. "I pick a bad time to drop by?"

The sudden sound of her voice was enough to stop the sound of the grinder, his finger rising up off of the trigger. Not easily startled, the signs for a post-traumatic wariness were there when that hand immediate dropped beneath the work table... and paused. The hard, near vicious look that was leveled her way softened, was surprisingly tempered by the dawning recognition of the familiar face. For a fleeting moment, he even dared smile before his hand retreated to shut off the stereo.

"Nah," he said while shaking his head. "Just a bad week in general. We all have 'em. I lost track of time and have been busy, and... shit. Sounds like a lot of excuses, huh?"

There was a pregnant pause before he spoke again. "I'm glad you're here."

Her hands came away from her body, palm out to show they were empty when she saw the first notes of tension through his frame with the reach. The motion was smooth though, easily passed off as a routine adjustment as they dropped to her sides with the cock of a hip.

"I know what you mean, no need to explain it." It had been a veritable week from hell, that much was certain. Some part of her was glad it wasn't just her. "I've got beer and a bag full of stuff that's really bad for the arteries, if you want to take a break."

"Throw in a kiss and a lap dance and I'll even break out the good scotch to make it a deal." His smile curled back up momentarily. "Kiss and lapdance optional. Maybe. C'mon up, Ev. You're always welcome here."

Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and chuffing a sigh that painted him annoyed with the world, Schmidt started shutting down equipment and then locked up, leaving her to head up to the next level ahead of him. When he did arrived it was with the creak of his body and a groan, before he was fixing her with a curious look. "No dress tonight, huh? Did you bring your needles?"

"You'd probably have to get me really drunk first," she said with a laugh. Heading back the way she came, she grabbed the things she had set on the counter to haul them with her up to the second level. Increasingly familiar with the layout, she found plates in the kitchen and brought those out too along with two beers while the rest were stashed in the fridge for the time being. By the time he made it up, she had things halfway unloaded.

"No, it's been that sort of week. I broke out a fifty-eight hundred shekel dress for dinner last night and completely regretted it. So jeans and a shirt it is. Besides, you say I'm distracting otherwise." Without missing a beat, she filled her plate with chicken tenders and potato wedges along with a plastic container of honey mustard. "I didn't. Truthfully, I wasn't sure if you'd be here or if you'd be up for company let alone teaching me anything."

"Did the dude stand you up?" At the top of the spiral staircase he was kicking out of his boots and peeling the coveralls down off of his legs. Beneath the low hanging shirt showed a flash of snug-fitting boxer-briefs before he was on the move again, snatching a clean pair of athletic shorts from an overstuffed clothes basket and stepping into them. "That's grounds for an asswhoopin' in some circles. Or was he the wrong kind of handsy?"

Schmidt stepped up beside her then, leaning in for a nudge and to inhale deeply along her neck. "You sure as Hell smell good, though. You're like a blast of sweetness over the way things smell downstairs."

"No." It seemed like she was going to leave it at that at first, her gaze following after him as he stripped and then pulled on his shorts before she could gawk too much. Peeling the lid off her sauce, she stuck it to her plate and pinched up a potato wedge to dunk it into the creamy dip. "It's complicated though."

He leaned and she bumped back with an elbow, a smirk catching her mouth as she angled a look his way. "I'd hope so. Amidst my moping I still remembered to shower today."

"Life always is," he said, grimacing. "After you leave I'll probably spend three hours in the shower, washing off my own stink and hopin' I step out feelin' less like a piece of rope after a boy scout tries to get his knots badge. No tellin' how sober I won't be by then."

"Well, no mopin' tonight, Ev. We'll come up with somethin' to entertain you, even if it means a shorter shower and a ride somewhere." His expression softened just a small bit. "I do like your smile and stuff."

"It is," she agreed. Shifting her plate from one hand to the other, she lifted her newly freed hand to touch tentatively at the ridge of his shoulder. Finding a knot, she worked the tips of her fingers against it for a few moments with a small frown. "You'd do well to get a massage. A legitimate one, not one of those West End massage parlor ones."

Pulling her hand a way, she got comfortable on the couch and popped another bite of potato wedge into her mouth. After chewing and washing it down with a swig of beer, she shrugged one shoulder. "You're not responsible for my entertainment, no worries. Come eat. Food, that is."

"I get weird about strangers touchin' me if I didn't instigate it." It was odd and a touch hypocritical, but that was Schmidt. "Dunno. Maybe. Gotta find the time first and maybe some more motivation." Grabbing some food for himself, he joined her a few moments later, dropping down next to her and tucking into the food.

"Somethin', somethin', you're dessert," he teased. "There's teevee or you can use some of my needles."

"Do I count as a stranger?" She asked after a few moments of consideration. Evidently she found nothing weird about such a preference. Working through her finger food with neat precision, she tipped the plastic sauce container on its side to get the last of the honey mustard out with the last hunk of chicken tender. "Only if you're a good boy and eat all of your dinner. Is baseball a thing yet? Or is it not time?"

"Maybe a little strange," he teased, "but no stranger. We're friends, as much as we can be." Schmidt ate his own food like there would never be enough time to finish it all, like some grunt at bootcamp. His appetite always seemed nothing short of voracious, which was supported by his strong but not entirely chiseled build. "A week or two. Preseason is wrappin' up. You a fan?"

"Incredibly strange," she laughed, leaning to set her plate on the table. It was traded for her beer for a few drinks before that too was set down. In less than ladylike fashion, she wiped her hands against her thighs then sat up a bit. One hand was set to his shoulder for leverage. "Hold still, this isn't weird, I promise."

With that she climbed up to sit on the couch's back behind him, a knee splayed wide to either side of his broad shoulders. Her hands settled gently on his shoulders, thumbs poised against the hard trap muscles. "It's not bad. I like it better than basketball. They say it's the great American pastime right?"

He chuckled and shook his head, leaning forward when she moved to settle behind him and then eventually leaning back towards her body and waiting hands. A low, approving rumble slipped free. "It's what they say, though commercially it's been surpassed by football the last decade or so... You more of a soccer fan? I love baseball, it's the one thing from home I could still get into when I was in Japan."

"Football," she said with a derisive snort. "They don't even really use their feet."

In other words, she preferred soccer, the true football. As he leaned back, her hands worked at the tense muscles in his shoulders, neck, and back. Deceptively strong thumbs rolling circles to knead the tension away as best as she could. He was right, he was full of knots, but she was determined and the heels of her slim hands made for great fallbacks when her thumbs tired. "I spent a little time in the US when I was young. They watched a lot of baseball. But Japan, hmm? Looking for the authentic Asian escort experience?"

"I like both sports, stupid names not withstandin'. Mmmmph. Yee-ah." His back arched into the pressure from her hands and he pulled away long enough to get rid of the shirt. His broad frame was dotted with various tattoos, most obscured by a combination of the shadow she cast and the current poor lighting. Her hands, however, found the scars that littered his body, a dozen stories scattered over the canvas of his flesh. The most familiar felt like bullet wounds. The others were... inconclusive. "Once or twice," he confessed. "Settlin' for something more steady never seemed like a good idea."

Patiently awaiting the removal of his shirt, she went right back to the task at hand when he leaned back again. No stranger to the feel of such marks under her fingertips, she restrained her inquisition for the time being in favor of working through the worst of the tension.

"It never is." She said after a few moments, one hand slipping around to brace against his chest to hold him back against a deeper rub of her fingers between his shoulder blades. "But doesn't mean you've gotta go for the hired girl thing."

He shrugged into the kneading of her hands before letting out another low, approving groan for what she was doing. Schmidt's body arched towards and away from her as the moments demanded, throwing a wry smile over a big shoulder. "There's a weird honor to it, I've learned. But in this place? Discretion is the better part of valor. Too many idiots thinking they can find 'true love' between someone else's legs. Shit gets all... tangled."

"Honor in paying women for sex? It's a business transaction, no honor in that. I mean, there's no lack of honor either. It just is, you know?" One hand still on his chest, she pressed hard with the opposite heel, working deep into the tissue until she could finally push against his flesh without feeling like a brick. "That's what happens when you get strings involved. That's what I've told Eeva about her dates, make it clear what you're looking for up front and then nobody can be salty down the line."

"But I can change him-slash-heeeer," he mimicked the words dramatically, leaning heavily back towards her while craning a look over her shoulder. It put them very close. He was grinning just a little.

"If only they realized that not everyone has to be a project," she laughed. Not too loud though, he was sitting right there. As he leaned back, she pulled her front hand back, dragging it up his chest and over the firm plane of his shoulder to give him a gentle pat. "How's that feel?"

"We fight for what we want things to be, not what they are or will be. Too many hopeless romantics and not enough horny pragmatists." He wriggled, just a little, when she dragged her hand along his chest, gooseflesh rising to the surface. Schmidt slouched back into her with a chuff. "Better than a cheap massage parlor trip, that's for sure."

"Battles, wars, there are sayings about those things." Her smile dimmed as she shrugged, her hands still settled on his shoulders. After a moment, even though he had just leaned back, she leaned forward to reach over him for her beer from the table, offering an impressive stretch of lean limbs and torso alike before she pulled back. "Figured I'd try to save you the trip. A little heat in the shower might help work the rest out."

He caught her on the return lean back, one hand slipping up and around the back of her neck. She was hooked and hauled down the short trip, the scruff on his face and his mouth making contact. The kiss had been meant for her cheek, a sweet and lingering tease of thanks for the massage that connected with the side of her neck instead. It was there that he rumbled the words. "I'm good for returnin' the favor whenever you want or need it."

He caught her and under his hand she stiffened but only for a moment before she discerned his intentions. Careful to keep a solid hold on her beer, she felt a warm flush creep into her face as her lips curled a closed mouth smile. A little shiver tickled her spine, prompting her to dance her fingers along the opposite shoulder from where she had leaned.

"See, I don't really carry my tension through my shoulders like you do," she mumbled, sucking at her bottom lip as she sat upright again.

"No? Where do you carry it then?" Companionable as they were being, he took the beer from her and tilted the bottle back for a generous swallow. It was held aloft for her retrieval.

"A little lower than that." More laughter followed. She took the bottle back for a drink of her own, at least of what was left after he got his hands on it.

"Ah." He made a sound in his throat, low and deep. "I think I remember where." When she finished the bottle he took it and leaned forward, placing the empty on the tabled and grabbing his own. Schmidt drank from it and then offered it to her.

"There ya go," she confirmed, unabashed. He traded out her empty for a fair reparation for his stolen drink with his own beer. Without hesitation she took it off his hand and swilled a mouthful before dangling it in front of his face. "And now you have Evia germs."

"The beer must be covering the taste of the germs," he teased, reaching up to drag his fingertips along her jaw. "Do you have them between your thighs too? If it tastes like that, I might still be hungry for more germs." The beer was taken with his free hand and swilled.

"Obviously why I bring beer over when I drop by." Evia grinned, a megawatt thing that put the other smiles to shame. His fingers grazed and she leaned over him to look at him sideways from right beside his face. "I mean, I did say if you ate your dinner you could have dessert. But honestly I'm curious as to what's in it for you still."

"Because you're fun," he confessed, little by little. "Because I like havin' you around. Because you're gorgeous. Because you taste good. Because I like doin' it. And because... that smile. You don't get to see it like I do. When you get so jaded and cynical, it's hard not to look at everything someone does and look for the ulterior motivate." Schmidt stroked his fingers along the back of her neck. "Well, guess what? The jig's up. There is no ulterior motive. I enjoy your company. Surprise!"

A handful of heartbeats passed in silence, a little smile catching her mouth and staying there, firm in its resolve. Then finally, she leaned to peck his cheek with a short lived kiss before sitting upright. "You're sweet. Sweeter than you think you are. Don't worry though, I won't tell anyone. Your secret's safe with me."

"This place isn't so different from Earth. It's full of bad shit, bad people, and worse circumstances. You can be wary of it. You can be untrustin'. But you can still be somewhat of a half way decent human being. It isn't the worst notion." The kiss to his cheek drew a sidelong look back up to her. "And you better not tell anyone, woman. Otherwise you'd be cut off. No more for your lady bits."

"You can be wary and still be a decent human being." It was half protest, half insistence. Still sitting behind him, she finally patted his shoulders then wiggled free of her perch, dropping with a bounce onto the couch beside him. "Like I said, your secret's safe. Nobody needs to know that sort of business anyways. Shoulders feel better?"

"Except for the... nevermind? Yeah. Perfect." Grinning, he reached out to squeeze the inside of her thigh in a tease before rising from the couch to fetch them a pair of fresh beers. "Will you keep all of my secrets then. Evia Cohen? Are you sure you could?"

He winked over a broad shoulder.

"It wasn't intentional, if that counts for anything," she told him. There was a light flush in her cheeks as she watched him head for the kitchen. Whatever was left of the two bottles, she took up to empty then stole another potato wedge for a quick bite before he came back. "You might be surprised. I'm quite the secret keeper."

"I got that feelin' about you." It was another small confession, a long neck bottle curled in the fingers of each hand as he made the return. Not yet sitting, Schmidt reached out to let the cold, condensation-wet surface of one bottle touch her neck as he hovered over her. "Maybe we'll swap some real secrets some day."

"Yeah? Why's that?" She was honestly curious, her head tilted to one side. It gave him plenty of room to chill her with the bottle and she quickly jolted back to get away from the cold, a pitched squeak hardly preserving her dignity. Grabbing at the bottle to try and get it out of his hands so he couldn't repeat that, she reined in her laughter and shook her head. "Maybe. Part of keeping secrets is never telling them."

"There's somethin' different about you. In your eyes and your body language. Intimately familiar." Still in his lean, he replaced the cold with warm, running his mouth over the offended spot with a fleeting grin before retaking his spot on the couch. "Point there. But like Neil Patrick Harris, they come out eventually."

"Yeah, maybe I don't see it. But whatever you say." She lifted the unopened beer as if to salute him but his mouth was finding her neck and making her back arch before she squirmed away. Curling one foot beneath her, she sat half sideways on her cushion as she pried the cap from her bottle. "You mean Neil Patrick Harris is gay? That's a tragedy."

"Doogie Houser, Mmmmm D." He lifted his own bottle for a deep pull, then a second, before setting it on the coffee table. "What're your plans for the rest of the weekend?"

It was asked, but he was reaching for her again, laying a claim to one athletic calf and pressing his fingers into the muscle there.

"He was adorable in that." Seldom did she watch TV though so it had been years since she last saw NPH in anything important. With her beer open, she took a trio of drinks but held on to it instead of setting it down.

"I'll probably be boring and spend the day tomorrow with Eeva and her dogs." It was Elia's turn to get out though she didn't add that on. The kneading of fingers into her muscle prompted a low groan, her eyes closing briefly. "What about you?"

"Work, probably. Maybe some long overdue range time. It's cool that you're tight with your sisters, though I guess it's not uncommon if you're triplets. Probably super close." He worked on her muscles from ankle to the back of her knee and back, repeating the process multiple times and taking his time as he did.

"It's been just the three of us for a long time. From the womb to the tomb," she said with a half cocked smile as she reopened her eyes. To help him out, she stretched the leg out closer to him, going so far as to drape it over his lap without kicking him. "If this is payback, I definitely approve."

"Fair's fair," he echoed her approval with a smile, reaching for the other leg until both were in his lap and the previously unattended calf was getting the same treatment. Like the first, he traveled up to the back of the knee and back down repeatedly. "Gotta be nice."

Evia took one more mouthful from the beer before setting it on the table and turning sideways fully on the couch to stretch both legs over his lap. They seemed a mile long, even in jeans, but still she wriggled on the cushion until she could lay back against the couch's arm with a groan. "See, now this is the proper way to put a girl over your lap. It's incredibly nice."

"I dunno. I bet you'd enjoy the other way too." Emboldened and with her lower legs thoroughly worked over, he slipped his hands around one shapely thigh and began to given them much the same treatment as her calves. "You would get a good massage that way too."

"You know? I've never seen the allure in that. Butt smacks in passing, or like in the moment? Totally cool. But intentionally? Not so much." She shook her head and stretched until her toes curled. His hands worked higher across tight denim and she relaxed further, sinking into the couch little by little. "That's an awfully bold declaration on your part."

"Never said anything about spankin'," he teased, reaching under her. Just the right around of pressure from his fingers dragged beneath the swell of her backside and then between her thighs to massage for a few fleeting moments. "And I'm sure you wouldn't regret it."

"Usually that's the reason to put someone over a knee. Or were you not disciplined as a child?" She paused, only for a moment to squirm as his hands teased and strayed from their course. "You know though, that would actually explain a lot of things, I think."

The broad side of his thumb rubbed heavily along the seam of her... jeans. Where the legs met. "I lived in a very strict household," he confessed quietly with a smile that came and went frequently. "Very strict."

One hand trailed slowly back down her leg, fingers digging in at the joint of her knee to clutch. It made pulling her into his lap a thing of relative ease.

"So then you know all about getting your butt whooped when you're bad." She smiled, her own lingering far longer than his ever did. He tugged her over, she didn't fight. All long legs and slim angles, she was an easy pull by a man of his size. It set her high in his lap though so she looked down at him, brows lifting.

"That's just called life. Also means gettin' your ass whooped when you're good too." Schmidt leaned in, unabashed in the way he ran his nose and the stubble of his jaw along her neck, inhaling her scent. He wouldn't have admitted it, but he was becoming fond of it.

"And did you turn out okay despite it?" She asked, leaning as he did. Her lip, just the edge at least, caught in her teeth. Held there as she swallowed. The woman wielded Shalimar like a weapon, subtle to the point it wasn't cloying but there enough that it was impossible to forget. Her hand dropped to settle over top of his knee, just beside her hip.

"Nah. I'm a mess. A walkin', talkin' mess." He handled her in his lap with relative ease, talking quietly against the sensitive skin of her neck between the occasional tastes and subtle inhales.

"We all are in our own ways. But you're alive. That's ultimately the determining factor of whether you're okay or not." It was a realistic touch of positivity from an otherwise cynical girl, coming with the lift of one shoulder. Careful in her perch on his lap, she slightly turned toward him rather than sitting full side saddle on his legs. It would likely ruin his exploration of her neck but gave her the ability to properly look at him. Two fingers touched the side of his jaw, lifted from where they had sat a moment ago on his knee.

"Normally I'd ask for permission, but..." She trailed off. The words were free of her lips and no sooner than that did she lean in for a tentative touch of her mouth to his, soft and curious but resiliently insistent. It all went downhill from there. Or maybe uphill?

--April 21st, 2017--

Passover had come to an end but the week had not gone back to normal. While Jeshurun celebrated the exodus of the Jews from Egypt long, long ago, Evia had said goodbye to Rhydin in favor of a trip back to Earth. The first stop had been Tel Aviv, easy considering the portal connection. But from there, she was taken to the furthest reaches of Norway, north of the Arctic Circle for reasons she didn't want to think about. When she returned, she left the bank to those just as capable of running it as she was. It left her to spend her time with her younger sister, trading shifts with the eldest Cohen while they maintained a constant vigil. One would watch Eeva's dogs and the other would watch Eeva herself. Every four hours they switched.

Eventually the fever broke. Evia's concern didn't abate fully but it did ebb, providing her the opportunity to try and get back to the life that she had constructed for herself, the straw house on a volatile foundation. The messages on her phone had stacked up, unread until late Friday afternoon. Among them, a thread of one sided messages from the odd mechanic she had taken to recently. They had eventually trailed off, likely due to her lack of response, a fact she didn't blame him for. Whether it was a fact she could make up for, she wasn't sure.

But Friday night found her at the side door to the garage, a paper wrapped bag in her grasp and her phone in the opposite hand. There was music coming from within despite the hour and a brief touch to the door's handle said it was unlocked. But she stood outside for almost five solid minutes before mustering up the energy to head inside, her shoulder bearing the brunt of the door's weight as she slid through. The typical business casual of a work week was nowhere to be seen, instead she had gone low key in form fitting jeans and a button down blouse to go with a pair of nondescript flats. Said flats scuffed at linoleum as she made the transition from lobby to the edge of the garage proper. He was situationally aware she had found, so she waited for him to give her his attention.

For all his love of baseball, Schmidt wasn't much of a three strikes guy. It wasn't organic enough for him. Numbers were great, but so many great (and terrible) things were accomplished by feeling them out. After the second unreturned call, he took the hint. Either she was too busy or she had lost interest. Given the small aura of mystery that surrounded the purportedly mundane banker, the odds were even.

After all, you couldn't feel everything out.

Life moved on. Perhaps he would see see her again. Until then, there was work. And then? There was work. A little bit of the latter occupied his attention that night, a pretty piece on a workbench obscured by the dented up Packard he had been working on earlier in the day. Evia's arrival had put her directly in the mechanic's line of sight without cluing her in to what he was doing, the open and close of the door drawing his attention for as long as it took to identify her in the light that swung when the door closed. A small, quick smile quirked his mouth but it was some moments before he said anything.

"Usually don't take clients this late, but it's not often I get my hands on a chassis as pretty as yours, so I could be persuaded to make an exception." Translation: Hi.

She owed the man no answers, no explanations, no excuses. But he didn't ask for them either. Maybe it's what brought her back. By and large, her social circle was a small one, full of people who fell into one of two categories. The first knew everything. Eeva, Elia, Ezra, many of the people in Jeshurun. They collectively bore their secrets with the strength that only a community could provide. The second knew little but had the sense not to ask, not to pry too much into the underlying aspects of the pretty facade that she wore so well.

Schmidt fell into the second. It was a smaller circle, exclusive even. Evia didn't mind. So there in at the garage's edge, she offered him a tired smile, closed lipped and crooked as she held up the paper wrapped bounty. At the very least there was a handle of something in it. "I know it's late... but I was wondering if you might want company..."

"Can I take you to the shower with me?" His jeans, wife beater, and skin were all smudged with grease and other things, the smell of gun powder and cleaning oil more prevalent than usual. He hadn't made it to the orange pumice soap yet.

Whatever he was doing. Schmidt was at it for a short while longer before working his way around the hood of the Packard to close the distance to her. "It's good to see you. It was gettin' boring without you around."

Her teeth worked against her lip until it was caught between them. When her teeth gave way, she sucked at it for just a moment as she considered his question. The underlying scent of gunpowder made her think of Eeva and nearly derailed her gusto but after a few moments, the smile returned. "I have the feeling if you did, neither of us would get clean."

Paper crinkled, her grip adjusted itself around the wrapped bottle's neck. "Yeah... I had... stuff. Eeva was a little under the weather," truth, "but she's doing better now." Less of a truth. Still the smile remained, tired but genuine. "So... I figured... tequila and bad decisions were in order."

"You don't owe me any explanation," he offered back to her, drawing close enough to smooth rough fingers down one of her arms. "You're a big girl. I'm a big boy."

The hand smoothed down over her hip and gave a light swat across her ass, before peeling away to head to the stairs. "Lock the door and flip the light." Up he went.

"Owe, no. But I felt like an asshole taking off like that." Add to it the essentially ignoring him throughout the rest of the week and she truly felt like a jerk. A tired jerk, but a jerk just the same. Through the silken fabric of her blouse his rough fingers still managed to leave a trail of goosebumps on her skin. The denim around her hip at least dulled the sensation and steadied her hand when she half-heartedly swatted after him in return. Bottle in hand, she turned off the Open sign, locked the door, and flipped the lobby light before the soft soles of her flats carried her with minimal clatter up the metal stairs to the second level.

"You can make it up to me." The words touched her ears when she reached the top of the stairs. "I'll take a kiss. I pick the spot." She was gifted a tongue-in-cheek smile, he was already peeling out of his clothes, leaving a trail of clothes towards the bathroom. "I will collect at your earliest convenience."

The door to the second floor bathroom was pushed open with the shoulder and he disappeared inside, his voice carrying back down the hall. "You can sit on the sink or toilet and keep me company if you want. Bring the booze."

"That seems like a fair enough payment," she said with a low chuckle. That he hadn't been weird about things further reiterated just why she had come there that night. Her purse was set down near the couch and with it she kicked out of her flats. On bare feet she padded after him, navigating the trail of shed clothing with ease until she too stepped into the bathroom. By then the water was running and the man was inside the shower proper. The counter put her closer to the shower so she lifted up onto her tip toes until she could wiggle her denim clad ass up on it. The crinkle of paper being opened for the bottle within preceded her voice. "You much of a Patron guy?"

"I am when it's free," he told her from behind the frosted glass of the sliding shower door, his broad frame silhouetted by the dim light of the bathroom. "It'll be like semi-expensive shower beer, just a little fancier. Your sister feelin' better? I know a place near here that makes some good soups. Most of them are probably even kosher."

"I may have snagged it from Eeva's liquor cabinet... so, I guess it's free?" Evia was seldom a tequila girl but tonight, well, it had been one of those weeks. She broke the seal on the bottle and set the cap aside. The bag was rustled again and the quiet schick of metal slipping past metal was likely lost to the pitter patter of the shower's stream. She worked quickly until setting upon her knee was a neatly sliced lime. A streak of lime juice made a thin path along her pant leg, wiped there to keep the acidic juice off the switch as she put it away. To dull the bite of tequila, she wedged one chunk of lime into her cheek before swilling a swig straight from the bottle. Her mouth puckered but she leaned to offer the bottle around the edge of the door. "Tequila's terrible, but body shots aren't bad. And... yeah, she's alright. She's fine." Her tone said it was all she wanted to say on the subject.

"You offerin' me body shots now, Ev?" His hair lathered with shampoo, Schmidt poked his head around the opened far door of the showered, quirking a fleeting grin. "You have a few pretty places that might be fun." He reached for the bottle and tipped it back for a deep swig, no lime. The bottle was passed back before he disappeared again. "Didn't happen to bring food too, did you?"

"...Yes." She said after a moment, serious rather than teasing. Her tongue ran along the lime in her mouth, the sour juice coating her tongue. She took the bottle back with a smile and a swig, content to drink it straight in gulps long enough to make a bartender cringe. "No, sorry... just tequila and lime... mostly in case you weren't here or something."

"Well then, get your sweet ass over here, doll." Schmidt stuck his head out from behind the shower door again, giving her a long look up and down, then a lick of his lips. "I could use another taste."

The soft thud of both feet meeting tile sounded out soon after as she slid off the counter and stood up straight. The Patron bottle was carefully balanced even though it was nowhere near full anymore. Angling herself closer to the open side of the shower, she offered the bottle out to him with a smile that could only be classed as demurely wicked, if such a thing were possible.

The bottle was taken up, long fingers curling around the neck to bring it to his lips. Schmidt drank deeply, reaching for her at the same time with his free hand. That hand caught her by the back of her swan-like neck and brought her mouth up against his in a sudden, deep kiss. There was no chaser better.

She lingered nearby, ready to take the bottle off his hands once he was done. Some part of her new his mouth was incoming though she hadn't expected it so soon after the connection of his lips to the bottle. Crashing into him, one hand braced against his wet chest and caught the spray of the shower behind the guard of the frosted door. Always so restrained typically, the week's burdens had her seeking a chance to a let go and let go she did, kissing him with abandon as if she could get drunk off the taste of tequila on his tongue.

"Mmmf," he made the sound against the soft warmth of her mouth, his tongue seeking both hers and the lime, lapping of the taste of both as he devoured her mouth. She was held into that kiss for a long, long time, soft breaths stolen when the urgency of the kiss occasionally separated their lips. It couldn't last forever, and didn't, but by the time her mouth was pulled from his so they could gulp down much needed breaths, his hand hand hooked into the front of her jeans to keep her from retreating.

Errant water soaked into her sleeve, drenching her hand and wrist with warmth as she faded into the fervent tangle of tongues. Tequila and lime gave way to breathlessness of a long lived kiss and by the time they broke, her cheeks were flushed from more than the billowing heat of the shower. She didn't pull back against his hold, her eyes on his for a few unreadable moments. The bottle was freed from his grasp and drawn to her lips for a slow suck at its open mouth without looking away from him. After she swallowed, she whispered. "You're gonna run out of hot water..."

"It's a big tank," he mumbled back, kissing her again. It was shorter than the last but no less fervent. It ended with a fast trail of suckling kisses traveling along her jaw and down her neck, little bites mixed between. "Or are you afraid I'll drag you in?"

"Size queen," she teased, her mouth pulling into a smirk even as he kissed her. The bottom lip caught between her teeth as he forged a hot trail down her neck, her head tilting as a little shiver tickled its way down her spine. "Told you neither of us would get clean that way and wet denim's a pain in the ass to take off..."

A low laugh was chuffed against her neck, the hand holding the bottle moving behind him to shut off the water. Another kiss was more forceful after, the pressure and the momentum coaxing her backwards so Schmidt could step out onto the fluffy bath mat. "You taste good," he told her between kisses.

He was wet and that shirt was silk, even if it was already partially wet. So she had plenty of reason to step backwards, doing so on her tip toes with a learned grace that kept her upright despite their tangle. "I taste like tequila and lime... which I've got more of over on the counter..."

"You taste like a lot of things. Just depends on where I lick." Schmidt was naked and unabashed about it, biting at her jaw before moving to lean against the sink. He was already lifting the bottle for another pull.

"A fair point, I'll give you that." Nope. No denials. Not tonight.