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→ sweet dreams are made of this.

Who: Irene Adler and YOU YES YOU
What: Uh- work, shopping, drinking, seeing the sights, picking up chicks, going to dinner, anything you like.
Where: The Vault, various boutiques, restaurants, gay clubs, out on the street, anywhere at all. If you can think of somewhere to be, Irene is quite possibly there.
When: Here all week, baby.
Notes: Just pick where you're setting it and say when/where they are in the header. It needn't be somewhere mentioned here! If you think they could run into each other elsewhere, then go ahead- and if you think it ought to be an arranged meeting rather than a chance one, then that's probably fine too.
Warnings: Sex, drinking, kink, the Vault...and Irene.

Irene's life has changed since coming to Baedal.

Technically, superficially, her life has improved, which she doubts happens to many people once are magically transported against their will to a place where you oughtn't to look too closely at, say, shadows, because there's almost always something that's going to lurk there- but since when was back home safe, exactly?

Here, at least, she can work properly. She likes the Vault, even if she's used to being her own boss. It's enormous and extravagant, dirty and debauched and full of people she likes, whether they're her coworkers or her clients- it feels like a home away from home.

Her job, of course, doesn't stop and start with brandishing a whip. No, she'd get bored too easily that way. It's fun, but it's only what happens on the surface. What she does is single out people who interest her, who can give her something- whether that's money or influence or just fun. She knows how to spot public figures afraid of being noticed, tugging at their suits and sweating- she knows which people don't want her and which want her so much they have to pretend that she's the last thing on their minds. She knows whose CiD she wants to look through while they're distracted (panting, eyes closed, unconscious, sobbing, drugged, drunk- whatever, as long as they trust her and she trusts herself). She enjoys her time at the Vault, and watches a number of acts between working, but never forgets that she's there to do her job.

When she's free in the evenings she can go out, a strange feeling for someone who is so used to being on the run. There is, of course, Mycroft Holmes to contend with, but she really can't imagine him sampling the nightlife. She's careful not to become a regular anywhere just in case, though more often than not she's found in gay clubs. She doesn't often go home alone; in the mornings, she's polite and kind but ensures that the women in her bed aren't in her bed for too long, and doesn't make use of any CiD numbers they might leave.

And then there's money, fashion, food, exploration, a whole new world. Irene loves to travel, and it's not really travelling when you're running. Baedal changes daily and she's barely seen half of the city, or that's what it feels like. She dines out often, alone or with some of the connections (friends?) she's made, and she thanks her stars that her job pays well, because she has a whole new wardrobe to build up.

Irene Adler, therefore, is living again. And if she sometimes finds herself alone, with no distractions, and feels claustrophobic, knowing that she is in the middle of the city and there is no world outside of it, knowing that she can't hop on a plane with a faked passport and be someone else somewhere else, knowing that she is trapped-

-then that is a very minor detail.

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Irene is inspecting jewellery, contemplating earrings with a thoughtful seriousness that some might deem excessive. She is distracted, however, by Cindy angling herself in front of the mirror, and takes a few moments to analyse the dress out of force of habit; she's an ardent observer (and critic) of other people's fashion.

"Suits you," she says, glancing back at the earrings as she does so. "But for the bow. Know anyone who could alter it?"

Wiggling her bare toes in the store's fluffy carpeting, Cindy purses her lips to one side just before noticing the dark-haired woman watching her. There's an easy answer to that question and it comes in the form of Cindy ripping off the bow herself and tossing it to the ground.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Hey, she broke it, she'll pay for it. Who's going to argue with her?

That's greeted not with shock and horror but by Irene throwing her head back and giving a proper laugh, looking positively delighted.

"Much better," she says. "Something to be said for taking matters into your own hands."

(Had it been her, she might have gotten someone else to rip it off and then tried to get a discount due to damage- but that is just Irene being Irene, and she admires the other woman for having the guts and presence of mind to pull it off).

No, the shock and horror is coming from the shopgirl over at the register, but this is a pricey boutique. She's been trained to keep her mouth shut about the people who are coming to drop big marks on designer duds.

A girl can't depend on anybody but herself," Cindy muses, turning back to the mirror and ripping off a couple more stray thread. It does look much better. The bow made it seem like she had something to hide at her waistline and well, she wasn't Jack Sprat's wife. It was unnecessary. Also, who said she wasn't going to still ask for a discount?

In her reflection, Cindy can watch the woman inspecting the earring display, to which she clucks her tongue. "Don't buy those here. They're cheaper at the shop on Steper Road in East Gidd." One favor for another?

A girl can't depend on anybody but herself- Irene looks approving. Those words could have come from her own mouth.

"Oh?" Irene replies to her advice. "Thanks for the tip-off." It feels strange, having to worry about budgeting- not much, seeing as her occupation can be practiced just about everywhere and she charges high rates for it, but much more than she's previously been accustomed to.

She throws a smile at the attendant at the till, utterly unrepentant, and moves closer to Cindy, inspecting a sheer black dress as she does so. She murmurs, "Poor girl looks like she might cry if we keep this up," referencing the shopgirl and sounding utterly unfazed- even amused.

In the meantime, Cindy unzips the dress right there in the middle of the store and picks up another one in her favorite color of red, a strapless number with black lace trim. She has no qualms about stripping down in public. Whoever doesn't like it can just not look.

"Let her," she replies, tugging the dress above her breasts. "It'll build character."

Irene takes lazy note of the other woman's body- well, she's there- without any kind of shock. She herself definitely approves of public nudity- especially when it throws other people.

"Red's more your colour, now I see it," she remarks, smiling.

There's a reason why Cindy likes red. It's a power color and who can ignore a woman in head to toe red walking into a room like she owns the place? Cindy doesn't like to be ignored. No, she likes to be noticed when she wants to be noticed, even if that means taking it past the limit, only because it entertains her.

With her back turned towards the woman, Cindy throws a request that sounds a little more like a demand over her shoulder. "Zip me up."

Irene likes red- but black is more her colour. It fulfils the same purpose, nonetheless; it's a warning colour, a predatory colour.

In response to what she could swear is an order, Irene bites her tongue, grinning hard, her face half turned away from Cindy. Best not to obey outright. Best never to obey outright.

"Ask the shopgirl," she suggests, picking out a floor length black silk dress and stroking the material, "my character's built to excess."

Baedal certainly likes its warned-for and predatory women, doesn't it?

"You say that as if I give a shit. I asked you," she shoots back with an equally as large grin. Best not to give in so easily. Best never to give in so easily.

"No, you didn't," Irene says, voice low and rich with amusement, holding the dress against herself and swiveling to regard her reflection over Cindy's shoulder, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

"That, dear, was an order, not a request. I know them when I hear them, trust me on this. A request works better with a please."

Oh, Cindy likes this one. Saucy little minx. It's been a long while since somebody truly went toe to toe with her and didn't bore her in two point five seconds. But she isn't giving up or giving in with a please.

"Just because you didn't hear the question marks doesn't mean it wasn't a request." But it was truly an order; far be it from Cindy to tell the woman she is right. No, it's better to just stand here and smirk.

"I think I said I know orders when I hear them," she repeats, casting a quick, sharp smile at Cindy. She's enjoying herself enormously, of course. She loves a challenge. "Though usually I prefer giving them."

She strokes the fabric of the dress, flattening it against her stomach, raising her eyebrows. "What do you think, dear? It's dreadful, isn't it- the thin line between minimal and plain."

"Too bad you didn't give this one this time." Her back is still turned to Irene expectantly. Sooner or later, somebody will have to give. It might end up being the frustrated shopgirl when she throws them both out.

With a slight turn of her head, Cindy gives the dress a glance. It is rather plain. Black is for funerals or spy missions. "I don't do either."

"Hm. Sometimes you've got to let things speak for themselves, I think."

Yeah, but Irene, when you want to do that you wear high heels and nothing else.

There are dresses that scream I don't have to try and dresses which scream I don't want to try and Irene decides that the one she's currently holding up against herself is the latter. She gives the mirror one more narrow-eyed stare and whirls away from it, replacing the dress on the rack and picking up another, also black, but rather more daring. (Read: sparkly). "Lovely as those shoulderblades are, dear, aren't you getting cold?"

"Nope," Cindy quickly shoots back, turning back towards the mirror. "I was thinking of creating a new fad in a world where rude people don't listen to your requests." Clearly this isn't Cindy backing down, just turn the standoff in a new direction. Eh, she's not feeling this dress anyway, so once again, she strips down but this time, she snatches the dress from Irene's grip.

How does she like them apples?

Irene barely misses a beat, her eyebrows raising.

"That's so kind of you," she drawls, as if she's just handed the dress to Cindy to hold onto for a moment- and then she reaches behind herself, pulling down a zip of her own and, with a graceful stretch, letting her dress pool at her feet.

When in doubt (not that she is ever in doubt, what an absurd idea, but hypothetically)- take your clothes off.

Today- probably fortunately- Irene is actually wearing underwear. Comprehensive underwear, in fact, covering all sorts of sins with plenty of black lace. Really, she deserves some kind of award. The shop girl doesn't seem to appreciate this, and is in fact growing steadily more and more reminiscent of a (very stylish) deer in the headlights.

"So difficult to undress with your hands full, isn't it?" Irene holds out a hand for the return of the dress, smiling brightly. "You're a sweetheart. Even if I do think you've been terribly underexposed to people with spine."

It's a sure bet that the shopgirl never expected this to happen to her. Sure, maybe she knew she would have to deal with angry customers expecting discounts out of nowhere and perhaps for her to kiss their undeserving asses, but women with not a hint of shame undressing where all and sundry can see? Never. She really doesn't get paid enough for this.

On the other hand, Cindy isn't getting paid for this but she is enjoying it anyway. With a little shake of her head and an amused eyebrow raise, she pulls on the dress she's stolen from Irene's grasp. Good thing this time there's no zipper feature. "It really is. The world is just filled with problems that few people notice." With a turn at the waist to check out how her ass looks in this get up, Cindy nods with approval and slaps Irene five, as if that was what she was asking. "I do believe I have enough spine for all."

Irene's eyebrows raise in surprise when Cindy gives her five, and then she grins- clever girl. Not many people ever stand up to her.

"But do you have the colouring for top to toe black?" Irene points out in prompt response, stepping from the circle of her dress on the ground to briefly examine herself in the mirror- for no particular reason besides aren't I lovely.

Too bad. Irene's life would be so much better if Cindy had entered it earlier.

Isn't she lovely? Cindy gives her an inspecting glance from head to toe and shrugs. She doesn't disapprove, but women aren't usually her thing to navelgaze. Irene's tits are nice, though, but Cindy knows hers are better.

"I have the coloring for whatever the fuck I want," she replies with a overly confident tone, taking a moment to palm one breast just because she can. Now this dress she'll drop marks for.

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