[ That grin is simultaneously cheap and expensive. Arthur feels like a million dollars with it turned towards him and it's aggravating to the core. Because honestly, there's so many red flags here he doesn't even know where to start.
So while his knee jerk reaction would be to frown, he just takes the grin in impassively, studying Eames' face. He knows he's making that one expression that Mal hates, the one she calls dead inside. Time to see how it passes here. ]
"All sorts of things"? How about some specificity?
Speci-... [He trails off, raising his brows, though somehow still looking amused.] I'm pretty sure Mal would have my tongue if I uttered the sorts of skills I was thinking about.
[Especially around her special Arthur. But he calms his flirtations a little. After all, he's here on business.]
Mostly by trial and error, if I'm being honest. But the concept was introduced to me by another person. Would you like to see me in action?
[ Every part of him wants to press, because that's who he is. Always looking for answers. Arthur lives on details, it's part of why Mal signed him on. He could remember everything after coming topside from a dream, an invaluable skill in their still blossoming field.
He knows in the past it's annoyed people to every extent as well. Eames seems to just be amused by it. ]
Mal? No. Dom might look like you performed sacrilege though.
[ Mal is French, her sensibilities are very different. ]
Not gonna wait o– [ He's cut off as Mal pokes her head in, the sound of keys jangling in her hand. ]
Boys, Dom and I are going to pick up dinner. Play nice.
[ And with that, the door opens and closes a few moments later, the rumble of the engine in the drive getting quieter and quieter. ]
[ Because they aren't the type of people to withhold parts of themselves. Mal and Dom might be helping the military or at least something military adjacent with all their research and findings, but they're still civilians. They're open and honest and read like a pair of books. ]
Yeah, come on, this way.
[ Arthur leads him towards the living room, where Mal had arranged the furniture in a cozy little circle about three months prior. The chairs are comfortable, easy to relax in and even easier to wake up in. As he opens the PASIV case and unwinds tubing, he flicks his gaze to Eames, who's pushed his shirtsleeves up. He finds himself pausing to look, unable to take his eyes away from the shift of muscle along his forearm, near his wrist.
Get ahold of yourself.
Blinking, he holds out the IV for Eames. ]
Two and half minutes on the timer. That gives us about thirty minutes under. Is that enough for you?
[He notices that look, and it fuels a fire within him, one that's started burning since the moment he laid eyes on the other man. He really wishes he was more sure of his relationship with the Cobbs and that this wasn't technically work. He'd be attempting to woo him to bed right away.
Maybe it was best, if he didn't do that. He takes the IV and slips it in the vein, nodding.]
Plenty of time.
[He settles into a comfy armchair, putting his feet up on an ottoman and crossing them at the ankles.] Ready when you are, darling.
[ He's careful not to let their fingers touch when he hands the IV over. Arthur's already having some difficulty keeping himself in check, there's no reason to add fuel to the fire. Having been in the military, he likes to think his self control is better than this. But maybe he's just weak to very specific people.
Ruffians.
Clinically, he slides his own IV in, makes sure the strap is adjusted comfortably. Then he takes a seat in his favorite chair, the one with the knitted afghan thrown across the back of it. He leans forward, fingers over the depressor in the center of the PASIV. ]
Good night, Mr. Eames.
[ Pushing the button is the last thing he remembers. When the haze is blinked away, he's built them an upscale club. It has an edge of vintage, art deco, all polished brass, high ceilings, and chair rails along the walls. Arthur, dreamt into a nicer suit, sips champagne near the dark wood bar and waits. ]
[He watches his slender fingers press down on the depressor, hears Arthur's lovely voice, and he prepares himself once he's blinked in the sight of the club.
He's slipped into a female form, with long, dark, curled hair and deep brown eyes. Showing up beside Arthur would make it easy to tell, so he situates himself at the bar a few chairs away. None of the patrons interact with him immediately, but soon, an employee carries a note to Arthur -
[ It's a few minutes of waiting, something he's thankfully very good at. An employee comes over, passes him a folded note, handwriting neat and well spaced.
Find me if you can, huh? So it's hide and seek.
Pocketing the note, he finishes his drink, sets the fluted glass on the countertop. He leans back, scanning his eyes over the crowd. There are projections dancing, movement making them seem like a blur. If Eames wanted to play hardball, he'd be out on the dance floor, the constant motion making it more difficult to pick out differences.
But then, if forgers are supposed to situate themselves, he might not be looking in the right spot.
Glancing down the bar, he skips over the woman seated nearby. She's beautiful, with dark curls and classically manicured nails. Something about how she's sitting nags at him, but he frowns, considers the bartender instead, who's in the middle of pouring a complex drink. She's blonde, petite thing, hair pulled back in a sensible bun, simple stud earrings the only embellishment.
If he were in a forger's shoes, that's what he'd pick. Though, what the hell does he know about forging? Nothing.
Time for a different tactic. Clearly just trying to pick him out of a crowd isn't going to work. Cobb had been right– Eames is very good. ]
[The woman glances over at him with a smile, though it doesn't have the edge of leering that Eames' had to it.]
Seems that way tonight. Unless you'd like to join me.
[She's stunning, but some of Eames' projections just are. Her lips are red, lashes long. She's a conglomeration of his secondary school English teacher, a girl he'd met in Prague, and a model that he'd forged once. Her legs are long and displayed well with her short, black dress. She looks coy, like she's waiting for him to buy her a drink, the one in her hand empty. She's just obvious enough to make Arthur question her, but not enough to make it obvious, and she's cool as Eames is hot under the collar.]
[ She's a study in subtle mannerisms. Her smile is warm, just warm enough. There's an intelligence there too, behind the perfectly lined eyes and professional application of blush.
Her dress is short but not slutty, long legs well shaped; the outline of her calves is obvious from the way her heels shift the muscle. Arthur lets his gaze wander, picking out details here and there. The lower neckline of her dress shows a small splay of freckles along the tops of her breasts. Where the fabric starts, there's a slightly paler line, like she's been in the sun.
If this is Eames, which he's getting the suspicion it is, the work is remarkable. ]
Sex on the beach, [Eames manages to say without grinning like a two year-old, and the bartender nods and pauses for Arthur's drink order. The woman's carefully crafted, to be attractive and someone to be attracted to, a pleasant surprise for a mark to come across perhaps. Eames knows Arthur has him already (which is impressive on its own) but he's still proud of the forge.]
[ The bartender is waiting, so he flicks his gaze over, deciding. ]
Gin and tonic.
[ She goes off to make their orders, motions crisp and efficient. Just like any of his projections.
And that's what does it, what makes the pieces fall into place. While the woman in the seat next to him has a carefully cultivated class, something about her motions aren't as familiar. There's a languid sense of grace that only his projection of Mal sometimes carries with her.
Their drinks arrive promptly, settled on cardboard coasters and with delicate garnish. ]
I have to admit, I'm impressed. [ He murmurs it over the rim of his drink, taking a careful sip. ]
[The woman smiles, glancing over at him, and then, like a snake shedding its skin, with a shudder, like a wink, Eames returns to his natural form, clothes somehow crisper and more attractive within the dream.
Eames grins, his legs crossed neatly.] Knew you had me. I'm impressed as well. Takes men twice your senior twice as long to sniff me out most of the time.
[He plays with the straw in his drink, smiling genuinely, happy to have found a clever coworker.] What tipped you off?
[ It's amazing to watch as the woman shimmers around the edges, just barely, and suddenly it's Eames in her place. There's nearly no disturbance; all of his projections just happily go on their way. Even the bartender, who can't be more than five feet away.
Arthur's eyebrows go up a little. ]
I know my projections. [ Which is really I know myself. ] You were close, but coy isn't really a trait that transfers to any of them. Good details, though. The freckles were a nice touch.
[Eames smirks.] Thanks. Fucked a gorgeous woman with freckles on her chest once. Always wanted to forge some.
[It's bait, him watching him to see how he'll react to the conversation having turned to this. Making it personal. And sexual. He watches him carefully with an even face, taking a sip of his drink.]
[ He knows it's bait. Even without the smirk and the even expression afterwards. Arthur knows exactly how he comes across, which is stiff. Somehow that goads people into trying to get under his skin in every way imaginable.
So he doesn't rise to it, just sort of shrugs it all off before he glances at his watch. It's been close to twenty minutes, ten minutes off from their timer up top. ]
Sure, the forger is talented. Insanely, crazily talented. But he's also a bit of an asshole and Arthur takes particular pleasure in knocking people like him down a peg. Professionally neutral, he dreams up a gun, unwilling to wait out the extra seven minutes they have left. ]
Then I'll see you topside.
[ The gun goes off and then he's in the Cobb's living room, staring up at the ceiling. He slides the IV out and dismantles his section of tubing, intent on cleaning everything out before the next run. ]
[Eames huffs when he's gone. Well that backfired spectacularly. He dreams up a gun himself, and he blinks awake in an armchair. He hesitates, then takes the IV from his wrist.]
I shouldn't have said that. Down there.
[He can admit that much. 'Sorry,' is a million times harder, though.]
[ Which is true. He isn't exactly excusing the behavior, but it's obvious he's letting it slide for now. They don't know each other well and that's half the battle of knowing what to say and when to say it. Arthur unplugs the IV tubing that Eames had used, takes both coils to the nearby kitchen to carefully rinse them out.
When he turns the tap back off and leaves the tubing to dry, he comes back into the living room, toweling his hands off. ]
For a moment, he's silent, taking in the fact that he was just called darling. It probably shows on his face, the raised eyebrows, a bit askance. Is it an English thing? Or is this just an Eames thing? ]
Not if you can stay on task.
[ Since that's what really matters. Being able to get results. Never mind how this could be irritating as all hell. Arthur can push through it. ]
[Something flits over his face then, though, something more sincere and less... all of that before stuff. He's impressed Arthur's putting aside their differences.]
You're smart and capable. I appreciate that.
[Is what he ends up saying quietly. He rifles through his pockets.] You smoke?
[ Though he does believe him. Even if it's just a grain of belief, since forging is an art of multitasking. Keeping hold of the person's image, the way they move, how they speak. Arthur already knows he'd have difficulty even trying to do it. But then, he turns his powers of observation to a different end. For him, it's all in the details, in knowing the ins and outs of people and understanding the why.
Eames surprises him again, this time due to the easily given compliment. There might be a small blush filling out across his face. ]
Never picked it up. [ Having to keep up a continual peak form while in the military has stayed with him in small parts. Not to mention that he was really broke until about six months ago. ]
They'll be back pretty soon. If you want to avoid Dom judging your habits, may as well get that smoke in. Back porch is through there.
[ Arthur gestures towards the nice set of french doors leading out. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
So while his knee jerk reaction would be to frown, he just takes the grin in impassively, studying Eames' face. He knows he's making that one expression that Mal hates, the one she calls dead inside. Time to see how it passes here. ]
"All sorts of things"? How about some specificity?
[ Does he really want to know? ]
That's quite the skill set. You learned this how?
no subject
[Especially around her special Arthur. But he calms his flirtations a little. After all, he's here on business.]
Mostly by trial and error, if I'm being honest. But the concept was introduced to me by another person. Would you like to see me in action?
no subject
He knows in the past it's annoyed people to every extent as well. Eames seems to just be amused by it. ]
Mal? No. Dom might look like you performed sacrilege though.
[ Mal is French, her sensibilities are very different. ]
Not gonna wait o– [ He's cut off as Mal pokes her head in, the sound of keys jangling in her hand. ]
Boys, Dom and I are going to pick up dinner. Play nice.
[ And with that, the door opens and closes a few moments later, the rumble of the engine in the drive getting quieter and quieter. ]
Alright, fine.
no subject
Then let's get to it, [he says once the Cobbs are gone and Arthur's agreed to it.] I rarely get my hands on PASIVs... mind if we use yours?
[He unbuttons his sleeves as he speaks, pushing them up and folding them over, revealing the tail end of tattoos on both biceps.]
no subject
[ Because they aren't the type of people to withhold parts of themselves. Mal and Dom might be helping the military or at least something military adjacent with all their research and findings, but they're still civilians. They're open and honest and read like a pair of books. ]
Yeah, come on, this way.
[ Arthur leads him towards the living room, where Mal had arranged the furniture in a cozy little circle about three months prior. The chairs are comfortable, easy to relax in and even easier to wake up in. As he opens the PASIV case and unwinds tubing, he flicks his gaze to Eames, who's pushed his shirtsleeves up. He finds himself pausing to look, unable to take his eyes away from the shift of muscle along his forearm, near his wrist.
Get ahold of yourself.
Blinking, he holds out the IV for Eames. ]
Two and half minutes on the timer. That gives us about thirty minutes under. Is that enough for you?
no subject
Maybe it was best, if he didn't do that. He takes the IV and slips it in the vein, nodding.]
Plenty of time.
[He settles into a comfy armchair, putting his feet up on an ottoman and crossing them at the ankles.] Ready when you are, darling.
no subject
Ruffians.
Clinically, he slides his own IV in, makes sure the strap is adjusted comfortably. Then he takes a seat in his favorite chair, the one with the knitted afghan thrown across the back of it. He leans forward, fingers over the depressor in the center of the PASIV. ]
Good night, Mr. Eames.
[ Pushing the button is the last thing he remembers. When the haze is blinked away, he's built them an upscale club. It has an edge of vintage, art deco, all polished brass, high ceilings, and chair rails along the walls. Arthur, dreamt into a nicer suit, sips champagne near the dark wood bar and waits. ]
no subject
He's slipped into a female form, with long, dark, curled hair and deep brown eyes. Showing up beside Arthur would make it easy to tell, so he situates himself at the bar a few chairs away. None of the patrons interact with him immediately, but soon, an employee carries a note to Arthur -
Find me if you can, Arthur. You have one guess.
- And the ball's in Arthur's court.]
no subject
Find me if you can, huh? So it's hide and seek.
Pocketing the note, he finishes his drink, sets the fluted glass on the countertop. He leans back, scanning his eyes over the crowd. There are projections dancing, movement making them seem like a blur. If Eames wanted to play hardball, he'd be out on the dance floor, the constant motion making it more difficult to pick out differences.
But then, if forgers are supposed to situate themselves, he might not be looking in the right spot.
Glancing down the bar, he skips over the woman seated nearby. She's beautiful, with dark curls and classically manicured nails. Something about how she's sitting nags at him, but he frowns, considers the bartender instead, who's in the middle of pouring a complex drink. She's blonde, petite thing, hair pulled back in a sensible bun, simple stud earrings the only embellishment.
If he were in a forger's shoes, that's what he'd pick. Though, what the hell does he know about forging? Nothing.
Time for a different tactic. Clearly just trying to pick him out of a crowd isn't going to work. Cobb had been right– Eames is very good. ]
Lovely lady like yourself drinking alone?
no subject
Seems that way tonight. Unless you'd like to join me.
[She's stunning, but some of Eames' projections just are. Her lips are red, lashes long. She's a conglomeration of his secondary school English teacher, a girl he'd met in Prague, and a model that he'd forged once. Her legs are long and displayed well with her short, black dress. She looks coy, like she's waiting for him to buy her a drink, the one in her hand empty. She's just obvious enough to make Arthur question her, but not enough to make it obvious, and she's cool as Eames is hot under the collar.]
no subject
Her dress is short but not slutty, long legs well shaped; the outline of her calves is obvious from the way her heels shift the muscle. Arthur lets his gaze wander, picking out details here and there. The lower neckline of her dress shows a small splay of freckles along the tops of her breasts. Where the fabric starts, there's a slightly paler line, like she's been in the sun.
If this is Eames, which he's getting the suspicion it is, the work is remarkable. ]
What are you having?
no subject
no subject
Gin and tonic.
[ She goes off to make their orders, motions crisp and efficient. Just like any of his projections.
And that's what does it, what makes the pieces fall into place. While the woman in the seat next to him has a carefully cultivated class, something about her motions aren't as familiar. There's a languid sense of grace that only his projection of Mal sometimes carries with her.
Their drinks arrive promptly, settled on cardboard coasters and with delicate garnish. ]
I have to admit, I'm impressed. [ He murmurs it over the rim of his drink, taking a careful sip. ]
no subject
Eames grins, his legs crossed neatly.] Knew you had me. I'm impressed as well. Takes men twice your senior twice as long to sniff me out most of the time.
[He plays with the straw in his drink, smiling genuinely, happy to have found a clever coworker.] What tipped you off?
no subject
Arthur's eyebrows go up a little. ]
I know my projections. [ Which is really I know myself. ] You were close, but coy isn't really a trait that transfers to any of them. Good details, though. The freckles were a nice touch.
no subject
[It's bait, him watching him to see how he'll react to the conversation having turned to this. Making it personal. And sexual. He watches him carefully with an even face, taking a sip of his drink.]
no subject
[ He knows it's bait. Even without the smirk and the even expression afterwards. Arthur knows exactly how he comes across, which is stiff. Somehow that goads people into trying to get under his skin in every way imaginable.
So he doesn't rise to it, just sort of shrugs it all off before he glances at his watch. It's been close to twenty minutes, ten minutes off from their timer up top. ]
You can keep it together under duress?
no subject
Yeah, of course I can.
no subject
Sure, the forger is talented. Insanely, crazily talented. But he's also a bit of an asshole and Arthur takes particular pleasure in knocking people like him down a peg. Professionally neutral, he dreams up a gun, unwilling to wait out the extra seven minutes they have left. ]
Then I'll see you topside.
[ The gun goes off and then he's in the Cobb's living room, staring up at the ceiling. He slides the IV out and dismantles his section of tubing, intent on cleaning everything out before the next run. ]
no subject
I shouldn't have said that. Down there.
[He can admit that much. 'Sorry,' is a million times harder, though.]
no subject
[ Which is true. He isn't exactly excusing the behavior, but it's obvious he's letting it slide for now. They don't know each other well and that's half the battle of knowing what to say and when to say it. Arthur unplugs the IV tubing that Eames had used, takes both coils to the nearby kitchen to carefully rinse them out.
When he turns the tap back off and leaves the tubing to dry, he comes back into the living room, toweling his hands off. ]
Is that going to be a problem?
[ The flirtations, the teasing. ]
no subject
[There's actually a lot more bitter disappointment that he's going to have to than he expected. It doesn't help that Arthur's exactly his type. God.]
I guess I should ask you the same thing, in that case.
no subject
For a moment, he's silent, taking in the fact that he was just called darling. It probably shows on his face, the raised eyebrows, a bit askance. Is it an English thing? Or is this just an Eames thing? ]
Not if you can stay on task.
[ Since that's what really matters. Being able to get results. Never mind how this could be irritating as all hell. Arthur can push through it. ]
no subject
I can multitask.
[Something flits over his face then, though, something more sincere and less... all of that before stuff. He's impressed Arthur's putting aside their differences.]
You're smart and capable. I appreciate that.
[Is what he ends up saying quietly. He rifles through his pockets.] You smoke?
no subject
[ Though he does believe him. Even if it's just a grain of belief, since forging is an art of multitasking. Keeping hold of the person's image, the way they move, how they speak. Arthur already knows he'd have difficulty even trying to do it. But then, he turns his powers of observation to a different end. For him, it's all in the details, in knowing the ins and outs of people and understanding the why.
Eames surprises him again, this time due to the easily given compliment. There might be a small blush filling out across his face. ]
Never picked it up. [ Having to keep up a continual peak form while in the military has stayed with him in small parts. Not to mention that he was really broke until about six months ago. ]
They'll be back pretty soon. If you want to avoid Dom judging your habits, may as well get that smoke in. Back porch is through there.
[ Arthur gestures towards the nice set of french doors leading out. ]
(no subject)