[ When he'd chosen to come to New York School of Design, it'd been 1) because it was in New York, where he was close to already 2) they had interesting specializations. Mostly it was that it was local. Arthur already has an undergraduate degree in fashion merchandising, being much more interested in the business side of things rather than the actual creation.
But, he was a curious sort and never liked to have too much downtime on his hands. So he'd applied for the menswear specialization after painstakingly putting together a portfolio (it'd been so long since he'd done anything of the sort). Fast forward to months later and he's got his student housing all sorted out. It's not a dorm really, more of an in-between of a dorm and a real life apartment. But cheaper (thank god). He didn't luck out and get a single, but that was fine. Arthur was okay with people. And he didn't plan on being in the room much, more focused on getting those studio hours in on the machines and dress forms.
He's in the middle of unpacking his clothes, carefully hanging shirts and slacks in the closet he's claimed, when he hears the front door open, mostly likely letting in his new roommate. A pressed pair of pants hangs over his forearm as he peeks out of the room, waving a polite hello to the newcomer. ]
Hey. Decided to come early too?
But, he was a curious sort and never liked to have too much downtime on his hands. So he'd applied for the menswear specialization after painstakingly putting together a portfolio (it'd been so long since he'd done anything of the sort). Fast forward to months later and he's got his student housing all sorted out. It's not a dorm really, more of an in-between of a dorm and a real life apartment. But cheaper (thank god). He didn't luck out and get a single, but that was fine. Arthur was okay with people. And he didn't plan on being in the room much, more focused on getting those studio hours in on the machines and dress forms.
He's in the middle of unpacking his clothes, carefully hanging shirts and slacks in the closet he's claimed, when he hears the front door open, mostly likely letting in his new roommate. A pressed pair of pants hangs over his forearm as he peeks out of the room, waving a polite hello to the newcomer. ]
Hey. Decided to come early too?
the inception au that everyone wanted // arthur/eames/daenerys
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pointedlook
2017-10-14 02:38 am (UTC)(link)
[ Brussels is a lovely city, especially during this time of year. Fall is just starting to edge in, leaving the air crisp, fresh, clean. Leaves are changing color, turning things into a spectrum of red, orange, and gold.
Their mark had been the head of the main branch of the local bank and the client was very interested in their potential black market dealings. It'd been tricky, as the branch head wasn't militarized, but was a paranoid person. Made sense, considering his influence and power in the banking industry. However, from the research that Arthur had pulled up, he certainly had some black market deals, all of which would reflect poorly on his business.
Still, they'd had a job to do. Shady records were one thing, but they needed hard proof as a team.
So, he'd reported into Eames, who'd dragged him into this venture to begin with. Eames pulled in Dany, who seemed to be partnered up with him more often than not, and a chemist named Yuta. Together they'd constructed a two level dream, Dany played extractor, Eames and Arthur put together made a passable architect. He'd dreamed the second level, the back alley of a Brussels street. Eames had been in charge of the first, an elegant bank lobby complete with vault.
Aside from a few hiccups, they'd pulled it off, despite the stress. Dany was good, really good, and Arthur couldn't help but see why Eames had been tugging her all over the world lately. After the Fischer job, it was nice to be with extractors who didn't have subconsciouses in the form of dead wives and best friends who murdered you brutally.
When the job wrapped up, they all fled in different directions, as per protocol. Arthur took a train out of Brussels into Frankfurt, a bus to Berlin, and then flew from there to Madrid. Maybe it was more steps than usual, but he liked Germany. The time before his flight out of Berlin had given him enough to look around and enjoy the city before he had to move.
But now he was here in Madrid, having met back up with Eames and Dany, who had been steadily trying to drink each other under the table. They were blowing off steam from the job, which had a short turn around and a demanding client. Earlier in the night, he'd drank one pint of beer and then a glass of bourbon. Since then, he'd been steady with water and cola. Someone had to make sure they all got back to their hotel suite safely. ]
Both of you are going to regret this come morning.
Their mark had been the head of the main branch of the local bank and the client was very interested in their potential black market dealings. It'd been tricky, as the branch head wasn't militarized, but was a paranoid person. Made sense, considering his influence and power in the banking industry. However, from the research that Arthur had pulled up, he certainly had some black market deals, all of which would reflect poorly on his business.
Still, they'd had a job to do. Shady records were one thing, but they needed hard proof as a team.
So, he'd reported into Eames, who'd dragged him into this venture to begin with. Eames pulled in Dany, who seemed to be partnered up with him more often than not, and a chemist named Yuta. Together they'd constructed a two level dream, Dany played extractor, Eames and Arthur put together made a passable architect. He'd dreamed the second level, the back alley of a Brussels street. Eames had been in charge of the first, an elegant bank lobby complete with vault.
Aside from a few hiccups, they'd pulled it off, despite the stress. Dany was good, really good, and Arthur couldn't help but see why Eames had been tugging her all over the world lately. After the Fischer job, it was nice to be with extractors who didn't have subconsciouses in the form of dead wives and best friends who murdered you brutally.
When the job wrapped up, they all fled in different directions, as per protocol. Arthur took a train out of Brussels into Frankfurt, a bus to Berlin, and then flew from there to Madrid. Maybe it was more steps than usual, but he liked Germany. The time before his flight out of Berlin had given him enough to look around and enjoy the city before he had to move.
But now he was here in Madrid, having met back up with Eames and Dany, who had been steadily trying to drink each other under the table. They were blowing off steam from the job, which had a short turn around and a demanding client. Earlier in the night, he'd drank one pint of beer and then a glass of bourbon. Since then, he'd been steady with water and cola. Someone had to make sure they all got back to their hotel suite safely. ]
Both of you are going to regret this come morning.
[ They're coming off one job and hopping into another one. Not so back to back, since Arthur had carefully outlined the timeline, but it's close. This leaves them flying from Hong Kong into San Diego and then onto Atlanta. He's never spent a lot of time in the south, so he's a little disappointed they won't be able to see much of the city while they're there. Too much research and work to do.
Their architect will be meeting them there, at the appointed meeting spot in a couple days. Before then, he has some information to compile. And Dany, well, she has some work too, but mostly they both will need rest after such a long haul.
The room at the hotel is shared, spacious, two beds. As a group, they'll be working out of a warehouse he'd rented space for earlier in the month. Here in the hotel though, they can relax for a time. Arthur waves the keycard in front of the lock and hears the soft beep that allows them entry. Pushing the door open, he holds it for Dany before following in after, wordlessly dropping his bag onto the nearby desk. ]
Hungry? I can have room service send something up.
Their architect will be meeting them there, at the appointed meeting spot in a couple days. Before then, he has some information to compile. And Dany, well, she has some work too, but mostly they both will need rest after such a long haul.
The room at the hotel is shared, spacious, two beds. As a group, they'll be working out of a warehouse he'd rented space for earlier in the month. Here in the hotel though, they can relax for a time. Arthur waves the keycard in front of the lock and hears the soft beep that allows them entry. Pushing the door open, he holds it for Dany before following in after, wordlessly dropping his bag onto the nearby desk. ]
Hungry? I can have room service send something up.
[ Mal Cobb is dead.
The words had hit him straight in the chest, point blank. They'd rattled around in his head and his ribcage, like something had shaken loose and couldn't anchor again. Arthur's always been good at compartmentalizing, had needed to learn in the military– seeing someone get shot right next to you did things to a person.
But he'd never expected this kind of news. Mal had been a civilian and while so many died from cancer, car accidents, freak accidents, even suicide; she'd never seemed the type. Maybe he was too much of an optimist, bent on hoping that his closest friend and confidante would heal. That she'd put away the notion that this world wasn't reality. Her psych evals had leveled out in the last few months. They all thought she might be getting better.
Instead, she'd turned all her cards against them. Against Dom, her husband, leaving papers behind that he was dangerous for her health. And in the end, before they'd left on their anniversary getaway, she'd patted Arthur on the cheek and said she missed him. In the aftermath, there hadn't been a note. She hadn't believed he'd been real. And that stung almost as much as the news of her jumping from reality into death.
So it's natural that he's waiting for Dom in the airport in Frankfurt. Because if someone stitched both their hearts together, maybe they'd get a whole. And maybe with enough time, he'd get Dom back to his life, to his children, to help him pick up the pieces of a shattered life. He waits, glances at his watch and at the escalator leading to baggage claim, trying not to tap his foot nervously.
The words had hit him straight in the chest, point blank. They'd rattled around in his head and his ribcage, like something had shaken loose and couldn't anchor again. Arthur's always been good at compartmentalizing, had needed to learn in the military– seeing someone get shot right next to you did things to a person.
But he'd never expected this kind of news. Mal had been a civilian and while so many died from cancer, car accidents, freak accidents, even suicide; she'd never seemed the type. Maybe he was too much of an optimist, bent on hoping that his closest friend and confidante would heal. That she'd put away the notion that this world wasn't reality. Her psych evals had leveled out in the last few months. They all thought she might be getting better.
Instead, she'd turned all her cards against them. Against Dom, her husband, leaving papers behind that he was dangerous for her health. And in the end, before they'd left on their anniversary getaway, she'd patted Arthur on the cheek and said she missed him. In the aftermath, there hadn't been a note. She hadn't believed he'd been real. And that stung almost as much as the news of her jumping from reality into death.
So it's natural that he's waiting for Dom in the airport in Frankfurt. Because if someone stitched both their hearts together, maybe they'd get a whole. And maybe with enough time, he'd get Dom back to his life, to his children, to help him pick up the pieces of a shattered life. He waits, glances at his watch and at the escalator leading to baggage claim, trying not to tap his foot nervously.
[ He's new to Kirkwall– but then, isn't that the story of nearly everyone here? The city is in unrest. Or rather, the world is. With the Blight just across the way in Ferelden, causing people to flee left, right, and center. Kirkwall was the closest haven, even if that word doesn't really describe the place. It's packed to the brim with refugees and the city hasn't exactly been welcoming.
Still, it's better than the alternative. So he stays, ducks just enough under the radar. He made his name as a thief for hire in Ferelden before, but that hasn't carried over here. It's a fresh start in a way. Bad since he has no contacts. Good because he has no strings attached. It's just him forging a new name for himself. Most of the jobs he's taken have been easy, solo, in and out.
This time though, he knows he's going to need at least one other person. Which brings him to the Hanged Man, places him at the bar where he can sip his drink and keep sharp eyes out for someone who might match the skillsets he's looking for. Thus far, it's just been one person– a raucous pirate woman on the other side of the bar. She's all flash; glint of gold, of teeth, of skin. But he's just watched her pickpocket at least three people.
Yeah, alright.
Arthur downs the rest of his drink before sliding over to her, all charming smiles. ]
Hey, can I get a lady like you a drink?
Still, it's better than the alternative. So he stays, ducks just enough under the radar. He made his name as a thief for hire in Ferelden before, but that hasn't carried over here. It's a fresh start in a way. Bad since he has no contacts. Good because he has no strings attached. It's just him forging a new name for himself. Most of the jobs he's taken have been easy, solo, in and out.
This time though, he knows he's going to need at least one other person. Which brings him to the Hanged Man, places him at the bar where he can sip his drink and keep sharp eyes out for someone who might match the skillsets he's looking for. Thus far, it's just been one person– a raucous pirate woman on the other side of the bar. She's all flash; glint of gold, of teeth, of skin. But he's just watched her pickpocket at least three people.
Yeah, alright.
Arthur downs the rest of his drink before sliding over to her, all charming smiles. ]
Hey, can I get a lady like you a drink?
( He texts Arthur right before he's supposed to get on a flight to NYC, a quick fire text exchange that both confirms the invitation is still open, and gets the address of his partner's quiet little bar off of him. For some reason, leaving it until the very last minute had felt better, as though there was less time for either of them to find an excuse not to meet.
Why that would matter he doesn't know. And if he does, he wouldn't admit it.
It's shortly after their arranged meet-up time, Eames puffing on a cigarette out front and seriously reconsidering his life choices. New York is still busy around him, the early evening luring out partygoers and tourists alike. He'd been caught in traffic with an overly friendly driver, and the nicotine isn't helping him as he nervously fiddles with the fag between his fingers.
Christ, he's a sad old arsehole.
Muttering to himself, he stubs out his light and pushes in, squinting through the dim light. It's not hard to spot Arthur, and so Eames rubs a palm over his stubbled jaw and wanders over. He's surprisingly put together for once. No salmon or paisley print around. Maybe he's making an effort, maybe not, but the smile he flashes is all Eames. )
Arthur.
( Arfur. )
Now you're a sight for sore eyes.
Why that would matter he doesn't know. And if he does, he wouldn't admit it.
It's shortly after their arranged meet-up time, Eames puffing on a cigarette out front and seriously reconsidering his life choices. New York is still busy around him, the early evening luring out partygoers and tourists alike. He'd been caught in traffic with an overly friendly driver, and the nicotine isn't helping him as he nervously fiddles with the fag between his fingers.
Christ, he's a sad old arsehole.
Muttering to himself, he stubs out his light and pushes in, squinting through the dim light. It's not hard to spot Arthur, and so Eames rubs a palm over his stubbled jaw and wanders over. He's surprisingly put together for once. No salmon or paisley print around. Maybe he's making an effort, maybe not, but the smile he flashes is all Eames. )
Arthur.
( Arfur. )
Now you're a sight for sore eyes.
[ One thing he has yet to get used to in his tenure with COST is the downtime.
Not that he didn't have time off back home, it's just that he elected to pass on it. And with running after Cobb to keep him out of the hands of the Feds, he hadn't the luxury to spare even a few days to fuck off to Aruba or something. Before that, it'd been his high key anxieties that kept him from taking off too long, not wanting to stay in one spot overmuch. He likes dreamshare, loves it even, but it's a career that can be cut short fairly easily.
The most common cause of retirement is showing up dead.
Here there's a similar undercurrent of paranoia– the Regency could technically pop up at any point. They're also on an alien planet, with wildlife that may want to come after them. Somehow, the time on base still feels like he can relax in increments.
(Maybe it's because he isn't carrying everything on his shoulders any longer).
Which is why he's currently attempting to slide into Henry's lap in the natural hot springs. It seemed like a good idea. ]
Why didn't we think of this earlier?
Not that he didn't have time off back home, it's just that he elected to pass on it. And with running after Cobb to keep him out of the hands of the Feds, he hadn't the luxury to spare even a few days to fuck off to Aruba or something. Before that, it'd been his high key anxieties that kept him from taking off too long, not wanting to stay in one spot overmuch. He likes dreamshare, loves it even, but it's a career that can be cut short fairly easily.
The most common cause of retirement is showing up dead.
Here there's a similar undercurrent of paranoia– the Regency could technically pop up at any point. They're also on an alien planet, with wildlife that may want to come after them. Somehow, the time on base still feels like he can relax in increments.
(Maybe it's because he isn't carrying everything on his shoulders any longer).
Which is why he's currently attempting to slide into Henry's lap in the natural hot springs. It seemed like a good idea. ]
Why didn't we think of this earlier?
[ This time of year, New Orleans is a miserable hot mess.
Arthur had made the mistake of wearing a suit on his first day. The little warehouse they're working out of has air conditioning, but just barely. Halfway through the day, he'd peeled himself out of the sport coat, pocketed his tie, rolled his sleeves up, and unbuttoned enough top buttons to flirt with the unprofessional line.
Rarely does he make the same mistake twice, so since then he's worn almost exclusively linen and drank approximately a hundred gallons of water (probably).
Which is what leads him to now, considering wrapping up early solely because it's abominably hot and the team is getting progressively crankier. Sighing, he glances over at their chemist, Anya, who seems to be melting in the chair. Their extractor, Jamie, is looking similarly put out, her small face pushed directly into the clip on desk fan.
Dany, by all impossible standards, appears not to have broken any kind of sweat despite being the most dressed out of them all. It's unholy. ]
Alright, we're clearly not getting anything done. Pack up, we'll start early tomorrow.
[ As in, before the main heat of the day. He makes a note to pick up another couple fans.
Jamie and Anya simultaneously jump up and pack in record time. Arthur's just putting his files away as they're rushing out the door, hastily waving their goodbyes and promising to be back before 7am.
That leaves him and Dany. So his question will be between just the two of them: ]
How can you even stand this weather?
Arthur had made the mistake of wearing a suit on his first day. The little warehouse they're working out of has air conditioning, but just barely. Halfway through the day, he'd peeled himself out of the sport coat, pocketed his tie, rolled his sleeves up, and unbuttoned enough top buttons to flirt with the unprofessional line.
Rarely does he make the same mistake twice, so since then he's worn almost exclusively linen and drank approximately a hundred gallons of water (probably).
Which is what leads him to now, considering wrapping up early solely because it's abominably hot and the team is getting progressively crankier. Sighing, he glances over at their chemist, Anya, who seems to be melting in the chair. Their extractor, Jamie, is looking similarly put out, her small face pushed directly into the clip on desk fan.
Dany, by all impossible standards, appears not to have broken any kind of sweat despite being the most dressed out of them all. It's unholy. ]
Alright, we're clearly not getting anything done. Pack up, we'll start early tomorrow.
[ As in, before the main heat of the day. He makes a note to pick up another couple fans.
Jamie and Anya simultaneously jump up and pack in record time. Arthur's just putting his files away as they're rushing out the door, hastily waving their goodbyes and promising to be back before 7am.
That leaves him and Dany. So his question will be between just the two of them: ]
How can you even stand this weather?
[ When Project Somnacin is disbanded, Arthur has two options. The first is honorable discharge, the second is continued work with the military, likely special ops, a team of his own.
He's very tempted by their offer, knowing how far he could very likely go. After all, he's still young, just edging on towards 21.
His mother gets sick and that, above all else, makes his decision for him. Arthur goes home, lips sealed, and spends as much time with his family as possible. In the back of his mind, he hasn't forgotten the silver box or the dreams it gave him.
In the end, his mom gets better and his dad passes away suddenly.
She doesn't need to tell him they're going to have to downsize and move without the additional income. And she loves the house, has loved it her whole life. Arthur loves her and isn't afraid of work, so he fills out applications once she's told him to leave her alone (kindly).
Several failed and two successful interviews later, he meets a Mallorie Cobb, who works as a chemist at Stanford. Well, "meets". It's more of a Skype call. She's working in dreamshare, she wants someone who is used to the chemical mix to help develop it for health systems and leisure. The job is across the country but it pays well and he can dream all he wants. Arthur accepts it without hesitation, promises his mom he'll visit as often as possible and if he can't, he'll fly her out.
It's bittersweet to leave.
--
Three months later, he's met Mallorie Cobb and her husband Dom, and has somehow been roped into doing experiments with the PASIV on the side. Three months after that, Dom says he's met someone in dreamshare who is extremely interesting and is pushing the envelope, that he's bringing him in to learn from.
A week and a day go by and he's being introduced to an Eames. ]
What is it you said you do, again?
[ Because everything about this guy screams illegal, up to and including the tattoo he can see peeking out on a curved bicep. Arthur hates how much he wants to wrap his hand around the man's arm. The Cobbs have left them be to go into their own little world. He's pretty sure Mal is going to drag Dom out at some point to collect dinner and he isn't sure leaving just him here with Eames is a good idea. ]
He's very tempted by their offer, knowing how far he could very likely go. After all, he's still young, just edging on towards 21.
His mother gets sick and that, above all else, makes his decision for him. Arthur goes home, lips sealed, and spends as much time with his family as possible. In the back of his mind, he hasn't forgotten the silver box or the dreams it gave him.
In the end, his mom gets better and his dad passes away suddenly.
She doesn't need to tell him they're going to have to downsize and move without the additional income. And she loves the house, has loved it her whole life. Arthur loves her and isn't afraid of work, so he fills out applications once she's told him to leave her alone (kindly).
Several failed and two successful interviews later, he meets a Mallorie Cobb, who works as a chemist at Stanford. Well, "meets". It's more of a Skype call. She's working in dreamshare, she wants someone who is used to the chemical mix to help develop it for health systems and leisure. The job is across the country but it pays well and he can dream all he wants. Arthur accepts it without hesitation, promises his mom he'll visit as often as possible and if he can't, he'll fly her out.
It's bittersweet to leave.
--
Three months later, he's met Mallorie Cobb and her husband Dom, and has somehow been roped into doing experiments with the PASIV on the side. Three months after that, Dom says he's met someone in dreamshare who is extremely interesting and is pushing the envelope, that he's bringing him in to learn from.
A week and a day go by and he's being introduced to an Eames. ]
What is it you said you do, again?
[ Because everything about this guy screams illegal, up to and including the tattoo he can see peeking out on a curved bicep. Arthur hates how much he wants to wrap his hand around the man's arm. The Cobbs have left them be to go into their own little world. He's pretty sure Mal is going to drag Dom out at some point to collect dinner and he isn't sure leaving just him here with Eames is a good idea. ]
ftr grease fires are really hard to put out
[ This is ridiculous.
Arthur isn't really a con man, never has been. His acting is somewhere in the subpar region– normally he gets by on the fact that people can never tell if he's joking or if he's being completely serious. Where he lacks, Eames makes up for in spades. After all, he's always going to be a forger first, thief second. He might disagree with the notion, but Arthur knows where his heart really is.
This imbalance should make them poorly suited for this job, since it'll be Eames doing most of the heavy lifting in terms of convincing their target that they're totally normal. And also that they're in love. That they've been dating for a while now and have decided to do the big step of moving in together before the Question is popped.
When the idea had first been pitched to him, Arthur had rejected it outright. Faking being in a relationship was a little more than beyond his capabilities. Never mind that pretending to be in a relationship with Eames of all people was just. Insane. Sure they worked well together on a professional level, but that had been reserved for ideation and dreamshare grounds only. It's altogether different to be pulled into something resembling a long con.
Eventually, the pile of pros had outweighed the cons in terms of logic and Arthur had been forced to capitulate to rationale.
He still thinks it's the most ludicrous idea they've ever come up with.
But it is hard to argue overmuch when he steps into their (their!!!) house for the first time. It belongs to a friend of a friend, who is currently backpacking somewhere in China and has happily rented the place to them for the term of their job. They take good care of it, he notes, quietly admiring the sparkling clean base boards, the original mouldings, and hardwood floors. For the last few minutes, he's just been wandering from room to room, getting acquainted with the space and making sure he knows every exit as soon as possible.
Eventually, he sits on the antique looking chaise lounge, pulling up a few emails to send off; mostly confirmation of arrival, that the keys worked thanks, and the plan to meet the target within the next couple weeks is a go. ]
How soon do you think meeting Graham is possible?
[ Norton Graham, their real estate mogul and target. For once, they're attempting to clear a name instead of throwing dirt on it. Arthur glances over to Eames, head tilted in question. ]
Arthur isn't really a con man, never has been. His acting is somewhere in the subpar region– normally he gets by on the fact that people can never tell if he's joking or if he's being completely serious. Where he lacks, Eames makes up for in spades. After all, he's always going to be a forger first, thief second. He might disagree with the notion, but Arthur knows where his heart really is.
This imbalance should make them poorly suited for this job, since it'll be Eames doing most of the heavy lifting in terms of convincing their target that they're totally normal. And also that they're in love. That they've been dating for a while now and have decided to do the big step of moving in together before the Question is popped.
When the idea had first been pitched to him, Arthur had rejected it outright. Faking being in a relationship was a little more than beyond his capabilities. Never mind that pretending to be in a relationship with Eames of all people was just. Insane. Sure they worked well together on a professional level, but that had been reserved for ideation and dreamshare grounds only. It's altogether different to be pulled into something resembling a long con.
Eventually, the pile of pros had outweighed the cons in terms of logic and Arthur had been forced to capitulate to rationale.
He still thinks it's the most ludicrous idea they've ever come up with.
But it is hard to argue overmuch when he steps into their (their!!!) house for the first time. It belongs to a friend of a friend, who is currently backpacking somewhere in China and has happily rented the place to them for the term of their job. They take good care of it, he notes, quietly admiring the sparkling clean base boards, the original mouldings, and hardwood floors. For the last few minutes, he's just been wandering from room to room, getting acquainted with the space and making sure he knows every exit as soon as possible.
Eventually, he sits on the antique looking chaise lounge, pulling up a few emails to send off; mostly confirmation of arrival, that the keys worked thanks, and the plan to meet the target within the next couple weeks is a go. ]
How soon do you think meeting Graham is possible?
[ Norton Graham, their real estate mogul and target. For once, they're attempting to clear a name instead of throwing dirt on it. Arthur glances over to Eames, head tilted in question. ]
Edited 2018-05-30 05:23 (UTC)
[ Truthfully, he never thought he'd be one to settle down. Not because he lacked a desire for it– no, on some level he wanted what Mal and Dom had, before everything went to absolute shit. It's just, his life is all over the place. First it'd been dreamshare, a lucrative business. And a dangerous one. Most of the jobs could be considered a crime. The people weren't always reliable, and more than once he'd fled a country to get away from being riddled with bullets.
Inception happened, probably the craziest job he'd ever do in his life. And then he'd been drafted into COST.
After that, he figured the weird intergalactic military thing wouldn't allow for settling in. Starting families, that sort of deal. But, after the hellscape of spider planet, he'd gotten close to Rey. That fateful conversation that'd drawn them in instead of repelling like incompatible magnets. While COST re-organized itself from the top down, they'd been granted some kind of leave.
Eventually, they'd get called back into action. Arthur knows they won't be able to remain quiet for long. That doesn't mean he's going to stop enjoying the strange domesticity he and Rey have fallen into. On a whim, he'd asked if she wanted to see New York and to his surprise, she agreed.
So, they've been here for about a week and a half, Arthur showing her every touristy site under the sun. Just yesterday, they'd done half of the Met and then walked around Central Park. It was summer but the weather had been generous, sunny and low humidity, a rarity.
Today, Rey had gone to look around the neighborhood, a little street tucked away in a relatively quiet part of Queens. Arthur had elected to stay behind, fix up a few things around the apartment, get back in touch with a couple people (Dom, Ariadne). He'd shed his suit coat earlier, down to rolled up sleeves and a waistcoat.
And apron, since it was getting close to dinner and every time he got to cook in his own kitchen was nice. The dactyl droids couldn't compare. ]
Inception happened, probably the craziest job he'd ever do in his life. And then he'd been drafted into COST.
After that, he figured the weird intergalactic military thing wouldn't allow for settling in. Starting families, that sort of deal. But, after the hellscape of spider planet, he'd gotten close to Rey. That fateful conversation that'd drawn them in instead of repelling like incompatible magnets. While COST re-organized itself from the top down, they'd been granted some kind of leave.
Eventually, they'd get called back into action. Arthur knows they won't be able to remain quiet for long. That doesn't mean he's going to stop enjoying the strange domesticity he and Rey have fallen into. On a whim, he'd asked if she wanted to see New York and to his surprise, she agreed.
So, they've been here for about a week and a half, Arthur showing her every touristy site under the sun. Just yesterday, they'd done half of the Met and then walked around Central Park. It was summer but the weather had been generous, sunny and low humidity, a rarity.
Today, Rey had gone to look around the neighborhood, a little street tucked away in a relatively quiet part of Queens. Arthur had elected to stay behind, fix up a few things around the apartment, get back in touch with a couple people (Dom, Ariadne). He'd shed his suit coat earlier, down to rolled up sleeves and a waistcoat.
And apron, since it was getting close to dinner and every time he got to cook in his own kitchen was nice. The dactyl droids couldn't compare. ]
my telltale heart's a hammer in my chest // arthur/eggsy
pointedlook
2018-06-25 04:39 am (UTC)(link)
[ Eames, much to his bad luck, is off on a job for a couple weeks. Non-dreamshare, utilizing his other shadowy skills. Mainly, theft. The kind that involves a long con, pulling the wool over some poor sap's eyes. Arthur didn't ask for details, didn't expect Eames to give him any even if he did ask. All he's got is an emergency number for a burner phone and an email address.
Well, not just him, Eggsy has the same information.
Because the three of them live in some odd harmonious polyamory. Arthur had never seen himself as the type to share easily, but when it came to the arrangement, it just worked. Maybe it's the fact that they're all criminals. Or maybe their personality traits balance out in the end. He knows he can be a bit married to his work– either Eggsy or Eames are happy to pull him away from his desk when he starts to look a little crazy around the eyes.
Today is actually not one of those days. Because he'd gotten up this morning, dressed very carefully in some very specific items in front of Eggsy before heading off to work on a few things with a nearby architect. He leaves promptly at 5'o'clock, comes home with a bottle of wine and a little bouquet of flowers.
He's feeling a little romantic, so sue him.
Striking a careful balance, he manages to get the door open, drops his keys in the bowl nearby. Kicks his shoes off and goes to find Eggsy, who is likely stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the arm with her painted toes for all to see. ]
You know, I was half expecting to get tackled as soon as I walked in.
Well, not just him, Eggsy has the same information.
Because the three of them live in some odd harmonious polyamory. Arthur had never seen himself as the type to share easily, but when it came to the arrangement, it just worked. Maybe it's the fact that they're all criminals. Or maybe their personality traits balance out in the end. He knows he can be a bit married to his work– either Eggsy or Eames are happy to pull him away from his desk when he starts to look a little crazy around the eyes.
Today is actually not one of those days. Because he'd gotten up this morning, dressed very carefully in some very specific items in front of Eggsy before heading off to work on a few things with a nearby architect. He leaves promptly at 5'o'clock, comes home with a bottle of wine and a little bouquet of flowers.
He's feeling a little romantic, so sue him.
Striking a careful balance, he manages to get the door open, drops his keys in the bowl nearby. Kicks his shoes off and goes to find Eggsy, who is likely stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the arm with her painted toes for all to see. ]
You know, I was half expecting to get tackled as soon as I walked in.
[ At one point, Meliorn had warned him this would happen.
Arthur, never one to turn down a warning, had simply put in a few more hours at the gun range or the occasional trip into a dream to make sure his fighting skills didn't wane. Because for as many jobs that had violent projections he needed to fend off while running point, there were about an equal amount where he didn't need to lift a finger. Pleasant projections, completely unaware that someone or someones were poking around in the mark's head.
So he stays sharp, avoids a few specific sections of New York City– places Mel pointed out when they'd be walking around.
In the end, it pays off, because they're on their way back to his apartment when they're cornered by a few shadowhunters. They'd offered him a job, pulling out all the stops to make it as enticing as possible. Underneath it all, Arthur had seen it for what it was; they weren't going to take no for an answer. After his first few hardline refusals and an attempt to walk away, they'd gone from pretend genial to threatening. And he'd taken the nice gloves off, much more at home with the air of violence than the fake cordiality.
Mel, unfortunately (or was it fortunately) had gotten dragged in as a result of being in Arthur's proximity. And probably for being just as stubborn with regards to giving him and his dreamwalking over to the hunters. The fight really doesn't last long, not from lack of skill on either side– quite the opposite. Properly trounced, the shadowhunters slither back to their headquarters, leaving Arthur and Mel to lick their wounds in the relative privacy of the alley.
Panting with exertion, he wipes blood away from his nose with the back of his hand. That's gonna smart tomorrow. Actually, every muscle will, he's pretty sure. He skirts over to Mel, who's eyeing the turn where the hunters disappeared with an expression bordering on murderous. Reaching out, he pushes back the sheaf of hair that's fallen across the one side of Mel's face. There's a gash on his temple that looks pretty nasty. Both of them desperately need to get cleaned up, but all he can think of is the glint of the seelie's teeth, the easy flicker of a sword. All the adrenaline is still sliding along his nerves and he just wants to kiss the fuck out of him, alley be damned. ]
Hey, doing alright?
Arthur, never one to turn down a warning, had simply put in a few more hours at the gun range or the occasional trip into a dream to make sure his fighting skills didn't wane. Because for as many jobs that had violent projections he needed to fend off while running point, there were about an equal amount where he didn't need to lift a finger. Pleasant projections, completely unaware that someone or someones were poking around in the mark's head.
So he stays sharp, avoids a few specific sections of New York City– places Mel pointed out when they'd be walking around.
In the end, it pays off, because they're on their way back to his apartment when they're cornered by a few shadowhunters. They'd offered him a job, pulling out all the stops to make it as enticing as possible. Underneath it all, Arthur had seen it for what it was; they weren't going to take no for an answer. After his first few hardline refusals and an attempt to walk away, they'd gone from pretend genial to threatening. And he'd taken the nice gloves off, much more at home with the air of violence than the fake cordiality.
Mel, unfortunately (or was it fortunately) had gotten dragged in as a result of being in Arthur's proximity. And probably for being just as stubborn with regards to giving him and his dreamwalking over to the hunters. The fight really doesn't last long, not from lack of skill on either side– quite the opposite. Properly trounced, the shadowhunters slither back to their headquarters, leaving Arthur and Mel to lick their wounds in the relative privacy of the alley.
Panting with exertion, he wipes blood away from his nose with the back of his hand. That's gonna smart tomorrow. Actually, every muscle will, he's pretty sure. He skirts over to Mel, who's eyeing the turn where the hunters disappeared with an expression bordering on murderous. Reaching out, he pushes back the sheaf of hair that's fallen across the one side of Mel's face. There's a gash on his temple that looks pretty nasty. Both of them desperately need to get cleaned up, but all he can think of is the glint of the seelie's teeth, the easy flicker of a sword. All the adrenaline is still sliding along his nerves and he just wants to kiss the fuck out of him, alley be damned. ]
Hey, doing alright?
[ 1 ] I have two voicemails from you last night. One of them is just five minutes of you saying "doodling".
[ 2 ] Pumped to get "pass out-wake up in Berlin-buy a chinchilla" drunk?
[ 3 ] I was randomly pulled aside to have my bag checked. It had 50 condoms in it.
[ 2 ] Pumped to get "pass out-wake up in Berlin-buy a chinchilla" drunk?
[ 3 ] I was randomly pulled aside to have my bag checked. It had 50 condoms in it.
( After Eames' ( spectacularly ) drunken confession, there's radio silence for days. That's not surprising considering the job goes tits up almost immediately, and he's fairly sure Arthur doesn't want him bringing heat to his new front door. So he stays away, nurses the fragile parts of himself long enough to evade any law enforcement, and then before he can reconsider he throws himself on a flight.
His first walk around the block he keeps his head down, not looking towards the house, not making eye contact with anyone. His fourth and fifth, he actually considers walking up to the entrance way and knocking. But no, he keeps lapping around like he can stop his heart from exploding out of his chest.
This is ridiculous, he is ridiculous.
Eventually, when the sky is beginning to dim and some woman has shouted to Eames that she will call the police on him if she sees him again, he makes his way back. This time he has an actual honest to god bouquet of flowers, stalks a little bent in his vice like grip. He marches straight to the door and knocks, only realising that maybe Arthur isn't home. Maybe actually he wouldn't answer even if he was. He swears softly, biting the skin of his lower lip as he looks back out into the street.
He should have kept quiet. )
His first walk around the block he keeps his head down, not looking towards the house, not making eye contact with anyone. His fourth and fifth, he actually considers walking up to the entrance way and knocking. But no, he keeps lapping around like he can stop his heart from exploding out of his chest.
This is ridiculous, he is ridiculous.
Eventually, when the sky is beginning to dim and some woman has shouted to Eames that she will call the police on him if she sees him again, he makes his way back. This time he has an actual honest to god bouquet of flowers, stalks a little bent in his vice like grip. He marches straight to the door and knocks, only realising that maybe Arthur isn't home. Maybe actually he wouldn't answer even if he was. He swears softly, biting the skin of his lower lip as he looks back out into the street.
He should have kept quiet. )
here
[Arthur knew Dom best and they both understood that, generally, Dom claimed to have a grasp on situations that he didn't. But if they talked about it, they'd fight. He's already had a bad day.]
Third floor. Room 330.
Don't knock, just come in.
[He's half way in the shower when he sets the phone down.]
[Arthur knew Dom best and they both understood that, generally, Dom claimed to have a grasp on situations that he didn't. But if they talked about it, they'd fight. He's already had a bad day.]
Third floor. Room 330.
Don't knock, just come in.
[He's half way in the shower when he sets the phone down.]
[ When his forger backs out, Arthur's stuck with locating another one on relatively short notice. It's not an ideal situation but he's also had way less lead time before so he just sets his irritation aside and gets to work on sniffing out another one. Forgers are so changeable in this industry, always coming in and out, occasionally going to ground and disappearing off the map. Normally, he works with Eames because of this, knows he's always up for a forge and that he's dependable.
Unfortunately, the timing doesn't work out. Eames is already knee-deep in a classic heist, planning intricate details and feverishly forging an expensive vase.
So, that brings him here, to a smoky lounge in the upscale part of town. He's got a dry martini sitting on the bar near the back of his hand, primly set on a napkin. His new forger should be meeting him here soon– a man who simply went by "Peter". Eames had recommended him when he'd taken pity on his plight and Arthur hadn't hesitated to reach out. Sometimes it was hit or miss with his recommendations, but they always produced good work.
He takes a sip of his drink, checks his watch, and waits. ]
Unfortunately, the timing doesn't work out. Eames is already knee-deep in a classic heist, planning intricate details and feverishly forging an expensive vase.
So, that brings him here, to a smoky lounge in the upscale part of town. He's got a dry martini sitting on the bar near the back of his hand, primly set on a napkin. His new forger should be meeting him here soon– a man who simply went by "Peter". Eames had recommended him when he'd taken pity on his plight and Arthur hadn't hesitated to reach out. Sometimes it was hit or miss with his recommendations, but they always produced good work.
He takes a sip of his drink, checks his watch, and waits. ]
Do you ever stop to think about how every Floor 14 you've ever seen is a lie?
BLOOP. that time when a space baby invaded earth and made arthur's life hell
corpsequeen
2019-03-26 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
Earth. She's heard so much of it all her life, but never was there ever a chance for them to visit. The Ancients might've touched one version of it, but it was never enough to give the Arcana a reason to go save it--except now. Maybe there were some strings pulled to get this mission going. She wouldn't be surprised.
Katve spoiled her rotten with earthling culture, showing her the video cassettes of movies he cradled close to his chest, crowing about their brilliance and earthlings being so creative. He bellowed so loud sometimes, she'd been entranced as a little goober when his tentacles flew all around his head. Young, impressionable minds soak that shit up like a sponge.
What Velia finds impressive about earth is how much of a shithole it looks like. Her team is further off, and she's left to wander into the city known as M-a-n-h-a-t-t-a-n, with the briefing which tells her she's been born for this place. Or maybe it's the other way around. This city, with all its smell of piss and bright lights, was definitely made for her. Look at all the humans scurrying around her!
Most of them avoid walking too near her, despite how appropriately she's dressed. There's a little minion with its mother, but the old hag shoes the boy off when he points up at her tattoos. They cover her arms, a spiraling pattern mostly, but with strategically placed 'circles' all about. Her clawed bracers glisten in the sunlight.
This place sucks, Horace, her ghostly familiar whines.
"That's because you have no appreciation for humans."
They're not very advanced. More like monkeys.
Monkeys? Well, that one with the adorably larger ears, the slicked back hair, and uniform that's so prim and proper could look like one, maybe. He's minding his own business, of course, which is why she approaches him. The beads in her braided hair clack against each other, her heels snapping against the concrete as she shuffles after him.
And before he can scurry away, before he realizes he's been caught, she loops their arms together. "Hello, darling."
Katve spoiled her rotten with earthling culture, showing her the video cassettes of movies he cradled close to his chest, crowing about their brilliance and earthlings being so creative. He bellowed so loud sometimes, she'd been entranced as a little goober when his tentacles flew all around his head. Young, impressionable minds soak that shit up like a sponge.
What Velia finds impressive about earth is how much of a shithole it looks like. Her team is further off, and she's left to wander into the city known as M-a-n-h-a-t-t-a-n, with the briefing which tells her she's been born for this place. Or maybe it's the other way around. This city, with all its smell of piss and bright lights, was definitely made for her. Look at all the humans scurrying around her!
Most of them avoid walking too near her, despite how appropriately she's dressed. There's a little minion with its mother, but the old hag shoes the boy off when he points up at her tattoos. They cover her arms, a spiraling pattern mostly, but with strategically placed 'circles' all about. Her clawed bracers glisten in the sunlight.
This place sucks, Horace, her ghostly familiar whines.
"That's because you have no appreciation for humans."
They're not very advanced. More like monkeys.
Monkeys? Well, that one with the adorably larger ears, the slicked back hair, and uniform that's so prim and proper could look like one, maybe. He's minding his own business, of course, which is why she approaches him. The beads in her braided hair clack against each other, her heels snapping against the concrete as she shuffles after him.
And before he can scurry away, before he realizes he's been caught, she loops their arms together. "Hello, darling."
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