[Introduction - Not Quite James Bond]

[in_your_eames]

Eames awakes late in the afternoon to the depressingly familiar sound of over-large feet kicking their way through the front door of his flat. A lurch of adrenaline propels him up and out of bed before his body remembers how hungover he is, a vile headache stabbing him between the eyes and temporarily crippling him whilst the ominous feet stomp

Comments

[notgandalf]

"I'll bet." Tony didn't even glance up from his laptop. He was sitting in a comfortable chair, frowning slightly at something as he tapped at the keyboard almost absently.

"Also better than waking up outside where all kinds of crazies could get at you."

[in_your_eames]

"The crazies were in my bedroom a few moments ago."

Eames sits up and glances around warily. This doesn't feel like a dream, but that means almost nothing. A moment of intense internal focus yields nothing; he is unable to forge here. Interesting.

"Have you been here long?" he asks his new companion casually, ignoring the little voice at the back of his head begging him to ask where the bloody hell he is.

[notgandalf]

"Define long." Tony does glance up then for a moment, then turns back to his laptop.

"Because for some people a few hours is long and for others a few thousand years is long."

[in_your_eames]

Eames blows out a long breath, brow furrowed in imitation of deep thought.

"Well. All possibilities considered, and, of course, taking into account the average lifespan of a human being from a developed Western society... should I have brought my toothbrush?"

He punctuates this punchline with a smug little nod of his head, smile wide and, on the surface, unconcerned.

[noblevampire]

Spike is sitting, enjoying a cigarette, in the kitchen (all manners, this one) while tending to the last traces of the wounds in his shoulder. Should Eames wander this direction he wouldn't be opposed to a little company, might even show him where to get the alcohol should he prove friendly enough.

[in_your_eames]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an Englishman, in times of trouble, will always be in need of a good cup of tea. Eames saunters into the kitchen with every appearance of familiarity, though his eyes are wary and alert.

"Tell me this place has a kettle," he says to the room at large. "A kettle and a bloody big box of PG Tips."

[noblevampire]

Without a moment of hesitation he raises his good arm pointing off to the left. "Second cupboard past the stove, top shelf. You new?"

[in_your_eames]

"Brandnew." He grabs a mug and sets the kettle to boil before turning to look at Spike.

"Want a cup?" His eyes linger on the wounds Spike is tending. "Or, mm, some rudimentary first aid?"

[surfaceshine]

Dean can be found outside, which is not unusual; now that he's not paying for the air conditioning at his disposal, he's pretty disinterested in it. He's also, for the record, pretty damn disinterested in gardening - but he met someone here, his first day, and helped weed this particular patch, and now it looks like it might be overgrown. Not that Dean can tell.

The hunter looks perplexed, scratching idly at the gauze wrapping on his left forearm and staring at the slightly sloppy flowerbed at his feet; he's trying to figure out if it would be better, or worse, if he started going at it.

They kind of all look like weeds to him. He would not mind some help, or better yet, a distraction.

[in_your_eames]

Eames is exploring the grounds, still vaguely holding onto the hope that he might just be able to walk away from this weird place. Upon sighting Dean, he stops and lights up a cigarette, surveying the flowerbed dismissively.

"You the gardener, then?" he asks, blowing out smoke.

[surfaceshine]

Dean glances over at Eames' approach and nods - both a greeting and neutral warning that he's noticed him - but he's becoming accustomed to other people randomly wandering around this place and figures if the stranger wants to talk, he'll talk. Dean figures he'll know soon enough, and he does.

The question brings an instant, lopsdied half-grin to Dean's face, and he laughs short and easy. "Hardly. You the pimp?" He nods to the man's loud clothing by way of explanation, pulling his attention away from the unruly plot of ground.

[in_your_eames]

Eames lets out a smoke-roughened chuckle in return, smoothing out his shirt collar with exaggerated care. "A gentleman never tells," he jokes, then crouches to prod at a particularly sorry-looking plant. "This one looks dead."

[themusedescends]

And here's a fellow Englishman, though... the time separation might be wide enough that it doesn't make that much difference. Also, not upper class, though he could be if he wanted to, we suspect. Geoff has finished the book he borrowed from the library the night before, and he's returning it now to trade it out for a new one; but he's still reading it while he walks, so it's possible he might run into someone in the hallway or in the library itself.

[in_your_eames]

Eames loves a good library, and has stopped in the doorway to rearrange the precarious pile of interesting-looking tomes he's carrying when he encounters this new face.

"Sorry, mate," he says cheerfully, taking a few steps back to clear a path. Predictably, half of the books abscond from his grasp and end up on the floor.

[themusedescends]

Geoff glances up at the voice, already automatically adjusting his course to move around the man, when he sees the accident about to happen in the moment before it does. Alas, while he claps his own book closed and makes a grab for the nearest of Eames' falling ones, coordination is not his strong suit and he fails to nab even one in midair.

"Good christ, man, my apologies," says Geoff, tucking his book under his arm and stooping to help collect the unruly tomes. "I have been advised before to pay attention to where I am going and obviously have never seen the sense in doing so."

[in_your_eames]

"Nonsense," Eames says. "It was my fault entirely." Books gathered back into some kind of order, he breaks into a grin. "And life's a lot more fun when you jump in feet-first."

[aperion_oneiros]

If Eames finds his way down to the lake, he might find Cobb on the shore, hands in pockets, gazing across the water. It's been almost two months since Morgoth messed with his head and Draugulin and company used him as a chew toy. He hadn't succeeded in waking up from this place, and he's now contemplating taking the matter into his own hands.

But he'll turn to Eames, a small smile of relief crossing his face. "Took a while for you to drop down into this place," he says.

[in_your_eames]

Since his arrival, Eames has been restless and unsettled. Roaming the grounds helps clear his head a little, which is what he's doing when he stumbles across Cobb. The huge sense of relief he feels at the sight of him is tempered by the sudden conviction that this must be Limbo after all.

"Always nice to see a familiar face," he says. "Is this your subconscious, then? Love what you've done with the place."

[aperion_oneiros]

"Might be Limbo, but damned if I haven't been able to wake up from this place," he says, looking around. "Thought I was in Ariadne's dream, since the house is the kind of work she'd come up with, but I haven't seen her or Arthur or you since I got here. Meaning, I must've gotten taken out first."

[in_your_eames]

"Ariadne's dream," he repeats, frowning. "You think someone got the drop on us before we could finish the you-know-what job?"

As far as Eames is concerned, he's been cruelly torn from a period of downtime between the Fischer job and a scheduled real world con with another team.