omg THIS IS SO CUTE I MAY DIE caljshgljashdconstrueredMay 28 2011, 01:09:56 UTC
[ He finds himself wanting to be petulant and childlike (he always was horrible at dealing with something like the sniffles) so he stares at the box instead of taking one. For... reasons of his pride. Or something. ]
I'm fine, [ he repeats, but it kind of sounds like I'b fine, what with that blocked nose of his. Stupid betraying sinuses. ]
WHAT HAPPENS IN MOMBASA STAYS IN MOMBASA lkasjdf falsityMay 28 2011, 01:12:49 UTC
[ Eames' attention darts between Artie's face and the box of tissues, like she's challenging him not to take one. It would be admittedly a little disappointing if he were to fall victim to such transparent tactics, but young men were just that -- young men. ]
fact: artie's pride also stays in mombasa :cccconstrueredMay 28 2011, 01:31:04 UTC
[ Aristos lasts all of one beat. Two beats. Three, even, before he gives in and has to take one. (God, he hates being sick.) ]
I'm just not used to the food, [ he finds himself saying, because that has something to do with that headache of his and that sore throat and those sinuses. ] And all that recycled airplane air. It's not good for anyone.
eames wants to know if she can have it giftwrapped while we're at it ccc:falsityMay 28 2011, 01:39:37 UTC
[ Self-delusion is an unattractive thing on most people (Cobb, for example), fascinating on others (Arthur). On Aristos, it's almost precious. Eames drops her chin into her hand and continues with the unapologetic smiling. ]
If you're looking to be an international man of mystery, I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it. [ She practically coos the words. ]
[ He peers at her through his glasses (dirty and starting to get a little steamed up) and looks, quite frankly, very sorry for himself. ] But I'm not. [ Not to say that hasn't crossed his mind in moments of idle whimsy, wiping at his nose with the kleenex. ]
I just want to-- [ He takes off his glasses with a half-scowl, pressing his palms into his temples and closing his eyes because ow, headche. ] To find somewhere that feels like home, Eames. Why is that so hard?
lajsdlf OH MY GOD CAN I KEEP HIM :((((falsityMay 28 2011, 02:14:13 UTC
[ That tempers her smile, but not completely, the shape of her mouth bowing in a slightly different way (less sharp, much more mollifying -- perhaps surprisingly so. With a hand she reaches across the table and brushes her fingertips over the hair flattened pitifully down over his forehead. It's a careful, almost doting gesture. ]
Because despite what you may think, [ she tells him. ] You've no idea who you are just yet.
[ Again, some of Eames' rare honesty. It's a wonder still what he's done to earn it. ]
But I should know by now. [ The tone of his voice dangles on frustrated, morphed by the sickness into a near-whine of wanting but not being sure of what that something is. ] I don't want to find out that I'm Cobb.
[ Because sometimes, he thinks, it's easier to feel at home in a dream and he doesn't like to linger on what that might mean. To feel comforted and so familiar with something when it isn't real at all. His hands stay clamped to his temples, the dull throb beating behind his eyelids. ] And Arthur was mad at me.
alksjdfals HIS FAISfalsityMay 28 2011, 02:38:06 UTC
[ That gets Eames to laugh and not in a wholly good way. Talk of Cobb had that effect on her, having never withheld her opinion of the extractor from both Arthur and Aristos alike. To find both Cobb's and Arthur's names within a breath of one another in conversation is unsurprising. But that doesn't mean Eames has to like it. ]
Arthur's mad at the world, pet. [ Her singsong bares an edge and deliberately so. ] And she likes to think that I'm to blame for most of it.
[ She touches his hair again and then lower, the side of his face, before drawing back again, curling that hand under the other like it's a precious thing that needs to be kept. ] You're not Dominic Cobb, Aristos, [ she says with the kind of certainty that comes with being able to see through people. ] Not yet.
AND TO THINK I ALMOST GOT RID OF IT fufufufufuconstrueredMay 28 2011, 02:58:56 UTC
She wasn't always that way, [ Aristos counters -- not challenging but tempered in a way, sharpened to a point through the haze of illness. It's not that he doesn't mean it but he's wondered and previously where his small modicum of patience would have eventually eroded away at that incessant need, for now it's ineffective. ] Maybe you are to blame for it.
[ His face is hot. He tries not to lean into her hand when she touches him, and his eyes open at her words; the certainty of them makes him look up. He wants to ask how can you be so sure of anything but Eames doesn't operate like that, he knows. She's right. Isn't she?
His hands fall away to rest on the table. Aristos exhales. ] But I could be.
i have to say i really enjoy the dynamic between these two IT'S SO UNEXPECTED falsityMay 28 2011, 03:09:44 UTC
Yes. You could. [ Her honesty is flat-bladed but sharp. ] Now don't be.
[ Knowing something could be the case was sometimes all that was needed to prevent it. Knowledge, after all, was a powerful thing and so few people went about their day to day lives arming themselves with it. The truth, Eames knows, is a bitter pill to swallow more often than not, but in swallowing it you gain ownership of yourself and the things that you do. If Aristos could do that, he'd earn more than her honesty; he'd earn her respect.
Unsurprisingly, this line of thinking turns Eames' thoughts to Arthur -- though her words are equally relevant to him, when she adds: ] We all make the beds we sleep in.
i know, right? COMPLETELY LEFT FIELD but i am enjoying it so :333construeredMay 28 2011, 03:43:04 UTC
[ He wants to argue it's not that easy, but maybe it is. He'd fallen out of limbo saying, don't lose yourself and to an extent that was all it had took. There was a danger to underestimating what any of them could do -- what he could do. In moments like this (of youth) it was easy for Aristos to forget that.
But Eames, Eames and her way of looking through anybody and sharp eyes and even sharper honesty -- he didn't forget that so easily. ]
Sleep, [ he mumbles, head dropping into his hands. ] Sleep sounds good.
i blame his face :( and your awesome.falsityMay 28 2011, 03:53:41 UTC
[ For as long as Eames' honesty may linger for Aristos, it doesn't last nearly as long for Eames herself. The mood between them shifts (almost imperceptibly, like it's a physical tangible thing that's grown up between them since his arrival in Mombasa a few days ago). Talk is fluid for Eames -- always has been -- and the strands of conversation part, branch and split again as to the devising of her own whims.
Her hand lifts again, towards Aristos' face, and with delicate fingers she pulls his glasses from the bridge of his nose. ] That can be arranged.
actually, YOU are the one that is awesome (the future, timey-wimey, etc)construeredMay 28 2011, 04:24:23 UTC
Eames. [ He holds onto her wrist as she pulls away. His hand is clammy but solid, although she could no doubt break out his hold with minimal effort. ] I know I'm asking a lot, but don't-- [ Aristos inhales sharply and turns to her, eyes holding hers even though his face is flushed and he's soon-to-be within the throes of a fever. He tries to push it away, that haze. This feels too important to keep to himself, to keep it within his chest where it threatens to balloon and expand his ribs until they ache and pull and stretch with a fear he can't possibly name. ]
Don't let me turn out that way. [ That desperate. That lost. Like him. ]
FFFFT /divides this cake equally among us because. well. CAKE.falsityMay 28 2011, 04:35:57 UTC
[ Eames' fingers close around his glasses, holding them in a way she would never allow herself to hold onto another person (the way Aristos is holding onto her). She wants to cover the brightness in his cheeks with her hands, not to dispel it but to experience it the way another person might relish in body heat, in familiarity, in intimacy. Because even at her most earnest Eames still looks for ways to take things from people -- and given what he's just asked her, it's only fair -- but she doesn't do it, not yet at least. Just looks at Aristos in his sickness and his youth and his desperateness.
It doesn't suit him, she decides. So she agrees. ]
Never tell Arthur, [ is what she says instead of yes. ] She'll never forgive you.
[ But he's not, obviously, because. Well. Meme. ]
Reply
You, Aristos, are a terrible liar.
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I'm fine, [ he repeats, but it kind of sounds like I'b fine, what with that blocked nose of his. Stupid betraying sinuses. ]
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Mm, yes. Of course you are, darling.
[ Lies lies lies. ]
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I'm just not used to the food, [ he finds himself saying, because that has something to do with that headache of his and that sore throat and those sinuses. ] And all that recycled airplane air. It's not good for anyone.
Reply
If you're looking to be an international man of mystery, I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it. [ She practically coos the words. ]
Reply
I just want to-- [ He takes off his glasses with a half-scowl, pressing his palms into his temples and closing his eyes because ow, headche. ] To find somewhere that feels like home, Eames. Why is that so hard?
Reply
Because despite what you may think, [ she tells him. ] You've no idea who you are just yet.
[ Again, some of Eames' rare honesty. It's a wonder still what he's done to earn it. ]
Reply
[ Because sometimes, he thinks, it's easier to feel at home in a dream and he doesn't like to linger on what that might mean. To feel comforted and so familiar with something when it isn't real at all. His hands stay clamped to his temples, the dull throb beating behind his eyelids. ] And Arthur was mad at me.
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Arthur's mad at the world, pet. [ Her singsong bares an edge and deliberately so. ] And she likes to think that I'm to blame for most of it.
[ She touches his hair again and then lower, the side of his face, before drawing back again, curling that hand under the other like it's a precious thing that needs to be kept. ] You're not Dominic Cobb, Aristos, [ she says with the kind of certainty that comes with being able to see through people. ] Not yet.
Reply
[ His face is hot. He tries not to lean into her hand when she touches him, and his eyes open at her words; the certainty of them makes him look up. He wants to ask how can you be so sure of anything but Eames doesn't operate like that, he knows. She's right. Isn't she?
His hands fall away to rest on the table. Aristos exhales. ] But I could be.
Reply
[ Knowing something could be the case was sometimes all that was needed to prevent it. Knowledge, after all, was a powerful thing and so few people went about their day to day lives arming themselves with it. The truth, Eames knows, is a bitter pill to swallow more often than not, but in swallowing it you gain ownership of yourself and the things that you do. If Aristos could do that, he'd earn more than her honesty; he'd earn her respect.
Unsurprisingly, this line of thinking turns Eames' thoughts to Arthur -- though her words are equally relevant to him, when she adds: ] We all make the beds we sleep in.
Reply
But Eames, Eames and her way of looking through anybody and sharp eyes and even sharper honesty -- he didn't forget that so easily. ]
Sleep, [ he mumbles, head dropping into his hands. ] Sleep sounds good.
Reply
Her hand lifts again, towards Aristos' face, and with delicate fingers she pulls his glasses from the bridge of his nose. ] That can be arranged.
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Don't let me turn out that way. [ That desperate. That lost. Like him. ]
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It doesn't suit him, she decides. So she agrees. ]
Never tell Arthur, [ is what she says instead of yes. ] She'll never forgive you.
Reply
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