(no subject)
While strange is a concept that Eames is familiar with, it's one that he tends to define differently than he expects most people would. Strange is not being able to enter someone's dreams, or being able to change his appearance and successfully pass himself off as a chesty redhead a good three inches taller than he is himself. Strange is not even falling asleep and spending two days thinking he'd woken up only to actually wake up back on the island again; it's happened to plenty of others, after all, though he's never had so much trouble with the divide between waking and sleeping as he has since arriving here. Strange isn't different universes, nor is it having sex with an attractive blonde once capable of reading minds.
What is strange, however, is going to said attractive blonde's house to find her gone. Up and vanished, as if she'd never been there at all. Eames knows about it happening, of course, has heard about it and seen others dealing with the effects of it - Emma even gained the place she was living that way - but never actually experienced it himself. Stranger still is the fact that he thinks he might actually care. For all that he has no misconceptions about what their relationship was, never looked for anything more than sex, she was a friend, too, one of two people to know about his past. Regularly getting laid, that's something he can manage with someone else, but this, dear God, may have actually been an attachment when he tends to avoid those like the plague.
Still, it's with a carefully neutral expression that he slides onto a stool at the Hub, a bit tired from all the walking and definitely in need of a drink. The place is never really empty, but he turns to the man beside him with idle curiosity anyway. A little conversation never hurt anyone, and if he's honest, he could use a distraction. "Alright, mate?"
What is strange, however, is going to said attractive blonde's house to find her gone. Up and vanished, as if she'd never been there at all. Eames knows about it happening, of course, has heard about it and seen others dealing with the effects of it - Emma even gained the place she was living that way - but never actually experienced it himself. Stranger still is the fact that he thinks he might actually care. For all that he has no misconceptions about what their relationship was, never looked for anything more than sex, she was a friend, too, one of two people to know about his past. Regularly getting laid, that's something he can manage with someone else, but this, dear God, may have actually been an attachment when he tends to avoid those like the plague.
Still, it's with a carefully neutral expression that he slides onto a stool at the Hub, a bit tired from all the walking and definitely in need of a drink. The place is never really empty, but he turns to the man beside him with idle curiosity anyway. A little conversation never hurt anyone, and if he's honest, he could use a distraction. "Alright, mate?"