and tear me on down, well I am unforgiveable
Locked to elegantinmind || Futility!Verse.
[With his laptop set up to blare away the British radio channels, Eames is sat on one end of the sofa, book held aloft. He would be leaning against the man beside him, were it not for the puppy sitting on both of their laps, trying to nose his way under Eames' shirt every further second. Instead he contents himself with looking Arthur's way every so often, sneaking glances from behind the turning pages.
He's not really listening to the bland pop music filtering out through the tinny speakers, too caught up in how nice this is, how comfortable he feels in the quiet of the room. It's only when the jingle for the news starts that he pauses, mildly curious, an inherent need to keep up with the facts running through him. The speaker is clip-toned and mild and he's almost tempted to ignore her entirely when she gets to the headline.
Former Minister for Defence, Daniel Wright, has passed away. The sixty-nine year old man lost his long battle with cancer in the early hours of this morning. More on this at the six o'clock news.
[Eames' reaction is barely visible. His knuckles tighten on the edges of his book, skin going a bleached white with how hard he's holding on to hide the tremor suddenly blooming under his skin. When he extracts himself from under a disgruntled Sherlock, he immediately pats himself down for both his cigarettes, his phone, and his totem. He smiles at Arthur, but it's just a little distracted but pleasant enough even though he doesn't look up.] I'm just going for a smoke, love.
[Making a beeline for the door, Eames is a bit faster that what his usual nicotine rush would suggest, but he's a very good actor. Shutting it behind him with a snick of sound, he takes the stairs two at a time, desperate to be outside for just a moment.]
[With his laptop set up to blare away the British radio channels, Eames is sat on one end of the sofa, book held aloft. He would be leaning against the man beside him, were it not for the puppy sitting on both of their laps, trying to nose his way under Eames' shirt every further second. Instead he contents himself with looking Arthur's way every so often, sneaking glances from behind the turning pages.
He's not really listening to the bland pop music filtering out through the tinny speakers, too caught up in how nice this is, how comfortable he feels in the quiet of the room. It's only when the jingle for the news starts that he pauses, mildly curious, an inherent need to keep up with the facts running through him. The speaker is clip-toned and mild and he's almost tempted to ignore her entirely when she gets to the headline.
Former Minister for Defence, Daniel Wright, has passed away. The sixty-nine year old man lost his long battle with cancer in the early hours of this morning. More on this at the six o'clock news.
[Eames' reaction is barely visible. His knuckles tighten on the edges of his book, skin going a bleached white with how hard he's holding on to hide the tremor suddenly blooming under his skin. When he extracts himself from under a disgruntled Sherlock, he immediately pats himself down for both his cigarettes, his phone, and his totem. He smiles at Arthur, but it's just a little distracted but pleasant enough even though he doesn't look up.] I'm just going for a smoke, love.
[Making a beeline for the door, Eames is a bit faster that what his usual nicotine rush would suggest, but he's a very good actor. Shutting it behind him with a snick of sound, he takes the stairs two at a time, desperate to be outside for just a moment.]