/THROWS OUT WINDOWoneminutemazeNovember 20 2011, 21:48:18 UTC
[ It's ultimately easier to call them friends in the City; calling them her colleagues would bring up too many questions, and besides, how many people live with their colleagues? That doesn't mean she's necessarily any closer with them than she is with the others she's met here, however, outside of a common background and that 'understanding' of the environment that she questions daily. She hasn't been working in dreams as long as the others, and her mind is more open -- when they say "this is so", Ariadne replies with either "but why?" or "but what if it isn't?", even if she doesn't always say it outloud.
She's observant, always has been, and Eames has layers -- many of them. She isn't foolish enough to try and slip into his dreams, as she had been with Cobb; she likes to think she's learned his lesson, and as long as no ghosts of his past come to try and rip them to pieces once the PASIV gets working, she thinks she may be better off not knowing. The two days she spent as a cheetah were, perhaps, the most emotion she's seen from him that wasn't just snark.
The door opens, and Ariadne steps inside, shutting it behind her in case Arthur is trying to sleep and heading over to sit on the foot of his bed without asking. ]
NOOOOOooooooooo.....shiftsNovember 20 2011, 23:06:49 UTC
[ At that, Eames hides a smile behind the closed twist of his mouth, letting out a small, rasping chuckle. He tips his head a bit at her, legs crossing at the ankle as his hands clasp on his stomach, fingers linking. ]
Get hit with another writing bug? You're not too awful at it, aside from the content.
[ But Ariadne is an architect, not a novelist, and he thinks she's far better at the former, anyhow. ]
[ Some of it is pretty awful. But he keeps that one behind his teeth, the crook of his canine catching on his lip. He does glance over at the roman numerals of the clock perched on his dresser, though, rolling his shoulders. ]
Think you can crank out another masterpiece in three hours? [ He teases, voice tight with barely concealed amusement before he reaches over to grab one of his pillows, offering it over to her with a silent toss of it. ]
Please don't tempt me. [ She could probably write several in that time, depending on the length. ] Otherwise I'll be stealing your network device and using that to write it up, and I don't think you'd appreciate that.
[ She's absolutely serious about that, but she catches the pillow and decides sitting up is overrated. Instead, she stretches out at the foot of his bed, settling an elbow on the pillow and propping up her head in her hand. ]
Pick another subject, then. [ He slips out of bed to tug open the window a crack, moving to the armoire to grab his extra stash of cigarettes and lighter from his linen trousers. He's been trying to quit ever since the curse that got him addicted in the first place, having not smoked regularly since his teens, but having taken to it with a forced vengeance, it's some work. ]
[ Ariadne watches with a sort of half-interest, not particularly surprised that Eames is smoking, but unable to resist a jab. ] Try not to burn the house down.
[ His next comment has her swallow slightly. There are several of them, so he probably doesn't mean what her mind first jumped to. She shifts to buy herself time, rolling onto her stomach. ]
Ginny's boyfriend, Harry, and I met on the first day. I guess it's just sort of natural progression from there. [ Yes, natural progression. Because making out on a desk with Ginny's brother is totally natural progression.
In fact, there's a pause. ] Are all the British so fond of petnames?
Mmm, depends. Some more than others, some don't utilise them at all. No more than Americans, I'd say.
[ He props himself up on the window sill, flicking the tip of the cigarette to life with a snap of the lighter. Inhaling sharply, he peers at Ariadne with a raised brow. ]
[ Could be kitten. Or kittentits. Or any variation thereof. It reminds Eames of a conversation once had with Ginny and he has to smile, tongue swiping over his teeth. ]
[ Urgh. Maybe it's the word 'sweetie' or just the idea that, if she wants answers, she'll have to actually give context, but those cigarettes are looking good. She doesn't smoke much by any means, but she's picked up a few things in France.
In fact, she's shifting to where he left the pack of them, nodding toward it. ] You mind?
[ Then again, she's habitually French, so he's not all too surprised. He plucks up the pack, tossing it toward her, lighter following soon afterward. ]
[ Catching the pack and then the lighter, Ariadne simply raises an eyebrow at Eames before moving over to the window. Her cigarette is lit with practiced ease, and she leans against the wall, inhaling. ]
Sales, at first. Or, well, concern on my part and then sales. [ That would be the context. ]
She's observant, always has been, and Eames has layers -- many of them. She isn't foolish enough to try and slip into his dreams, as she had been with Cobb; she likes to think she's learned his lesson, and as long as no ghosts of his past come to try and rip them to pieces once the PASIV gets working, she thinks she may be better off not knowing. The two days she spent as a cheetah were, perhaps, the most emotion she's seen from him that wasn't just snark.
The door opens, and Ariadne steps inside, shutting it behind her in case Arthur is trying to sleep and heading over to sit on the foot of his bed without asking. ]
This curse needs to end.
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Get hit with another writing bug? You're not too awful at it, aside from the content.
[ But Ariadne is an architect, not a novelist, and he thinks she's far better at the former, anyhow. ]
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[ Pulling her legs up onto the bed a bit, knees folded over each other, she sighs. ]
The writing bug hasn't left yet. Hopefully it's just another weekend curse and not anything longer; I guess we'll see in a few hours.
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Think you can crank out another masterpiece in three hours? [ He teases, voice tight with barely concealed amusement before he reaches over to grab one of his pillows, offering it over to her with a silent toss of it. ]
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[ She's absolutely serious about that, but she catches the pillow and decides sitting up is overrated. Instead, she stretches out at the foot of his bed, settling an elbow on the pillow and propping up her head in her hand. ]
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I saw you met the Weasleys.
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[ His next comment has her swallow slightly. There are several of them, so he probably doesn't mean what her mind first jumped to. She shifts to buy herself time, rolling onto her stomach. ]
Ginny's boyfriend, Harry, and I met on the first day. I guess it's just sort of natural progression from there. [ Yes, natural progression. Because making out on a desk with Ginny's brother is totally natural progression.
In fact, there's a pause. ] Are all the British so fond of petnames?
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[ He props himself up on the window sill, flicking the tip of the cigarette to life with a snap of the lighter. Inhaling sharply, he peers at Ariadne with a raised brow. ]
Why?
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It's hard to shrug, sprawled out on her stomach as she is, but Ariadne manages. ]
I'm not used to being referred to as "love" every few sentences.
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[ Could be kitten. Or kittentits. Or any variation thereof. It reminds Eames of a conversation once had with Ginny and he has to smile, tongue swiping over his teeth. ]
Does that sort of thing make you uncomfortable?
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No, not really. I'm just not sure how to take it, I guess.
[ Stupid charming British ginger wizards and their stupid charming petnames. ]
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[ He leans back, tipping his mouth toward the crack in the window to exhale a long plume of smoke outdoors. ]
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In fact, she's shifting to where he left the pack of them, nodding toward it. ] You mind?
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[ Then again, she's habitually French, so he's not all too surprised. He plucks up the pack, tossing it toward her, lighter following soon afterward. ]
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Sales, at first. Or, well, concern on my part and then sales. [ That would be the context. ]
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[ At least, that would be Eames' first guess. He doesn't really know the entire story behind it. He opens the window up a bit wider, though. ]
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