He recognizes her, of course. Even if he didn't make it - well, keep it, really - his business to do so, Eames thinks the same would have been true regardless. Something about Ellen caught his attention and held it when they first met on the day she arrived here, and that hasn't changed when he catches sight of her now, on his way into the Hub for a drink himself. The dress, the shoes, the fact that she's sitting there alone, it's intriguing, really, enough to make him wonder what she's getting at. He doesn't think it's accidental.
Taking a seat one stool down from her and ordering himself a drink, he angles slightly in her direction, offers a smile. "Hello, darling," he says lightly, then gestures towards her with his chin, the motion just enough to be noticeable. "You look lovely tonight. What's the occasion?"
Ellen's equally intrigued - not necessarily by his presence here, or what exactly his plans are, but by the man in general. They'd made pleasantries on their walk first thing, when she'd initially arrived, but she'd only learned so much about him, and she knew that was his intention, most likely. It had certainly been hers, but rather than push people away, her subtleties only serve to draw people in. She's not sure if she wants more people getting closer than she'd like.
"Why does there have to be an occasion?" she asks, fingers reflexively curling around her glass as she does the same, positioning herself in his direction with a small swivel. "I thought tonight was a good time to take a break from the sandals and shorts."
"Believe me, you'll get no complaints here," Eames says, warm rather than outright suggestive. He can be shameless, but it's almost more fun, at times, not to be. Anyway, nothing like that is his intention, at least not primarily. He finds her too fascinating for that, and, for that matter, isn't convinced that there's no occasion, however true her last statement may be. "Just thought I'd ask. It's not the sort of thing you see 'round here every day, you know, someone looking quite so good."
"And yet look at you," Ellen points out, nodding from her drink to the suit he's wearing. It may not be completely Wall Street material, but it's certainly nicer than a lot of island wear she sees some people donning on a daily basis. Some people seem to have given up the way of the formally-dressed, but Ellen's not quite ready to relinquish her grip on the things she has limited control over, once the clothes box gives her a good selection. This is one of those nights where she feels as though she needs to be in control of something, no matter how small. "Very sharp."
"Touché," Eames says, one corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. He's never gone so all-out as some people he knows - well, mostly just Arthur - but he does always make a point of dressing well, deliberate even when he seems his most careless. For this place, it isn't the norm, though, so either she's as concerned about such things as he is, or there's something more specific that's provoked her into dressing like this tonight. A wardrobe may seem a simple thing, but there's a lot, in fact, that it can reveal, besides the obvious (namely, what's underneath it). "After a year here, I'd hope I've managed to collect some decent clothing."
"This might turn out to just be one of those rainy-day dresses," Ellen says, tilting her head slightly in an expression of thought as her fingertips absently run over the slender stem of the martini glass, coming up to cup underneath the place where it expands into the wider shape. "You know, the one I end up pulling out of the closet just to turn the day around." In a sense, it's what she's doing tonight, but she's hoping the drinks will have a greater impact on the way she woke up feeling, at least for now. The dress, on the other hand, seems to be doing her a whole lot of favors tonight. "At least I know it fits. It's getting some attention," she adds slyly.
The thing about having a dress to turn the day around is that it means having it turn around is necessary. Eames would ask what's prompted that, but it is, he thinks, a hell of a lot more interesting not to, to wait and see what she reveals on her own instead. There's more to be said about a person in what they decide to tell than in the questions they answer. Besides, it's all too easy to keep playing along when he's meant every word he's said. "Oh, well, how could it not?" he asks, shrugging easily. "Not that you'd need it, but it's very flattering."
She realizes she may be incriminating herself, or revealing too much about why she chose to wear the dress in the first place, and something tells her he's silently fishing for more details without overtly asking, a subversive action that both intrigues her in turn and gives her something of an uncomfortable feeling. She knows underhanded, behind-the-back, passive-aggressive, but this ultimately doesn't feel like any of those. If anything, she's being delicately handled, but people soon learn that she doesn't need the kid gloves. "It's a struggle to find anything that fits, much less fits well," she admits, straightening up in her seat and feeling the air move across the bare skin of her back. "This was a small victory."
"That box has it in for everyone, I think," Eames says, not quite thoughtful. He hates the thing, but it's a low-level sort of hatred, the sort of thing to talk about with a shrug, because it's not like he would ever expect anything else from it. It's that frustrating with everyone, deserved or not. He's pretty sure it just requires patience, but while he may have a lot of that when it's called for, he's also never found it warranted where the box is concerned. There isn't any sense in waiting around for one half-decent piece of clothing. For her, though, any effort that went into finding this has definitely paid off. His gaze wanders briefly to her back when she straightens, trailing down the line of her spine before he offers her a smile again. "I'd call this a little more than a small victory, though."
Ellen wonders if maybe she's had a little better luck with the clothes box than others. Her first day or two here, she'd started rummaging through its insides for things to wear, and aside from the occasional piece that could only be constituted as wedding wear (which she'd promptly tossed back into the box and tried to avoid the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach before continuing on), everything else had been fairly wearable. Others don't seem to be as fortunate when subjected to what appears to be the box's unique sense of humor. His remark catches her at the tail end of her thoughts and she glances up from her drink at him, smiling slowly. "Really? What would you call it, then?" she asks, inviting a reply.
"A much larger victory," Eames says wryly, biting back a laugh. Patience and luck is all it is, but she's still far better off than most of the people walking around here, though to put it that way, she wouldn't need the help of any dress for that to be the case. For an island full of attractive people, she's still striking; then again, there's a good chance that comes from how fascinating he finds her. Secrets, mystery, they have their own appeal, and she is, he gets the sense, a puzzle to be solved. Raising the glass in front of him, he lets one corner of his mouth lift a little higher. "Here's to hoping you have continued success with that box."
Ellen's own smile starts to spread as she reaches for her drink, careful not to spill any of its contents as she lifts it up towards him, close enough to nudge it against his if she leans just far enough. The small chime rings out in the air and she lifts her drink to her lips, pausing slightly as an idea dawns. "How about we toast to success in all areas? Not just with the box? I don't know about you, but I can never have too much of that on any front," she tells him, her smile adopting a tinge of sincerity. "Of course, if I receive more than my fair share, I'd be happy to lend you some."
"To success in all areas, then," Eames says, with a short nod of approval before he sips his own drink. It's hard to refute something like that when success is such a clear thing to strive for, something he's seen a lot of but never grown sick of. (He doesn't know how anyone ever could, so that part probably goes without saying, but it still counts.) On the island, it's largely a different story; so much is random, impossible to predict, and success and good luck aren't always the same thing. "And I'd be glad for any spare you happen to find yourself with, though I'd also hope it won't be necessary."
"That makes two of us," Ellen confesses, a slight sigh of an exhale following her words as she allows the latest sip of her drink to linger on her tongue. She hasn't had enough to completely cloud her mind, only to create a small amount of mental fog, so there are certain details she still manages to make out very clearly, like the distinguished features of his profile as he sits near her side at the bar, the both of them facing forward for the most part. Curiosity wins out over a continuance of her position and she turns to face him directly, sitting sideways in the stool as she crosses her legs slowly. She can't afford to make any exaggerated movements, not in this dress. "So you've already got a hut of your own, I'm guessing. Tell me, what should I be looking for if I start the search for mine?"
"Couldn't tell you, actually," Eames says, as close to rueful as he ever gets. "My place was inherited. Friend disappeared so I moved in, and she got it the same way. Whoever's it was to start with really went all out, built a huge thing." Some of it isn't precisely his taste - he could do without the huge V on the side - but he'd rather live in something like luxury than a little wooden hut. "If you want my honest opinion, though, they're really all the same. Unless you ask for something different, but for the most part, you'll be getting the same standard wherever you decide to have one."
"Inherited, huh?" Ellen asks, mildly curious about what his place looks like if he's calling it huge. Then again, she supposes size is relative here, especially for her, someone used to penthouse suites and large apartments paid for by their boss. The thought of depending on Patty for anything now makes her feel sick to her stomach, and she tries to quell it with a long sip of her drink, finishing it off once she reaches the end. "The next few days will have to consist of some investigating, in as mildly unintrusive a way as possible," she declares, glancing over at him. "But that's tomorrow, and tonight I won't worry about it."
Taking a seat one stool down from her and ordering himself a drink, he angles slightly in her direction, offers a smile. "Hello, darling," he says lightly, then gestures towards her with his chin, the motion just enough to be noticeable. "You look lovely tonight. What's the occasion?"
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"Why does there have to be an occasion?" she asks, fingers reflexively curling around her glass as she does the same, positioning herself in his direction with a small swivel. "I thought tonight was a good time to take a break from the sandals and shorts."
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