[ Very possibly Arthur should not be at work to begin with, but the defense is a typical one - if not a good one; he felt reasonable at the beginning of his shift, which amounted a lot less to card turning and a lot more to random things needing to be done (a machine malfunctioning, or so it seemed - it wasn't.) Off and on he spots Mr. White though they never really make eye contact. Eames' words about Orange and White not being cut of the same cloth occur to him more than once but that too is just in passing. He's less at home in the casino working than he would be simply trying his "luck" or being outsourced, gaming mathematics something he honed for a job and, like riding a bicycle, it hasn't left him since
( ... )
[Another day, another dollar. Whoever is working the music has a sense of humor turning out the 80s hits. Love is a battlefield, the lady sings. It was never a big favorite of the old man but no one asks him. That's one of the many perks about the job is that there are few times when he is cornered for questions and none of them are about what he thinks. The last time he got up close and personal with an employer it didn't end well. Not at all.
Still, he comes to work armed. That's how it's done if you work security. Mr. White protects himself, the employees and the assets of the casino. Making his rounds by the tables.
Before he knows it, there's a clunk. Before anything can really go down he's shooing off the customers. Lucky is already flanking making sure everything stays there.
Please let there be no bodies on the property today, he hopes earnestly. Shit is just messy. Uh oh. This is Argyle, isn't it. The old man knees and grips Arthur's shoulder. Just a few touches because if he's been stabbed or if something's broken moving
( ... )
[ It's his default reply to say that he's fine but he opts initially for just splaying the hand farthest from White (that is White isn't it, he's going to assume yes unless White has a twin running around, which isn't impossible) on the floor, digging into the cheap excuse for carpet. He chalks up the clustered, swimming impression he has of everything to the fever as he props himself up on one elbow. His jaw hurts with how hard he's grimacing but strangely that brings him back to himself better for a second. ]
I'm fine, I'm fine. [ There's the default, Arthur wondering none too cheerfully if standing up would be a Bad Idea. Possibly. Contradicting his own words too. He rubs a hand down over his own face, to cover any wincing or whatever else; he's pretty sure he's never been hit with something as ridiculously pathetic as the flu in all his life. Not to his recollection. But this isn't the flu of course, not really
( ... )
[For fine he's acting like the opposite. The old man is giving him enough room to breath he hopes. Lucky the other thug about has his hands full making sure no one is going for the chips. There's only one Mr. White and he's working on gripping Arthur by the shoulders.]
Slowly now. Let's get you some place quiet to sit down.
[And to see if he's really all in one piece. Half lifting, half dragging him to his feet isn't easy. The old man has his fill of patience.]
[It could be worse, he tells himself - and Arthur tells himself a lot of things that aren't necessarily true but this one is. He throws a hand out to the side of the table once he's been pulled back up enough, sets most of his weight on that side at first, not keen on White helping him out but only because he's not keen on anyone helping him, nothing personal to the acquaintance. (He's not sure 'colleague' quite works here though in the relation of the casino, all right, technicality fulfilled.) But he's caused an inevitable scene and there are chips scattered in an impressive diameter so he clenches his jaw like he plans to have it stuck that way and shifts what he knows to be less than half his weight on White. It's enough to get one foot in front of the other and the truth is he'd feel better about this if he had some kind of injury; it's the fact that he doesn't that's really mortifying. He's just sick
( ... )
[No blood. That's great. Sure saves the effort of figuring out who and what brought this on. Game isn't over yet. The old man is there every step of the way.]
Careful.
[Though he's getting the feeling that Arthur isn't exactly capable of controlling what is and isn't gentle. There's a sway to his step. White isn't taking them very far. Just one of the private lounges for bigger poker games. The nearest chair is all of the other man.]
Right here, pal. Easy does it.
[He keeps it tilted toward the table in case gravity fails once more.]
Sit for a spell.
[Because they're gonna play twenty questions. Hopefully that's a no brainer.]
[The only lament Arthur would have for blood would be for his suit, which says more about Arthur than maybe anything else but fortunately no one here is a mindreader, well not out of the two of them anyway. When he ends up noticing the noise has gone down is when he realizes they're in one of the small rooms, but he knows he should have noticed in reverse order, which is annoying - maybe also troublesome.
But he sits as half directed, choosing to lean forward with his elbows on his knees and his forehead pressed to the fold of his hands. Like this, if he stares long and hard enough at the floor between his feet, everything stops moving on its own.
It takes him too long again, the whole noticing thing, in this case to realize White hasn't left. Twenty questions? He'd rather not, knows if he slipped out they'd find someone else easily to take his remaining hours. ]
You can go, you know.
[His voice is strange even to him, not well, but it's audible enough. Besides, what's the point in inquiry? Lost on him. He closes his eyes, and
( ... )
[Pfffft. Who does he think he is, dismissing the old man.]
Not yet.
[No blood doesn't mean no problem. The old man crouches a little to look at Arthur's face from one side to the other. Eyes look alright. Paw like mitts are off for now.]
You wanna give me a second and tell me what happened? Huh? Drink anything? Feel anything out of the ordinary?
[Was this the work of someone else. That is important. The longer this takes the more whoever was involved (if anyone at all) is making more tracks or could be a repeating offender that needs to be punched in the face.]
[Swallowing down a ruder reply than he wants to actually give White - just a reflex from the annoyance at his current state - he shakes his head but that's a mistake too. The room starts swimming again so he fixes his eyes on one place in the carpet, hand rubbing down over his mouth and jaw again.]
It's been going around. [Is what he says, gaze going sidelong toward White but only for a second.] Just some kind of bug. I guess.
[He doesn't realize what White is driving at, the potential for foul play running amuck, but if he did he would argue that's par for the course in this place (dream) and whoever's responsible for the territory should be stuffed and shelved. Sighing, he shivers, closes his eyes for a moment and laces his fingers, pressing them across the bridge of his nose.]
Didn't seem this bad before. [It's a lame addition and he regrets it nearly as soon as it's out of his mouth but he lets it hang there for the two additional cents it might be worth
( ... )
Still looks like it packed an awful punch. You about gave the table a heart attack.
[That's a joke if you can't tell, Mr. Argyle. Though no one is blaming you for not being up to laughing. Larry rubs his own chin and considers the next step./small>
Well, if you asked me... [Which Arthur has not, as the guy that peeled him off the ground] I'd kick it in here awhile until heading home. Unless you want a cab?
[Brow arching at that, Arthur is for a second more interested in the idea of a cab than actually calling one - the striking absence of too many cars or things like cars always hard to ignore. Another second though and he sighs, hands absently smoothing at his knees as if to clean them off.]
No cab.
I'll...figure something out.
[He has to reroute his mouth from call someone to 'figure it out', though he peers at White again, this time able to focus on him a little more steadily. Again Eames' words come back - made of different stuff, he'd said or something to that effect - White and Orange.
None of his business, he supposes and looks away as he repeats, ] Thanks though.
For the help. [It's the kind of clarification he wants to make, frowning at his own knee as he folds a hand at the back of his neck, feeling the collar of his shirt sticking there. Great.]
At least think it over, man. Making your way back home feeling like a sack of dog shit is hard.
[Not to rub in however the kid feels right now. Arthur's a grown man though. Larry looks about the room and steps away a moment. Looks like one of the minibars are there. He crouches in and takes out a bottle of water. What? It's just water. Besides, the mini bars get refilled. He steps on back to Arthur.
He has proven to be something of a stick in the mud, being sick hasn't changed that. Come on, Dimick don't expect a guy to fall out of character because he's sick or anything. That's not how it goes.]
True. [There's a thin excuse for a laugh. White is frank and Arthur likes that, not in small part because he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to parse through anything less. He wonders what kind of dreamer he is, or if projections could be so complex (Mal's ghost the only example and hers not so benign) whose subconscious he's peeled out of. Not Arthur's certainly, and Eames would remember. That leaves Yusuf to Arthur's knowledge, and anyone else whole. There's a second or two when he considers asking White what he thinks of this place as a place, what makes him think it's not some really extensive dream (why no one else figures it for that) but it's gone nearly as fast as it occurs to him, a near misstep; he'll blame being unwell, or something.
He ends up just eying White's shoes when they come back into his line of vision, finds himself asking something else instead.]
How long you been here?
[Small talk but not really small talk, he's not looking to keep White longer than necessary but he and Orange seem acclimated enough to
( ... )
[In case it wasn't clear enough, the old man puts the bottle of water in his line of vision. That's for him. Since he's the ill one. Or at least it makes sense that he can have that. There's seltzer water and soda. Too bad booze didn't work as medicine. Though he knew a guy who was dead positive that Jack Daniels was the only doctor he needed if he wasn't bleeding. Whatever happened to that guy.
Mr. White doesn't mind the quiet. Arthur isn't a good ol' chum. Even if he was, what can you expect out of a man that passed out, really.]
Me? I been here a year and...I think it's three months?
[Three months spent trying to get the fuck out. Larry goes to the mini bar to get his own water.]
Longest I been someplace...
[That wasn't jail. By definition the City could be a prison to some. Compared to the last two times this one is a cakewalk.]
[Accepting the water, Arthur unscrews the cap, turning it over absently between his fingertips as he takes a sip, watching White get his own. Over a year. That's nothing near Dom and Mal's limbo but Arthur doesn't trust the mechanics of this 'dream' hardly at all anymore and he wonders if time might compound differently than any of them can account for - a year down here, reversed above? It makes him grimace again, nothing to do with being sick so much as the idea of time hurrying on without them. Life seems short enough already.
Longest I been someplace.
That makes Arthur look up, peering at White more directly than he has been so far. After another swallow, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, pauses.]
Vagabond? [The first thing that comes to mind though one can stay less than a year and not be a vagabond. Really it's half a joke, mildly humored but humor anyway
( ... )
[A few more seconds later and White would have sputtered some of that water all over the floor. The bottle was this close. He laughs from deep in his gut. Vagabond. Who says that anymore? Makes him feel like he's in a Charlie Chaplin movie. Larry shakes his graying head.]
No. Uh. Not really. [He is easy to smile unlike other people. Part of his nature. It makes him seem like he's an all around swell guy that hasn't shot up any cops.] I think of it more as a traveling man. I got some kind of a need to be on the road.
[Which makes him sound like a cowboy. That's never bad.]
There's a lot of it to see most of the time.
[Outside of this place is what he means.]
How about yourself?
[It's had to have been at least six months... right? The old man's not 100% sure of when Mr. Argyle became part of the casino scene. People look the part and then there as much a part of the picture as the carpet.]
Reply
Still, he comes to work armed. That's how it's done if you work security. Mr. White protects himself, the employees and the assets of the casino. Making his rounds by the tables.
Before he knows it, there's a clunk. Before anything can really go down he's shooing off the customers. Lucky is already flanking making sure everything stays there.
Please let there be no bodies on the property today, he hopes earnestly. Shit is just messy. Uh oh. This is Argyle, isn't it. The old man knees and grips Arthur's shoulder. Just a few touches because if he's been stabbed or if something's broken moving ( ... )
Reply
I'm fine, I'm fine. [ There's the default, Arthur wondering none too cheerfully if standing up would be a Bad Idea. Possibly. Contradicting his own words too. He rubs a hand down over his own face, to cover any wincing or whatever else; he's pretty sure he's never been hit with something as ridiculously pathetic as the flu in all his life. Not to his recollection. But this isn't the flu of course, not really ( ... )
Reply
[For fine he's acting like the opposite. The old man is giving him enough room to breath he hopes. Lucky the other thug about has his hands full making sure no one is going for the chips. There's only one Mr. White and he's working on gripping Arthur by the shoulders.]
Slowly now. Let's get you some place quiet to sit down.
[And to see if he's really all in one piece. Half lifting, half dragging him to his feet isn't easy. The old man has his fill of patience.]
First get you up. Not gonna have you fall again.
[Yeah, Arthur. That's what you did.]
Reply
Reply
Careful.
[Though he's getting the feeling that Arthur isn't exactly capable of controlling what is and isn't gentle. There's a sway to his step. White isn't taking them very far. Just one of the private lounges for bigger poker games. The nearest chair is all of the other man.]
Right here, pal. Easy does it.
[He keeps it tilted toward the table in case gravity fails once more.]
Sit for a spell.
[Because they're gonna play twenty questions. Hopefully that's a no brainer.]
Reply
But he sits as half directed, choosing to lean forward with his elbows on his knees and his forehead pressed to the fold of his hands. Like this, if he stares long and hard enough at the floor between his feet, everything stops moving on its own.
It takes him too long again, the whole noticing thing, in this case to realize White hasn't left. Twenty questions? He'd rather not, knows if he slipped out they'd find someone else easily to take his remaining hours. ]
You can go, you know.
[His voice is strange even to him, not well, but it's audible enough. Besides, what's the point in inquiry? Lost on him. He closes his eyes, and ( ... )
Reply
Not yet.
[No blood doesn't mean no problem. The old man crouches a little to look at Arthur's face from one side to the other. Eyes look alright. Paw like mitts are off for now.]
You wanna give me a second and tell me what happened? Huh? Drink anything? Feel anything out of the ordinary?
[Was this the work of someone else. That is important. The longer this takes the more whoever was involved (if anyone at all) is making more tracks or could be a repeating offender that needs to be punched in the face.]
Reply
It's been going around. [Is what he says, gaze going sidelong toward White but only for a second.] Just some kind of bug. I guess.
[He doesn't realize what White is driving at, the potential for foul play running amuck, but if he did he would argue that's par for the course in this place (dream) and whoever's responsible for the territory should be stuffed and shelved. Sighing, he shivers, closes his eyes for a moment and laces his fingers, pressing them across the bridge of his nose.]
Didn't seem this bad before. [It's a lame addition and he regrets it nearly as soon as it's out of his mouth but he lets it hang there for the two additional cents it might be worth ( ... )
Reply
Still looks like it packed an awful punch. You about gave the table a heart attack.
[That's a joke if you can't tell, Mr. Argyle. Though no one is blaming you for not being up to laughing. Larry rubs his own chin and considers the next step./small>
Well, if you asked me... [Which Arthur has not, as the guy that peeled him off the ground] I'd kick it in here awhile until heading home. Unless you want a cab?
Reply
No cab.
I'll...figure something out.
[He has to reroute his mouth from call someone to 'figure it out', though he peers at White again, this time able to focus on him a little more steadily. Again Eames' words come back - made of different stuff, he'd said or something to that effect - White and Orange.
None of his business, he supposes and looks away as he repeats, ] Thanks though.
For the help. [It's the kind of clarification he wants to make, frowning at his own knee as he folds a hand at the back of his neck, feeling the collar of his shirt sticking there. Great.]
Reply
[Not to rub in however the kid feels right now. Arthur's a grown man though. Larry looks about the room and steps away a moment. Looks like one of the minibars are there. He crouches in and takes out a bottle of water. What? It's just water. Besides, the mini bars get refilled. He steps on back to Arthur.
He has proven to be something of a stick in the mud, being sick hasn't changed that. Come on, Dimick don't expect a guy to fall out of character because he's sick or anything. That's not how it goes.]
Don't mention it.
Reply
He ends up just eying White's shoes when they come back into his line of vision, finds himself asking something else instead.]
How long you been here?
[Small talk but not really small talk, he's not looking to keep White longer than necessary but he and Orange seem acclimated enough to ( ... )
Reply
Mr. White doesn't mind the quiet. Arthur isn't a good ol' chum. Even if he was, what can you expect out of a man that passed out, really.]
Me? I been here a year and...I think it's three months?
[Three months spent trying to get the fuck out. Larry goes to the mini bar to get his own water.]
Longest I been someplace...
[That wasn't jail. By definition the City could be a prison to some. Compared to the last two times this one is a cakewalk.]
Reply
Longest I been someplace.
That makes Arthur look up, peering at White more directly than he has been so far. After another swallow, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, pauses.]
Vagabond? [The first thing that comes to mind though one can stay less than a year and not be a vagabond. Really it's half a joke, mildly humored but humor anyway ( ... )
Reply
No. Uh. Not really. [He is easy to smile unlike other people. Part of his nature. It makes him seem like he's an all around swell guy that hasn't shot up any cops.] I think of it more as a traveling man. I got some kind of a need to be on the road.
[Which makes him sound like a cowboy. That's never bad.]
There's a lot of it to see most of the time.
[Outside of this place is what he means.]
How about yourself?
[It's had to have been at least six months... right? The old man's not 100% sure of when Mr. Argyle became part of the casino scene. People look the part and then there as much a part of the picture as the carpet.]
Reply
Leave a comment