arthur and eames; pre-canon

[penrosing]

[ When they make it past the young woman with the brightly colored hair collecting tickets, Arthur weaves his way past the crowd formed at the mouth of the elevator and makes for the stairs instead. He's checked and double checked the exhibition book and he knows specifically where he wants to go first. He doesn't even give galleries lined with

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[idlethings]

[ Eames follows along behind Arthur at a slower pace. Having less of an ultimate goal in mind, he ambles and takes in some of the other paintings and sculptures they pass on the way to the side gallery. He also indulges in his own personal museum activity: watching the other visitors look at paintings.

But he doesn't want to get left behind entirely, so he doesn't dawdle and when he draws up in front of Concord, he resists the urge to find the tombstone and read it first. He tips his head to one side and studies the painting. ]

Hm. It's not what I expected.

[penrosing]

[ Arthur is quiet, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as if of its own accord. Not in response to anything Eames has said, of course, but because of the painting itself. He takes another step forward, mindful to make sure his shoes don't make a sound against the concrete floor of the gallery.

Eventually, Arthur has the mind to ask: ] What did you expect?

[idlethings]

[ Eames doesn't respond immediately, his ability for witty conversation momentarily derailed by his focus. He tries to pick the painting apart into each of its constituent brush strokes, following every gesture in his mind. ]

I imagined that you might like this sort of heavily geometric art. But if you did, I though to myself, you'd go all the way and lean toward the precise and perfectionist. There's a lot of movement in this for two lines and some rectangles.

[penrosing]

No, [ Arthur says simply and for a long moment it seems that's all he has to say on the matter. In silence, he steps all the way up towards the painting, so close that there's nothing else he can see except that chalkboard-like canvas of swirling green and those two imperfect lines run down its middle. ] It's not about precision or even shapes.

[ He glances to look at Eames over his shoulder. ] Geometry is easy. Strict composition can be learned, studied, boiled down to almost a science. [ Arthur shakes his head and returns his attention to the painting, the frayed edges of those lines, the rubbed texture of the white through green. ] This can't be.

[idlethings]

[ Once the waitress has departed with their drink orders, Eames spread his napkin over one knee and breaks his chopsticks apart. The bar is crowded tonight, but most people seem to slip in and out, people who are trying omakase for the first time and decide they'd rather just order off the menu, Eames assumes.

For now, Eames ignores the bar and the fancy knife-work of the chefs to focus on his companion. ]

I should've thought to bring a camera.

[penrosing]

[ It's not by chance that Arthur thought to bring an extra change of clothes. This being a trip to Manhattan of all places, he knows enough to be prepared for any possible eventuality. Unsurprising, perhaps, to discover that Arthur had been a Boy Scout when he was younger; all the way up to Eagle Scout, in fact, since he grew up mostly immune to the judgments of his peers.

'Dressed down' is still not enough to separate him from his button-up shirts (whether or not Arthur owns t-shirts outside his drabs is a matter of debate), but he is decidedly without a tie. And wearing jeans, to boot.

When Arthur breaks apart his chopsticks, he makes it a point to hold them beneath the countertop so as not to be rude. There he rubs their freshly-broken and frayed ends together to smooth away any splinters. Glancing at Eames: ]

I don't look that different.

[idlethings]

[ Eames makes no show of having heard this at all. He's too busy looking at the spot where Arthur's tie ought to be but isn't. He's obviously heard something, though, because he holds up his hand and makes a shushing noise. ]

Hush, Arthur. I'm attempting to preserve this moment in my memory.

[penrosing]

[ Arthur abandons his chopstick on the small, patterned rest provided beside his glass of water and then moves a hand to the spot where Eames is looking. He can't tell if Eames is trying to imagine a tie there, or is simply staring at the exposed triangle of skin where his collar flays open. He covers it (perhaps a little self-consciously) with his fingers, his fingertips touching the small dip between his collarbones absently. Mal had told him once he shouldn't be afraid to come undone every once and a while, a proclamation that had left Arthur more than slightly embarrassed and, as a result, has stuck in his mind. He wonders if she'd be as amused as Eames is. ]

You're going to make this as painful as possible, aren't you?