Ficlet: Avoid the Pork
Avoid the Pork
Set in the Sex Bucketlist/There's got to be a morning after universe.
Author note: I started writing a short and sweet 'Eames meets Arthur's family in the Amuse-Bouche' universe. Several thousands words later, the story unfolding was neither short nor sweet. I put that on hold to bang out a short (really this time!) and amusing conversation between Eames and his daughter. A week later, this is finally ready for posting. Just in time for the new year.
Wordcount: 885
"Hello, Eames," Tansy says when her face appears over Skype. "Thank you for finding a moment to speak with me."
"Yes, well, tis the season." Eames takes a sip of eggnog and grimaces; it tastes dreadful. But Arthur made it and now Eames feels foolishly compelled to finish the mug. "I heard from two different sources that you're spending Christmas in Scotland. My mother sounded chuffed and your mother had the opposite reaction."
"It's only a few days. I'll be back for New Year's, so I don't see why Mum is making such a fuss," Tansy says. "Are you enjoying the hols?"
"I've endured nearly twenty-two hours in transit, including trains, planes, and automobiles. I feel like the walking undead. Once I've slept for a day and no longer resemble a shambling corpse, I can begin to ponder enjoying anything."
Tansy chuckles. "Well, I have a question for you." Before Eames can head her off, she asks, "What is it like to be in love?"
"In love?" Eames frowns. "Haven't you ever been in love? I expect it's precisely like that."
"There have been romantic and sexual dalliances, but nothing serious. Nothing more profound than lust or infatuation. Which is why I'm curious about the real thing."
"What makes you think I'd know anything about that?" Eames takes another sip of eggnog and hopes that sheer obtuseness and obstinacy will put her off this line of questioning.
"There's no need to lie. I know you spent the past twenty-two hours in transit purely to see Arthur," she replies, undeterred. "If that doesn't qualify as love, I don't know what does."
"Be that as it may." Eames clears his throat, having been caught out. "I haven't anything positive to say about love or the state of being in it."
"Even better. I'm not interested in hearing the usual syrupy drivel and eagerly await your analysis."
Eames downs most of the eggnog in a gulp and sighs. "It's an awful business. We spend more time with our clothes on than off."
She blinks. "But Arthur's rather fit, isn't he? Surely--"
"Talking. Limited amounts of sex can be had, but seemingly infinite amounts of talking," Eames continues, determined to finish now that he's started. "Regarding the tedious details of our days. About our insipid hopes and aspirations. About Star Trek. I now know a disturbing amount about Star Trek in all its various incarnations."
She seems puzzled. "This is love?"
"Apparently." Eames finishes the last of his drink. "I wouldn't recommend it to anyone."
There's a knock. The door to the room eases open. "Hey, babe, you want more eggnog?" Arthur asks, coming over to kiss Eames' temple. "I've got a lot leftover."
"I think I'm alright for now, darling, but thank you." Eames is unable to stop himself from leaning in to Arthur's warmth.
"Of course." Arthur squeezes Eames' shoulder, then stoops to wave at the webcam. "Hey, Tansy. Still in school?"
"Unfortunately," she replies.
Arthur smiles. "I know how you feel. I got out as soon as I could and never went back."
"What did you do instead?"
"Joined the military." He shrugs. "Left that pretty quick, too. Started a few businesses, worked as a freelancer."
"That sounds marvelous," she says with a wistful expression. "Free to do what you want without answering to anybody."
"There are still customers and clients to manage," Arthur replies. "But yeah, I like working for myself a hell of a lot better than dealing with teachers or bosses."
Eames looks back and forth between the two of them, not sure if he should discourage this.
"I'm afraid I must run to dinner now," Tansy says. "If you're amenable, Arthur, perhaps later I could ask you a few questions about your work?"
"Sure," Arthur replies. "Shoot me an email and we'll set up a time to talk."
She positively lights up. "Thank you, I will indeed. And, Eames, thank you for answering my query tonight."
"Yes, well, run along to dinner and avoid the pork," Eames advises, beginning to wonder if this was all an elaborate ruse for Tansy to connect with Arthur. "Everything should be store-bought or made by the servants, except for the pork, which Mother insists on preparing herself every year."
"Duly noted," Tansy says. "Happy holidays!"
After she signs off, Arthur muses, "I still can't get over the fact that you refer to 'the servants' unironically."
"I'll be the first to admit that I had an absurd upbringing," Eames says, spinning in the office chair to face Arthur. "I do believe there is a bigger issue at play, however: are you luring my illegitimate daughter into illicit criminal activities?"
"Luring? I'm merely informing her about some less conventional career paths." Arthur quirks an eyebrow. "You have a problem with it?"
Eames shrugs. "Not particularly. I expect her mother will be most displeased and eager to share that displeasure with me. Loudly. But that's a problem for a future Eames."
"It's good to see the present Eames," Arthur says, voice dropping to something nearly shy. "I'm-I'm happy you could make it."
Eames takes Arthur's hands in his. Twenty-two hours of transit for this. "It is good to be home."
Arthur's mouth tastes strongly of eggnog. Eames kisses him anyway.
fin
Poll Ficlet: Avoid the Pork
Set in the Sex Bucketlist/There's got to be a morning after universe.
Author note: I started writing a short and sweet 'Eames meets Arthur's family in the Amuse-Bouche' universe. Several thousands words later, the story unfolding was neither short nor sweet. I put that on hold to bang out a short (really this time!) and amusing conversation between Eames and his daughter. A week later, this is finally ready for posting. Just in time for the new year.
Wordcount: 885
"Hello, Eames," Tansy says when her face appears over Skype. "Thank you for finding a moment to speak with me."
"Yes, well, tis the season." Eames takes a sip of eggnog and grimaces; it tastes dreadful. But Arthur made it and now Eames feels foolishly compelled to finish the mug. "I heard from two different sources that you're spending Christmas in Scotland. My mother sounded chuffed and your mother had the opposite reaction."
"It's only a few days. I'll be back for New Year's, so I don't see why Mum is making such a fuss," Tansy says. "Are you enjoying the hols?"
"I've endured nearly twenty-two hours in transit, including trains, planes, and automobiles. I feel like the walking undead. Once I've slept for a day and no longer resemble a shambling corpse, I can begin to ponder enjoying anything."
Tansy chuckles. "Well, I have a question for you." Before Eames can head her off, she asks, "What is it like to be in love?"
"In love?" Eames frowns. "Haven't you ever been in love? I expect it's precisely like that."
"There have been romantic and sexual dalliances, but nothing serious. Nothing more profound than lust or infatuation. Which is why I'm curious about the real thing."
"What makes you think I'd know anything about that?" Eames takes another sip of eggnog and hopes that sheer obtuseness and obstinacy will put her off this line of questioning.
"There's no need to lie. I know you spent the past twenty-two hours in transit purely to see Arthur," she replies, undeterred. "If that doesn't qualify as love, I don't know what does."
"Be that as it may." Eames clears his throat, having been caught out. "I haven't anything positive to say about love or the state of being in it."
"Even better. I'm not interested in hearing the usual syrupy drivel and eagerly await your analysis."
Eames downs most of the eggnog in a gulp and sighs. "It's an awful business. We spend more time with our clothes on than off."
She blinks. "But Arthur's rather fit, isn't he? Surely--"
"Talking. Limited amounts of sex can be had, but seemingly infinite amounts of talking," Eames continues, determined to finish now that he's started. "Regarding the tedious details of our days. About our insipid hopes and aspirations. About Star Trek. I now know a disturbing amount about Star Trek in all its various incarnations."
She seems puzzled. "This is love?"
"Apparently." Eames finishes the last of his drink. "I wouldn't recommend it to anyone."
There's a knock. The door to the room eases open. "Hey, babe, you want more eggnog?" Arthur asks, coming over to kiss Eames' temple. "I've got a lot leftover."
"I think I'm alright for now, darling, but thank you." Eames is unable to stop himself from leaning in to Arthur's warmth.
"Of course." Arthur squeezes Eames' shoulder, then stoops to wave at the webcam. "Hey, Tansy. Still in school?"
"Unfortunately," she replies.
Arthur smiles. "I know how you feel. I got out as soon as I could and never went back."
"What did you do instead?"
"Joined the military." He shrugs. "Left that pretty quick, too. Started a few businesses, worked as a freelancer."
"That sounds marvelous," she says with a wistful expression. "Free to do what you want without answering to anybody."
"There are still customers and clients to manage," Arthur replies. "But yeah, I like working for myself a hell of a lot better than dealing with teachers or bosses."
Eames looks back and forth between the two of them, not sure if he should discourage this.
"I'm afraid I must run to dinner now," Tansy says. "If you're amenable, Arthur, perhaps later I could ask you a few questions about your work?"
"Sure," Arthur replies. "Shoot me an email and we'll set up a time to talk."
She positively lights up. "Thank you, I will indeed. And, Eames, thank you for answering my query tonight."
"Yes, well, run along to dinner and avoid the pork," Eames advises, beginning to wonder if this was all an elaborate ruse for Tansy to connect with Arthur. "Everything should be store-bought or made by the servants, except for the pork, which Mother insists on preparing herself every year."
"Duly noted," Tansy says. "Happy holidays!"
After she signs off, Arthur muses, "I still can't get over the fact that you refer to 'the servants' unironically."
"I'll be the first to admit that I had an absurd upbringing," Eames says, spinning in the office chair to face Arthur. "I do believe there is a bigger issue at play, however: are you luring my illegitimate daughter into illicit criminal activities?"
"Luring? I'm merely informing her about some less conventional career paths." Arthur quirks an eyebrow. "You have a problem with it?"
Eames shrugs. "Not particularly. I expect her mother will be most displeased and eager to share that displeasure with me. Loudly. But that's a problem for a future Eames."
"It's good to see the present Eames," Arthur says, voice dropping to something nearly shy. "I'm-I'm happy you could make it."
Eames takes Arthur's hands in his. Twenty-two hours of transit for this. "It is good to be home."
Arthur's mouth tastes strongly of eggnog. Eames kisses him anyway.
fin
Poll Ficlet: Avoid the Pork