a r t h u r ⇨ inception penroseMay 28 2011, 02:33:04 UTC
[ Arthur sighs and it sounds about as long-suffering as anyone is allowed to sound outside of an ironic period drama or something like that - very, surprisingly for Arthur. Or perhaps not surprisingly, if this is simply his way of getting company to leave him alone, which is also possible. And also very.
Anyway, he arches a brow. ] What?
[ His tone does the job of actually saying I'm fine, you can leave at any time - or so he hopes.
He's not fine, but then, Arthur has a nice long history of saying he is when he isn't. By now, he even believes it. ]
[ If Arthur truly wants Eames to leave, he'll have to be a bit more creative than that. In fact, he doesn't so much look up from the bottle of medication that he's inspecting, its contents several dozen pills the size of malt-balls. Daunting, terrible looking things. Eames frowns. ]
SOB. Those pills sound awful..../_\ I can practically taste them...dkslfjldspenroseMay 28 2011, 02:55:21 UTC
I hate when you're obtuse on purpose.
[ AKA all of the time, or at least, whenever Eames is obtuse he is 99% likely pretending to be, the exceptions being math and perhaps his less than ocean-deep knowledge concerning the Russian circus, but other than that, he's usually pretending. Eames is, to Arthur's sometimes-chagrin but more often his much-silent appreciation on jobs, intelligent. And that's an understatement but even Arthur's subconscious is on a line, pulled taut and pacing in the confines of a cage that says he's fine, he's fine, he's fine.
Now if only Eames would toss that stupid bottle at him so he can read the label. Possibly even take them.
INORITE. i am having trouble swallowing JUST THINKING OF THEM /__(fraudMay 28 2011, 03:03:39 UTC
[ Eames looks up from the bottle and flashes Arthur the kind of smile that says you're terribly handsome when you're angry and ah, condescension, nice of you to join the conversation and oh Arthur, you're so full of shit. It's easier than allowing the concern that he feels to properly manifest itself on his face -- far too private, much too loaded. ] How kind of you to notice, darling. Considered me flattered.
[ Returning his attention to the bottle, Eames notes the name (though god above if he'll be able to respell the it when he attempts to look it up later) and then pockets it temporarily as he goes to fetch Arthur an unceremonious glass of water. ]
Baddddd flashbacks to medicinetopia. /FILLS YOUR MIND WITH RED VELVET CAKE INSTEADpenroseMay 28 2011, 03:21:38 UTC
[ There's a slightly indiscernible sound from the back of Arthur's throat, something he won't allow to become a laugh and yet there's a dark kind of humor in it anyway as he rolls his eyes and fixes them on the ceiling. He's aware of Eames when the forger walks away and he's doubly aware of him when he returns. For someone who, mysteriously - as far as Arthur can tell and as it's his body he would damn well hope it's mysterious to other people if it is to himself - had a heart attack not long ago. It's strange, and not nearly as unnerving perhaps as this kind of thing ought to be, he supposes, but really he had other concerns - the job that got completely fucked seven ways to Sunday for example, as a result.
And really, things like you could have died tend to have less weight when it's true almost all of the time. Being a criminal besides, Arthur harbors some discomfort when physicians express genuine concern and worry for him, like he deserves it when he knows he doesn't
( ... )
oooooooooooooo caaaaaaake do wantfraudMay 28 2011, 03:36:41 UTC
Yes, you're right. I don't.
[ Now that the two of them were in agreement on something (finally), Eames presses the glass of water (the sides of the tumbler already slick with condensation) into Arthur's hand and then goes about popping open his prescription. Not an easy task, mind you, given the new and inventive inroads technology has made in the child-proofing sector. Still, Eames' hands have enough practice in doing things they shouldn't to make it simple enough. Glancing at the label again, he shakes out to into the cup of his hand. ] Now that we've both taken turns being obtuse-- [ He offers the medicine to Arthur with another smile, smaller and brief this time but still undeniably present. ] --drink up.
ME. TOO. B| We need instant-cake....I have no idea, technology?!penroseMay 28 2011, 03:45:17 UTC
[ Again there's the sound that isn't a word and is certainly more than a little derisive as Arthur continues to eyeball the glass of water like it's something alien and not just a little repulsive; or maybe that's how he feels about the pills. No, Arthur doesn't really have feelings about the pills at all except that they ought to make this all a little more real and they don't.
Maybe once Eames is gone, maybe then it will set in, and he'll adjust, and that'll be that. He thinks about how he spent the most hyper-intensive years of his life chasing after a man who wasn't even really there (until he was, until he could go home) and not even a twinge then. Some delay. The job they'd just been working recently wasn't even interesting much less complicated
( ... )
* Utterly and spectacularly unimpressed, Eames lifts the bag of medical supplies up between them. She can tell he has his injured arm held distinctly out of sight, behind the door cracked just enough to make it seem like he's being his usual aloof self.
Unfortunately for you Arthur, Eames has eyes, and a pair that tend to wander in your direction at that. She saw that bullet whiz past your arm; she has the blood on her dress to prove it. *
I come bearing gifts darling, now be a dear and shove over, yeah?
[ Lips pressing thinner (if that's even possible), Arthur does not do as asked/demanded of him. He grimaces though whether it's because of the arm or because of Eames and her tendency to put her eyesight to use outside of necessity, well, that may be debatable. Call it 50/50.
He stays standing, a little too rigid to be called a natural posture and his glance moves from the bag of supplies to the blood on Eames' dress - a shame really; it's an elegant number, all of Eames' choices seeming to smack of class even when they have slits up to wherever. This one does not, which suits Arthur's sense of propriety.
His sigh this time is decidedly less why and a lot more okay, fine. He pulls the door the rest of the way open in gesture more than necessity and once she's inside, locks it behind her, the arm Arthur has now mentally dubbed The Stupid Arm tight against his other side. ]
This isn't necessary. [ A last effort? Well, it is Arthur after all. ]
lol, <3! is possibly the best reaction to being shot i've ever seenforgessMay 28 2011, 03:38:09 UTC
* Eames isn't about to be turned away, least of all by a stubborn point man and his surprisingly varied use of the same expression. Its all in the degrees, Eames thinks, but really this is just the idle chatter her barin supplies her with whenever Arthur is being particularly stubborn. Like now.
Slipping into his room when he finally lets her in, Eames waves his dismal dismissal off with a flick of her wrist. His room is a more of a disarray than she would have thought possible of the prim point man; shoes obviously toed off in a hurried rush by the door (instead of taken off and placed by the side of the bed, heels even with the bed skirt), and half of his shirt hanging out of the sink.
Curious, Eames turns to see that yes, Arthur had indeed used part of his own shirt to tie off the area that's blossomed red with blood, resilient in the face of his ridiculously expensive make-shift bandage. Eames rolls her eyes and sits on his bed, setting the bag of supplies next to her thigh. *
HAHAHA well he's had worse tis but a flesh wound, etc, etc |D his reaction is obv :|penroseMay 28 2011, 03:53:34 UTC
[ When Eames turns to ascertain that half of Arthur's shirt didn't just up and walk off on its own, that it is indeed swathed round his arm in a hasty but efficiently tight mock-up of bandaging, he lifts both shoulders - the injured side less so - as if to say yeah, well. Eloquent even in his silence, clearly. It's true that the loss of the shirt was a shame, but he's not hurting for funds at present; he'll replace it with something better later in the week. Or tomorrow, things depending.
To Eames' commentary however, he only tilts his head, lets his glance go sidelong to a nondescript point on the wall as if he's reconsidering this whole patchwork thing before walking over to the bed and taking seat beside her. He starts to work on unknotting the material, his fingertips going a red made more brilliant because he's always been pale and it seems truer of late than ever.
Without glancing at her, he simply says: ] I'll buy you a new dress.
your lady of the lake says she'll shock you out of that lineface~forgessMay 28 2011, 04:19:45 UTC
* Slipping her fingers under his, Eames lets him pull his hand away at his own pace. She doesn't mind the contact between them, quite the opposite in fact- always teasing him about it and how he wouldn't be so affected by it if he just went out and found a nice girl to give him more of it. More affection. More attention. More contact.
Though, Eames supposes, perhaps more of any of that (or a combination of all three) is not exactly healthy for either of them. Eames is a very particular brand of woman, obsessed only when it suits her. Were anyone else to pay Arthur quite the amount of attention she (unwittingly) pays him, it might pose a problem.
She grins at him, unraveling the makeshift bandage and laying the cloth over her knees; the dress is ruined anyway. * If I wanted your gifts or your money, I'd have it by now.
* Jagged and an almost angry red two inches in either direction, Eames is glad its just a gash. Whatever experience Arthur's had with gunshots, in his own military or otherwise, she wouldn't have allowed him to play
( ... )
....and then they made him their king? :X IT STRIKES me now only how appropriate his name is.....penroseMay 28 2011, 04:36:16 UTC
[ Put to it, Arthur would point out that he has no interest in going out whether it be for more affection, attention, contact, or - worse - all three. He's busy enough, getting shot at for example, but because he is (thank every God or not God) not telepathic, these thoughts remain as basic truths rather than conscious things shifting behind his eyes. When Eames does tease him about it, direct and particular in her own definitive way, Arthur sometimes wonders if she's only trying to get him to go until he does find someone he can spare a minute to see, appreciate, and well, not politely ditch within the first five minutes.
He's not a social invalid, he muses a bit defensively at that, but he has his preferences. Work, and then solitude because he likes things solitude best suits: reading, personal exercise regiments, and more reading. It would come as no surprise to anyone that he was and remains a bookworm, though his glasses are things of the past (circa 1995.)
To say he submits himself to Eames' deft care-taking makes him want to
( ... )
many a time i've had to stop myself from describing his actions as "Arthurian" lolforgessMay 28 2011, 04:55:10 UTC
Assume the worst of me, don't you. * Not even a question insomuch as it is a rhetorical statement; something that they've both come to assume and accept as the norm. Eames likes to keep her colleagues in the loop of the rumor mill- whether they be rumors she's started or ones she simply allows to circulate, Eames never says. It's much easier for everyone involved to know the facts
( ... )
You should do it anyway 8) lmffldkjfssdpenroseMay 28 2011, 05:14:42 UTC
Feel free to tell me I'm wrong. [ He says blithely and it's easy enough isn't it? This back and forth between them. Arthur isn't sure he would whittle it down any longer to strictly co-workers but the word friends is such a bizarre thing for him in the scope of things. It's best for Arthur when he doesn't worry around semantics anyway, though it's these kinds of anal details that he excels in, normally. By and large, Arthur at least gets the I.O.U system, the inestimable extra card up one's sleeve of having someone out there who has a debt to pay to you; it's a nice thing, to be able to call in favors. It's saved him a few times in various ways - from inconveniences to more tenuous circumstances.
With Eames though, he knows it's a bit different when he's the one on the other side, the one who's going to be doing the owing and in a way he's fine with it; Eames tends to keep things interesting at least - which Arthur appreciates more than he cares to ever openly admitPossibly, Eames knows anyway and Arthur wouldn't be surprised about
( ... )
Anyway, he arches a brow. ] What?
[ His tone does the job of actually saying I'm fine, you can leave at any time - or so he hopes.
He's not fine, but then, Arthur has a nice long history of saying he is when he isn't. By now, he even believes it. ]
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Mm, yes. What indeed, Arthur.
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[ AKA all of the time, or at least, whenever Eames is obtuse he is 99% likely pretending to be, the exceptions being math and perhaps his less than ocean-deep knowledge concerning the Russian circus, but other than that, he's usually pretending. Eames is, to Arthur's sometimes-chagrin but more often his much-silent appreciation on jobs, intelligent. And that's an understatement but even Arthur's subconscious is on a line, pulled taut and pacing in the confines of a cage that says he's fine, he's fine, he's fine.
Now if only Eames would toss that stupid bottle at him so he can read the label. Possibly even take them.
Or not. ]
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[ Returning his attention to the bottle, Eames notes the name (though god above if he'll be able to respell the it when he attempts to look it up later) and then pockets it temporarily as he goes to fetch Arthur an unceremonious glass of water. ]
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And really, things like you could have died tend to have less weight when it's true almost all of the time. Being a criminal besides, Arthur harbors some discomfort when physicians express genuine concern and worry for him, like he deserves it when he knows he doesn't ( ... )
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[ Now that the two of them were in agreement on something (finally), Eames presses the glass of water (the sides of the tumbler already slick with condensation) into Arthur's hand and then goes about popping open his prescription. Not an easy task, mind you, given the new and inventive inroads technology has made in the child-proofing sector. Still, Eames' hands have enough practice in doing things they shouldn't to make it simple enough. Glancing at the label again, he shakes out to into the cup of his hand. ] Now that we've both taken turns being obtuse-- [ He offers the medicine to Arthur with another smile, smaller and brief this time but still undeniably present. ] --drink up.
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Maybe once Eames is gone, maybe then it will set in, and he'll adjust, and that'll be that. He thinks about how he spent the most hyper-intensive years of his life chasing after a man who wasn't even really there (until he was, until he could go home) and not even a twinge then. Some delay. The job they'd just been working recently wasn't even interesting much less complicated ( ... )
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Unfortunately for you Arthur, Eames has eyes, and a pair that tend to wander in your direction at that. She saw that bullet whiz past your arm; she has the blood on her dress to prove it. *
I come bearing gifts darling, now be a dear and shove over, yeah?
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He stays standing, a little too rigid to be called a natural posture and his glance moves from the bag of supplies to the blood on Eames' dress - a shame really; it's an elegant number, all of Eames' choices seeming to smack of class even when they have slits up to wherever. This one does not, which suits Arthur's sense of propriety.
His sigh this time is decidedly less why and a lot more okay, fine. He pulls the door the rest of the way open in gesture more than necessity and once she's inside, locks it behind her, the arm Arthur has now mentally dubbed The Stupid Arm tight against his other side. ]
This isn't necessary. [ A last effort? Well, it is Arthur after all. ]
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Slipping into his room when he finally lets her in, Eames waves his dismal dismissal off with a flick of her wrist. His room is a more of a disarray than she would have thought possible of the prim point man; shoes obviously toed off in a hurried rush by the door (instead of taken off and placed by the side of the bed, heels even with the bed skirt), and half of his shirt hanging out of the sink.
Curious, Eames turns to see that yes, Arthur had indeed used part of his own shirt to tie off the area that's blossomed red with blood, resilient in the face of his ridiculously expensive make-shift bandage. Eames rolls her eyes and sits on his bed, setting the bag of supplies next to her thigh. *
How very manly of you.
* Her tone makes it clear ( ... )
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To Eames' commentary however, he only tilts his head, lets his glance go sidelong to a nondescript point on the wall as if he's reconsidering this whole patchwork thing before walking over to the bed and taking seat beside her. He starts to work on unknotting the material, his fingertips going a red made more brilliant because he's always been pale and it seems truer of late than ever.
Without glancing at her, he simply says: ] I'll buy you a new dress.
[ Call it a begrudging thank-you. Maybe. ]
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Though, Eames supposes, perhaps more of any of that (or a combination of all three) is not exactly healthy for either of them. Eames is a very particular brand of woman, obsessed only when it suits her. Were anyone else to pay Arthur quite the amount of attention she (unwittingly) pays him, it might pose a problem.
She grins at him, unraveling the makeshift bandage and laying the cloth over her knees; the dress is ruined anyway. * If I wanted your gifts or your money, I'd have it by now.
* Jagged and an almost angry red two inches in either direction, Eames is glad its just a gash. Whatever experience Arthur's had with gunshots, in his own military or otherwise, she wouldn't have allowed him to play ( ... )
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He's not a social invalid, he muses a bit defensively at that, but he has his preferences. Work, and then solitude because he likes things solitude best suits: reading, personal exercise regiments, and more reading. It would come as no surprise to anyone that he was and remains a bookworm, though his glasses are things of the past (circa 1995.)
To say he submits himself to Eames' deft care-taking makes him want to ( ... )
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With Eames though, he knows it's a bit different when he's the one on the other side, the one who's going to be doing the owing and in a way he's fine with it; Eames tends to keep things interesting at least - which Arthur appreciates more than he cares to ever openly admitPossibly, Eames knows anyway and Arthur wouldn't be surprised about ( ... )
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