InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I love when you order me pizza"

eames (_eames) wrote,
@ 2012-11-28 09:51:00

Most of the time, Eames really likes his job. And then sometimes, Eames loves his job. The day he is handed the file on a certain CIA agent he is being politely asked to follow for the sake of work and investigation is one of those days. Because it does make everything a little bit better to be told that you have to follow a rather attractive man around and somehow, at your own discretion, get him into an unconscious state in your presence.

For all the risks of working for MI6, the perks are brilliant.

That the CIA are really branching out into this kind of methodology for whatever nefarious purpose is genuinely concerning, and of course Eames understands that there are plenty of good reasons he's going to be rolling out this rather wobbly and new technology of slipping into dreams and wandering around (it's a little more technical that that, but the science is tedious and it's much easier to get on board with when it's all broken down). That and in the training (top secret training, selected personnel only) he scored almost perfectly on every test means that the reputation and the knowledge of the British government is entirely in his hands. No pressure.

Really, no pressure.

The thing is he's going to have to somehow drug the poor guy to hook them both up, because 'Arthur' is going to know exactly what is going on and, for all his charms, Eames doesn't suppose he's going to be able to just say 'hey, fancy hooking yourself up to a machine with me so I can have a look around that sexy brain of yours?' No, that isn't going to happen.

But one step at a time, he's good at playing by ear, even if it makes him a bit of a liability. And that is how he winds up sitting in a bar in Philadelphia, drinking a shockingly pink cocktail in a Martini glass and looking across the room at his target, the lovely Arthur, who is loitering with some friends or colleagues or some such. Eames watches him. He's debating, choosing his tactics, and he thinks he's going to go for the suarve approach first.

"Sir," he taps the bar and the barman comes over. "Would you be so kind as to take a drink over to the gentleman over there? The attractive one," Eames smiles, slips the man a tip and sits back to wait. Even if Arthur isn't batting for his team, he'll have his attention.

(Post a new comment)

_arthur
2012-11-28 02:58 pm UTC (link)

It's a Wednesday, rainy and cool, and Arthur has just gotten far enough into his drink and idle table talk with the rest of the Langley contigent to soothe the vicious tedium of two and a half days' agency conferences -- in Philadelphia, of all places -- when the barman appears at the booth with another Glenlivet, neat. Arthur isn't more than half finished with the drink he still has in hand, and when he looks up to decline, the barman only shrugs and cocks his head toward a figure seated at the other end of the bar. "Take it up with him," is the only answer he gets.

The bar is suitably dim, just enough so to make it a strain to identify any particular features from across the room, but he gets the impression of broad shoulders, close-cropped hair, a crooked smile that evens out when his gaze is noted. The garishly pink cocktail he takes into account almost as an afterthought; unimportant, but he has a thing about details. He deals in facts, despite what the gossip about his current project might say to the contrary; in dreams or out of them, there's no benefit to lying to himself. This is why Arthur isn't too prideful to know what the other man sees in him, in turn: some baby-faced kid in a suit, tie loosened, hair a little rumpled -- Mallorie Miles, at his left, is half French but entirely continental in her notion of personal space, all the worse for the four drinks she's already had to his two. She practically glows, leaning against his shoulder with a lilting laugh. "Charmingly thuggish," she pronounces, following the trajectory of his gaze. "Looks like you've made a new friend after all, hmm?"

"I don't have friends," Arthur reminds her, but it falls short of sharpness. It's impossible to be sharp with Mal.

"Yes, yes," she sighs. "Heartless Arthur, desk agent extraordinaire." The look she gave him was fond, though. "Do we have to call you that up here, too? Honestly, mon chou, it's hardly becoming."

It isn't. But the job is the job, its needs before his preferences, and if they want to assign him the lamest callsign to ever grace American soil, so be it. "Verisimilitude," he says, climbing to his feet (to much protest from Mal) and brushing down the wrinkles in his sleeves. "If you take this seat, Mal, I swear to God..." She waves him off, already making overtures to badmouth him to the rest of their tablemates. It leaves him free to walk his drink down toward its donor, calculating as he goes.

The man's attention is ... not unflattering, the closer he gets. Maybe Philadelphia deserves a little credit after all.

"Excuse me." He remains on his feet, the fresh drink in his hand. "There seems to have been a mistake at the bar. I think this must be yours."

(Reply to this) (Thread)

_eames
2012-11-28 04:16 pm UTC (link)

Eames watches Arthur from across the bar, marrying up the intelligence he's read on him with the real life man himself. He knows Arthur isn't the nervous, retiring type, even if he can probably play that card. And his posture oozes his confidence, even if no one else can pick up on it. His posture, his gait as he makes his way across the bar and, my my, Eames doesn't know if this is a test of his skills in the field or a different test entirely.

Arthur is lovely.

Eames has the manners to give him a once over whilst he's still at a distance, so that when they're up close and personal he only has need for eye contact.

"My mistake indeed," Eames smiles. "It's been a while since I was in the States. Methods have clearly changed." Arthur, oh, it was a shame this was work, but he has no time limit. Safe and innocuous is all they asked of him. "So, help a fellow out here. What does one do to show appreciation for a handsome man across the bar? For the next time I'm in town."

He smiles on, lifting his garish drink to his lips. It tastes of raspberries and is the least alcoholic alcoholic thing on the menu.

"And please," he adds, swallowing. "Even if this is a straight up rejection, keep the drink. I'm not the vindictive type."

Arthur's sexuality is questionable and not in the intelligence files, but the body language between him and the lady he left at the table is certainly not that of lovers. And the chances of a straight man out with his work friends calmly coming over to reject another man's advances without it involving a punch to the face are, in his experience, very low. So there is hope, and this could be a very successful evening.

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

_arthur
2012-11-28 05:49 pm UTC (link)

Up close, Mal's assessment seems both more and less correct. Pink drink or not, Arthur would be willing to put money on the man sporting tattoos under his shirt (just rumpled enough to hint at rough trade, a nice touch), though the plummy accent suggests a well-read thug, in any case. He sits, setting the drink down on the bar between them: a concession, rather than a rejection.

"More's the pity," Arthur says. "Vindictiveness agrees with me, I'm told."

Arthur has few illusions about himself, good or bad. Honesty is a brutal policy, but it is less tiresome than the self-consciousness that bogs down so many others, and he's well aware at least that he's in a position where it's easier to be honest with himself than most people can afford to be. Arthur is twenty-four, well-regarded and better-paid, unencumbered by anything involving more commitment than a houseplant; if being chatted up by a man in a bar doesn't fall strictly within the usual bounds of his everyday routine, it doesn't fall far enough outside the realms of possibility to ping any alarms. Warm with alcohol and the unexpected attention of a stranger handsome enough to make it not unwelcome, he has no reason not to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

"But if one is looking for something better than straight up rejection, one," he goes on, too gravely to be anything but mocking, just a little bit, "might start with one's name." The cant of his head is less hostile than the words might imply, though, and the lines around his mouth deepen like the seeds of a smile.

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

_eames
2012-11-28 08:31 pm UTC (link)

"Hm, well, if you play your cards right we might get to that stage," Eames' smile eases into a grin, though it's almost a painful truth, because once they're through Arthur will probably want to rip Eames' balls off.

And wouldn't he just love to give him a chance to do that? His plan has unwound in his head and it seems safest to attempt to get Arthur back to his room and then drug him there. It's the nicest way. If it doesn't work he's going to have to try something a little more brutal and he doesn't really like that.

"Daniel," Eames offers his hand to Arthur, because he is still a gentleman even if he is a gentleman on a rather nefarious mission as far as Arthur is concerned. "It's a pleasure. And what do they call you?" he glances up and over at the company Arthur was keeping before him, at the giggling woman and the almost-drunk men. "Or what would you like to be called?"

(Reply to this) (Parent)