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[withimagination]

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NAME
EAMES
@IMAGINE

VITALS PUBLIC
LOCATION PRIVATE

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[pointedlook]

[ It's a check in. Just something quick at first, because this still feels so unreal. He's rolled his totem, but it's not the same. ]

>>FROM: @POINTANDKICK
>>TO: @CHIPPER

The people running this whole gig really have an awful sense of humor.

[withimagination]

@POINTANDKICK I think it's brilliant. Laughed out loud at Cobb's.

@POINTANDKICK Checking up on me?

[If that sounds smug, good. It is.]

[pointedlook]

[ WHY DOES HE BOTHER HE'S NOT EVEN RUNNING POINT FOR THIS MISSION ]

@CHIPPER Dom's is a special circumstance. Very special.
@CHIPPER I heard people disappear sometimes. Rolling my secondary totem, you could say.

[withimagination]

@POINTANDKICK need to check if I'm real? ;)
@POINTANDKICK I do appreciate it. honestly it's a bit lonely not knowing a lot of people
@POINTANDKICK any chance I could hop over to where you're staying? I'll bring things!

[This is kind of weird, outside their relationship lines, but well... it's true. It is kind of lonely right now.]

[pointedlook]

@CHIPPER If that's some kind of innuendo, Mr Eames, I'm shooting you first thing.

@CHIPPER Fine I guess. Careful of the mob out there, it's looking messy.

[ This is definitely beyond their normal lines. But this is also beyond their scope of things. They aren't trouncing through some weird extraction– this is real, no matter how much it feels like it isn't. Arthur sends Eames coordinates to the inn he's holed up in, feeling twinges of anxiety at the building chaos outside. ]

[withimagination]

[He just texts back - ] @POINTANDKICK :)

[ - and then he's off. It takes him longer than it should, but soon, Arthur will hear a knock on his door (shave and a haircut, two bits). He's got a couple of drinks in his hands, and a basket hanging off his arm.]

Arthur? [he says quietly, just so he's sure it's him.]

[pointedlook]

[ In the meantime, he tries his best to stay away from the window. And to not pace the room. He's on the second floor, so he's sure if someone's the level under, they'd be irritated. Still, it's hard to sit still without much occupying him and he ends up penning some useless notes while his one leg shakes with residual nerves.

The knock on the door throws him out of that completely (thankfully) and he's opening it as soon as he hears the correct sequence. ]

Hey.

[ Arthur steps aside quickly, letting Eames in. And after, the door gets locked. Just in case. ]

I see you made it in once piece.

[pointedlook]

>> TO: @CHIPPER
>> FROM: @POINTANDKICK

I've got a PASIV. No excuses for getting lazy or out of practice.

[withimagination]

@POINTANDKICK sometimes arthur, you're bloody brilliant.
@POINTANDKICK where the hell did you get it??

[pointedlook]

@CHIPPER Save the flattery for after I take someone through their paces for the first time.
@CHIPPER I asked nicely. With documentation.

[ Because of course he did. ]

[withimagination]

@POINTANDKICK wait we're SHARING this with everyone???
@POINTANDKICK I ask in a totally non-selfish manner. can we get more somnacin?

[pointedlook]

@CHIPPER Maybe not everyone. I'm not keeping this to myself though. Dreamshare wasn't nearly as widespread enough back home as it was.
@CHIPPER Probably. I'll fill out more papers and see. It might take some time– no idea how they're hunting it down.

[withimagination]

[He can't say he agrees with that precisely, but he won't say anything.]

@POINTANDKICK what do you intend to do with it here?

[pointedlook]

[ Eames don't rain on his parade!!! ]

@CHIPPER Use it for non-extraction. If I were to be practical, training– weapons, hand to hand, etc– would be the best utilization for it.
@CHIPPER Not sure how practical I'll be just yet. Kind of nice to not worry about a job for once.

about a day after the argument in the dream

[pointedlook]

[ If there's one good thing about Arthur losing his cool, it's that he regains it easily. Well alright, not easily. But he isn't the type to stew on things for long. He's a point man, he lives on details and logic. And logically (emotionally, mentally), he knows it's idiotic to let this thing sit between him and Eames for too long. Eames is an ally, someone he's worked with off and on over the years, it would be stupid to ruin that over some bruised feelings.

So he takes his time. Composes a message. Eventually hits send. ]

@CHIPPER Just. Give me a couple days.

baby come back...

[withimagination]

[He's sore as hell from all the working out, is probably eating way too much. What is he, a teenage girl? That's what they do in movies at least. He's rolling around in pain in his bed when he gets the text, sighing and then picking it up to read it.

Oh. Okay, so... maybe they'll be okay. Should he type something back?]

@POINTANDKICK just so you know, I'm sorry. take all the time you need. but if you feel like it, my door is always open.

[That was difficult to phrase just right, but finally he just sends it.]

[pointedlook]

[ There's not too much of a delay from Eames' end and for a brief moment, he considers not looking at the message. It's possible the forger is still (rightfully) pissed off at him.

Once he gathers his courage, he checks though, and is surprised. And relieved.

He doesn't answer, but when he talks to Eames next, he'll be sure to thank him. ]

day before eclipse eve

[pointedlook]

[ He should be concentrating on literally anything mission related. Because there's that thing, with Kebechet. And all the other crap this mission has thrown at them that he feels like he needs to file away.

But instead, he's focused on something completely different and ignoring it hasn't worked. So while this is probably inadvisable, he goes and messages Eames anyhow. ]

Hey. You around?

[withimagination]

sure, yeah! what's up? I thought you'd be knee-deep in mission planning

[pointedlook]

[ oh god why did he send this he has so much to do ]

Jesus, don't remind me. My head is going to explode.

Also, stay with me here but– do you see me as a friend?

[withimagination]

[Eames blinks at the text for a minute.]

is this you fishing for compliments? you know all you have to do is wear those tailored jeans and I'll compliment you all day.

I think we've been friends for a while now Arthur

[pointedlook]

What? No, no. First of all, I don't have those jeans with me here, I think they'd be a fashion faux pas.

Have we? Wait, look. You in your quarters? I'll be over in a few.

[ this is an even worse idea but he has a terrible voice over text. ]

[withimagination]

[He screws up his face at that reply. What are they even talking about anymore?]

yeah I am. see you.

[And since he prefers to lounge around in as few clothes as possible, he throws on comfy clothes, leaving his shoes and socks off. His hair is hanging loose over his forehead, a little messy from lounging in bed. He sits at the edge of his bed, tapping his palms against his knees and waiting for Arthur.]

[pointedlook]

[ Nerves take over for a second when he gets the affirmative, because this is dumb. He doesn't even know what he wants to say, just that text was inefficient. As though he could get himself to emote correctly on something he's so mixed on.

But, he doesn't ever back off from his word. So he walks to Eames' quarters, located down a series of corridors that connect all the rooms together. And maybe it's telling, but he doesn't even really knock, just breezes in, clicking the door shut behind him.

There's Eames, perched at the edge of the bed in a loose shirt and something resembling sweats. Sockless, shoeless, hair tousled from it's normal combed back state. Arthur pauses, staring, fingertips still sitting on the door handle. It feels like his stomach drops out, heartbeat stuttering for a second before it remembers its steady pulse.

He doesn't even want to climb into his lap, he just wants, he wants– ]

Uh, hi. Fuck, sorry, it's been a weird few days.

[omniavincit]

In the wake of the eclipse, it seems like firelight's the only light left to them. COST's villa goes up in flames; the Regency's compound is torched. One of the great houses burns tonight, smoking William out of the cubby-hole where he and Prompto had stashed their bodies while they ventured into virtual Ythaway. He's unsteady on his two feet, pressing himself to walls whenever he hears someone approach. Feeling sapped of a strength that was never real.

His contacts, such as they are, are mostly servants—meaning they're mostly dead. (Not that there's time for that word anymore, everyone just shakes their heads.) One of them finally points him toward an abandoned house, tells him about a trap door in the servants' quarters and instructs him to be gone by morning. William hadn't planned otherwise.

Sleep is impossible. He hasn't dreamed since the mission and the prospect—distended limbs, distended appetites—paralyzes his thoughts. Against his better judgment, he wanders the bare high-ceilinged house, light flickering at the windows.

Then, of course, there's a noise at the door.