[ He's pointing out the obvious, but it's part of their banter. ] Did they wind you or something?
[ Arthur takes a seat in the rickety desk chair, legs stretching out in front of him. Normally he's not one to go looking for socialization, but just having Eames here is better than the empty room. Something to think about other than the chaos outside. ]
[ Eames gives him a look and Arthur stares back at him. But then he ducks his head, hiding the small smile and a huff of a laugh. He doesn't always get to pull one over on the forger. ]
Quite the assortment. Have a seat. [ He gestures to the bed and afterwards, pokes through the basket. ]
No idea. Whenever they decide we've mucked things up enough, most likely. [ Arthur gets out of his chair, goes over to the side table where two stolen coffee cups sit. From the basket, he procures the bottle of drink and pours it into the mugs. Classy as fuck. ] No fancy glassware here, sorry.
[He does so, plopping down on the bed with only a small grimace. And then Arthur pours the booze into coffee mugs and he cackles, taking his with a nod.]
Classy.
[He takes a sip of his, making a pleased sound. Not bad booze, actually.]
I suppose at least we're used to going from place to place.
[ As Eames laughs, Arthur allows himself a smile, genuine. Of course he'd get a kick out of this. ]
Haven't had time to filch anything from the bar.
[ Also he doesn't see the point right now. The coffee cups are more important. ]
We're also used to indoor plumbing, central air, and the modernity of travel. [ Arthur snorts and sits back in his chair, stretches his legs out, takes a sip from his coffee mug turned alcohol glass. Not as potent as the stuff Henry gave him, but it's fine. He's not looking to get blackout. ] They barely even have guns here, if that's what you want to call the muskets.
"Yeah, you know. Things we take for granted normally. Technological advancements. Modernity." He might be leaning into Eames' teasing and expectation, but that's alright. The last time they had this banter, they were under significantly more stress. Arthur smiles a little.
"That would be a vast improvement. I'll settle for an old time revolver at this point, if I'm honest."
It's nice to see him smile. It's nice to make someone smile. It's been terribly stressful nowadays, and he's not really coping with the loneliness in a healthy way.
"Maybe we'll go to the wild west of America, hm? Do you think I could pull off a cowboy hat?"
Stealing a sweet and biting into it, somehow managing to look smug while biting into food.
It's been stressful but that's what he deals with best.
Ok sure, he might've almost lost his mind handling all the stress from the Fischer job, but that was in the past. In normal stress situations, he does fine. That's his job as a point man, dealing with what's handed to him and making sure it all flows accordingly. Suffice to say, he's doing pretty alright despite the circumstances.
"Yeah, probably. Think I could look alright in chaps?" Arthur knows what he's asking, even if his face is clear of any innuendo. He picks a sweet from the basket, inspects it for a second before taking a bite.
Score one for Arthur. Or wait. No, he's not keeping score, that would be childish.
(He is. He has been, for years).
"Huh. Too bad that won't happen. At least not for a while." The French weren't all about chaps at this point in history. So if they're sticking around, he doubts there will be opportunity to make Eames sputter some more.
"Unless they drop us in a Clint Eastwood set next, that is."
Totally ignoring the fact that Arthur said 'at least not for a while', as if he could ever see that.
"That would be amazing, if I'm being perfectly honest. Would taking on a role as an extra be changing the past too much? Because honestly, I think I could be a star."
"Don't know just yet. Though I guess that depends on what you mean by 'here'."
"Please." Arthur snorts a little, takes a sip of his drink. "You're already a star in your head, let's not get carried away." And Eames has some right to feel that way– he was one of, if not the, best forgers in dreamshare. That's not an easy position to get to by any stretch.
"How do you feel about all of this?" He drops the banter for a moment, looking for some honesty.
He drops his own manner, sipping thoughtfully at his drink before looking up at him again.
"I don't trust their sincerity. Something seems off to me, but I have no idea how to move forward and investigate further. I think we need think outside the box, perhaps."
He takes another thoughtful sip, then gestures at him with his cup.
Arthur nods at Eames' words, agreeing with the reasoning. Glancing down, he frowns, swirls the liquid in his cup slowly, watching it coat the sides.
It's about on par with how he feels, overall. And it frustrates him, because he wishes he could do more research on it all. But being in France, so far behind the times– it certainly put a stick in the spokes, that's for certain.
"I'm worried we're on the wrong side. Not that I have any evidence; it's all probably paranoia." Arthur huffs at this, sets his cup on the nearby side table.
"But you know me, paranoia is sort of my middle name. Either that or research."
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no subject
[ He's pointing out the obvious, but it's part of their banter. ] Did they wind you or something?
[ Arthur takes a seat in the rickety desk chair, legs stretching out in front of him. Normally he's not one to go looking for socialization, but just having Eames here is better than the empty room. Something to think about other than the chaos outside. ]
What kind of sweets?
no subject
Yeah, they did.
[He relaxes back against the wall, gesturing at the basket.]
Croissants, madeleines, beignets... go ahead and look.
[A pause.] When are these... missions over with?
no subject
Quite the assortment. Have a seat. [ He gestures to the bed and afterwards, pokes through the basket. ]
No idea. Whenever they decide we've mucked things up enough, most likely. [ Arthur gets out of his chair, goes over to the side table where two stolen coffee cups sit. From the basket, he procures the bottle of drink and pours it into the mugs. Classy as fuck. ] No fancy glassware here, sorry.
no subject
Classy.
[He takes a sip of his, making a pleased sound. Not bad booze, actually.]
I suppose at least we're used to going from place to place.
no subject
Haven't had time to filch anything from the bar.
[ Also he doesn't see the point right now. The coffee cups are more important. ]
We're also used to indoor plumbing, central air, and the modernity of travel. [ Arthur snorts and sits back in his chair, stretches his legs out, takes a sip from his coffee mug turned alcohol glass. Not as potent as the stuff Henry gave him, but it's fine. He's not looking to get blackout. ] They barely even have guns here, if that's what you want to call the muskets.
no subject
"Yeah, the muskets are shit. Maybe wherever we land next will have futuristic laser guns."
no subject
"That would be a vast improvement. I'll settle for an old time revolver at this point, if I'm honest."
no subject
"Maybe we'll go to the wild west of America, hm? Do you think I could pull off a cowboy hat?"
Stealing a sweet and biting into it, somehow managing to look smug while biting into food.
no subject
Ok sure, he might've almost lost his mind handling all the stress from the Fischer job, but that was in the past. In normal stress situations, he does fine. That's his job as a point man, dealing with what's handed to him and making sure it all flows accordingly. Suffice to say, he's doing pretty alright despite the circumstances.
"Yeah, probably. Think I could look alright in chaps?" Arthur knows what he's asking, even if his face is clear of any innuendo. He picks a sweet from the basket, inspects it for a second before taking a bite.
no subject
"I don't know," he says slowly. He raises an amused brow. "Perhaps I'd need to see you model them. For an informed opinion."
He'll just pick out a sweet too, doo doo doo.
no subject
(He is. He has been, for years).
"Huh. Too bad that won't happen. At least not for a while." The French weren't all about chaps at this point in history. So if they're sticking around, he doubts there will be opportunity to make Eames sputter some more.
"Unless they drop us in a Clint Eastwood set next, that is."
no subject
"Think we'll be here a while, hm?"
Totally ignoring the fact that Arthur said 'at least not for a while', as if he could ever see that.
"That would be amazing, if I'm being perfectly honest. Would taking on a role as an extra be changing the past too much? Because honestly, I think I could be a star."
no subject
"Don't know just yet. Though I guess that depends on what you mean by 'here'."
"Please." Arthur snorts a little, takes a sip of his drink. "You're already a star in your head, let's not get carried away." And Eames has some right to feel that way– he was one of, if not the, best forgers in dreamshare. That's not an easy position to get to by any stretch.
"How do you feel about all of this?" He drops the banter for a moment, looking for some honesty.
no subject
"I don't trust their sincerity. Something seems off to me, but I have no idea how to move forward and investigate further. I think we need think outside the box, perhaps."
He takes another thoughtful sip, then gestures at him with his cup.
"What about you?"
no subject
It's about on par with how he feels, overall. And it frustrates him, because he wishes he could do more research on it all. But being in France, so far behind the times– it certainly put a stick in the spokes, that's for certain.
"I'm worried we're on the wrong side. Not that I have any evidence; it's all probably paranoia." Arthur huffs at this, sets his cup on the nearby side table.
"But you know me, paranoia is sort of my middle name. Either that or research."