InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "you know how i do"

Eames (dream_bigger) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2010-12-07 22:45:00

Entry tags:

eames, the doctor (10)

Who: Mr Eames and the Doctor
What: Post-Interview meet-up
When: Today, before he got home and discovered that Ariadne just wants him for his body (and his eyeballs).
Where: At the University

He'd got word that an interview had been set up for him at the University after lunch. So Eames put on his best clothes, thought very hard indeed about shaving and did his best to hide the sickly yellow of his bruises. He checked his portfolio one last time, and the letters of recommendation he'd written for himself last night were included. The letter that Morpheus had given his name to (or a sort-of sideways version of his name, at least) was particularly nice. He picked up the portfolio case, and paused at the sight of a deck of cards sitting on the side-table. How had he not noticed those before? Strange indeed.

He put the case down, lifted the deck of cards and smiled properly for the first time in what felt like an age. They were his cards. He opened the slightly-tatty pack and emptied the cards into his hand before fanning them out. Oh, they were his, alright. He took note of all the little nicks and tiny marks that meant he knew which card was which, then took a moment to go through a couple of fancy shuffles and cuts. Once he was satisfied, the cards went back in the pack, and into the inside pocket of his jacket. Technically, Eames didn't believe in Luck, and the Doctor had pretty much hinted that the job was his already and the interview was just a formality, but he was at heart a gambler and so he had his little rituals and more than one type of totem. His cards would bring him luck. Picking up his case, he set off for the interview feeling almost-okay once more.

The interview had gone wonderfully. He'd charmed the older female art teacher, a lovely eccentric old biddy with a great love of sculpture and clay and an affected English accent, by telling her about his non-existent adventures at art school, impressed the head of the department with his portfolio and the range of mediums he could work in, and the younger female art teacher had been checking out the glimpses of his tattoos that were visible once he took his jacket off and rolled up his shirt sleeves so he grinned at her and asked about her own tattoos when they went for a cup of tea after the interview but before any decisions had been made. Once everything was over, the head of department shook his hand and told him that although there was a virtual forest of paperwork to go through before anything was official, unofficially, the job was his. There was little point in him starting so close to the end of the semester, so when the next one started, so would he. He asked if he could still come in in the meantime, in order to get a feel for the place, and Mrs. McWilliam (she of the fake accent and clay-scraper-used-as-hair-pin) was incredibly impressed at his dedication. Eventually, he escaped, and made his way outside for a quick smoke or two before heading home.

The cold didn't really bother him all that much when he sat down on a park bench in the campus gardens. He just lit up, then slumped down as best he could without knocking some still-tender bruises, and enjoyed his cigarette. This would be his first sort-of legal job for almost a decade. How fabulous. He quickly checked his totem, out of habit more than any real desire to know if he was awake, and then took out his playing cards once more. He needed something to do with his hands while he people-watched, and so he went back to the fancy shuffles and cuts that he could do with his eyes shut.

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_ten_
2010-12-07 10:50 pm UTC (link)

The Doctor had had one class this afternoon. History, this time. He taught it alongside his Physics classes, because in all honesty who here knew more about either subject than him? It was mildly irritating having to just speak about these things - the trips he could take the class on with a working TARDIS. Although, of course, if he had a working TARDIS he wouldn't be teaching in the first place, but that wasn't the point, was it? The point was, you could hardly get a feel of the start of time (he'd extended the curriculum a bit) from a book. You had to be there to really understand how very quiet it had been.

Quiet and beautiful.

Sometimes he hated being stuck in this place so much it was as if he was too big for his own skin. Like he had so much untapped potential and energy and ideas running through him he might just burst out of himself. Not to mention this place was perfectly odd. So much time and space and reality crammed together into one city it made him itch. It was just all very blargh.

Speaking of too many people... The Doctor had been loping across the grass, hands shoved in his coat pockets, when he noticed Mr. Eames sat on a bench a little way away. A wide grin suddenly ripped his features, and the Doctor was bounding over to join him, energy and enthusiasm shining through his features. After all, when you put time into giving a group of people a little psychic nudge, you wanted to be sure it all worked out.

"Hello!" The Doctor announced perkily, suddenly in front of the man. "I'm the Doctor! Well, you know that. Oooh! Look at that!" His gaze fixed on Eames' hands, which had been moving quickly. "Cards! I used to be good at cards, you know. Used to play bridge with Churchill over afternoon tea. Well, I say tea - we rarely drank tea. Well, it wasn't really in the afternoons either... How'd it go?"

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dream_bigger
2010-12-07 11:26 pm UTC (link)

"Hello, Doctor," Eames replied once the man had stopped talking, the only sign of shock from the Doctor's sudden appearance being teethmarks in the butt of his cigarette. "It's good to meet you properly. I'm Eames, but, well. You know that too." His cards were quickly put back in the pack and then into his jacket pocket, and then he stood up and held his hand out to shake the Doctor's hand. It was nice to do things properly every once in a while, after all.

"A spot of bridge with midnight gins sounds delightful," he admitted with a small smile, "and it went well enough. Nothing's official yet, but unofficially, I start after Christmas. So, thank you very much for whatever mental jiggerypokery you did. It seems to have paid off."

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_ten_
2010-12-07 11:49 pm UTC (link)

"Awh!" A wide grin flashed over the Doctors face as he clasped the other mans hand. He was taller than he'd expected, although perhaps he as just spending all his time with short people. "That's brilliant," he grinned. "Just brilliant!" Then he realized he was still clasping Eames' hand and quickly released it, flapping his own about in a 'forget it gesture.

"Oooh," He dragged out the single syllable. "It was nothing. Mental nudge is all, open them up to ideas. Easy when you know how." He glanced out over the grounds, to where students were ambling over the grass and to and from classes. Several of them were clutching folders. "Ooooh," the Doctor breathed, suddenly a little put out. "I forgot all that work... Never mind. Think you'll like it?" The last question was shot back at Eames, his tone suddenly sharp again as his thoughts turned outward.

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dream_bigger
2010-12-11 11:41 pm UTC (link)

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Eames replied, absently wondering what it must be like, to be able to give mental nudges that were that powerful in such a way that they could be called easy. He was more than capable of helping people to come to certain predetermined conclusions, but the amount of hinting and subliminal gestures and the like he had to go through was often exhausting, and that was while everyone was still awake. Still, it could never be said that he didn't enjoy a good challenge.

"Will I like teaching? I'm sure I will. I've done it before, albeit not for very long and it was English, not art I was teaching. I'm perfectly capable of getting my point across, though, and I do know the subject very well," he said with a shrug, before tapping his cigarette to knock the build-up of ash onto the ground. He almost smiled at the memory of being a substitute teacher, when the mark for a job had been one of his student's parents, and he'd identified the kid as the best person to Forge. He'd actually enjoyed teaching the kids about the various different novels and plays they were studying, and cheerfully ignored any and all digs about his spelling ability. "The rest of the Art Department seem fairly decent, as well. What about yourself? You look the part, but you don't strike me as the sort that'd be happy in... well, in any job, to be honest."

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