InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Not everything."

Eames (dream_bigger) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2011-02-25 22:13:00

Entry tags:

eames, uther pendragon

Who: Eames and Uther
What: Married life. How domestic.
Where: Their flat
When: This evening.

Eames had taken over the table. There were essays everywhere, covering almost every inch of the wooden surface, except for the small space taken up by a long-since forgotten mug of tea. There was a small (but steadily growing) pile of essays at his feet, which were the ones he'd already marked, and there were red pens hidden in strange and unusual places within the zone of chaos. Eames usually knew where his pens were, but alas, Mr. Earnshaw was easily distracted and given that he'd brought work home, Eames had yet to break character.

In fact, he was still wearing his glasses as he hunched over the latest attempt at an essay, trying to decipher exactly what the student was talking about with regards to the incredibly easy essay question that had been assigned ("Compare and Contrast two artists from the same period") and muttering to himself as he underlined entire paragraphs in red ink and wrote things like "there is no evidence provided in this to support your theory" or "No, No, No, NO!" or even "there is more to this painting than the woman's breasts". On the whole, he had a great bunch of students in all his classes, but there always had to be one or two idiots. "I suggest you take a look at the paintings you think you're talking about, and then rewrite this entire essay" was printed on the title page of the current essay in spiky red letters, and the offending waste of paper and printer ink was dropped onto the Marked pile.

He lifted another essay and started scanning through it, completely forgetting that he'd agreed to sort out dinner this evening.

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camelot_king
2011-02-26 03:41 pm UTC (link)

Uther came in from work smelling a little of horses, with dirt dried over his boots and caked in the hems of his trousers. He was usually one of the last to leave the stables, making sure the animals were fed settled and everything was locked, that the tack room was ready for the next day. So it was evening by the time he got in, bending down to undo his laces and place the dirty shoes neatly by the door. Eames was there already, papers spread over the table in a way that reminded Uther of the council meetings he used to sit through back in Camelot. They were one thing he really did not miss.

Uther hadn't approved of this 'marriage' situation. He had a wife - had had a wife, who he'd loved more than life. He didn't want to be married again. And that was the main issue - Uther had spent enough nights camped out in tents in his youth, had conquered a Kingdom, and he was used to sleeping with company. And Eames seemed like a pleasant enough man, perhaps a little... strange sometimes, but he knew he could have found this a lot more uncomfortable than it was. At least he was no longer forced to suffer the company of Jack. Early on in this ridiculous experiment, Uther had just decided that the best way to get through this was to just grit his teeth and wait for it to end. Like one of his Lords more boring rants.

"Good evening," he greeted Eames, stepping into the main room. A frown deepened the lines on his weathered forehead, and he examined the scene in front of him. "It's been a long time since I've seen someone look that irritated over a pile of papers."

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dream_bigger
2011-02-26 09:40 pm UTC (link)

The sound of Uther's voice caused Eames to pause in his reading, before looking up and blinking in surprise at how dark the room had become. It had been daytime when he'd arrived home, so what time was it? Glancing round the room, he took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes for a second. "Good evening," he replied once he spotted Uther, and smiled very slightly at him before putting the glasses back on. "I, uh. What time is it?"

Uther's comment about him looking irritated had him frowning down at his work again. He stood up and stretched, then shrugged. "Oh, not all of the essays are that bad. Some of them, they're, ah, quite good. I just, I think I've just hit a run of bad students. Or ones that aren't interested, I should say. They can write, they just don't care," he responded, forcing Andrew Earnshaw to the back of his mind for the rest of the evening as he spoke, losing the slight hesitancy that the persona had developed as his accent shifted subtly back to normal. The glasses came off once more, and were tossed onto the table, landing beside the mug of cold tea and with that motion, Eames was fully himself once more. That meant that his own, rather sharp, memory came back into play, and he swore to himself as his previous agreement made itself known. "I just realised, I said I'd make dinner tonight. Do you mind waiting a bit longer? I can make some tea in the meantime, and get started on cooking, or if you'd prefer, I'll go and get a take-out. Once I've cleared the table, of course."

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