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Sirius O. Black (pad_foot) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2011-06-29 13:30:00

Entry tags:

eames, sirius black

WHO: Sirius and Eames
WHAT: Drunken Film Dissection.
WHEN: A little while after this
WHERE: Eames' sitting room.
Status: Closed/Incomplete
RATING: Medium/Highish for swearing.

The film finished, and there was a long pause. Sirius had been watching with his feet resting on the back of the sofa and his head dangling upside-down off the seat. There was an expression a bit like a bemused baby twisting his features, his mouth a little open, his brow pulled down. Or up. It was giving him a headache, actually. Sirius lifted his head up to direct his expression at Eames. His eyes were a little bright and unfocused, and the world was a bit saturated and fuzzy, but he couldn't tell if that was because of all the blood draining to his head or the half bottle of vodka he'd drunk this evening.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy left ball was going on there??" He asked, before wincing at the volume of his voice. Sirius pulled himself up to a sitting position, swaying a little as the world pinwheeled around him, his centre of gravity apparently taking root somewhere in his right ear. Sirius frowned, smacking his lips together as he looked around for the bottle. He finally found it lying half under the sofa, and the animagus fished it out to peer curiously at the last inch or so of spirit.

"Huh." He unscrewed the lid and took a swig, grimacing around the sharp taste and the burn at the back of his throat before passing it over to his friend. "I liked the bit where you fell off the bridge though. That was good. And all the... explosions and stuff. And the fire. Where the hell did you find that shirt, anyway? The circus?"

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dream_bigger
2011-07-03 10:42 am UTC (link)

Eames had spent most of the film feeling utterly confused. Not about the main plot, Christ no; how could he be confused about that? He'd thought up most of the damn thing, after all. No, he was confused because of a number of reasons. Mainly, he couldn't work out how on earth people could record things in dreams that could be brought up to reality. He'd have to ask the Boss about that. Plus, there was Cobb's projection of Mal. He'd never actually met the projection when he'd actually been involved in the job - the only time he'd seen her, she'd already "died" after Cobb had shot her in the hospital - but he'd been told enough about her by the others to know she was psychotic. Seeing it, though, was entirely different. He'd almost left the flat to cross the hallway and barge into the Cobbs' flat after seeing how he'd twisted Mal's memory into that. As for the argument with the man in Yusuf's dream-warehouse... The urge to punch Cobb in the face had lessened somewhat after spending so long in Colligo, but seeing the film had brought it all back. He stayed sitting, though, and watched his memories unfold onscreen.

Arthur's adventures in zero gravity, along with the fight in the spinning corridor, were news to him. The point-man had just shrugged off questions of how he'd dealt with security, and then changed the subject neatly, so Eames hadn't known at all, and as for Ariadne... Her first time knowing that she was dreaming, and she was folding Paris and creating bridges from reflections and he had known about those, but seeing was so far beyond knowing and fucking hell, she was born for the job.

He absently held his hand out for the vodka Sirius was handing over, and drank while his friend spoke. The question about his shirt was the only thing that registered, though. "Huh? Which shirt are you talking about?" He looked round at Sirius after that, obviously confused. All of his shirts were lovely. He took another drink of vodka and waited for Sirius to explain himself.

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pad_foot
2011-07-03 11:24 pm UTC (link)

"Oh, I don't know," Sirius waved a hand vaguely at nothing in particular. "That one. In the bar. It looked like you'd puked a bit. The shirt. Not the bar. Although..." He'd forgotten what he was talking about, and instead decided to just roll off the couch onto the floor. He hit his elbow, and it sent a shiver of pain up to his wrist, making his elbows tingle. Sirius flexed his fingers experimentally in front of his face.

"Huh," he commented. Then he sat up sharply, feeling the world spin on its axis beneath him. Bloody hell, the floor wasn't very comfortable. Why wasn't there a rug or something? Or if there had been a rug, where had that gone?

"That Cobb bloke's a bit of a knob, isn't he?" he asked vaguely, before reaching out to snatch the vodka from Eames' hand. Sirius closed one eye and peered down the neck of the bottle, but it was hard to see clear liquid in glass and it gave him a headache, so he gave up and just drank instead.

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dream_bigger
2011-07-04 10:25 pm UTC (link)

"Cobb's a fucking maniac. And a knob, yes. I never knew what Mal saw in him. Sees in him. Or Arthur, for that matter. Not that Arthur likes him like that, because he doesn't, but he followed after the crazy bastard for fucking months, and all the while, Cobb's insane version of Mal was doing that to him..." Eames grumbled, still considering going over and breaking Cobb's nose for him. "There's more vodka in the kitchen, by the way."

He was far too annoyed and drunk to be thinking about Cobb. If he kept that up, there would be at least one fistfight tonight, and he didn't really want to do that. A change of subject was required. "Did you like where I live? Well, what we saw of it, that is... I miss my balcony. And Yusuf, I miss him. I wish he'd show up here. You'd like him, he mixes the best drinks I've ever had. Even if he does own cats and train them to torture me."

"Are you going to get off the floor? Because we need more vodka. And how the fuck did those people get cameras three fucking levels down, anyway?"

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pad_foot
2011-07-05 12:11 am UTC (link)

Sirius frowned up at him from his position on the floor, the alcohol making his thoughts lazy and jumbled. "You live here," he pointed out. The something seemed to click into place. Although 'click' wasn't quite the right word. 'Crawled drunkenly' was probably better. "Ooooh! You mean on the film. Yup. Lovely. Very... balcony-y."

"I like the floor," Sirius pointed out, then lifted his hips off the mentioned surface to slide his wand from his back pocket. "Accio vodka." He held out his hand to catch the bottle currently sailing through the air towards him. It always surprised him that he was a hell of a lot better at catching when he was pissed off his face. Sirius absently began to unscrew the top from the new bottle, twisting around so his shoulders were leaning against the sofa.

"Don't think about it, mate," he slurred. "It'll do your head right in. Here. Drink." Sirius brandished the bottle under Eames' nose. The animagus had enough experience when it came to watching a film or reading a book around his personal life, and had come to the decision that drink was always the best way to deal with it. "I'm confused about that whole level stuff anyway. I reckon I just have one level. And it's probably just filth. One filth level."

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dream_bigger
2011-07-05 07:11 pm UTC (link)

Eames took the vodka and drank, taking a couple of mouthfuls before passing it back to Sirius. He kind of wanted some olives now. Olives and cigarettes. Yes. He lifted his lighter and packet of fags from the arm of the couch beside him and quickly lit up, then pointed vaguely in Sirius' direction with the lit end.

"You, you shouldn't be confused. It's easy. It's a dream within a dream within a dream. That's all. Being awake's the starting point, and you go down into a dream. Yusuf's dream, right? With the van and the shooting, and all the rain. First level. Then we go to sleep again, which takes us down to Arthur's dream. The spinny hotel where Charlie was and Arthur was a cheeky fucker and stole a kiss from Ariadne. And that's the second level." Eames was making helpful hand-gestures as he spoke, indicating all manner of things like "going down" and "cheeky fucker" and "spinny hotels", and if Sirius still didn't understand by the end of this, Eames was going to be most put out. "And then we go to sleep again and it's my dream with the hospital and blowing all those bastards up. We should go skiing sometime. Can you ski? It's brilliant. But yes, my level, it's the third one. And below all that is Limbo. And that's where Cobb fucked with Mal's mind, because he's a ginormous twat who needs a punch in the face. Easy!"

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pad_foot
2011-07-08 03:29 pm UTC (link)

There were days when Sirius was painfully aware that this time, here, in this mental city on another planet, was probably going to the best he had left. Watching Eames' film, taking in the countless differences between their homes, had made him think of his own. Eames had been doing that probably a good few years after he'd died. The idea made him shiver and reach for the bottle Eames was passing back to him. Sirius took a deep few drinks, feeling the spirit burn the back of his throat and pool hotly in his stomach as he tried to force himself to listen and understand the complete insanity his friend was spouting.

"I don't get how you fall asleep when you're already asleep," he grumbled. It was hard to concentrate when you were actually blind drunk and the bloke sitting on the sofa above you kept waving his hands around like the Whomping Willow. "I dunno why you bothered. What did you get out of it, anyway? Another blindness-inducing shirt?" He shot Eames a cocky grin. He kind of understood, with some weird memory of Gringotts and one level being stacked on top of the other with the most important stuff at the bottom, but it was making his head spin even more than it was already doing. Sirius squinted a little, putting the bottle down beside him.

"What's skiing?" he asked, "That arsing around with sticks on your feet on the mountain? Is that what that was? No thanks. If I wanted a broken neck I'd go play Quidditch with Prongs."

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dream_bigger
2011-07-09 12:13 pm UTC (link)

"It's simple," Eames said, about to launch into a full explanation of how they could drop down through the dream levels, but then he remembered who he was talking to. "The machine does it. And what do you mean, what did I get out of it?" He sat forward at that, and poked the other man on the shoulder. "I'll have you know, I'm a very very rich man back home. As is Arthur. And Ariadne. Only she's not a man. But she's very rich anyway. Saito paid us disgustingly well. Not that I wasn't well-off before the job, you understand. Besides, weren't you paying attention? We did it. We're the first people to Incept an idea into someone's mind. Well, first to do it properly. Cobb's a dick, he doesn't count, fucking about in Mal's head like that. Never let Cobb into your head. Never. Not even if he offers, just say no! This is important."

He looked for the vodka after that, but Sirius had put it on the floor. The bastard. So there was nothing for it but to get down on the floor as well. He blew a few smoke rings up into the air first, and then slid down onto the ground rather bonelessly. There it was! He lifted the bottle and drank as Sirius delivered his verdict on skiing. "How... how is it that you'll happily get on, on your flying motorbike, but you won't go skiing? How does that work?"

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pad_foot
2011-07-09 12:29 pm UTC (link)

"Oh blah," Sirius squatted the poking hand away clumsily, letting his hand flap around a bit. "I was rich once. Richer. It was shit." But then he supposed that was different, because it was old money and he hadn't earnt it, it had just been accumulated over years of merging pureblood families who eventually managed to filter down to Sirius and his younger brother. He couldn't touch it now, of course, even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't. Regulus was welcome to it, as far as he was concerned. Still, he was hardly badly off with his Uncles money - he had enough to keep a roof over his and Remus' head and get away without a regular income, at any rate.

Sirius frowned, twisting to an almost impossible position to peer up at Eames. "It's like an Imperius curse while you're asleep," he decided, slightly nervously. Morally, he was sure there were all kinds of hurdles with what had happened. If only he was more sober and less of a wizard maybe he'd be able to dissect it better. "Kind of. Only a little bit less morally fucked up. And hopefully with less suicides and murders. Why would Cobb be anywhere near my head?" He looked around for a cigarette. "I think it seems like a lot of shit to go to for money and some infamy, is all. Could you even tell people about it after?"

He wasn't trying to pick hole. He was sure it was very impressive, but it was confusing and he was drunk and the floor was very hard on the small of his back. Sirius peered across as Eames slid onto the floor to drink, finally locating a cigarette and lighting it with a silent spell. "That's magic," he informed Eames blankly. "It's different. What you were doing was falling down a hill. On... bits of wood. Didn't you get feet splinters?"

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