Eames (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} legerdemainist) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} makebelievelog,@ 2012-10-01 00:32:00 |
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What: Playing in Eames' head.
Where: The shopping centre Eames keeps in his brain. Don't laugh. In reality, that means Eames is in his bed, and Ariadne's in her Studio
When: Sunday night/Monday morning.
Status: In Progress/Closed
Eames walked through the shopping centre, flicking his poker chip over his knuckles as he went and taking careful note of where things looked to be out of place or untidy in any way. Projections milled about, ignoring him for the most part, wandering into different shops or examining little trinkets in the stalls scattered along the walkways. In return, Eames ignored them all. He went into the odd shop every so often, the newer ones that had popped up since he'd arrived at the castle, and examined the different things that he'd somehow deemed important enough to identify a person, and therefore store away in their shop.
The shop for Sev was easy enough to identify. Bottles of all sorts filled the shelves that lined the shop window, each one filled with mysterious liquids or substances that gave a stained-glass effect to the whole place, and inside he found a vast selection of ingredients, books and cauldrons. Obvious enough for a potions master, but there was also a selection of slightly fuzzy mirrors amongst other little things, and he paused when he noticed the sleeping koala in the corner of the shop. He almost stepped closer, before deciding to leave the thing alone. Reg had told him that they were vicious little shits if you pissed them off, after all.
Speaking of the other man, his shop was close by, and yet again there were the obvious things; Suits, much like Arthur's, a wide range of ornamental pigs (and even a cat or two) and a hideous polyester chair, although not everything was as blatant as that. There was a small table full of misshapen tea-cups, and a vast selection of practical jokes, ranging from the stupid to the clever and oh-so-subtle. And then there was the area that was curtained off behind the till, the area where he kept Reg's secrets safe from everyone else. The entire shop carried a faint hint of the scent Eames associated most with Reg; a mixture of cigarette smoke, hot drinks and the night air.
Tracey's was just round the corner, although it had a fairly large cat lounging in the doorway and Eames didn't fancy angering the feline just so that he could nosy about in her shop. He could see in through the door enough to make out that it had the same style of decorating as Reg and Sev's had, all greys and greens with black and silver accents, and the front window was dominated by a collection of radios from different years. The main thing Eames took away from those three shops was a sense of being welcome, like he could relax inside them, relax properly.
Still, that wasn't what he was there for. He continued to walk along the walkways, heedless of any sort of direction. Every way wound up in the same place, after all; a huge fountain under a domed glass roof. Coins of all kinds glinted from under the water, along with some little trinkets he'd stolen at some point in his career. The edge of the fountain itself was wide enough to be used as a seat, and indeed, there were more than a handful of projections doing just that. Including one that looked to be Ariadne.
Lifting a couple of paper cups from a nearby food cart, he filled one with tea and sat down beside his projection of Ariadne, handing her the other cup as it automatically filled with a café noisette. Ariadne up-top wasn't talking to him and bloody hell, he missed her. This would have to do. He took a drink of his tea, and then looked round at her and smiled faintly. "I fucked up, you know," he said by way of greeting, "I fucked up, and then I didn't know what to say to fix things." He fell quiet after that, and then spoke up again after a second mouthful of tea. "I finished your packing for you. I can't bear to see you leave, the thought of it makes me sick, but Arthur says I'm being far too clingy and I should let go. You're a big girl, you're more than capable of living on your own, and the flat looks amazing. I'm just... being stupid. So I finished your packing. I am helping you to leave."
He pinched at the bridge of his nose after that and then rubbed at his upper lip. "Let's see if I have the balls to say that outside of here, hmm?" he muttered to himself.