Re: Janus A/Eames - log
"Corinthian could do that," Janus said, without thinking, as Eames spooled out the medical tubing and returned to his chair. The soldier's eyes scrolled over his own arm, connected to the case, and up the other side to Eames' arm. It kept going, across the peacock blue breadth of his chest and down again to the magician's appearance of a gambler's tools of trade. Janus' expression read more confusion, but no curiosity. At this point Eames could probably sprout technicolor wings and the soldier would just blink slowly at him, so little was the energy available to him for surprise or fear.
Instead, the demon's mind wandered as the case started to sigh into the air between the two chairs. He likes Eames' shirt, and was thinking of how it might look on a different figure. He noticed all that muscle and wondered what the other man had done to make knuckles so hard above shoes so shiny. He wondered if this was some sort of trick, and Corinthian wasn't dead at all, just leading him on into an ever-changing nightmare that would never end. He started to open his mouth to ask a question, but found he was too tired to do so, and he started to think to move, but he was already asleep--the deep sleep of someone sedated who weighed under 80 pounds.
His breathing soon matched the regular hiss of the machine, and the concerns all faded away into sleep.