Re: The New Year
It was (admittedly) a very nice golden cage.
Eames, as he had told people, did not let his temper rule him. Anger, darling, could make you irrational and irrational meant you missed things. Eames wanted badly to be rational at this moment in time but anger from the phone call that had lodged the cell phone down the back of the cushions, still ran hotly under his skin. He believed in selfishness. He believed in doing things entirely for yourself and the afternoon had been entirely about himself until it was not. Had they followed up after the phone call with a house visit? Eames didn't know.
The steak, darling, had been forgotten and the burn throbbed but it was inconsequential. The twitch of movement caught his peripheral vision and he turned in time to see two tips of ears where the window split into wood cladding.
Woods living had thus far, agreed with Eames. He liked it more than he thought he would given his preference lay in a tumult of people and in the predictably chaotic city. But he hadn't encountered the local flora and fauna so boldly at his door. He stared, the burn forgotten and the pan forgotten too.
"You're not nearly the spy I expected, darling," he said in the husk of flat London without the modulation of cleverly non-specific middle class English. "What the hell are you doing here?" He expected the creature to bolt as he approached the window.