Re: Quicklog, Mean-Eyed Cat: F. Eames/Steve M
[Eames had given an impression to Cisco under different circumstances of the military. It had been bearing then, perhaps a collection of indicators that had added up in that particular head to the Royal something or other. Eames had no bearing now. He was straight-backed, but he had the air of a man who slouched, louche elegance even if he was too thick-necked for it. He had no idea what lingered in the bartender's head, but Eames did his level best to calculate an impression that was slippery enough to miss all sorts of marks, and he smiled grooves into the corners of his mouth and the fan of lines at the corners of his eyes.]
No, darling. A perennial wanderer, me. And between you, me and the whiskey? [He leaned over the bar, for an entirely unnecessary stage-whisper.] I don't miss pork-scratchings and bad carpet.
[He leaned back. The bartender, when he smiled, was shockingly handsome. It was a marketable attraction for the small bar that played Johnny Cash. Eames sat and smiled as the second glass came down.]