CROYDON 2: CROYDON HARDER

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January 7th-14th: Once the purge really gets going, it's pretty obvious that Croydon's being targeted disproportionately. It's less of a surprise than some might like; the area's a source of numerous bruised egos - Eames' included - but more than that, every side involved clearly wants to put this to bed. Daybreak, unfortunately, has a lot more backing and more official channels to go through to get the upper hand. Numerous people are taken in by the Night Council on whatever charges of using dark magic can be used against them, and it leaves a not insignificant dent in their power. Clever, one might suppose, reduce the numbers before Daybreak - Norrell, let's all be honest here - send the bodies in to take the area. Eames has the fae on his side and the people in his employ do what they can to undermine this though. Moving people out of the area quickly and under the noses of the Council guardians sweeping the area, goods hidden, the odd person stored away safely in Faery. More than anything, it's a move of solidarity with those living here. A gentle suggestion that those witches, fae, metas, etc. in the area can trust him and his to look after them. January 15th: This is a losing fight, and Eames makes it clear no one is obligated to join in before things start. There's too many extenuating circumstances to have a hope of keeping their hands on Croydon. Still. Eames is too frustrated with the current state of affairs to let it go easily, and he amasses a small militia of the like-minded. They may not be able to keep Croydon, but they can make it difficult as hell to take. The plan is simple: In the early hours of the morning, before the sun has risen, they'll attack. The intent was to avoid bloodshed last time, but this time the intent is clearly to kill as many as possible. By the evening they'll have withdrawn, and Norrell can have fun explaining to the families of the deceased that they died for a shithole like Croydon.

Comments

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Arthur follows, jogging a couple steps to catch up. He doesn't say anything, already highly aware that Eames anger might turn on him at any moment. He doesn't know him well enough to judge whether or not that would happen and how bad it would be, but Eames has invited him to follow so he does. He's tense, still listening as they make their way down the street, ready for some kind of ambush even though the fighting's already over.

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Eames is in the same mind, keeping a keen eye out for any danger that might come their way. Part of him would honestly relish the opportunity to throw down, something to work out all that tension, but a much bigger part of him just wants to go home and take a week off from this bullshit.

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They continue in silence all the way to Eames' apartment, Arthur following until Eames tells him otherwise. He could use a beer after this, but Arthur's not going to presume that Eames is going to offer him anything.

He only sighs when he's inside. "I know you would have rathered I didn't interrupt you, but you have to know that killing him would have made things worse."

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"Mm. And thank you for the reminding me." Despite the thickness of his sarcasm, Eames dutifully retrieves two beers and puts them on the counter in the kitchen. His shirt and jacket go in the trash too while he's at it.

What a shitty day. He puts his hands on the counter, leaning forward with a sigh. What bullshit.

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Arthur looks away when Eames takes off his shirt, playing it off like his eyes are wandering around Eames' apartment. He picks up his beer and takes a sip before he continues.

"You just can't lose sight of the end goal here, and killing Norrell, like that, would have made it all harder."

Something in his brain tells him to stop pushing, but he's worried Eames will go out and sabotage the whole damn thing. Arthur may be a human, but he's worried about what will happen to the supernatural community if Daybreak stays on their trajectory. Eames is putting himself in a position of power against them, and if he takes a wrong step, it'll all crumble.

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Eames' jaw clenches and it takes a lot for him not to snap at Arthur, hands gripping the edge of the counter just a little tighter.

"Yes, Arthur. I heard you the first time. And the second." He exhales sharply, "The third too."

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"Can you blame me?" Arthur says, close to snapping. He gestures in the direction in the door, raising his voice just a little to make his point. "I found you with Norrell pinned against a wall. You could have easily snapped his neck right there."

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"Yes, I could've, and I might have too." He straightens up away from the counter, turning toward Arthur with a sneer. "But unless I'm mistaken, I still have functioning ears."

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"What, you want me to apologize?" Arthur says boldly, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know what you're going to do, Eames, I don't know what could have happened if I didn't find you."

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"I don't want an apology, Arthur. I want you to shut the fuck up."

God, if Arthur only knew how much self-restraint it's taking not to just punch him in his stupid, asshole mouth.

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Arthur can tell this is just making it worse, so he relents, keeping his mouth shut but working his jaw like there's more he wants to say but he's mercifully not doing it. He looks down at his beer, but he can't even trust himself to drink it without saying something in the same breath. It takes a long moment of silence before he speaks again, and he's far more subdued. But still angry.

"Why did you bring me back here?" he asks, frowning at Eames.

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He's slightly thrown by the question, and he pauses to open his beer and take a drink, followed by a deep breath so he can force himself to cool off.

"I didn't." Is his genius response. He honestly assumed Arthur was just following as a second pair of eyes and/or to make sure Eames didn't do anything stupid.

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Arthur frowns, incredulous now. "You let me in, you--" he gestures with his beer, but he cuts himself of to shake his head. Did he read this wrong? He usually doesn't presume anything, but here he is in Eames' apartment just assuming that he was invited.

"I can leave if that's what you want," he finally says. He'd really like to finish his drink first, wait until it's quiet enough out to sneak home through the city, but he's not going to put Eames out.

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"It's fine." He waves a dismissive hand, deciding he doesn't care what Arthur decides to do, if he wants to stay or leave. Eames is just too mad to think straight about what he wants right now.

With a huff, he turns to lean against the counter. "Don't be a prick if you're staying though."

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Arthur rolls his eyes and presses his lips together like he's trying to stop himself, but it happens anyway. "I'm not trying to be a prick, Eames. I know this was your loss tonight but what happens with Daybreak matters to me too."

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"Oh, well forgive me for being mad." It's a relatively small thing to piss him off, but on top of everything else? Eames moves forward, toward Arthur, but he stops short of actually stepping into Arthur's personal space. "I forgot we have equal stakes in this, don't we? We must, given that's the only reason you could possibly think that's a good thing to say to me right now."

[specifiercity]

Arthur's not very good at keeping his mouth shut, surprisingly enough. He's excellent at a great many things, but not making people mad is a significant shortcoming of his. So he keeps right on rolling.

"That was more than mad," he says, volume rising once again, "you nearly murdered him."

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"As you have been quick to remind me several times." This time Eames moves right up to him-- he doesn't cut the most imposing figure, 5'9" is hardly a height one can loom from, but he has a menacing way about himself all the same. Not that he expects Arthur to care in the least, but he is definitely expecting Arthur to back up when he steps this close to him.

"So unless you have any new information to share on the topic, Arthur, I suggest you shut your mouth."

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Arthur knows he should shut his mouth, but he can't, and he doesn't step back either. Eames is intimidating, even at an inch shorter than him, but Arthur's long since learned how to ignore his own instincts if it means showing fear.

But that means that Eames is really, really close, and the way Arthur's eyes glance down might betray his mixed feelings. The danger and adrenaline of the fighting they've been through tonight and the potential of this perhaps-volatile fae just means his pulse is already quickened. "I just want to be able to trust you," he says with a bit of a snarl.

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Trust him? What a ridiculous thing to say-- Why would anyone want that from Eames of all people? He's good for a deal, but that's as far as it goes.

If he were fully in his right mind, he might question this kind of thing. But Eames feels like he needs to remind Arthur of the nature of this relationship - it's not one where trust is on the table - and he puts his hand on Arthur's chest, pushing him back against the wall with little effort.

"You can't," he says. Voice low and absolute. That's just how this is.

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Arthur lets out a grunt when his back hits the wall, and now he's finally speechless. His mouth falls open a little, like he's trying to get something out, but he can't think of anything when Eames' hand is pressing him against the wall and his brain is still running at a million miles a minute.

He slows his breath, breathing deeply in an attempt to slow his heart rate, and then he looks down from Eames' hand to his face, working his jaw again as he tries to work out how to proceed from here. He knows what he wants, but that has to stay far in the back of his mind.

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Speechless? That's a surprise. Eames was honestly expecting more fight out of Arthur- or maybe that's just what he wants right now.

He doesn't know, but he also doesn't move his hand just yet, scanning Arthur's face for a moment to figure out what's made him stop instead. It's hardly as if the man has ever balked at the idea of a confrontation.

"Are we done with this?" He asks, though it comes out more akin to a warning than a question.

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"That depends," Arthur says lowly, keeping his eyes trained on Eames' face, "is this how you're going to try solving all your problems from here on out?"

He just can't fucking help himself.

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Eames actually laughs then, a dark chuckle and a smirk as he closes the little distance between the two of them. It's almost like he's having fun-- He's not, he's enraged, but those wires often get crossed for Eames.

He lightens up his hold on Arthur, a consequence of the angle of his arm more than anything, but he's close enough that he may as well be bodily pressing him against the wall.

"Not all my problems, dear, but some issues just need a little force to rectify."

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Now Eames is very close, and Arthur can't ignore the feeling that he wants to be closer. It doesn't help that Eames is angry - furious, almost - and he's not wearing a shirt, having discarded it because it was dirty with blood. Arthur was attracted to his line of work for a reason; it wasn't out of some moral obligation. It's the thrill, personified in Eames right now, Eames pinning him to the wall, Eames so close.

He glances down between them again, his jaw tight. It's crazy, he thinks, to give into this type of thing, but then again maybe Eames is doing this on purpose, like he's done with so many people before. Maybe not in this context, but Arthur's witnessed Eames' revolving door of partners and it's hard not to imagine that the man knows exactly how he affects people. Arthur hates that he's one of those people right now, but god he just wants to give in already, and maybe it could dissolve some of the tension or actually prevent Eames from doing something stupid.

But all that is really just an excuse for Arthur to do what he does next, which is to put his hands lightly on Eames' hips to pull him forward that last inch if he'll come, and to lean his head in, his eyes flicking up to make contact with Eames' before he leans in the rest of the way and brushes their lips together.