[open] winded through monotone

[falsify]

1 // Late August // Ye Olde Sainsbury's (Canary Wharf/Tower Hamlets)

There's literally no other way to describe how Eames looks right now other than the words 'vacuum sealed skeleton'. It's just a Bad Look, and for a man with his degree of vanity it's pretty much the worst thing that could ever happen.

He does still need to eat though, and Eames refuses to hole himself up in his flat and have people deliver to him because pride is a frustratingly unhelpful vice.

Thankfully though, Eames looks sufficiently little like himself at this point that he's not worried about being recognised. He's kind of trying to own this 'walking corpse' look, even if none of his clothes fit and this cap feels dumb and people are giving him weird looks while he looks at the booze section. Like a man who has no business still being alive can't enjoy a drink. What a bunch of pricks.

2 // 5 September // Tate Britain (Southwark)

When you're used to a degree of fluidity with your presentation, being stuck looking one way with no control over what's happening to your body while it ages rapidly is suffocating. As much as he missed his face looking how it should, it's been something hellish not being able to change even the slightest of his features.

As much as he'd like to be doing something fun, however, business calls. Which makes it Alice's night.

There's a gallery showing in the Tate — a history of 19th century Communist art — and as a fence by any other name, Alice is responsible for securing a significant amount of the paintings on display. Aside from a tidy sum of money, she also has a VIP ticket for the opening night, so she turns up- suit on and magic suppressed.

Most often, she'll be found with the man in charge of this, being introduced to friends and anyone with enough money to be an 'associate' of his, but she spends a lot of time on her own looking at the displays too. Inspecting the paintings with an appreciating eye and a glass of wine that never seems to leave her hand.

3 // 1-7 September // The New House (Camden)

Thanks to an Asshole Who Will Go Unnamed, Eames has had to put some plans back significantly, and had to endure a lot of things he'd rather not do again ever in his lifetime.

He's back to himself and back on track now though, with a new house and everything. And a dog! A quiet and cautious rotteweiler he's put off on bringing home since he didn't exactly want to deal with what was happening to him and training a pet at the same time. Decorating and dealing with a pet, however, has been surprisingly easy. Especially now he's progressed to the upstairs. It does make everything take a little longer, but it's a worthy sacrifice.

Anyone with cause to visit his new place can be treated to this, and more! More being: Eames in a tanktop and tracksuit bottoms with paint splatters all over, beer, and being stared at by a dog trying to decide how to feel.

4 // Wildcard

PM, hit me up at FiremanSam, or just tag me. Let's party.

Comments

[outstandingbalance]

It's early September before Natasha gets around to calling Eames. Whether it's an unfortunate side effect of a long life or being busy with politics, sometimes vampires just aren't as prompt as they could be.

Luckily, she doubts Eames is going to be offended.

At least she hopes not because she's more than half hoping for an invite over. August has been trying and September isn't shaping up be much better. Natasha could stand to work off some tension. Maybe it's a bad idea looking for something like that with one of the fae, mixing too much temptation, but she's finally reached the point where she doesn't think she cares anymore.

[falsify]

With everything going on, part of him is certainly thankful Natasha elected not to call until now. That said, he'd sort of forgotten about it entirely — some people never call at all, and that's fine. He's well past the point in his life where he can bring himself to get upset over hypotheticals. Especially when there's so many other people out there in the world.

He never did get her number though, so he squints at the number on his screen for a moment or two before he answers, trying to place it somewhere in his memory. It's not one he knows, so he puts on his best phone manners and answers with an upbeat, "hello?"

[outstandingbalance]

Realistically, she probably wouldn't have the same number now anyway. Natasha's phones are a trail of burners. She rarely gives out the numbers for them, and she replaces them regularly. Paranoia is a lifestyle for some people.

"Hey," she says when he answers. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

Her tone doesn't sound all that contrite, if she did. Maybe a little curious.

[falsify]

"Oh- Natasha. Of course not." If anything he sounds genuinely pleased to hear from her. He's a little busy, but it's nothing he can't put down and pick up later. "What is it?"

[outstandingbalance]

"Nothing, really." Her tone warms slightly, mirroring his. "Thought I'd see if you were free for some company."

She considers the subtext there very clear; she doubts he won't catch it, and at this point, she's confident he's interested. If she's wrong... well, then no harm done.

1

[vampire_barbie_girl]

The thing Caroline missed most about college was having a meal plan. She hadn't appreciated it at the time but she realized now how convenient is was, having meals made for her, dirty dishes taken away when she was done. Now she had to squeeze in grocery shopping before work, waiting for the sun to go down enough so she could venture out.

Naturally, she had a thoroughly planned grocery list, organized by aisle. She stuck to it too, no impulse purchases for her. Finally, she reached the last item on the list: a bottle of Merlot to enjoy on her next night off. But there was an obstacle in her way - a man stood in the booze section and Caroline wasn't sure if she wanted to get any closer to him. She may be dead but he looked it. Vaguely, she wondered if he'd even have any blood for her to drink, were she so inclined.

The man was, of course, between her and the wine. After a brief pause, she decided screw it and walked toward him. "Excuse me," she said, "you're in my way."

[falsify]

Eames barely looks in her direction, too busy deciding which bottle of gin will go best with his shitty mood, and absently steps a little closer to the shelf under the assumption she's trying to get down the aisle.

This is, of course, entirely unhelpful for someone trying to get to the wine. But here's the thing; Eames doesn't care.

[vampire_barbie_girl]

Well, that wasn't helpful. Caroline glared at the man for a moment but he didn't seem to notice. Or he was ignoring her. Either way, she was not amused.

She sighed dramatically. "You're still in my way."

[falsify]

"Oh." This time he does look at her, and then at the bottle in his hand. Still completely unmoving in anything even approaching a helpful way, "that's a shame."

[vampire_barbie_girl]

"Yeah, it is."

She kept glaring at him, while debating whether she should just push past him and grab the first bottle she got her hands on. He didn't look like someone who could put up much of a fight. But she also didn't want to cause a scene in a grocery store, especially one she planned on coming back to again. So for now, a good death glare would have to do.

Finnick

[falsify]

There's a few places they've met before, the kind of bars where fae tend to congregate without having to worry about the less savoury magical types around. It's easy for someone like Eames to forget how nice it is not to have suspicious eyes on you because of what you are in this realm, he's sort of gotten used to it as his de facto state of being.

For that reason it's no surprise for Finnick to prefer a place like this — he's starting to think the man is a little skittish about the mortal realm — and so Eames offers the man a smile when he sees him, beckoning him over to his table with a broad wave.

[thelittlemerman]

Finnick attempts a smile, but it's a little soulless, as he winds his way through the fae to make it to Eames' table. He hasn't seen the man since he came to him in a panic after Childermass, and he can't help but be ashamed. He knows he must think less of him, and that's the whole reason Finnick keeps it a secret to begin with. What kind of fae can be a lord if he's been a victim of such an awful crime for so long as well?

"Hello," he says as he sits down with a gesture at the table; "I hope you don't mind."

[falsify]

Eames certainly has his misgivings about Finnick's place as a lord, but it's less to do with that and more to do with how easily he was rattled, his inability to handle talking about what needed to be done. There's a reason the Seelie are characterised as soft, and there's a prime example sitting at his table.

That aside though, Eames still has time for Finnick, and his smile doesn't go anywhere at the question. "Of course not," he looks the man and his expression over for a moment, eyebrows raised, "how are things?"

[thelittlemerman]

"Better than they were," he says. This is a truth Finnick has always been good at dodging. He says it without an ounce of humour or irony, because he doesn't have a sense of either of those things. It's hard; going on in general is hard, and having to talk about it is harder, so he's steeling himself rather than going on with his apathetic mask.

"I suppose I have some things I need to apologize for, or explain..."

[falsify]

Eames doesn't say anything; he certainly hadn't been expecting any kind of explanation, nor was he planning to ask for one, but he'll admit he's curious about what it is Finnick has to say. Mostly, he keeps his expression neutral, with a small nod to indicate he's listening.

(He's not mad, Finnick, he's just disappointed.)

[specifiercity]

When Arthur shows up at Eames' new place, it's with a bottle of scotch in his hand and a touch of doubt in his head as to why he's even bothering at all. They're not really friends after all, but something told him he should at least locate this new house of Eames', get familiar with the territory just in case. In case he has to drive him home after another catastrophe of a party (because there's no way Eames is bleeding all over anyone but his own couch from here on out) or in case he gets a late night call to... well, whatever.

The point is he's here and he's already rung the bell so it's too late to turn around and leave. He'll just have to play at being nice for a little bit until they end up in Eames' bed or Eames kicks him out. At this point both feel equally likely.

[falsify]

Eames answers the door, appropriately dressed for a man in the middle of decorating, and with a dog peering out from behind his legs suspiciously. This is a New Person and Boxer isn't sure whether to trust them or not.

Eames, on the other hand, is perfectly happy to see Arthur. Especially because there's a bottle of scotch in his hand. He smiles and opens the door wide for Arthur, standing aside to let him in.

[specifiercity]

"Hey," Arthur says, glancing hesitantly down at Boxer as he comes in. The way Eames is dressed gives him pause too, considering Arthur texted ahead, but he walks in the door anyway and looks around for a moment.

But, I mean, there's a dog.

"Who's this?"

[falsify]

Boxer is watching Arthur intently, tail low as he stays close to Eames and stares at the new person in his home. Nothing hostile in his body language, just curious and a little wary for now.

"This is Boxer," Eames answers nonchalantly as he closes the door and turns to lead Arthur through to the living room, like it's not weird at all that he just suddenly has a dog now, "he'll relax once you've sat down."

Said dog walks behind Eames, checking to make sure Arthur is also coming because he doesn't want to be alone with the new person, but he also doesn't want to not be able to see him.

[specifiercity]

"Is he yours?" Arthur asks as he follows Eames through the house, frowning a little suspiciously at the dog, giving him enough space. He doesn't even really look around the house that much, he's just so preoccupied by the fact that there's another living thing just in Eames' house and it's supposed to be not a big deal

vague wildcard gestures

[iustitiae]

It's weird being this angry. To be fair, he's always had a layer of petty anger that he wears a little bit like a hat but this was way deeper. It was the kind of anger he spent a lot of exhausting time fighting, because he keeps trying to tell himself that he doesn't care about the supernatural world and he doesn't want to be involved. But the truth is, he can't not be.

He's not Midnight anymore (his last tie had been Soeki and Soeki had left so long ago now, it was a wonder he'd been hanging on this long), but he still pays attention to the witches who had given him a home. It's bad enough when there's talk of them teaming up with the vampires, but worse still once the news emerges about Abigail.

It's obvious to anyone who has ever played a game of Risk (or anyone, really), what the next step is here. He should let it be. But neither Redbright nor the Vampires deserve this territory Soeki and his friends had kept for themselves.

So he goes to Eames. Maybe he hadn't been the best of help during his last claim, but he'd been there and that (he hoped) was going to gain him a couple points, if he couldn't earn them somehow else.

"She's going to strike, and everyone knows it," he's explaining over a cup of tea. At least he's managed to get a captive audience here. "All that territory, concentrated like that? It's not good for anyone." He's surprisingly calm, detached. Like he's delivering a statement instead of talking about something he actually cares very deeply about. But rationality, at the very least, has always been something he's been good at projecting.

[falsify]

It's astoundingly hard to bite down on every comment that pops into his mind, because this is what he's been saying would happen and all of two people listened. Eames does though, focusing instead on Boxer huddled up against his leg; it's not exactly difficult to see how angry Connor is, not if you're attuned to that kind of thing, and it's making the dog a little uneasy. Ears pulled back and eyes tracking his movements for anything dangerous or threatening. Eames seems relatively at ease, which is a comfort, but only so much.

"It's not," Eames agrees instead, idly soothing the dog as best he can with gentle strokes down his side, "she's vying for control-- she's always been after complete control. Midnight covens resurfacing has pretty much been the only thing standing in her way."

And now she has a child as prisoner and burned down her home. Eames never liked Abigail, nor did he think her particularly competent as a leader-- and if he's honest he has no real love for witches, but it still feels... Extreme. Not to mention the message it sends.

Truth be told, he doesn't think he's ever seen a fascist magical reign. Part of Eames is honestly curious.

[iustitiae]

Connor kind of feels bad about upsetting the dog. Ever since the whole bite thing people's dogs have been oddly friendly to him. You would think attracting dogs for pets would be a great secondary mutation but it's kind of annoying and he's kind of #overit. But he is glad to see Eames understands the issue. He's been around much longer than Connor has, so having that kind of back up is infinitely comforting.

"Midnight and the Vampires," Connor frowns. A couple months ago he would've said a Midnight-Vampire alliance was a good thing. But he's not a fan of Harris and he's not a fan of being treated like a dog, so. "The only real viable options for Enfield seem to be getting taken by Sylvia or a surprise upset by the Vampires - and neither of them needs any more territory to their name."

He swirls around the tea in his cup and then takes a drink. "But suppose there was a third option. Forgetting factions for a moment and just looking at balance of power. She's ostensibly got all the Daybreak, Redbright, and Night Council territories in her pocket. They might look different on paper, but over half of London is basically hers."

But it's more than that, too, really, there's still a lot of left over problems from the election. "I'd wager a guess that if the push from the election hadn't come, she'd have a much tighter hold over the whole of it anyway. She's just having to play politics for now. But until what? And the only other option anyone's come up with is this other mayor of London bullshit; we're trading one horrible leader for another. Great."

[falsify]

Well, Eames doesn't 100% agree about the vampires, but he'd concede that Millicent definitely had the acumen to be a threat. But Connor's hit the nail on the head with a lot of Eames' discomfort, it's why he's never liked being in Redbright areas even though Sylvia claims it's safe, and even living in a Council territory now is just Eames picking the best of an awful lot.

"You're with East End now, right?" Eames asks, feeling a little like Connor's leading up to suggesting an alliance of some kind, and it wouldn't be a terrible idea if the terms are good.

[iustitiae]

"That's right." Nodding, he's glad that Eames can see where this is going. It's mutually beneficial. Or, at least, it should be. "I've been asking around with some other people in the -- in the pack," the word still rolls off his tongue awkwardly and speaks highly to his inexperience. He's not used to being a werewolf, not used to using these terms, "and they feel the same way. But there's not enough of us on our own."

Which was, of course, where Eames came in. "I don't know how successful we could be, but an alliance between another faction and our own could definitely put the odds more in our favor."