undergrounds | [open] winded through monotone

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Eames' expression falls at Finnick's explanation, looking almost affronted when he says that he was bound. It makes a lot about Finnick make sense though; his distaste for witches, his panic after his run-in with Childermass. He doesn't need the particulars, Eames decides. Nobody binds a fae for benign reasons.

"How long since you escaped?" It seems like a fair assumption he wasn't let free.

Finnick frowns in concentration, like it's the first time he's had to draw on that information. "Ten, fifteen years?" he says. "Not half as long as he had me, but long enough that I should be..."

Better. The word escapes him because he's lost hope that he really will get better. He can make the world better all he wants but fixing himself might be a journey with no end.

Intellectually, Eames knows these kinds of things take a while to get over. Unfortunately Eames also doesn't have the level of compassion required for someone to actually care or be nice about it. In his mind, you get over this shit and you move on.

Not everyone has that capability to repress their issues so effectively though, just like Eames hasn't been through anything half as traumatizing as what Finnick's just told him. He raises a hand, cutting Finnick off before he can head down that rabbit hole.

"It's not very long," Eames says instead, opting for the diplomatic approach.

Finnick works his jaw and stares down at the table. This isn't about that, it's about everything else. It's about moving forward and helping again so he isn't trapped in this black hole of anger and fear.

"I want to help with the vampires," he finally says, glancing up at Eames to show he's okay, that he's not as skittish as he may be coming off. Still, he brings his hand up to rub at his neck as he goes on, "I can deal with them."

"Good," Eames says, because that's exactly what he wanted to hear. He still has his doubts, but Finnick's always proved himself capable where the bloodsuckers are concerned. He remembers the first time they met, and the kind of venom Finnick harboured for them.

(One could wonder if that's related to what he's just told Eames, but he won't speculate. It could just as easily be common sense.)

He takes a sip of his beer, a thoughtful frown on his face. "They're out of control. Without the Night Council's support, it means something can finally be done."

Finnick nods, relieved that Eames has accepted him, instead of telling him to sit this one out and keep recovering. He hates that. But he keeps staring down at his hands, trying to refocus, trying not to wonder what Eames must think of him anyway.

"Do you have a plan?"

"I'm going to kill Harris," Eames says with a finality that speaks to his intention to do it himself. It's casual, but Finnick could likely spot the venom in Eames' voice too. Something more than Eames' general dislike of vampires. "Replace him with someone less psychotic, instead of the short-sighted clusterfuck that killing Millicent was."

"Vampires are like bedbugs, the only way to really get rid of them is to burn everything down and start again. But we can make them more..." He wrinkles his nose in apparent distaste, "tolerable."

Finnick hears it; he knows that Eames is serious about this, the same way he was serious about Norrell. He got away with that and he's capable of getting away with this. Finnick can help this time.

"You'll need a replacement first," he says. "Do you have someone?"

"Jean-Claude," Eames answers easily, "he owns Guilty Pleasures."

He could get into his reasoning, but he wants to see how Finnick feels about it first. It's too late to change anything, but if he's vehemently against it then Eames at least knows that they can't really work together from here.

Finnick looks up at Eames with a bewildered look but holds his remarks until he actually thinks about it for a moment. He met the man at the party when he first became a lord. Finnick's not a fan of vampires in general, and Jean-Claude was a bit forward with him, but he can't recall anything particularly damning.

"You think he can do it?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. "You trust him not to betray you?"

"I don't trust anyone not to betray me." Welcome to friendship 101 with Eames, trusting people is a surefire way to get stabbed in the back.

He drums his fingers on the side of his glass and sighs, "he's an inoffensive choice though. He has support within the nest and doesn't care for the way Harris or Millicent ran things."

Finnick nods. He trusts Eames to at least do a good job at things like this, and he must have done his homework. And he must have cut a deal.

"What did he offer you in return?"

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