undergrounds | [open] winded through monotone

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[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.

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Natasha would not be surprised to learn how Eames got his house, would even perhaps be more surprised if he'd come by it honesty. But vampires weren't known for their honest revenue streams either. She's not here to judge. No, she's here for something entirely more congenial.

She eats a bit, smiling, watching him through her lashes, and extends one leg under the table to nudge his ankle with her toe teasingly. ~~Don't you wish you had a smaller table now.~~

"True enough for practical intents and purposes, at least."

Which is as true as Natasha ever bothers to aim for.

Eames quirks an eyebrow at the nudging, tilting his head a little at Natasha with his lips pulling into a smile. Voice taking on that same teasing and suggestive tone it always seems to when he and Natasha talk for long enough. But at least it's situationally appropriate.

"And how practical is this?"

"I didn't have practicality in mind tonight," she admits, lifting her beer and taking a healthy swig, not breaking eye contact.

Her eyes narrow slightly, a tilting almost smile as she sets it down. "The beer goes with the salad. I'm impressed."

"Course it does," Eames says with a loft of his eyebrows, "what kind of host would I be if the drinks clashed?"

Would he still be as devilishly handsome and charming? I don't think so.

"I didn't know fae hospitality extended to drink pairings," Natasha says lightly, clearly teasing. "If I'd known that, maybe I'd have visited sooner."

Hard to say though—it might help with the charm, but he would still be devilishly handsome even if he'd have tried to pair the salad with another beer.

Some other beers.

If he'd have tried to pair it with a Russian stout, she might have had to walk out.

Eames winks over the rim of his bottle and takes a swig, smirk still playing over his lips. "Well now you know for the future."

"I'll remember it." She smiles, leaning back slightly and giving him a warm look. "You better be careful. You're going to raise my expectations this way."

Eames laughs softly, "it's only a problem if I can't meet those expectations."

Call him arrogant, but Eames is fairly confident he can meet any bar he's set for himself.

"You're not wrong about that, I suppose." Her smile seems to imply that she wonders what other expectations he means to set and meet or exceed. "You don't pity whoever might come along after you? The next poor fae who has me over for dinner and doesn't have your keen palate or cute dog?"

Eames laughs and leans an elbow on the table, apparently done with his food.

"How much mind do you pay to whoever might be in line behind you?" He asks, voice low and smooth.

Natasha does smile at that. He has a point there. And really, she's not sure she'd want him to worry about that.

Quite the opposite.

"When you put it that way..."

"Well," he starts, voice still low as he glances down at her plate, then back at her face, "what say you let me know when you're done and I'll see what I can do about meeting those expectations?"

Keeping eye contact, Natasha takes another drink of her beer then sets it aside. "No insult to your culinary matching skill, but when you put it that way I'm not so hungry."

"I'm sure I'll recover," he laughs softly and takes both of their plates as he stands, so he can put them somewhere a dog won't get to them and make himself sick whilst unattended. "But in the meantime, let me show you the upstairs."

But wait, did somebody say dog? Eames has finished eating, so that means it's playtime right? Boxer picks up a toy and comes running over, tail wagging excitedly and front paws thumping for attention. If nobody needs to eat that means they can play and pay attention to Boxer because he is a good dog and they are friends.

(If anyone is curious, the chew toy's opinion on this is mostly "squeak.")

Natasha hadn't forgotten Boxer—far from it—but she hadn't been thinking of him until he came bounding in drawing all of the attention. Natasha blinks in surprise, half smiling at the display.

"Looks like someone is feeling ignored."

Eames lets out a slightly surprised laugh, putting the dishes on the side so he cab crouch down and pay an adequate amount of attention to the dog. Whose response is an outpouring of affection in putting his front paws up on Eames' legs and dropping the toy to lick his face.

(Sexy, right.)

"Worried I forgot about you?" He turns his head a little to get away from the worst of the tongue, petting Boxer until he calms down, and gives Natasha an apologetic look, "I think we may have to reschedule."

In the abstract, it's attractive that he's so affectionate with the dog. On the other hand, if they're about to go upstairs it does start to lose some of its appeal. Still, she smiles.

"It does look like he might be a little worried about parting with you for a while."

"He still gets a lot of separation anxiety." He's got Boxer in a more sedate almost-hug now, hands ruffling his sides and his neck, "or maybe he's a little jealous?"

It's a question he poses to the dog, who evidently takes it as an invitation to start licking Eames' face again instead.

"Maybe. I can't blame him." There's real humor in her voice as she pays the compliment. "Hopefully he'll be more willing to share if we give him a little more time."

Well he is always willing to accept a compliment, and Eames huffs a small laugh.

"I could come to yours next time," Eames smirks and tilts Boxer's chin up to look at Natasha, which he seems very happy to do, tail wagging as he's reminded about today's newest friend. "You'd have to miss out on this handsome gentleman though."

"That would be a tragedy," Natasha comments wryly. "Though it occurs to me I could probably have you over, and still come back and see Boxer again."

There's a warm chuckle in her tone as she suggests that. It's hard not to be at least a little drawn in by the dog. There's something very sympathetic about him. "You really can have it all."

Eames laughs softly, a couple of jokes about Natasha falling under the allure of capitalism on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it just in case Natasha's sensitive about all that Soviet stuff.

"Live the dream, mm?" He winks, "you'll have to let me know where you live."

"I'll give you my address," she says, almost without hesitation. Natasha has kept the circle of people who knows where she lives small—or at least she's been trying to, but slowly the list has been expanding.

"Let me know when you think you'll be free."

"I'm sure I can make time for you," he says with a wink, though it's not untrue, and he lifts his head to get away from Boxer's tongue while trying to have this conversation. "I've got a couple of evenings next week, I'll text you."

"I'll keep an eye open for it," she flashes a smile, inclining her head. "If I'm not busy."

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[open] winded through monotone

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turns out i owed the tag all along

i know this life

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