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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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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.

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.

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."

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.

"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."

There's no judgement from Eames where Connor's inexperience is concerned — he obviously notices, a slight raised eyebrow and incline of his head when he hears the discomfort in the words, but he does Connor the respect of listening to him speak with obvious interest in what he's saying. Eames has concerns about him being too soft, but he's smart and has obviously killed someone too if his curse is active now.

"And by 'another faction' you mean us," Eames supplants. He knows what Connor's looking for, but he'd like a little transparency in his words. Just for a bit of peace of mind.

"Yes, if you were willing," Connor is very clear on that point. It's not that he's trying to be cagey for the sake of it, only to test the waters. But as Eames hasn't just kicked him out yet, it seems safe enough.

Eames gives that a moment of thought; funny how often the wolves come to them for an 'alliance'. This is the third time in the last year alone. Eames glances down at the dog by his legs — Boxer's relaxed a lot thanks to the calmness of the conversation, but he's still watching Connor with the stillness of a dog who'll watch all night if he has to. Connor's dogginess unfortunately doesn't do a lot to endear Boxer to him. Other dogs can be just as dangerous as people.

"Depends," he answers, "what's it worth?"

Connor knows better than to try to cash in for helping Eames with his attempt at the territory claim; he hadn't done much and he hadn't been asked to help. There was nothing to trade in on that. So instead --

"Depends on what you want," and if it comes out a tag more suggestive than it semes like it should, well. That's just Connor.

It's probably for the best that Connor doesn't try to cash in on that. Even if he'd been massively helpful, Eames wouldn't feel obliged to him for it in the least. It wasn't something he'd asked for, and by the looks of things Connor got an activated curse out of it too.

But he catches that edge in Connor's tone, and under normal circumstances he'd even consider it — it's hardly as if Eames is a stranger to bartering sex for favours — but this isn't just for his own personal gain, so he can't can't just make a deal with some beta for something that could have a real knock-on effect for the Courts.

He shakes his head, expression a little regretful, and he leans forward to put his empty mug on the table. "I'm going to need a solid offer, I'm afraid." Eames says with a soft sigh, pausing to scratch Boxer behind the ears, "attractive as you are, you're asking for something that could fall back on more than just me."

Connor shrugs like it doesn't matter to him one way or another. He doesn't deny the implication was there, but he doesn't seem phased that he didn't take it. "Then name your terms."

"Let's call this a trial run." Eames leans back in his seat with a sigh, "honestly? I've no idea how much of a difference we can make this short notice, but at least it'll let us know if we can work together."

If Connor's half as smart as he seems to be, he'll be useful at least. So he shrugs a shoulder before he continues, "your lot take Enfield? I may call in a favour later. If not? You owe me nothing."

"I don't know either," Connor admits, but he's relieved Eames was willing to help him out on this. However, "I'll owe you a favour either way. You're doing something for me, even if we fail."

Fair is fair. It's something his associates don't deal in a lot. He's trying to be better than that.

"I'll hold you to that." He says it like it's a joke, but it's not. You offer a favour to a fae, they're gonna collect sooner or later.

Connor wouldn't have offered if he didn't mean it. He just nods. "I really appreciate you being willing on this."

"Don't worry about it," he shakes his head. "The last werewolf who came looking for an alliance was a prick. I'd say you're an improvement."

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