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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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.

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?"

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."

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.

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.

"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?"

"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.

"I'm a little... Painted," he starts with a small laugh, "but if that's not a problem then I certainly wouldn't say no. I could even throw together some dinner if you'd like."

Carefully sidestepping asking if she's hungry; if she's still off blood then she almost certainly is, and he doesn't want that at the forefront of her mind if she's coming over.

"Painted, huh? I think I can handle painted." She's curious how that happened, though. It goes without saying she's hungry, but she'll try to minimize that by feeding before she comes by. At least it could take the edge off. "I wouldn't mind dinner. Sounds very civilized."

There's another, quieter laugh on Eames' end of the line, and his smile is probably audible over the phone. "That all depends on what I make," he says, teasing smirk implied, "I'll text you the address."

"Oh, now you're getting my hopes up." It was a joke, but not entirely untrue. Natasha would be lying if she didn't say their flirtations were setting her expectation high. Still, she thought they'd manage something. "Sounds good. I'll be by let's say nine or so?"

Comfortably after dark.

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."

Edited 2016-08-31 00:25 (UTC)

"I'll see you then."

He'll send over his address once they've hung up and absently think about putting something together once he's done with this bit of painting too. It's been pretty hot, so maybe a salad? Oh-- Oh he has pulled pork in the fridge. A pulled pork salad? Brilliant. And he has the perfect beer to go with it. Amazing. He could kiss himself.

Hopefully Natasha is as impressed with this food as he already is, because he's a genius.

"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."

"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.

It's a shame Natasha probably won't be able to truly appreciate his genius food choices. One of the biggest shames about being undead is that while Natasha can still eat and even enjoy food to some degree, she can't really appreciate it like she used to.

Right on time, she comes knocking on his door. Considering that he said he's painted, she figures there's not much reason to dress up. Natasha's a lot more dressed down than the last time they ran into each other—she shows up in shorts and a tee. Either way isn't a bad look, really.

She's still more dressed up than Eames, who answers the door in paint-splattered clothes and skin. Amazingly, random spots of paint doesn't compliment his tattoos that well. Who would've guessed. There's a dog padding up next to him, standing slightly behind him and staring up at Natasha curiously when he opens the door.

"Hey, come in." Eames' smile is broad and friendly as he steps aside to let her in, Boxer following suit and standing aside too.

"Thanks." Her lips twitch as she crosses the threshold, appreciating the invitation. Her attention quickly falls on the dog, though. It's a toss up how he'll react to her, but at least so far, no barking or lunging. "I didn't know you had a dog."

Not that she expected him to tell her. She says it more out of pleasure and surprise. He hadn't struck her as the type to have pets.

"Can I say hi?"

Sorry Caroline, he's pretty much immune to death glares. Especially when there's important booze decisions to make. Eames would probably be a little more helpful if he wasn't in a horrendously bad mood, but as it is he's just. Staying put.

"Be my guest," Eames closes the door and leans against it, the dog looks up at him curiously and then at Natasha, tail wagging slowly as he approaches slowly. Is she a friend? She's in the house and Eames seems relaxed about it, so she's probably not a threat.

"He's quite shy," he says and crouches. Boxer immediately comes back to him and Eames pats the huge baby on the side. His tail's still wagging and he's still looking up at Natasha-- he just needs a little security with new people.

Caroline sighed again. "Look, all I want is a bottle of Merlot. If you could just let me get one, then I'll leave you to whatever it was that you were doing. And everyone's happy."

Somehow accessorizing by comforting a big, shy dog makes the paint splatters and track pants all work together a little better. Dogs are the best way to bring a look together, it's a fact.

Natasha smiles more gently and dips down herself, balancing on her toes as she holds out one hand for the big dog to sniff.

"I can't say I blame him. Never know what kind of weird people you might run into." Her voice is low and enticing, inviting the dog to come over and say hi while leaving him room to escape if he decides he doesn't like strangers. Or vampires. "Hey, big boy," she addresses the dog directly. "Want to come here?"

Cautiously, Boxer steps forward to sniff her hand. She smells... Different. There's something incredibly different to Eames about her and the others he's gotten to meet so far, but her voice is nice and she's being friendly.

He looks back at Eames and then resumes sniffing Natasha's hand like he needs to catalogue every individual scent, it takes a little longer than it usually does, but eventually he looks up at Natasha with his tail up and wagging a little quicker now. Evidently the friendship application has been accepted.

Meanwhile, Eames is watching with a warm expression, something a lot more fond than he's levied at another person in recent memory, and stands to walk through to the kitchen once it looks like the dog's comfortable. "He likes having his chin scratched," he says as he goes.

"Good to know."

True to her words, Natasha slips her hand under the dog's chin and scratches gamely, stroking the dog's cheek with the other. Just taking a moment here to appreciate this dog's big, dumb head. It's a good head.

"What's his name?

"Boxer," comes his voice from the living room, and hearing its name the dog immediately looks up and starts bounding towards his voice, circling back a little to see if his new friend is coming. There needs to be more chin scratches but also he's just remembered Eames is not in his sight and that is a concern.

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