no subject

[seeorseem]

Once, for a job, Eames had procured training as a registered masseuse in order to get close to an array of wealthy corporate clients who enjoyed the privileges of the rich and famous twice a week with accompanying lotions, oils, and rubs. He'd used the information to forge his way into their dreams and drain their bank accounts dry while siccing the treasury on them to cover his tracks and managed to pocket a sizable sum for the honest work.

Since then, he hasn't put those skills to much use, but he does think about keeping himself occupied if he is to stay here at the hotel (and he doesn't have to, but Arthur seems to be stuck and Eames is keen to find out if there's a reason behind that). So he's taken a job. The money is blatantly unnecessary, but nice enough.

After all, he can honestly pay the waitresses now instead of using a little charm and a promise of a payment tomorrow. His hands are a bit slick yet today seeing as he's given a lovely lady named Mrs. B a massage focusing on her tense arms due to her rich husband's neglect. Or something else vapid and boring.

When he isn't researching someone for a case, people can be eclectic and delightful and wonderful, but so very boring and similar and Eames is beginning to itch for a challenge.

"Rye, please," he orders at the bar. "With a touch of ginger."

He searches the room, looking for something. Perhaps a mark, perhaps someone to keep him occupied through the evening, or maybe he's simply keeping an eye out to protect his own hide. Whatever he discovers, though, will have to be better than coasting along waiting for something to happen to him.