It's a very subtle art

[seeorseem]

The fact of the matter, thinks Eames, is that reality should not be this malleable.

If he were asleep and attached to his PASIV, waking up to find himself in this form would be normal -- expected, even, given his tendency to pick up jobs that challenge him and there's something perfect about making a beautiful woman and assigning her minor flaws in order to keep the dreamer from suspecting that something is amiss. The problem is that he's not in a dream. His totem tells him that this is reality, which is making his head hurt.

It's been two days and Eames still can't shake this forge. He's hesitant to even call it that, but for the sake of his sanity, he's needed to retain that distinction in his mind, lest he go absolutely around the bend. He can't be what he is, and yet, he is. It's not the sort of thing he's come to expect to understand and he can't even find Arthur to search for an explanation.

The good news is that Eames has always been rather fluid when it comes to living in another person's skin. He might be forging in reality, but he will do it perfectly. He knows how to walk as a woman, how to wear the clothes, how to sit, and how to speak. It's one comfort in all this madness because at least he feels at home in his own skin.

If he still is himself. Eames raises slim fingers to the bartender, signalling for another scotch on the rocks being that drinking does tend to numb the worrisome notion that he's slipped so far into a dream that he doesn't know what's real anymore.

"You know," he remarks off-handedly to the companion at his side, "I had thought that I wouldn't have to pay so often for my own drinks. My expectations must be re-evaluated."

Comments

[weighted_reality]

"Perfectly disguised and yet the real Eames shows through," Arthur observes, sitting at the bar next to Eames. "At least when you're not trying."

[seeorseem]

"Yes, well, I rarely forge myself, flipped," Eames says, a bit heated when it comes to the fact that there's very little choice in this. Eames spins on his stool, crossing his legs so that one high-heel trails along Arthur's calf, Eames leaning his body into his space. "I can't undo it," he complains sharply. "And not a single mirror shows me my true self."

[weighted_reality]

"Then you're better off blaming this place for its mischief, rather than your own forging skills."

There are ways, strangely, in which Eames' presence has helped ease Arthur's tensions between the real and the impossible, making it easier for him to accept the nature of this place. However, that's all quite easy to say when he's still occupying his own body.

[seeorseem]

Eames bats his eyelashes coyly at Arthur as he closes the space between them, his full lips pouting as he slides a long nail over Arthur's torso, working with seductive moves he's made many times in a dream. "I like to think I had some kind of hand in it," he murmurs slowly. "Or else how would it be so perfect, yet still flawed?"

[weighted_reality]

Arthur brushes Eames' hand away absently, nearly out of habit. "You're trying to distract me from thinking," he says, hooking an index finger around Eames'.

[seeorseem]

"By all means, if you were thinking about buying me a drink, I'll stop," Eames replies cheerfully, giving Arthur a sharp look accompanied by the same devilish smirk he wears while a man. "If I were really trying to distract you from thinking, I would get up and give you a view of my arse in this skirt."

[weighted_reality]

Even in this body, Eames' personality shines through and Arthur never feels at risk for forgetting who it really is under that skin.

"Oh by all means. I suppose I could be persuaded to buy you something."

[seeorseem]

Eames shines with a delighted smile, patting Arthur lightly on the chest with a palm. "There's a good man, buy me something strong to get my mind off the fact that somehow I've managed to become so good that I unwittingly forged in real life," he says, blithe even though he hates not being able to tweak things.

[weighted_reality]

"Of course," Arthur says gallantly, checking the pocket of his jacket where Eames tapped him, making sure his wallet is still securely in place.

[seeorseem]

Eames can't help his smirk when he notices Arthur checking. "Oh, don't worry, I left it. I can't experience the joy of you catering to me in reality without you having your money," he points out, sliding his forearms over the bar. "Do you think this will be like the dream? The longer it goes on, the harder it is to remember what's real and what's not?" he asks, keeping the thread of fear from his voice.

He's always been fearful of losing himself in the forge. It's always been there, a pressing concern that could happen anytime.

[weighted_reality]

With the ease of habit, Arthur withdraws his loaded die from his pocket and lets it roll, protecting the loaded number with his hand.

"If it's of any reassurance to you, this is real."

[seeorseem]

"I know it's real now, but what happens if in a week, I'm still like this," Eames wonders, posits the question aloud. "Do you think your brain's beliefs can change? I've met a forger before who began to blur the lines between the forge and reality. I thought them amateur, but perhaps I'll get to experience it, too."

[weighted_reality]

Arthur pockets his totem and signals the bartender that he'd like to make an order before turning back to Eames. "And that, Miss Eames, is why you have me as your point man and why you always want a point man with one foot in reality."

[seeorseem]

Eames tips his head to the side as if to chastise Arthur for being so clever and cruel in one little go, amused at the name even as he settles onto his stool. "So you're to be my totem, then?" she asks, the words sounding off even though his cadence remains the same despite the feminine pitch. "That might lead to a bit of loss of your independence."

[weighted_reality]

"I'm to do my second job as part of any extraction team," Arthur replies, ordering a finger each of bourbon for them. "To stay grounded."

[seeorseem]

Eames wants to make sure that Arthur doesn't have an easy job of that, wrapping his fingers around the glass while sliding his foot up the inside of Arthur's calf. "Well? What do you think of me? The twin sister that I never had."

[weighted_reality]

Arthur lets him, smiling out the corner of his mouth. "It's too personal for a forge. So much of the real you is still there."

[seeorseem]

"I know, it's awful," Eames says, given that he would never forge something like this in the dream. "I'd be recognized, or my family would be recognized. It's unprofessional," he says, running his fingers over his hair and idly checking his makeup in the reflection at the bar. "Lucky for me, this isn't too much of an adjustment. I did have to buy new clothes. So much easier when I can forge whatever I like."

[weighted_reality]

"Which is to say," Arthur adds, "that I like it. But of course that's not the point of a forge."

[seeorseem]

Eames smiles, grateful that Arthur seems to like him. He's appreciative of that fact, sliding his fingers up Arthur's thigh absently as he drinks, as though he's not even touching him in any way. "What do you like about it?" he asks curiously, wanting to draw it out of him.

[weighted_reality]

"Are you fishing for compliments? Mr. Eames, I've never known you to be so vain," Arthur replies, as if commenting on the weather.

[seeorseem]

"I want to know so I can replicate the best of it in a dream on a forge that isn't quite so personal," he informs Arthur, which is essentially the truth of it. He raises a thin, perfectly plucked brow. "Skip the clothes, the clothes I know are lovely."

[weighted_reality]

Arthur smiles, swirling around the bourbon in his glass thoughtfully. "I think I'll let you start guessing."

[seeorseem]

Eames laughs, a deep throaty laugh considering his more female parts at the moment. Idly, he lets his fingers trace down over his body, considerate with every movement. "The tits are quite nice," he says. "The tattoos translated over wonderfully, too."

[weighted_reality]

Arthur lets Eames see that it affects him, the slightest bit, but hardly melts to the touch. "Are you planning to show me?"