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

[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?"

[seeorseem]

Eames tips his head to the side, feeling a bit drunk with power as he regards Arthur, affecting an innocent look on his face. "Right here in the bar? I don't think that's a very good idea, dear."

[weighted_reality]

"Well then I guess we'll just have to call it off," Arthur says, putting on a disappointed look.

[seeorseem]

"Arthur," Eames chastises with a smirk. "You're calling the bluff of the wrong man. Woman, rather," he clarifies, given that right now, there's very little manly about him. "I have no qualms about stripping down right here in front of everyone until I'm in my skivvies."

[weighted_reality]

"Oh by all means," Arthur says, raising a finger to the bartender and nodding at a bottle of champagne. "I never said I plan to stop you."

[seeorseem]

Eames shrugs and steps off the stool before kicking off the heels. He really has no issues getting naked in public and he's not even wearing his normal face, so there's even less of a reason to worry. He slides off the jacket over the dress he's wearing, bending over to unclip the stockings from the suspenders while sliding the skirt up and giving Arthur a little glimpse of the process.

[weighted_reality]

"By all means," Arthur says. Really, he's waiting for the bartender to start the alarm. If Eames plans to cause trouble, Arthur will allows him as he enjoys a flute of Dom.

[seeorseem]

Eames feels like it's a bit of a show and he actually quite likes it. "Darling, really, of all people..." He tuts and smiles winningly at the bartender, digging out some money and whispering that he should go take a break. He seems to listen, leaving Eames to reach back, find the zipper of the dress, and start inching it down.

"You'd better hope no one else likes this, because I will take the highest bidder," he assures.

[weighted_reality]

"It's your dignity," Arthur says blithely, noting a member of the staff in the corner of his eye who seems to be fretting and ready to call security.

[seeorseem]

"I'll keep some of my dignity intact," Eames promises, given that he has a plan and it doesn't involve the night in lockup, though he would be able to escape that if given the proper motivation. "Once I'm down to my underwear, I'll politely ask you to cart me away. Fair trade?"

[weighted_reality]

"And whyever should I be so accommodating?" Arthur asks, pouring another flute for Eames in case he decides to sit.

[seeorseem]

"Because if you're not, I'll find someone else to sleep with," Eames replies pleasantly, stripping off the dress so that he's standing there in his underwear. He bends over to pick up his things, heels dangling in his hand. "Last chance. And do be a dear, bring the champagne."

[weighted_reality]

"An idle threat," Arthur says, shoving the flute into Eames' hand before he feigns tugging on his ear to lead him out.

[seeorseem]

Eames takes the flute and sips at it, wandering after Arthur as casually as anyone might, even if suddenly in their underwear and a woman. His gait is steady, hips swaying, a flirtatious look in his eyes as they go. "Not so idle." He peers at the ink on his arms. "So? How do you like the tattoos, Arthur?"

[weighted_reality]

Arthur wonders if Eames is aware that a few of them seem to have adjusted for the new body. "I didn't take you for a butterfly vamp stamp sort of girl."

[seeorseem]

"Sometimes, I just need the world to know I want to be free," is Eames' steady reply, peering over his shoulder. "The artwork has stayed decent, so at least we know I'm very picky about it in any world." He's still rather proud of the half-sleeve on his shoulder, though he supposes with the leaner limbs, it might look a bit at odds.

[weighted_reality]

"Oh absolutely," Arthur replies in a similar deadpan. "Where's your room, before you get into more trouble."

[seeorseem]

"I'm trouble personified, I thought you knew that," Eames replies playfully, head down and hair tumbling forward as he uses charm and guile to smile at the passers-by in the halls, to keep them from getting in trouble. "Three to the right, then around the corner. That'll be me."