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]

Eames lays small kisses over Arthur's neck, wishing they had done more so that Arthur can give him a direct report when all is said and done. Honestly, this might be the best opportunity for research he's ever, ever had. "I need you to take measurements, later. Video me, a bit," he says.

[weighted_reality]

Despite his resolution not to go too far, Arthur can't help but revel under this attention for the moment. "Whatever for?"

[seeorseem]

"What better time to research forgery than now?" Eames replies, as if shocked that Arthur hadn't thought about this himself. "Really, Arthur, the muscle movement alone," he says, eyes bright with possibility. "This is an invitation for improvement."

[weighted_reality]

"Fair enough," Arthur concedes. Suddenly he moves away and shifts almost completely into the mode of business. There's only the fraction of a tease in his eyes that betrays him.

"Give me your phone then."

[seeorseem]

Eames bends over for the phone, giving Arthur a decent view of the arse in nothing more than panties before straightening up, flipping the hair over the shoulder and handing it to him. Hands on his hips, he begins to pace the room, stretching and clearing his throat, like he's warming up for a forge rather than actually being in one.

[weighted_reality]

As soon as it's in his hand, Arthur begins to record it, following Eames with the camera and trying not to distract him from the matter at hand.

[seeorseem]

Eames pushes the hair back, tracking what the strands feel like and what they look like. It's always best to forge with mirrors, given how much the human mind can filter things. "What do you think? Is this too much for a girl next door type? Am I more sex symbol, like this?"

[weighted_reality]

"Neither," Arthur says immediately. He squints, trying to determine just what kind of woman this is. "You can look innocent, but it's a face that screams cleverness."

[seeorseem]

Eames gives a quiet hum, as if trying to figure out how to work with that. He pulls the hair back, turning on Arthur and feigning full innocence, like someone who's been pulled into this whole mess. It requires him to strip his face of that cleverness, but he needs to try.

[weighted_reality]

"Don't scrunch your nose so much," Arthur suggests. He leans forward, inspecting Eames' face. He's right; it really looks too much like him to be a forge.

"Don't pout either. All of it looks practiced on that face."

[seeorseem]

"I'm pouting because I'm standing here in only my pants and you're not doing anything about it," is Eames' casual, careless reply, keeping the pout even and avoiding a nose-scrunch, going for nonchalantly interested. "Better?"

[weighted_reality]

"Is that a genuine Eames in there?" he teases, standing up to close the space between them.

[seeorseem]

"I hardly know anymore, not wearing this face," he replies, but it's merely a tease. He absolutely knows who he is and he is genuine as they come, smirking pleasantly at Arthur. "Come," he encourages. "Explore me."

[weighted_reality]

Arthur laughs and creeps forward, laying his hands over his shoulders to explore the shape of Eames. "And what if I had reservations about a presumably temporary form?"

[seeorseem]

Eames can't help the derisive laugh, but tries to curtail it as best as he can. "I am still me, you know," he points out. "I've hardly become such a good thief that I've managed to steal a body. Still, if you're feeling wary, you don't have to be the one to touch."

[weighted_reality]

Arthur rolls his eyes and leans back, all smoothness and disaffected mischief. Eames is being coy but there's hardly any veil over his real intent. Arthur, himself, is a bit nonplussed at this flavor of seduction when he'd rather get a feel for what their relationship is on normal terms.

"You're mischief incarnate, Mr. Eames," is all he says.

[seeorseem]

Eames smiles with refreshed delight at such a horrid, torrid, wonderful accusation, unable to deny such things. "You say the nicest things to me," is his reply, laughter bubbling on his lips.

[weighted_reality]

"Only because they're true," Arthur replies. "Put your clothes on before you scandalize the service staff. I ordered food."

[seeorseem]

Eames rolls his eyes, but eases away from Arthur in order to make a show of picking up the yoga pants and wiggle into them, presenting himself once he looks suitable. "There. Am I going to frighten off the help in this?"

[weighted_reality]

"You look perfectly harmless," Arthur assures him. Glancing sidelong he nods, "Looser clothing. It gives an air of carelessness, freedom, but not guile."

[seeorseem]

Eames makes a note to pursue that, nodding when it seems to be a good note from Arthur. "Looser clothing it is. At least, when I'm working. I'm rather eager to get you looking at my behind, at present," Eames remarks.

[weighted_reality]

Arthur smiles and considers him again. "You speak as if I haven't been."

[seeorseem]

"Well, it's different now, isn't it?" Eames points out. "Smaller, rounder, a bit higher," he wiggles his hips a little, just to show it off. "Better or worse? Or is it a lateral trade?"

[weighted_reality]

"Given my predilections, I'd say it's a lateral trade, but I've always been fond of options."

Arthur pauses, rising when he hears a knock at the door.

[seeorseem]

Eames takes the opportunity to sprawl on the bed when Arthur's distracted by the knock, hair splayed in all directions as he extends his toes and stretches. "Don't be rude, let the nice man in."