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 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."

[weighted_reality]

"I tipped well," Arthur assures him when he returns. In his hands, Arthur carries a wide tray, loaded with dishes.

[seeorseem]

Eames doesn't exactly care about what the help is getting tipped, especially when they're not exactly going to remember him when he switched back to normal. That reminds him of something, though. "At some point, I will need to figure out how to unforge, so to speak."

[weighted_reality]

"It may wear off," Arthur ponders, setting out the food on the table and appreciating that they've prepared it to his standards. "I've seen quite a few rooms with peculiar effects."

[seeorseem]

Eames follows after he bands up the hair in a quick bun, having learned how to do a topknot quite expertly from years of forging. "Is that an oblique reference to this happening to you?" he asks, far more interested now.

[weighted_reality]

"Aren't you curious?" Arthur says, his familiar wry smile in place. It's one that tells Eames wouldn't you like to know?

[seeorseem]

"Endlessly so, Arthur," Eames replies honestly, picking at the plates of room service and popping stray morsels into his mouth. "I'm always curious, you know that."

[weighted_reality]

"There's an old adage," Arthur reminds him as he takes a plateful of veal chop. "Something about curiosity and dead cats."

[seeorseem]

"I solemnly swear I harmed no cats with my curiosity," Eames assures, bringing his own plate over to the bed where he arranges the new limbs in a cross-legged pattern, picking at it with his hands. "It's odd. Being like this in reality," he muses, popping a green bean past his lips. "Less malleable, but more realistic."

[weighted_reality]

"You'll have to remember which door it was," Arthur says, though whether he means because it offers Eames a chance to try it again or simply to avoid it, he doesn't explain.

[seeorseem]

"Well, if I do manage to recall which door it was, perhaps I'll shove you through head first the next time," he remarks with a smirk.