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inception - eames

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[ Well.

Prison isn't exactly a place Eames thought he'd wind up in, in this fair city of theirs. There was that one close call with the overenthusiastic self defense, but that'd ended up in an ankle bracelet and time out spent at home - definitely not locked up in a prison with a bunch of the undead serving as guards. Not exactly Eames' cup of tea, what with a general aversion to the ghoulish - and if all the ghouls are working their ways up the ranks, here, might be that a certain Cobb-faced zombie happens to be one of the populace.

So.

Eames is less than enthused.

It seems the City does still know how to deal with the occasional consequence or six - it would figure; no boat ride has ever been good news here, thus far for him.

For the day, during the recreational period between lunch and dinner, Eames sits himself out in the courtyard - not working out, not really socializing, but definitely eyeing some of the ghouls up. ]

So the deities' solution to the wandering undead within the City is to let them run a prison instead?

[ The question is, though -

can these ghouls run fast enough to catch up, if he made a break for it?

Can he run and/or swim fast enough? ]

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[Nobori is also wandering rather aimlessly, avoiding the other inmates and carrying his Chandela in his arms, but the question catches his interest:]

That would appear to be the case!

An ill-conceived plan.

That's to put it lightly.

[ He glances at Nobori, then back at the guard. ]

What happens if they get hungry?

[He smiles wryly.] Someone will get the death sentence.

[An off-colour, morbid little joke, but what do you expect from the man carrying a ghost around, really?]

[ Eames can totally appreciate morbidity. He scoffs a bit, something that drags out into a mild chuckle before turning to look at Nobori fully.

And also his ghost?? Vaguely?? Chandelier looking thing? ]

Are you keeping with the theme?

[Nobori glances at Chandela, smirking.]

Perhaps, but my Chandela has more rationality than all of the guards put together, I am sure.

I am Nobori, it would have been nice to meet under better circumstances. [He bows in greeting. The odd chandelier-ghost also leans forward in an approximation of a bow.] Shaaandela!

[ Chandela.

My Chandela.

It's a mixture between mildly endearing and intensely offputting - especially that it talks. Eames offers a little bow because he's not too sure how else to deal with the current situation, and mirroring is sometimes the best form of buying time.

Eames isn't speechless often - talking chandeliers seem to do it. ]

Mister Nobori, and... Chandela, then. I'm Eames. Seems most of my relationships are forged while under dire duress, so I wouldn't worry too much for it.

Might I ask- what, exactly, is your friend here?

[ Friend?

Pet?? ]

[Chandela accepts the "friend" label more readily than "pet"! Nobori is charmed by the bow.]

Consider the adage about bonds forged under fire.

Chandela is a Ghost Type Pokemon. [Well, that answers one question while raising two more.]

[ Ghost type pokemon.

Eames' brows shoot up. ]

You might have to start from the beginning, if you've never told anyone the story about your world before.

[ Gesturing to the friend. ]

At least about the pokemon.

Are you in prison?

No, it's a new yacht club.

Ah, sarcasm.

That's a yes, then.

Are you disappointed in me?

At getting caught, or the sarcasm?

Whichever resonates more strongly with you.

No.

But I may disorganize my shoes.

[She would never.]

Whatever for?

You worked so hard o their arrangement.

So you'd do it to spite me?

Just a little.

[Pause]

Actually, I wouldn't. Do it at all.

So now you're a liar.

Are you trying to upset me?

No, never.

Only teasing, Miss Saya.

[No she has not been shadowing him all day why would you even suggest such a thing.]

[ Okay he's had enough. He stops meandering, looking over at her. ]

I've never seen you like this before.

You haven't been watching me closely enough.

[When she first got here, she hid under Saya's skirts. Then she'd clung on to Blonde's arm. Chase too. Karl too. Now it's Eames's turn.]

I've not had much opportunity, in such close contact.

[ He quirks his brows, pinches her elbow lightly in some vague gesture of potential concern. ]

So?

[She scowls up at him.]

I dislike [The way she says that clearly suggests that 'dislike' is an understatement of her emotion.] when my situation is not under my control.

[ Vaguely, she sounds like a viper ready to strike.

It might be the cheekbones, or the tattoo he knows she has. ]

Then you must be in a constant state of discontent here in the City.

[ He finds some shade by one of the walls, easing back to lean against it as he looks her over. ]

Where's your cell?

[Her smile is miserable, angry. The curses used to drive her into fits, screaming and skin-clawing. It had taken a few key individuals quite a lot of work and patience to ease her down from her need to control all things.]

The second floor.

[In a sea of other cells. But it wasn't the other inmates that troubled her so much as the pacified ghouls watching her at all times.]

And you're certainly calm about it.

[Jealous!]

Getting uppity won't get us out here any faster.

[ Truth be told, Eames has a thing about the undead ghouls guarding them.

A thing being that he's rather terrified of zombies - the look and idea of them, which may or may not be ironic considering Carla, but it's different in that regard.

Ultimately it's why he'd rather pace around in the courtyard than stay in his cell, until the time they get ushered back indoors. ]

Don't suppose they'd let you move around.

[ Half question, half lackadaisical comment. ]

[She stares at him blankly for a moment. The dead she knew didn't speak, they were tied together by something secret buried in their minds, a whispering story they all shared. These ghouls are different, but that hint of a starving animal is still there. When she makes eye contact with them she gets the gurglings of it, buried under whatever the deities did to them to entice them into obedience.

And then Carla blinks and her answer is not so literal as where her mind had gone,]

What, you want to sleep over?

[...What was that about not getting uppity...]

Are you going to seize from fits of anxiety if I leave you alone for more than two minutes while we're here?

[ Eames usually doesn't care about what people do with themselves when he's not around. But, on the other hand, people usually don't stick around him and he's never really had to worry about it before. The relationship between Carla and Eames may be bizarre, ornery, and potentially not one at all - but he's not cruel, even if she can be, and she's the one keeping by his side. ]

[ She makes a face at him. ]

I'll be fine.

[ Which may not strictly be true. Besides, she uses 'fine' when isn't interested in giving a real answer. ]

In my personal experience, fine isn't very reassuring.

[ He lives with Arthur, ok.

He knows all about "fine." ]

I wasn't trying to reassure you.

[She was trying to shut him up about it, there is a difference in her mind.]

Let me rephrase - fine is an outright lie.

[She shrugs, a snide expression on her face.]

I won't die, anyway.

I don't think you're too worried about the death part.

[Is that really who he thinks it is?]

This is not your color.

[Gesturing to the jumpsuit.]

I have a silk shirt exactly like this.

[ Mild sarcasm? Or jovial truth? ]

It washes you out, though.

It's obnoxious.

[And oh so very orange. Just not Orange. Sigh.]

Yeah. I thought as much. It's not something that someone can wear with finesse.

[Coming back to that one detail though Mr. Eames.]

Silk....

[ Orange without the benefits :( ]

You're not a fan of silk?

No, I guess you strike me more as a cotton sort of man.

[ Talking bullshit just to talk it - it's been keeping him entertained, as to not focus on the UNDEAD GUARDS part. ]

[This is totally how White doesn't want to wear orange.]

I like silk, actually. I don't think this solid color should be silk.

[A tug on the jumpsuit. It blows.]

Cotton's better to wash and wear in the day to day.

[Talking about fabric, these faggots. White eyeballs the guards as they come close to pass. Then he turns to stare past the chainlink fences that show so much beyond, taunting.]

Hmm.

[ Eames no longer has much interest in that particular vein of conversation, following White's line of sight before rubbing the pads of his thumb and index finger together, idle. ]

Did you get locked in here for a reason, Mister White?

I killed someone.

[Easy a that to admit when he isn't making direct contact. In the next moment though, out of self loathing or because it is time to man up he makes eye contact.]

On the boat. I thought it would be worth a shit.

[Nod and a nod.]

I was wrong. Here I am. At least... that's the biggest sin I can think of.

You wanted to leave that badly? Depriving someone else of the opportunity.

[ Not that Eames can blame him.

He did the same thing, except hooked up with Cowboy, and in the end it wasn't even worth it. In the end he decided even if they didn't get to leave, look at what he has here versus out there. It's different. Sometimes it's boring.

But it's his. ]

At the time yeah.

[No point in shying away from it.]

I got fucking fed up and lost my cool. I didn't give a shit at the time.

[What more could be said on that? That is the most recent black spot on his reputation. There are others. There will be others too. That's what asshole criminals do.]

What about you, man?

Same. Though not in a personal way, I have to say - out of self-defense or otherwise.

[ Little bombs are more of a incidental accident, aren't they? ]

You ever kill a man outside this place?

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