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the demon's lexicon - mae crawford

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So, dictionaries keep finding their way into my hands, which I took as a sign. But look at what I've found:

EAMES
Pronunciation (US): i:mz
• EAMES (noun)
1. United States designer noted for an innovative series of chairs (1907-1978)
Familiarity information: EAMES used as a noun is very rare.
Instance hypernyms:
decorator; designer; house decorator; interior decorator; interior designer; room decorator (a person who specializes in designing architectural interiors and their furnishings)

Legitimate entry in a dictionary, and all! However, I want to submit a different meaning, considering my vast, thorough research into the matter:

EAMES [i:mz]
adj. Eamesier, Eamesiest
1. Said of a surly, yet (relatively) stylish, rake with a tendency to get in the good graces of anyone despite all instincts warning towards the contrary. 2. A precarious mix of cynicism, imagination and smarminess. 3. Said of a person with a disposition towards changing their mood from lots of fun to the world is ending and everything is a trap in under two comments.

I propose we push this forward as a City-wide accepted definition. All in favour, say-or-type aye.

[ooc; That first definition is real, I shit you not. (He had it coming.)]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, as an experience smuggler of licorice into the hospital walls, I've got your back on this one. But you and I are going to have words about the properties of texting in cases of emergency.

[SAYS THE HYPOCRITE TO THE FORGER.]

I couldn't text very well at the time.

[ Smarmy smarminess. ]

I'll be waiting.

I'm bringing the food already, no need to make me pity you more. [Or feel any more guilty.

Gosh.

She rolls her eyes.] Okay, on my way.

[And from thereon, all replies through the device happen while she's getting him that BOX of kababs from that ONE PLACE because Eames is also Miranda Priestley, apparently. Of course there is also slipping it into the hospital as discretely as possible, though she suspects medics and nurses are hardly as strict about that anymore.

If a patient's demanding kebabs, that must mean their apetite's back, right? And that is a good thing, generally, correct? Maybe she'll ask Chase for tips on that.

It's not without worry that she does this, though. She's not surprised that he kept it so quiet, in a way - there were many sides of this man that were still and enigma, yet there continued to be something still that made her feel oddly safe knowing he had her back. It helped that he was good at gaining trust, rather than demanding it. However smarmy he was. So maybe she'd have to revise her own taste in making friends. Maybe it wasn't just girls her age and brothers with a dangerous lifestyle and people who'd be great for fun but wouldn't pry into a single thing.

She wonders often what her mother, or even her absent father, would've said, had she known the type of friends Mae had made in the City. Because, well - maybe Eames is one. Which is why she has such ease to poke fun.

Finally, she reaches his room, armed with the requested food, and a smile to make the delivery sweeter.]

[ By the time Mae comes in, Eames has done the gracious thing and made effort to clean up a bit - a freshly shaven face instead of week old cheeks, antipersperant, so on and so forth. There's little he can do when he's been stuck in the hospital, but Arthur dropped off a few of his things (and shorts) when it became apparent he was staying for longer than a night. Patting his face dry when he hears her opening the door, he glances up, quirking a brow at the pink-haired piece of sunshine in his doorway. Maybe the corners of his eyes crinkle, maybe not. ]

You ought to pick up being a candy striper, at this point. Your hair would match the uniform.

You know, you're the second one to tell me that. [She smiles, and shrugs.] It must be the big sister complex...

[Her eyes glance at the towel, then up at his face, her smile turning slowly mischevous.] Were you getting pretty for me?

Then I lose points for originality, [ Eames says instead, though he does scrub at his fresh jaw. ] For you, the nurse, the doctor... Anyone I have to manipulate to leave here early. The healthier and less homeless I look, the better my chances are, I think.

But- do you have something for me?

I missed the hobo beard? [:c Sad, sad day.

She does step closer to the bed though, and drops her bag on the bed next to his hip, opening it with a flourish.] Voila, with compliments from the chef.

You already get to see me decrepit in a hospital bed, what more do you need to satisfy you?

[ He brightens at the food, though, pulling the box onto his lap. ] Did you get something for yourself?

[She waves the question off and hops on the bed near his feet.] I'm fine, don't have much of an appetite right now.

I found out recently I've got a friend in the hospital.

I'm sorry to hear that.

[ He plucks up one of the sticks, using the plastic fork provided to shimmy the meat and vegetables off said stick and into the box. ]

It's not cancer, is it? [ He is, of course, being deliberately obtuse. Such is an Eames. ]

[She rolls her eyes at him, but it's a front - just for show, honestly. She doesn't feel much like humour when she's in the hospital. Maybe if she'd had an supernatural abilities she could've healed all her friends in a pinch, but since she's normal Mae, Mae Who Leads (but has no-one to lead, so now she's Mae Who Learns), she just walks around the hospital like she knows it by heart, candy striping. Candy stripping?

Hey, here's a thought she should not have. That one.

Her fingers are twisting the end of the hospital blanket, and she stops to pick lint from it, looking up at him.] No. But it is terminal.

A dangerously rare disease of Smarmybastardosis.

[ Eyes on his food, Eames smiles at that, a small quirk of his mouth with his snaggletooth hidden in a practiced manner. It's not until after he's taken a bite and swallowed that he looks at her again, brow raising. ]

Are you really upset that I didn't tell you sooner?

[ It's not as though he was completely without opportunity - but he did think he'd be out of here much sooner than anticipated. He suspects Arthur might have something to do with it, conspiracy theorist and all, but he's not entirely sure. ]

Edited 2012-11-29 18:08 (UTC)

[She presses her lips together, taking time to think the answer through.] Honestly? I can understand why you wouldn't. You don't seem the sharing or whining or demanding attention when ill type...

[And neither is she. If there was one lesson she'd learnt (or hadn't, depending on the point of view) was that she kept to herself as well when things went to hell in a handbasket. She'd hardly told anyone she'd been trapped in the Circus, not even after she'd gotten out. So isn't it hypocritical of her to demand it of others?]

Do you trust me?

[ He hates when people ask that question - he can never decide how much to say of it, whether it be for their own reassurances or an opening in the wrong direction. He eats a little more, but in the end closes up the box to set on the small stand next to the bed for now, wiping his hands and mouth on a tissue. There's a bit of meat stuck under his thumbnail so Eames works on trying to wipe the sliver away. ]

There are a lot of different layers of trust. Which one are you looking for? My general safety or my bank account password?

[That is such a classy show he's putting on, how does he not have a line of mistresses trailing behind him swooning? How?

But, back to the point. She supposes that, too, is a loaded question, so she bites her lip while she thinks of how to specify.] I wouldn't trust myself with any bank account password, and I doubt you'd be stupid enough to after you've already lost one bet to my impressive skills. [Of conning old men out of tequila shot money.]

Put it this way, if we were in the dessert City again, and I had a gun, would you trust me to have your back?

[ He's probably like a forty-five year old virgin still.

Sucking it out with his teeth now, Eames frowns a bit to himself. It seems like such a loaded question; a trust of her skills or a trust out of friendship? He's not entirely sure what she's looking for. Still, he can manage to at least answer truthfully about this - not as a way to pad her feelings, he doesn't much care about that part. If he had to consistently watch what he said around her for sake of her throwing a fit, they'd hardly be where they are now, much less her bringing him food. ]

Back then? Absolutely not. Now that you know how to shoot one properly? Sure, I feel as though I could trust you. [ He looks to her face, then. ] Why do you ask?

[She has no need to know. Really she just doesn't. (Does he need a wingwoman or something?)

She shrugs, in the end, uncertain. But secretly, she's pleased that he feels that, even if she had to learn to shoot properly - then again, in all fairness, there really is some sort of bonding that goes together with self-defense lessons.] I just remembered a few months ago, I'd told you I didn't.

[And she hadn't. He'd seemed a lot like Gerald. Nice and charming, but all with a purpose, all aiming towards an ultimate end. Now she knows better.] I do now.

[ These days all Eames' end game amounts to is to make money and survive - which is, to say, not very different from being home. Still, he's more than aware how he can come across as depending on the day or his mood; Mae isn't the first person to tell him he was more or less a skeeze. Tessa, for instance, wasn't altogether too fond of him. Ivy, in all that she knew, knew him a little too well also. He almost shrugs, but rolls his shoulders instead, rubbing at his left one. ]

Can I ask what made you change your mind, or is that going to ruin it?

[There's a pause, and then she's smiling sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.] Here's the thing though, I couldn't pinpoint it even if I wanted to - so it's best not to ask.

[She clears her throat, trying not to smile.] So let's just accept this as a bonding moment over kebabs and move on.

Miss Mae, [ he tuts a bit mockingly now, ] are you ashamed to talk about your developed kinship with me?

[ Now seems like a good time to pick up food again, but he nudges it toward her so she can have some, too. It's only because the pain medication shaves off some of his appetite, all right. ]

[She sits with her shoulders straight and picks up some of the meat from inside one kebab.]

Most definitely.

[ There's an amused look on Eames' face (but then again, when isn't there), yet he lets it slide all the same. He's not the sort to want to excessively labour over the path a relationship might take; at least, not his own. ]

Then tell me more about your job at the library.

[She looks up at that, and shrugs one shoulder.] Honestly, I think it was sheer luck that landed me the job itself. One day I thought, I need to do more than just sell soaps, and I took a resume there.

Maybe someone was stoned when they saw it and thought, eh we might as well. [She smiles a little.] Right now, I help people find books, or try to convince them to take the books they're given.

Is everything as disorganized for you as for the rest of us? [ Eames can't think of the last time he actually got the book he was looking for at the library. A lot of the time it had just involved 'Gardening for Dummies' and 'Turn Your Thumb Green in 30 Days'. ]

As long as it's satisfying for you, I suppose.

Of course it is. But I'm not known for my incredible organizational skills. [A shrug; she's known for thinking on her feet and being quick about offering sollutions. A messy room doesn't make her feel stressed, not at all.]

I think I can work with it.

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