poly_chromatic | ( [audio] backdated to Saturday )

Entry tags:

inception - arthur

( [audio] backdated to Saturday )

Sai--

Aria--

Dom--

M----

Not a fan of these weekends. Too crowded and too many cases of mistaken identity.

Most of you're better off just heading inside somewhere to stay warm. Probably won't be here long. Assuming the pattern sticks as usual.

[ pause, considering saying something else, then decides against it and turns the audio off. ]

[ooc: do not want to miss 4th wall but ridiculous placeholder ;_; rl so crazy ..... /just wants to rp u_u anyway open post! anything goes...]

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[ The scar isn't in the right place. Not the right size. Hardly the same shape.

But the face - the body, the voice, the tone, if Bane had been a man much like other men, he would be something like this. Like him, Barsad amends, and he could hardly care for the fact that he's (for someone like him) staring. ]

And the usual course of action is unexplained disappearance. Do I assume correctly?

You pick things up quickly.

[ That's about as much affirmation as 'yes' would do. ] I'm sure you'll be home again soon enough, if that's what you're worried for.

[ Right now, Eames isn't sure if it's the pixels or if this guy's gaze is really so intense. ]

You honor me.

[ You taught me are not words that fit his mouth for this. This man is not Bane, even if the pride on their skin is the same shade.

(Enjoy his half-lidded stare of attention in the meantime.) ]

There's no place for me where I come from, not any longer. Where is here?

Did you piss off the entire world, where you come from?

[ There can be a place for anyone, somewhere. And if not, well, at least there's here - this inbetween sort of place. Eames still can't strictly define it; they've more or less had to roll with the punches. ]

It's called City. It's an island in the middle of some ocean, though no one knows where, exactly.

I'm fairly certain I died, before here.

[ Perhaps this is post-traumatic stress from getting fatally shot. He's hallucinated before, in the throes of death-bed fever. This is the more lucid version, it would seem. ]

And the ticking? It's distinct.

[ Well, that's awkward. 'Did you deserve it' is on the tip of Eames' tongue, but he swallows it when the man offers him another question instead. ]

It's the clock that's set up under the city. It'll dim out, the more you surround yourself with people - or pets, alternatively, I've heard.

[ Deserving it is hardly worth discussing — he's long made peace with ending up dead. He should have made plans for after he died, though. Apparently dead isn't just dead. ]

Pets. [ are you kidding me ] Any kind?

I'm not sure. I assume not goldfish, because they forget you every few minutes. Any pet that can substitute a social interaction, perhaps. The ticking might get worse with loneliness and complete solitude.

Fish are quiet creatures.

[ He's not sure where this conversation is headed, but he says his piece with the seriousness that a man says there's a storm coming or i found our next target. ]

Birds?

[ Eames is faintly amused about how seriously this guy is taking it, but how can he deny him? ]

Parrots might do you some good. In case you're not gone by the end of the weekend.

[ He nods gravely. Even if the whole look is wrong, the voice - it commands, like a reflex. Even idle suggestions are weighted, with Bane. ]

Parrots are omnivores. [ Like that's the important thing, here. ] What about owls?

[ They're carnivorous and smart. Useful. ]

[ Here's something that might distinct between them more than anything else: ]

Well, which do you want?

[ He almost says what out loud.

A choice. Yes, it's one hell of a distinction, because the League doesn't give you too many of those; the most you might get is whether you want to die now or later, and even that isn't your call to make. Barsad likes it. He appreciates the freedom of it, the freedom of knowing what your purpose is.

Choices are complicated.

He's probably reading too much into what is essentially an idle question. ]

Which is easier to train?

I've no idea.

Get one of each and try it for yourself.

[ BIRD PERSON, EAMES IS NOT. ]

There's at least a hundred of them.

[ Bane would have said this as a challenge. Is this man saying it as a dismissal? Who are you, he wants to ask. Not just who as a name, but as whoever you are when you close your eyes and put yourself to sleep, that person you are. ]

You know where I could find them all?

You could always try the zoo.

Though they might not take well to you stealing their flocks.

[ A little bit of a dismissal, mostly curiousity now to see what the guy will end up doing. ]

[ Judgy judging look. Then a hint of...chastisement? Not quite but...thereabouts. ]

Don't tell him that.

[ This guy is so Serious. What if he takes you at your word? 8/ Henry... ]

[ god fur let him do what he wants ]

Why not?

He's the one who wants to train birds.

If they are not bred for the public's entertainment, I do not see why they should be considered property.

[ Animal rights supporter? Only if humans count, and even then, "theft" is just a mean word for appropriation, isn't it? ]

Well, money did exchange hands at some point...

[ hahaha oh man this guy

this guy ]

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signatures - 2013-03-08 13:34 (UTC) - Expand

If you died before you got here, you're walking around without a pulse, no breath, et cetera.

[ He speaks from experience.

Anyway, additionally, he is scrutinizing you, stranger, suspicious of the obvious interest of Some Kind in Eames. Can't put his finger on it though. ]

[ He figured as much, coming here. It's— strange, but not something he cannot adapt to. There are practical applications to not needing to breathe (it's not a silver lining; practicality is neither good nor bad).

But then, there's your face. ]

I understand.

Do you have a name?

[ there was a time he would have hesitated to give it out on a public feed but the truth is the truth and that happens to be time and familiarity hybridize for some semblance of believing he knows what's safe and what's not. they decided it wasn't a dream a long time ago, no thieves in their periphery to steal their consciousness out from under them. so what to fear? nothing as far as names go, and he only gives his first ever anyway, which as it happens has always been laudably common: ]

Arthur.

And you?

My brothers call me Barsad.

[ It's a name, not his name; he's fairly certain this Arthur would understand. On a statistical line, the chances of a man having the same face as another is higher than one expects, when human faces can only have so many variations.

But two men having eerily similar faces with another pair of men, and finding their way to the exact same place, now there's a coincidence that's pushing the limits of probability. ]

You were from America?

Interesting name.

[ By which he simply means it's the first time he's heard it outside of a book, and in the book things didn't really end well for John Barsad, but that's neither here nor there. This man isn't exactly screaming Charles Dickens to him, even though by now Arthur knows he's liable to run into someone who does as much as anyone else.

Anyway...

He tilts his head at 'brothers', wondering immediately whether it's by blood or otherwise. There is a sense of formality still here, or is it respect? Not, Arthur thinks, for himself but for the term of it -- 'brothers'. He notes it, his fingers on the tabletop out of sight absently falling and rising with some thoughtless echo of time on the piano - not a nervous tic so much as a motion unconscious. ]

Well yeah, I mean I am from America though.

[ His question of the use of the past tense is apparent in his tone, though not particularly urgent. ]

And you're from ...?

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