the illustrious mr. eames. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pilfered) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2012-02-17 08:42 pm
pilfered) wrote in capeandcowllogs2012-02-17 08:42 pm
Entry tags:
his wounds healed, the skin a bit thicker than before.
WHO: eames and arthur.
WHERE: somewhere in the city lol specifics.
WHEN: late friday night.
WARNINGS: swearing, blood and injuries, eames.
SUMMARY:
FORMAT: PROSE IN ACTION BRACKETS then whatever mici wants.
[ nothing hurts until the blindfold comes out, and then the pain is crippling, so much so that he staggers sideways, catches himself on the brickwall. his palm is bloody.
all of him is bloody, from the feel of it. he's bleeding beneath the fabric of his coat, and cursing doesn't alleviate the pain, but it distracts him from it for a moment. someone's been at him with some sort of blade, that he can tell, but he can't remember. there's a large chunk of missing time and he can't think back and understand how he got to this spot, to this moment.
is this a dream?
he remembers the morning. he remembers getting up and twisting until his spine cracked--sleeping on the couch never agreed with him, but he'd given sark the bed--and he remembers making tea and he remembers trailing his mark for three hours before lunch and he remembers walking through a department store and he remembers calling his client and then...
and then there is nothing, just a chunk of missing time before he woke up covered in his own blood and--
and he needs to sit down before he falls down. he doesn't know how much blood he's lost. there's no way of telling what is bleeding the worst; whoever is responsible for this is thorough. he knows that moving hurts, but he also knows that he's in not fit shape to lie his way into a hospital. so he forces himself onwards until he finds a bench (a bus stop, he'll be furious if he bleeds to death at a sodding bus stop) and sits and digs his phone from his pocket.
his thumb leaves smears of blood on the keypad. shame, he'd like this phone.
the message is brief. come at once, because explanations take too much time and he isn't certain of what happened in either event. and then he sits back and starts cleaning the blood off his shaking hands with the blindfold, if only because he needs at least some semblance of normalcy. ]
WHERE: somewhere in the city lol specifics.
WHEN: late friday night.
WARNINGS: swearing, blood and injuries, eames.
SUMMARY:
FORMAT: PROSE IN ACTION BRACKETS then whatever mici wants.
[ nothing hurts until the blindfold comes out, and then the pain is crippling, so much so that he staggers sideways, catches himself on the brickwall. his palm is bloody.
all of him is bloody, from the feel of it. he's bleeding beneath the fabric of his coat, and cursing doesn't alleviate the pain, but it distracts him from it for a moment. someone's been at him with some sort of blade, that he can tell, but he can't remember. there's a large chunk of missing time and he can't think back and understand how he got to this spot, to this moment.
is this a dream?
he remembers the morning. he remembers getting up and twisting until his spine cracked--sleeping on the couch never agreed with him, but he'd given sark the bed--and he remembers making tea and he remembers trailing his mark for three hours before lunch and he remembers walking through a department store and he remembers calling his client and then...
and then there is nothing, just a chunk of missing time before he woke up covered in his own blood and--
and he needs to sit down before he falls down. he doesn't know how much blood he's lost. there's no way of telling what is bleeding the worst; whoever is responsible for this is thorough. he knows that moving hurts, but he also knows that he's in not fit shape to lie his way into a hospital. so he forces himself onwards until he finds a bench (a bus stop, he'll be furious if he bleeds to death at a sodding bus stop) and sits and digs his phone from his pocket.
his thumb leaves smears of blood on the keypad. shame, he'd like this phone.
the message is brief. come at once, because explanations take too much time and he isn't certain of what happened in either event. and then he sits back and starts cleaning the blood off his shaking hands with the blindfold, if only because he needs at least some semblance of normalcy. ]
no subject
No.
[ god arthur. ]
And I doubt I'd be let out alive if I were.
no subject
[But he's almost laughing so he doesn't mean it. Instead he picks up a syringe and fills it with painkiller.]
Do you want me to give this to you or do you want to do it yourself?
no subject
Go ahead.
[ because his hands aren't steady enough for that, not that eames wants to admit it. ]
no subject
You don't remember anything else?
no subject
[ the frustration in his tone is obvious. the pain is gradually subsiding, which is a welcome relief. this is going to be a mess of scars when it heals, he thinks, and can't quite manage to be amused about it. ]
They were professionals. Well-funded professionals.
no subject
They didn't mess up your tattoos.
no subject
[ there's a pause. he can feel the pull of the needle, strangely lacking in sensation. ]
It seems you'll have new scars to categorize.
no subject
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I'm going to have to stop wearing this face.
[ because they know about it. ]
no subject
[He keeps stitching, infinitely patient.]
no subject
[ at least in dreamspace he won't have to worry about ripping stitches. ]
no subject
[Provided he keeps the bandages on]
no subject
[ the expression on his face is amused, in spite of the pull of the needle. ]
no subject
[He cuts and sews methodically]
You really almost died.
no subject
[ although he's not specifying whether he means through dreams or reality. ]
no subject
[Arthur finishes up the worst of the stitches and gets with the bandages]
no subject
[ there's a pause. eames very carefully stretches. he's never enjoyed stitches, the feel of them pulling at his skin. ]
Thank you, my dear.
no subject
[Arthur has enough neosporin to antibacterialize a third-world country, and he is currently putting it in place on Eames' bandages.]
no subject
[ he takes a deep breath, running a finger over a neat line of stiches. ]
If I do sleep too deeply...
[ the implication is there. you'll pull me out? ]
no subject
[Something in Arthur's face softens - less affection and more concern, though]
Don't worry.
no subject
I'm not.
[ because he knows arthur, and knows that arthur is damn good at the business of keeping people safe. even eames, when it comes to that. ]
no subject
You're going to be out of commission for a couple of weeks.
no subject
[ or he'll force himself to, either way. eames has things to do, torturers to find. ]
no subject
[Which will make Arthur crazy. He finishes up the bandaging]
no subject
I'm sorry about your car, Arthur.
[ there's a lot in that statement that isn't put to words. thank you for coming. thank you for stitching me back together. thank you. ]
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