agogelogs | returning nightmares only shadows

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returning nightmares only shadows

WHO? Eames and you!
WHAT? Eames' male spider posse (save him), watching fights, drinking and thinking
WHEN? vaguely around now in Spiderland
ANYTHING ELSE? I can match you with prose or action spam!

( Prompt 1 | like a toy spinning too fast )

It's ridiculous, but after his public victory over Heneb, some of the males are actually copying his outfits, which tend to trend toward extremely colorful on their own. But Eames decides to test the limits of this. And every time, they start wearing what he's wearing.

So there's a very good explanation as to why Eames is wearing a bright orange ascot. But it doesn't stop him from looking ridiculous. Rather, he's just made all the male spiders look ridiculous too.

The other side effect of this victory is a little fan club. They oo and ah and ask him to say the line, say the line! Eames smiles stiffly for the thousandth time, and says, "Heneb, I seem to have caught you in your own web... of lies."

And then he spots you and starts hurrying toward you, even if Eames doesn’t really know you. "Excuse me, gents. Urgent business to attend to."

He sidles up to you and murmurs, "Get me out of here or they'll make me tell more jokes."

( Prompt 2 | like a ghost )

The stadium is weird. Supposed to be entertaining, kind of terrifying instead. It reminds Eames of the carnage back in his days in the British army in Project Somnacin's test dreams, getting trapped under rubble, getting stabbed just so that the higher-ups think you can handle the pain. And that was before the somnacin was really stable, before the soldiers could even support a whole level when they were under duress.

Eames is supposed to be made of tougher stuff than this.

He gets up, leaves as quickly and quietly as he can. He's craving a cigarette, but, even if they have some here, Eames wants to save his money. He digs in his pocket for his poker chip and bumps right into someone, his poker chip dropping to the ground.

"I'll get it," he says quickly if they bend to pick it up.

Or maybe you run into him later, feeding his terrible, renewed smoking addiction. John wasn't kidding; this is stronger. He leans against a wall, closing his eyes and breathing in the smoke. He puffs it out, murmuring, "Christ," under his breath.

( Prompt 3 | like a wildfire )

He has a table to himself, and he’s quiet compared to the chaos around him. He's careful not to draw attention to himself, since so many Araneans get so overexcited during games. He's thinking, kind of stumped after his last attempt to sneak anywhere was pretty much a bust.

It's packed in the bar, so when he sees a fellow COST member, he waves you over.

"You're welcome to sit with me,” he says over the noise, "You're not likely to find a seat elsewhere."

( Prompt 4 | wildcard )

[ooc: or anything else! Leave me a prompt or pp me on plurk for something different!]

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"A man who takes risks." He pauses, shaking the other's hand, and glances up. "--Man, correct? It's often hard to tell with other COST members." He looks like a normal mundane, after all, but Meliorn can never be too sure. He'd rather err on the side of politeness.

It's fairly obvious on Meliorn's side-- pointed ears, blue in his hair, vine markings along a scar on one side of his face. His smile is charming, even as he glances over at a group nearby. He seems, for the most part, to not be an interest. Something more interesting going on gives him a bit of a break.

"I haven't seen you before. New arrival?" The name Eames is familiar, but he can't quite place it, not yet...

Eames grins openly, tickled by his politeness. "Yes, a man. Nothing more, nothing less."

He tries to subtly look over the scars on the side of his face, the ears.

"Sort of. I was here a while ago, but I was transferred. Then I came back. Rather glad I did because my associate's here."

He pauses, not meaning to sound rude, but interested in the other man. "May I ask about your pointed ears? You're not human, yeah?"

"Correct. I am a Seelie Knight from my realm." He doesn't have the heart to mention the whole Shadowhunter world or try to explain that it's what most people here view as modern day New York. Too crowded, for one, and Meliorn likes the idea of playing mysterious. Even if his associate's here---

--"Ah. Arthur. Tall, neat hair, surprisingly graceful dancer?"

He nods, very interested in this. He knows a bit about fae in myths, but not enough to really pull information from that beyond that he's not human. He takes a gulp of his drink before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Ah... yes, actually. How did you know?" ('Has Arthur been talking about me??')

Meliorn couldn't hide his smirk even if he wanted to. His brow raises, leaning forward.

"He's spoken of you," he says simply--casually, like he can't tell he's hooked Eames in. "He seems to have carved out quite a niche."

Eames leans forward unintentionally, furrowing his brow. Why would Arthur speak of him? And when did Meliorn dance with Arthur? That's just unfair; Eames has known the man for years and has never even got him to tap a foot.

"What do mean?"

He realizes he's leaning forward in interest and adjusts his posture, though he knows it's far too late to dissuade the man of his interest in the subject.

"You know, I don't think you gave me your name." It's pointed out with a bit of a brow raise.

It's fun to string this one along, he feels almost like he's at home--and the smirk turns into a smile.

"Buy me a drink," he says softly, "and I'll explain. You can call me Meliorn," and thank God it's no longer 'Melvin' thanks to World War I. He does make sure to keep his voice friendly and light. It's all in good fun, after all.

Eames smirks ruefully, then nods, getting his drink order and buying him one. He sits with his own drink, not liking that Meliorn's got the upper-hand in this conversation.

"Meliorn, hm? An interesting name."

"For an interesting being," Meliorn murmurs, mostly to himself, and---goodness, it's been a while since he's grinned like a fool via conversation alone. He leans foreward, countering when Eames had leaned back, and takes the drink.

He's sure he could pay for it himself, it's the principal.

"I was under the impression you two had been a couple before I was corrected."

Eames doesn't withdraw, willing to let the other man lean forward, trying not to show his discomfort with the topic.

- But then he says that and Eames chokes on a swallow of his drink. He tries to catch the dribble with his cup and grabs a napkin to wipe at his lips. Clearing his throat, he does his best to train his face back into a mostly-neutral-but-amused expression.

"Ah. May I ask what lead you to that conclusion?"

"He seemed concerned when you vanished, I assumed incorrectly as to the nature of your relationship." there's a bigger question, now, a more pressing question, and Meliorn sips his drink slowly, ignoring a few eyes on him, obviously sensing his magical nature.

"You seem quite invested in this conversation--am I wrong in that?"

Eames' stare turns a little hotter in irritation - he's not used to being shown up - and puts his drink down, fussing with his sleeve with fingers that always seem to need to be preoccupied.

"It seems natural that a colleague would be concerned about that sort of thing, even a little invested in how others perceived them."

Eames, don't try to out-Seelie the Seelie.

"It does," Meliorn agrees, though not at all with reluctance. The smile has been wiped away from his face, even if his tone is a little more agreeable--he knows what's happening, Eames. This is like foreplay to him.

"It's rather alarming what a turn of phrase does to change a sentence's meaning, don't you think?" Now he's just messing with the other, and, really--it had been far too long.

In reality, he's completely on edge, hanging off his every word. For now, though, he shrugs, sitting back in his chair.

"Why should any implications like that alarm me? People can assume what they'd like, but it doesn't change the truth."

There's still a bit of a smirk on his face. "You seem awfully on edge for someone who's not alarmed."

Eames frowns immediately, perplexed.

"How are you so bloody perceptive?"

He totally is on edge. He just didn't expect Meliorn to read past the false movements. Though he's not at his best right now, as well. Now that he's revealed that Meliorn's correct, though, he actually relaxes a little at a time, tired of faking this.

The moment Eames relaxes, Meliorn does as well--it's slight, hard to tell, but his shoulders dip ever so slightly and he leans back a fraction of an inch.

"It's in my nature," he says simply, and shakes his head. "I don't usually amuse myself with people I've just met, but it's been a very long while and Arthur is an acquaintance of mine. Forgive me."

"Really, I have no room to complain when I do this to others," he says with a small smirk. "I didn't take it negatively. In fact, I'm pretty impressed. But I will ask you not to tell Arthur of my... affection."

Meliorn's eyes light up, pleased. "So it is infatuation after all. I'll keep my silence, Mr. Eames--for a price."

He narrows his eyes, though the smirk doesn't disappear. "What's the price? Money?"

"Another beer." His smile never leaves his lips after that, even as Meliorn shrugs.

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returning nightmares only shadows

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