[ He's had this photo ever since the day they rained from the sky in vast amounts - though it seemed the focus of the day was mostly on rather unflattering pictures of himself that kept cropping up. It's not that Eames particularly minded them for the subject matter, but rather than they were old things - ten, twenty years ago that had no business being in other people's hands, even if they weren't of any particular scenes or important events. They were still, however, of himself; things he didn't want others to see, though with the way they'd come up on the network several times, there was nothing to be helped. He'd kept some for himself for a few days before throwing them all out, except for this particular one that Yusuf hasn't been home from the lab long enough to bring up, or when he is here he's resting, and Eames doesn't want to disturb the man when he seems to have found some sort of rhythm to his work.
But Yusuf appears to be taking the day off for one reason or another and so it's as good of a time as any, creaking his way down the stairs with heavy footfalls to announce his presence. Yusuf doesn't seem to be in the lab area or in his bedroom, though, and it's only afterward that he sees the light coming from underneath the bathroom door. The shower isn't running and the ventilation isn't on, so Eames tries the knob and, finding it unlocked, twists it and opens the door wide. ]
Yusuf isn't there some sort of ethical code of not snogging with your coworkers?
[ A man gets only so many moments in the day truly to himself, and one would suspect that being rather obviously indisposed would fall strictly in the category of Alone Time.
There is a new addition, or so the network would have him believe. While he's got the sense to not touch that particular post with a ten foot pole, he's taken the day off mostly to make himself available for... whatever may happen. Cobb didn't exactly leave a good taste in most people's mouths before he went and disappeared, save perhaps Arthur's-- but that is another issue that strikes Yusuf as far, far too complicated even if he had a handful of poles. There's no telling what will happen in the coming days, and he figures work will hold- tempers, never do.
(Ariadne's had a difficult month, and adding Cobb back into the mix seems like the last thing even remotely appropriate. And yet, here he is. Funny how the City works like that.)
Of course, this is all background noise as he's relieving himself of so many cups of tea, shaking off the last drops, when the door swings open-- officially ending Alone Time. The flinch is automatic, an accusing look shot over his shoulder until he realizes it's just Eames. ]
Is this the kind of guidance you need with my prick in my hand?? [ Which he will be tucking away, tyvm!!
[ Cobb's arrival is admittedly not something he wants to linger too long on - it's in Arthur's jurisdiction, after all, and it's easy enough instead to roll back a few days into previous intentions, like the photo in his hand. He quirks a brow at Yusuf's state, leaning against the doorframe casually enough as his fingers work the edges of the photograph idly. ]
Don't keep me from washing your hands, [ he comments, giving a pointed glance from Yusuf to the sink. He has, at least, enough remnants of politeness to not stare at Yusuf's prick - but really, it's hardly his first time seeing any cock, least of all Yusuf's.
He does, at least, waggle the face of the photo about so that the other man might catch a glimpse. ]
[ What modesty he might have had as a boy has, by this point, spent many a moon out of Yusuf's company- not a single one in Eames', as it happens. He doesn't have anything extraordinary to hide nor show off, not to Eames at least, and so he doesn't hold Eames' intrusion against him. At the prodding, Yusuf holds up his hand and altogether fails to seem menacing. ] Ought to give you a love tap before I wash them.
[ He goes for the sink instead, making quick work of it. The way he hangs about in the doorway reminds Yusuf of his brothers, infinitely less intrusive yet similar in motive. Catching a glimpse of the image Eames is waving about has Yusuf turning around, hands still dripping.
Theres no way... ]
What is that?? [ Blotting his hands on the nearest hand towel, he reaches for the image. ]
[ Eames lets him have it, straightening up and now free hands curling at the top of the door where the molding sits, anchoring his fingers into the divots. Experimentally, he pulls himself up with it, peering at Yusuf all the while before he lets his feet touch the ground again, not wanting to, you know, break the doorframe or whatever. ]
[ The faint circular burn mark on the kitchen floor seems substantially less incriminating in light of pictorial evidence. Yusuf tries to orient himself where the photographer would have been standing-- they were preoccupied at the time, but surely one of them would have noticed someone squatting by the island to blatantly take a picture of them-- before he realizes what an exercise in futility this is. Trying to figure out the City's methods implies the City has limitations, which it obviously doesn't.
The wisps of smoke and curling mistletoe almost look picturesque.
Not content to be corralled in the toilet for this conversation, Yusuf moves past Eames. ] And then you got old.
[ Old. Eames lets Yusuf shoulder past him, following along just as well after cutting out the light int he bathroom and shutting the door. He plops down onto one of the couches present in the basement, continuing with what he'd come down here in the first place - to clean the PASIV while teasing Yusuf to make the task far less tedious. He opens up the silver casing, setting it down on the small table in front of him as he quirks his brows up at the other man. ]
Does that mean you can look to me as a mirror into the future?
[ Yusuf is incredibly not bothered by the fact that there is a hoodlum- i mean boy- crawling in his window at ungodly o'clock. He pops a cheeto in his mouth. ]
[ This chav wannabe has a mild grin to the set of his mouth as he tumbles from the window and to the floor, plopping himself near Rhada - though the cat doesn't seem to appreciate his affection by means of belly scritches. ]
It might be breakfast if you've got studying to do. [ Meaning, he'll help with what he can, if Eames knows where to start. He holds out the bag for Eames, in case he wants one (or a handful, lets be real here). ]
[ Though he won't deny the food, reaching over to grab a couple few to keep in one hand while the other works to plop them into his mouth, one by one. ]
Here's to another year of SparkNotes carrying my ass through English. [ He tips the bag like its a champagne flute, saluting the fine ladies and gentlemen of SparkNotes. Leisure reading to Yusuf isn't The Great Gatsby or Catcher in the Rye- no matter how well intended and "racy" its language is. He'd rather stick his nose in his chem book or loaf around on the internet. ]
chemicals are what i'm good at. as for your pokerchip problem, invite your skinny friend over for poker night? go to the actual casino and see if they're passable? play pog?
just some suggestions.
[ But after rereading Eames' texts, Yusuf taps his device and gives the makeshift PASIV a glance. ]
[ It's past midnight when she heads down the stairs, Biscuit trailing after her because she didn't shut the door in time and didn't have the heart to shoo him out. Her mother's gone, Fred and George are gone, Abi is gone -- and with them went Ginny, both the older version with baby James and the younger version that has grown to be one of Ariadne's closest friends within the City. Stephen vanished a few days prior, Jerry's been gone for the month, and before them were others -- Nathan, Dawn, Simon, Janine, Lily, Harry. Eames, Steve, and Tony have come back and remembered; Natasha has come back and doesn't remember a thing. She's tired, mentally more than anything else; twenty-four years old and yet thanks to the City she's seen and experienced more than most people ever will.
It's the same back home, in a way, the crew having opened her eyes and her mind to something she can never forget and never wants to. She still loves bending the environment of the dream to her will, but now she's ran through a field as a cheetah and has seen real magic at work. She's held conversations with a pterosaur and has met comic book heroes. Usually it doesn't weigh so heavily on her, but seeing some of those faces again... tonight, it does. So she heads down the steps, Biscuit immediately going to find Rhada wherever she is while Ariadne pauses. She's not exactly sure what she's doing or why she's doing it. She just knows that Yusuf hasn't left, that curses keep pushing them together, and that she's tired but doesn't really want to sit in her room listening to the clock tick away anymore than she already has. ]
[ Although the oven, on unspoken agreement from the general household, is being gifted a much needed rest, the house still largely smells of baked goods. The heady sweet smell of bread and pastries has managed to permeate even the basement, though not nearly as entirely as the upstairs rooms of the house, clinging to chairs and sneaking into the spaces that were beginning to smell of stale air. It's a smell Yusuf isn't sure he likes, or wants to know how he'll associate with later, so he's opened his bedroom window- electric bill be damned.
Distracted by Mrs. Mariani and Miss Saya's sister and the young woman with the magic, Yusuf hasn't had a chance to address the possible introduction of legalized dreaming to Ariadne. Tonight hadn't seemed the time to approach the subject, even though she couldn't be much closer than just upstairs from him. Instead, he'd propped his pillows behind his back and settled into bed with the intention of laying out the den's flushing system. Yusuf hasn't been in the physical presence of his family in ages, but he knows that nebulous feeling, something between sickness and relief, that nests in the stomach at the realization that a loved one will be out of reach for an indeterminable amount of time.
When Ariadne's voice comes from beyond his door, left more than slightly ajar to allow Rhada easy access in and out of the room, Yusuf realizes he's been jotting a list of chemical blends used for combatting nausea down in the margin of his page. ]
[ There's no small amount of relief in her voice, Ariadne not bothering to exert the effort to disguise it. Though the smell of baked goods is down here as well, there's also the smell of the outside thanks to Yusuf's open window. It smells a little less like her childhood home, like breakfast in Paris, and more like what she's used to in the City -- the smell of cats, of living with three men with varying standards of hygiene, of chemical compounds that don't always travel upstairs. It's comforting in a way she never really thought it would be, not because she thought she wouldn't get used to this sort of thing but because she didn't think about getting used to it at all. Still, just a few more months and if she doesn't leave, she'll have been here for a year. It's a strange thought.
Despite the fact that the house has air conditioning, Ariadne's still dressed down for sleep in a camisole and a pair of baggy shorts. Her hair's a bit messy, a sign that she at least tried to sleep before wandering down to the basement. It obviously didn't work out. Her tattoo peeks out her back, near her shoulderblade, the tip of the Eiffel Tower visible from the center while the lines of the maze twist around it. It's been healed for a while now, and Ariadne absentmindedly rubs at it once she's through Yusuf's door before heading over. ]
Busy? [ Whether he is or not, it's not stopping her from sitting on his bed next to him, leaning over into his personal space to look at what he's writing. ]
[ Used to similar late night intrusions, Yusuf has to take a moment to identify the slightly off feeling that comes with the gentle dip of the mattress under Ariadne's weight. The rest of the house feels still with sleep, as if exhausted from the weekend, and the pale bend of Ariadne's knee is a sight he's yet to see against his duvet. It dawns on him that Ariadne is not necessarily the difference in this equation, it's the way she moves into the room; a detour around the foot of the bed to perch on the side nearest to him instead of flopping down starfish-limbed and claiming his space as hers. She doesn't need grand movements to make her presence known, which is interesting, all things considered. ]
Idly so. [ At first glance, the content of his notebook is probably indecipherable. Yusuf isn't winning any awards for penmanship, his words crowded together and monstrously abbreviated, but he's fairly good at illustrating his concepts and his writing either manages to confine or accompany blocky flow diagrams or timing mechanisms. He turns it more toward her, so she can get a better look. ] Our PASIV lacks a self-cleaning function. [ He taps something that is either an attempt at scribbling something out or a creative interpretation of a spinning mechanism. ] This is a rough version of the cleaning system I developed for the den.
[ Such perfect opportunities for smooth segues rarely present themselves so readily, so Yusuf takes it. ] Has Eames' mouth been clear of biscuits long enough to speak to you about his idea?
[ Perhaps in a while, she'll be a little more forward with her movements; instead of detouring, she'll just crawl right up, much like the cats Yusuf loves. For now, she's conscious of the fact that she's intruding, that this isn't her space, and that despite Yusuf saying she could come in, she may not be wanted.
But he tilts his notebook toward her and so Ariadne takes a look, unable to help the slight grimace at his handwriting. At least she doesn't have to take notes from this. ] Well, if you need any parts or anything for it, let me know. [ It goes without saying, really; they've used her position at City Solutions before. Still, she wants to put it out there -- she really doesn't mind helping.
There's a thoughtful hum before Ariadne shakes her head. ] He has a lot of ideas, but he eats more biscuits. What is it?
[ A doctored doctorate sits rolled up in a drawer back in Mombasa, embossed with gold and bold, striking lettering that spells his name correctly- though the same can't be said for every word on the document. Between his handwriting and his aversion to teaching in more than a one-on-one setting, he's rarely had to take it out to prove anything.
We might, actually. [ Answering a question with a question is usually a tactic reserved for people Yusuf doesn't much care to deal with, but in this case it's necessary. Introducing the idea of a den before Ariadne knows of the already established recreational venues being carved out by other enterprising individuals can only lead them to conversations he's sure they both would rather not have. ] How much do you know about dreamshare?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
diastereomer) wrote2015-05-15 01:12 pm
no subject
But Yusuf appears to be taking the day off for one reason or another and so it's as good of a time as any, creaking his way down the stairs with heavy footfalls to announce his presence. Yusuf doesn't seem to be in the lab area or in his bedroom, though, and it's only afterward that he sees the light coming from underneath the bathroom door. The shower isn't running and the ventilation isn't on, so Eames tries the knob and, finding it unlocked, twists it and opens the door wide. ]
Yusuf isn't there some sort of ethical code of not snogging with your coworkers?
[ Hello!! ]
no subject
There is a new addition, or so the network would have him believe. While he's got the sense to not touch that particular post with a ten foot pole, he's taken the day off mostly to make himself available for... whatever may happen. Cobb didn't exactly leave a good taste in most people's mouths before he went and disappeared, save perhaps Arthur's-- but that is another issue that strikes Yusuf as far, far too complicated even if he had a handful of poles. There's no telling what will happen in the coming days, and he figures work will hold- tempers, never do.
(Ariadne's had a difficult month, and adding Cobb back into the mix seems like the last thing even remotely appropriate. And yet, here he is. Funny how the City works like that.)
Of course, this is all background noise as he's relieving himself of so many cups of tea, shaking off the last drops, when the door swings open-- officially ending Alone Time. The flinch is automatic, an accusing look shot over his shoulder until he realizes it's just Eames. ]
Is this the kind of guidance you need with my prick in my hand?? [ Which he will be tucking away, tyvm!!
Also, le flush~ ]
no subject
Don't keep me from washing your hands, [ he comments, giving a pointed glance from Yusuf to the sink. He has, at least, enough remnants of politeness to not stare at Yusuf's prick - but really, it's hardly his first time seeing any cock, least of all Yusuf's.
He does, at least, waggle the face of the photo about so that the other man might catch a glimpse. ]
I want to talk about this, though.
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[ He goes for the sink instead, making quick work of it. The way he hangs about in the doorway reminds Yusuf of his brothers, infinitely less intrusive yet similar in motive. Catching a glimpse of the image Eames is waving about has Yusuf turning around, hands still dripping.
Theres no way... ]
What is that?? [ Blotting his hands on the nearest hand towel, he reaches for the image. ]
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I used to think I was so observant.
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The wisps of smoke and curling mistletoe almost look picturesque.
Not content to be corralled in the toilet for this conversation, Yusuf moves past Eames. ] And then you got old.
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Does that mean you can look to me as a mirror into the future?
[ But back to the photo - ]
I'd heard of the kissing curse.
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highschool curse
highschool curse
Welcome back Zāl, dearest.
highschool curse
[ This chav wannabe has a mild grin to the set of his mouth as he tumbles from the window and to the floor, plopping himself near Rhada - though the cat doesn't seem to appreciate his affection by means of belly scritches. ]
Late night snack?
highschool curse
highschool curse
[ Though he won't deny the food, reaching over to grab a couple few to keep in one hand while the other works to plop them into his mouth, one by one. ]
Should I bought asking how yours are doing?
highschool curse
highschool curse
highschool curse
highschool curse
highschool curse
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[ not... the same thing... ]
why do you ask?
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i mean at least your playing in a lab
im detailing cars cleaning dust and have made over 600 fraud pokerchips i dont know what to do with
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just some suggestions.
[ But after rereading Eames' texts, Yusuf taps his device and gives the makeshift PASIV a glance. ]
unless you mean our collective skill set
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so yes. I do mean that. We can make a Legitimate spin out of it
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[ The first of many, many questions. ]
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It's the same back home, in a way, the crew having opened her eyes and her mind to something she can never forget and never wants to. She still loves bending the environment of the dream to her will, but now she's ran through a field as a cheetah and has seen real magic at work. She's held conversations with a pterosaur and has met comic book heroes. Usually it doesn't weigh so heavily on her, but seeing some of those faces again... tonight, it does. So she heads down the steps, Biscuit immediately going to find Rhada wherever she is while Ariadne pauses. She's not exactly sure what she's doing or why she's doing it. She just knows that Yusuf hasn't left, that curses keep pushing them together, and that she's tired but doesn't really want to sit in her room listening to the clock tick away anymore than she already has. ]
Hey-- are you awake?
action;
Distracted by Mrs. Mariani and Miss Saya's sister and the young woman with the magic, Yusuf hasn't had a chance to address the possible introduction of legalized dreaming to Ariadne. Tonight hadn't seemed the time to approach the subject, even though she couldn't be much closer than just upstairs from him. Instead, he'd propped his pillows behind his back and settled into bed with the intention of laying out the den's flushing system. Yusuf hasn't been in the physical presence of his family in ages, but he knows that nebulous feeling, something between sickness and relief, that nests in the stomach at the realization that a loved one will be out of reach for an indeterminable amount of time.
When Ariadne's voice comes from beyond his door, left more than slightly ajar to allow Rhada easy access in and out of the room, Yusuf realizes he's been jotting a list of chemical blends used for combatting nausea down in the margin of his page. ]
Yes, perfectly awake- you can come in.
action;
[ There's no small amount of relief in her voice, Ariadne not bothering to exert the effort to disguise it. Though the smell of baked goods is down here as well, there's also the smell of the outside thanks to Yusuf's open window. It smells a little less like her childhood home, like breakfast in Paris, and more like what she's used to in the City -- the smell of cats, of living with three men with varying standards of hygiene, of chemical compounds that don't always travel upstairs. It's comforting in a way she never really thought it would be, not because she thought she wouldn't get used to this sort of thing but because she didn't think about getting used to it at all. Still, just a few more months and if she doesn't leave, she'll have been here for a year. It's a strange thought.
Despite the fact that the house has air conditioning, Ariadne's still dressed down for sleep in a camisole and a pair of baggy shorts. Her hair's a bit messy, a sign that she at least tried to sleep before wandering down to the basement. It obviously didn't work out. Her tattoo peeks out her back, near her shoulderblade, the tip of the Eiffel Tower visible from the center while the lines of the maze twist around it. It's been healed for a while now, and Ariadne absentmindedly rubs at it once she's through Yusuf's door before heading over. ]
Busy? [ Whether he is or not, it's not stopping her from sitting on his bed next to him, leaning over into his personal space to look at what he's writing. ]
action;
Idly so. [ At first glance, the content of his notebook is probably indecipherable. Yusuf isn't winning any awards for penmanship, his words crowded together and monstrously abbreviated, but he's fairly good at illustrating his concepts and his writing either manages to confine or accompany blocky flow diagrams or timing mechanisms. He turns it more toward her, so she can get a better look. ] Our PASIV lacks a self-cleaning function. [ He taps something that is either an attempt at scribbling something out or a creative interpretation of a spinning mechanism. ] This is a rough version of the cleaning system I developed for the den.
[ Such perfect opportunities for smooth segues rarely present themselves so readily, so Yusuf takes it. ] Has Eames' mouth been clear of biscuits long enough to speak to you about his idea?
action;
But he tilts his notebook toward her and so Ariadne takes a look, unable to help the slight grimace at his handwriting. At least she doesn't have to take notes from this. ] Well, if you need any parts or anything for it, let me know. [ It goes without saying, really; they've used her position at City Solutions before. Still, she wants to put it out there -- she really doesn't mind helping.
There's a thoughtful hum before Ariadne shakes her head. ] He has a lot of ideas, but he eats more biscuits. What is it?
action;
We might, actually. [ Answering a question with a question is usually a tactic reserved for people Yusuf doesn't much care to deal with, but in this case it's necessary. Introducing the idea of a den before Ariadne knows of the already established recreational venues being carved out by other enterprising individuals can only lead them to conversations he's sure they both would rather not have. ] How much do you know about dreamshare?
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