whitetwoguns | But I ain't no madman.

[ As promised, Eames is sitting at the nearly empty bar - there's one sleeping (passed out?) patron at the far corner while he himself is nursing his last drink of the night, something with a bit more carbonated drink than actual liquor to be honest, but he's not picky and it's late besides. He's got some left over chips in his pocket to take back home with him - a few of the casino's, a few of his own replicates - to work on more duplicates in his spare time. But that's not the point of meeting with White, anyway. ]

[As promised, White strolls onto the scene. There is plenty of time left. They like to get the folks off of work with their lucky streak. And there are a few cursed folks who always want to blow some money on the drinks or the games. Go figure. Eames and their door mouse like friend are welcome.]

Meeting somebody?

[Besides himself he means. There's an open stool that he'll take.]

You, [ Eames points out with a wry quirk of his mouth, letting it melt away into another smooth sip. ]

We haven't crossed path in a good while, besides.

[Oh. Big shoulders shrug.]

Yeah. I guess not.

[At least not with fists. No fists right now would be great.]

Something on your mind?

[ Eames is too tired for fists, nor does he like fists on a regular basis. Still, he gives White a good once-over, taking the old boy in - how he might be feeling, any lingering obvious signs of displeasure. ]

How are things, Mister White?

[There's a tension in his spine. It's nothing new. Crude history of back issues to speak of, and he leans on the bar. Might look like he hasn't slept all that well. Besides that, he is still clean shaven and put together. His suits are always ironed with his shirts.]

They're okay. Work is work. Good not to be in a sand pit anymore.

[Until you fall on into another one. Since he's here he waves for the barkeep.]

That's for sure.

[ He gestures to the barkeep to put White on his tab. ] Orange not having his head messed is a benefit, too.

[Are you shooting darts trying to score close to the bullseye, Eames?]

You know him. He marches to the beat of his own drum.

[It doesn't sound like the usual super bass.]

He does. We get along well, though I'm reminded at times that he's still got plenty of growing up to do.

[ He takes a slow sip of his more-cola-than-rum. ]

Yeah? What he do to you?

[White pulls out a cigarette to light while the bartender whips up a black and tan.]

The guy's not even thirty.

[That's not a defense, not entirely.]

Nothing to me directly - more-so occasional discussions concerning his views, really.

[ Eames swivels in the stool to face Larry, one leg folding casually over the other. ] What were you doing when you were not-even thirty, Mister White?

So he told you.

[He'll pretend for a moment that the reason why he's keeping forward is to use the ashtray.]

I was in a transitional period.

[Fresh out of jail.]

[ There are times Eames wishes he could pick smoking back up for sake of something to do with his hands - instead, he rubs together the index and thumb pads of his right hand, tipping his head. ]

I was in the military.

[ And yeah, Orange told him, but he doesn't have to say that for White to know. ]

Everybody's different. You got late starts, people that've been on their own since about day one.

[He shrugs even though he's the only one to supply any kind of an answer there.]

I guess that figuring where you stand is a life long process. Kinda don't stop.

I certainly don't disagree with that.

[ Torso twisted toward the bar, he takes another sip of his drink. ]

But self-discovery ought to be about the self. I find asking others to simply wait patiently somewhat unrealistic.

We're supposed to be [what's a publicly acceptable way to put it?] branching out together.

[Larry rubs his forehead holding the Chesterfield away to make use of the ashtray. Ah. There's his drink.]

Making a big fucking deal will turn him on inward like a snail.

So instead you're choosing to allow someone else to have sex with someone you love?

[ Eames eyes White over the rim of his drink. ]

You sure are bloody noble, Mister White. Do you know why he's decided on it?

Shut the fuck up.

[About love. About nobility. He heavily exhales his smoke before crushing the rest of his cigarette in the ash tray. That hand will now be devoted to his drink.]

He said he needed to figure shit out, that he don't want any sense of wondering to stop what we got ahead.

[Another drink. Simmering, simmering now.]

Something's got him doubting. I dunno what. I keep asking things, you know. He can tell me.

[ Eames flashes his teeth in a smile but continues nevertheless. ]

He's worried settling into a lifestyle he has never had before's going to change him into something you will no longer like.

[A swell of indignity almost spills out of his mouth. The old man's had relationships, long term and short term. Had he ever had this kind of grade of settling? Only with Alabama.]

He worries too fucking much.

[Something he'd no longer like. The old man doesn't dismiss this, sounds as though it is a thing that Freddy would be thinking on.]

We've been learning together so far.

[About this man, man thing working for the long run. There was a time when White hated to say two words to Mr. Eames. Funny how that works. He turns in his seat.]

Time changes things. We're talkin' right now. Fucking had nothing to do with it. Shit'll change on its own.

S'what I told him - that I found the open nature of it somewhat unnecessary when he was already so satisfied with you.

[ He props an elbow up on the bartop, resting his chin in his palm. ]

But he believes you don't enjoy the "learning together" part of it so much.

He says he's so satisfied.

[Both paws spread with nothing between them. If Freddy were so satisfied maybe this would not even be happening.]

Threesomes are great. I'm not one to deny that. I enjoy him.

[The bartender can make a good brew mix. He keeps on drinking.]

We were having an honesty moment. I don't think he'd have an issue telling me if there was something off about you, besides.

[ In the end, though, even Eames can't really figure out what Orange wants out of all of his promiscuity - just that White's the one being hit by it the hardest. ]

I suppose. But you only really like one of them.

Did he seek you out?

[Go on running to somebody to lean on. The old man went to the supermarket, he can't judge. Larry now props an elbow on the bar.]

I never said that shit could stop. I never put a stop on nothin'.

[Except for worrying over how much black cock the kid could take. Or refusing to be choked or choke or....He shakes his head.]

Fuck, man. I got the feeling that if I said no now, it'd be a swift stop up ahead. All that bottled up---whatever's gotta go somewhere.

He sought advice, yeah.

[ For a moment Eames is quiet, just listening to the old man, taking another sip of his drink. ]

Maybe you ought to tell him you're not the kind of bloke who can separate love and sex anymore, once you've had both.

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