whitetwoguns | But I ain't no madman.

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But I ain't no madman.

"Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a nice day."

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[ Regular day, or regular enough in a place with 'magic' (Ariadne seems to have taken to none other than Harry Potter and his friends) Arthur steps into one of the side-rooms for his break, but he opts for filtering through the rest until he finds a familiar face. It's been enough time that they don't have to talk about it, and really it's not a matter of time down here anyway. A good percentage of him would rather not bring it up, there being reason enough of more than mild mortification on his own part, jacked up reaction or not. But the practical part of him (that's the entire surface) says knowing if it had anything to do with Arthur specifically, the night White took it upon himself to reenact a vampire right down to the teeth, or if it was just that Arthur was there and White was quite literally hungering.

It's easy to bank on the latter but as usual Arthur would rather hear it from the horse's mouth if possible. Some of the curses seem utterly random but others appear to prey on preexisting ideas or notions. As a dream, as someone's mind, that's concerning on a hundred other levels Arthur hasn't begun to map out yet in any way he finds sufficient. Granted, vampires and werewolves are not the only things they could talk about - Arthur not entirely decided on breaching the matter of White's confrontation with Eames, Eames who can take care of himself but whose jaw bloomed mottled and dark with a bruise a little over a week ago.

Door shutting with a polite click behind him, Arthur walks to pause in front of the couch across from where White is already seated in one of the armchairs. ] Got a minute?

[ He keeps his voice casual, the normal almost lazy articulation, the often-surprising lowness, the words 'I just want to talk' being so wholly not what Arthur is about but that doesn't matter as much as keeping others in the dream - projections or not - on the same page, when the page they're on even matters. In the case of White and Orange, at this point, it does matter. Sometimes Arthur tries to translate them to waking life, to people he's met or almost-known and worked with and really, if asked yes or no, liked insofar as he liked anyone. No one comes to mind. ]

[Days can move smoothly around here. It's something that a guy can forget with all of the crazy, messed up things that go on.

Arthur strolls on in. Larry of course notices him. He's not the type to read on a break. It's go out to grab something, sit or simply smoke. Having already eaten, there's a Chesterfield between his lips.]

Sure.

[He can have one as long as it doesn't involve blood of any kind or discussion of the lovely chat that he had with Mr. Eames. On guard he is sure not to be too openly friendly.]

What's on your mind?

[ Given the go-ahead, Arthur sits on the couch, hands folding in front of him in a default posture of that same ease. ]

That night in the alley, [ He mutes his own sigh, and if anything Arthur's look has gone even milder than before, this mostly to keep from showing anything else, and it's been effective for him for years, so it doesn't waver now ] was just 'cause I was there. You would've gone after anyone in the vicinity. [ It's blunt but all he wants is confirmation, no explanation necessary, yes or no and he'll take it from there. He doesn't have it in him to look apologetic about asking because he's not - annoyed that his own mind won't let it rest, maybe, but not about putting it to rest either way. His eyes flicker to the lazy trail of smoke before shifting back to White himself.

Arthur could ask him about Eames too, about Orange, but he's not.

Well not yet at least. ]

[Puff. Puff on the cigarette. It keeps him mellow so in theory now is a great time to talk out whenever. And honestly, it is a treat to do it with Arthur. He seems to be on an even more even keel than Eames. Someone's got to.]

Mostly [ahem] yes. [Oh fucking. Fucking. Fuck fuck fuck! Are they really going to talk about it In a flash the memory is on him. Arthur has a slim frame, and super powered the old man could put him where he wished, how he wanted it. That's a full out assault. Sure no one wanted any of it, but that is the nature of curses. And it doesn't sound like the man is reaching for an apology.]

I could smell things then.

Edited 2011-11-18 08:59 (UTC)

[ Smell things. Hm. Arthur is, for a split second is equally divided between that previously stifled mortification and a staunch annoyance, the latter of which wins out and he flattens it back to neutrality, which just reads as a lift of his brows, a quirk of the corner of his mouth as he bows his head for a second. Smell things. Arthur isn't sure exactly what those things were, assuming himself discrete enough at least until the other man had him up against the wall with the brick doing an unforgivable number on his jacket, as if the graveled blocks were itching to get through the fabric the same as White's teeth. He couldn't help his own reaction, but he'd felt badly enough about it afterward and it hadn't seemed to bear bringing up until he'd realized the multitude of things it could mean if they stayed working in the same space - emulating a reality even if Arthur knows it isn't.

'Knows'.

Anyway here they are, smoke curling on into the air like a good excuse for the pauses they both are taking advantage of, but there's no sudden tension which Arthur takes as a good sign.

'Mostly' isn't as sure a 'yes' to him as just 'yes' would be, but factoring in his own reaction, he still doesn't blame White in the least. It's more the relevance of his choice of target. Glancing up again, he smiles briefly, a wry thing. When he lets himself, he knows he likes White, could probably like Orange too, and though he's never been wanting of friends (he'd never seemed to need them, and then when he had them he felt he didn't need anyone else - a mistake he would make twice and unrepentantly) he appreciates the relaxed feeling here.

How much of this is just the dream's suggestion, and how much is theirs? He hates not knowing and he can't bring himself to believe the fiction of another world. Is White real somewhere, and to which dreamer? He and Orange are indicative of different decades than Arthur and Eames are from, but they seem fleshed out enough to be cognizant. It's confusing. At least the trust issues make sense, a common sense of paranoia not exhibited in their conversation so far but it's enough sometimes to know it's harbored somewhere underneath.

Realizing he's been staring a moment, Arthur blinks, turns his gaze to the side briefly at nothing in particular. ]

Okay.

[ He sits up straighter before leaning back, a slouch he can as often be caught in as upright and poker faced, but he tries not to if it's business because it tends to make him look smaller. This isn't business though. It's just talking as he adds, half to himself, half to White, ] Good to know.

[ Then he clears his throat. Thanks, I just wanted to know. That's what's on the tip of his tongue but in the end what makes it out is, ] That the weirdest thing that's happened to you here?

[ In all honesty Arthur's mostly expecting White to say 'no' because a dozen ridiculous scenarios already present themselves in his head, but it's good to get someone else's gauge for 'weird', especially someone who's been 'here' longer. Asleep, part of the dream, both, whatever. Leaned back into the plush of the couch pillows as he is, Arthur tilts his head slightly. ]

[Desperation. Hunger. Physical need. The sort of things that should not be smells that he smelled. It was hard to pin point then and even harder to articulate like a sane person.]

...that it? [Arthur came and Larry drank his blood. Sure it would be great to get off just that easily but is it true? Is that how it goes? All of these weeks it has been an anxiety that they would cross paths and have to talk about it. Arthur is a fine looking man, dressing impeccably. Is he desirably to Mr. White? Fleetingly so. Since he is committed and happy with Mr. Orange any sort of other activity or alternative must be someone they do not know.]

I mean. Can be as simple as we want it.

[And it is in the rear view. Hopefully.]

No. But it's hard to gage one to the other when shit isn't the same.

[ When White had gone at him, Arthur had been fighting (or rather not fighting) with Eames, and they'd been doing their best to avoid each other's presence as often as possible, but there'd been more than a few challenges in that, not the least but maybe the most superficial being the lack of physicality. No, that's a lie. It was a physical need but not a wholly physical absence - something he couldn't get or rather wouldn't get from anyone else. Or so he'd thought, the reminder White gave him that choice didn't have a lot to do with natural response and for a snap of however long that alleyway takeout had lasted, he'd wanted - not White, but maybe something not too different with Eames. The violence of it wasn't the problem even if the result of it was - the would-be blood loss that hadn't amounted to too much because Eames had been tracking him anyway. Which went to show how good they were at actually avoiding each other probably.

Arthur wants it to be simple, so when he opens his mouth to reply 'yes' to White's question he's relieved to close it again when White takes the words into his own. It can be that basic if they want it to be, or at least it will be as much as it has to. He's not keen on exploring it more than he deems necessary and that had been his only lingering question. Anyone who had shown him interest in the past he'd been on jobs with where the heist was singular and separate from anything else he did and he'd rebuffed them all because he couldn't afford more than one friend at the time, Dominick Cobb taking shotgun all the way - asleep and awake.

So to White's 'simple' Arthur nods, a short but emphatic gesture, punctuated as he sits up again, hands resting curled on the sharps of his knees as he nods again, this time slower at the other reply. ]

Figured that might be it. Relativity.

[ Eying the older man for a second, Arthur wonders what his real name is and then shelves the curiosity. ] Eames was a talking chair once. We'd just got here and suddenly the furniture's holding a conversation with me.

[ He shakes his head, a mirthless laugh quick to dissipate; he'd thought he was losing his mind, and maybe in a way they are here for all they know - the slow fall through something not-quite-limbo, where you get your semblances of comfort mixed in with chaos. ]

[Somehow two fucks like Arthur and Eames get along to care very deeply for one another. Whatever the nature of that relationship is, Mr. White knows that he is far beyond passing any kind of judgment one way or the other. He won't think about what they do on their off time, all alone. All he knows is that like a goddamn burglar alarm, Eames came charging in. Good on him, and great on Arthur because Larry could have accidentally done him in. At the time though, no one is happy.

Well, at least it seems simple. He hopes that there's a mutual understanding. Blow for blow, the old man wouldn't have Eames going to town on Freddy. They may be more alike then they care to think about.]

Think of something else, let me know.

[Because denial is more guilty. And Mr. White feels like he owes it to the man. He'll be the one carrying scars from it. Lucky for him, Eames isn't the kid of guy to go out and shoot up a vampire and take his teeth.

Larry, on the other hand, is.

Ah. A welcomed subject change. He has to grin at the mental picture.]

A talking chair? What, did you sit on him?

Sure. [ There's a nod, again that upward quirk of the mouth and then Arthur is laughing - a more common occurrence than most would expect though it's never lasting, this time included as it's a brief show of mirth before he settles back into his usual demeanor. Though no mind reader, if their thoughts ran along the same track it would be fair to say Arthur has less of an awareness of White and Orange's relationship by comparison - having been out of commission for their near-thing on the couch at the now-crispy-fried-apartment and unwilling to make that kind of guess without the proof. That Orange came to White's defense doesn't surprise him. They are on the same side, whatever side that is, and Arthur often feels that's enough for certain scenarios. If it's more than that, it's none of his business.

As to his own willingness to let go the alleyway debacle, it's simply reasoned enough - that a 'curse' is some kind of compulsion outside of one's volition. He's not going to hold White responsible for it, scar or not. He wasn't really White, the same way Eames wasn't really Eames and Arthur has no outside or additional reason to hold issues about it. So the laugh though quickly over is honest, and he shakes his head once, snorting slightly. ] No, god know. He started talking to me before I could.

[ Under his breath, he adds, ] This place does a good job of making you feel crazy though.

[ Crazy enough to shoot yourself, in Arthur's case but at the time it'd seemed the sane thing to do. ]

[Sure. He says. Then again, here's a guy who feels that it's appropriate to talk about in the thereafter time. Ballsy. Or no business. It's a toss up in Larry's eyes. Being a dealer at the tables he can see a gambler quality.

Is that Arthur's song too? Difficult to picture. It always feels like he's exuding a more professional, polished air. So much smoke screen to try and get on through. Another tell of a man who does something. And it's not just a well dressed man and his friend and associate a well dressed if not burly English man. What prevents him from prodding is that two way road. A question for a question. And admission for another.]

Good to hear, man. Heh.

[Larry shakes his head and laughs. Another puff as he scratches his chin. There have been many curses that they've gone through. Quite a few of them have been pretty fucking personal. Which ones to spill?]

See though, only sane people worry about being crazy or going crazy. Real crazy people are so much denial, it don't even cross their minds.

[ No mountains out of molehills that he can help, Arthur prefers at least, and while there are a few areas he's never gotten much exercise in, employing only what's necessary isn't one of them. He takes White's first response for mostly face value and inclines his head with what must be an amicable nod because it's not anything else. The laughter and the considering pause catch his attention easily enough, a more conversational topic than about the vampire thing, a line Arthur never thought he'd use in any variation even in a dream and he's more bemused than shocked about it.

Sitting up as he is, he glances at his watch to make sure he's still good for time, but even as he checks it, he speaks as well. ] Yeah. [ Looking across at White, he thinks about the matter of Orange but it had some strange note of 'already settled' not completely defined by Eames' jaw decoration. After all, White took it up with Eames, so maybe that was his concern, or maybe he thinks Eames wouldn't tell Arthur. He's not sure either way but it's interesting that White cares so much about the undisclosed nature of Orange's profession.

Insofar as Arthur can tell, it's not indicative of something integral to the dream, no hinging point, so he doesn't really care and he figures Eames feels much the same. Absently he lifts a hand to the back of his own neck, rubs as his eyes flick to the ceiling then back to level again. ] That's true, [ he agrees and it's quieter than he means it to be. Mal never believed she was crazy. She thought everyone else was.

No that's not right. Mal thought Dom was crazy.

The rest of them simply weren't even real.

Blinking, he stands, smoothing down his jacket though there's nothing there to smooth, clearing his throat. ] Guess we're in the clear then. For now. [ As far as craziness. Everything else seems easy enough to bypass or let go - October, Orange's cop status and White's active defense. ]

[He's fallen down the side of too many molehills in his time. Calm, quiet acceptance doesn't mean that he truly believes anything is solved or buried. But it does make him feel like less of a dirty bag for the moment.

Larry's cigarette is about out. He puffs on it for all that he's worth still regarding the other man with with mellow brown eyes. Something about how he takes this information. It is bullshit philosophy. Every person here is full of it. Something means something but then it means nothing or there's something wrong with your childhood.

Oops. What if Mr. Argyle knows someone who is crazy. Could that be it? Larry did not consider that. He wets his lips.]

Just a thought. I mean, who really does know one way or the other. Though I gotta say if you think you're crazy then I'm a fucking head case.

[A little depreciating humor never did any wrong. And if Mr. White should owe it to anyone outside of Freddy, it'd be the man he took a chomp out of.]

Good. I'm glad. Hope it stays that way.

[Because another run in with Eames---maybe next time with good reason and bullets not fangs---or even Arthur who could be deadly in his own way, they're better as friends. Whatever they may be.]

If anything because Christmas is comin'.

[More joking. But really though...]

[ This time the laugh is more genuine, a full bodied sound that seems to escape him with an undertone of appreciation for the humor and acknowledgment of the consciousness of the reply. Something that had coiled unpleasantly at Mal's sickness - the memory of it rather - unwinds and smooths back down further beneath the surface. While his laughter supplies his response for headcases, his smile shifts slightly as if to say me too, brows lifting in the sort of way that suggests he won't be holding his breath about it, but the preference to maintain sanity is a common thread he thinks most 'people' can attest to. Or at least not wanting to be perceived as such.

Mention of Christmas has Arthur turning more toward White, peering down at him, trying to figure how much of that is a joke and how much is actual interest/investment in the holiday. Certainly if they 'celebrate' Halloween and so on they'll celebrate Christmas in some way, probably, and he wonders if it's worth worrying about (knowing he'll file it under some kind of worry anyway.) His hands slip into his pockets. ]

Right, Thanksgiving first though. For some of us.

[ Not only are there plenty people who aren't Americans here but there are people who aren't technically 'people'. Anyway, he's pretty sure they won't be stuffing turkeys. Neither will Arthur of course. He's not really fit for the kitchen unless it's coffee one's after. ]

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But I ain't no madman.

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