Eames leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly. He'd been hunched over his extensive research on Robert Fischer for hours and his back was in bloody bits. Although he didn't relish this part of his job, he was nothing but thorough in his execution of it, something even Arthur would have to credit him with, the uptight git.
It was approaching dusk, Arthur, Cobb and Yusuf had departed several hours ago each ostensibly on different job related errands, but who really knew. In this game, people sometimes had to use vices to keep their heads on straight, and he made a point to never judge on any of these. For most of them it would be high hypocrisy any way, he was nothing if not wordly.
He looked around himself, searching for the subject his gaze usually decided on.
Ariadne.
The new architect, a baby really at 24, who was at this time, was apparently intriguing him. That in itself was something to ponder, as there were bugger all people on the face of the planet who could intrigue him anymore. He supposed that came with the territory of watching and imitating people for a living. It got monotonous.
He stood, cracking his back a little, an old injury from the days when the British government paid him not nearly enough for well, tasks very similar to those he now performed in a highly illegal way. The salary was far more delightful on this, the shady side of the law.
He wandered around the warehouse's anterooms, wondering where she could have gotten herself off to. He knew from watching her work that she could stay at her workstation for hours, moving only her hands as she sketched, or simply sitting stock still and thinking, completely unaware of anyone else's presence. But sometimes when her mind was running away or not running at all, she needed to move and walk to think.
She was only a small little thing, bordering on fragile looking. Bright eyed, beautiful in a very classical sense with her delicate features and pink lips. He gave himself pause at that, her lips. They'd played around in his mind way more than a colleagues really should.
And strangely, despite her objections to their determined meddling with Robert Fischer's life, she seemed to hold these on the basis that it was fucking around with the blokes brain rather than the fact that it was illegal. That didn't seem to bother her at all, as if the criminal side of this was almost to be expected.
Cobb had told him she'd barely reacted to his telling her about the illegality of their work and he'd been pondering that. Few sheltered college students studying abroad would be so blasé about such things in his opinion.
Taking the stairs up to the roof, he squinted to make out her form on the far side. He grumbled slightly to himself at this. Paris in March was distinctly still quite chilly, and as he got closer he saw she didn't have a jacket on, just the flowy deep green top she'd worn in today, one he thought brought out her colouring something wonderful. He sounded like a girl, even to himself to himself, and if Arthur or Cobb ever got wind of him thinking this way about a girl, they would ruin him, but fuck it.
As he got closer to her he could see her moving her hands, making something? A model? And as he could finally make out what she was doing, he hid his moderate surprise (he was still him after all, there were few things he found really shocking) with his customary wicked grin.
In between her delicate forefingers and thumbs Ariadne was expertly rolling a long joint, and judging by the scent in the air it was not her first of the evening.
He dropped down to sit next to her and she acknowledged his presence with a sidelong glance and a hitching up of the side of her mouth he could see.
He felt himself get slightly uncomfortable at the sight of her pink tongue running along the gumstrip of the paper and her nimble fingers stroking down the finished joint, and decided since he was apparently the intruder here, he should be the first to speak.
"Darling," was of course, the first thing he drawled. "You surprise me." He was honest when he wanted to be after all, and the sight of innocent seeming Ariadne partaking in mild substance abuse was frankly, a turn on. She was a college student he supposed, this was part and parcel of that.
She didn't reply straight away, lighting the joint and taking a long first drag. His discomfort returned at the sight of the smoke emerging between those pretty lips and he shifted slightly, half hoping she didn't see the vague tightening of his pants and half wondering what her reaction would be if she did. After all, he had apparently underestimated her.
She took another drag and passed it to him, before saying archly "I doubt it's surprised you too much Mr. Eames, you do make it your business in life to react as little as possible to as much as possible." The fact that she echoed his earlier thoughts was not lost on him as he took a pull on the joint. The stuff she had was good, fresh and strong and he exhaled slowly, enjoying the pleasant feeling on relaxation spreading slowly through him.
"Wouldn't have copped you for a dope fiend is all, love." He replied, grinning again to hide the fact that he was slightly nonplussed.
She shook her head slightly at his terminology. " Haven't heard that one before…"
She never reacted the way he thought she would, he had half expected her to try to hide this from him, though now that he thought about it, she rarely felt the need to explain herself. He was anticipating things from her he had no foundation to believe she'd do. Was he reading too much into this? Would she let Arthur see this? Did he need to go out and buy Cosmo, ice cream and get a cat?
He might be in trouble here, he thinks. Serious. Bloody. Trouble.