tampered | (no subject)

(no subject)

When; Backdated to December 13th, the vampire/werewolf curse.
Rating; PG-13 (likely violence and some blood)
Characters;

elevatorkick &

musntbeboring
Summary; Arthur's gone off with a note that he doesn't feel well, Eames is curious. Oh, and I guess a little concerned. Or something.
Log;

[ Arthur's note had said he hadn't felt well, and while Eames would usually leave him to his business, it had been several hours since without hide nor hair signaling Arthur's return. Considering the circumstances that were apparently going about, it certainly seemed suspicious. If Arthur was cursed, they didn't need him going about devouring persons to suit his bloodlust. That would likely just bring unwarranted attention, and Eames wasn't sure he wanted to find out what happened if they got themselves killed in whatever this plane was.

So, Eames took to beginning his search at medicinal stores. He wasn't about to start shouting for Arthur, not yet anyway, but he kept his eyes peeled. The dark wasn't helping, shadows allowing far too many hiding spots for Eames' liking, but he made do. Or attempted to, in any case. Bloody Hell, really, could they just go a solid amount of time without something occurring? Eames was already tired of whatever tricks the so-called deities seemed to constantly have up their sleeves. ]

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[ The bench just off the sidewalk was cold and hardly comfortable, but Arthur was thankful for it all the same. He'd left the drug store as soon as he'd gotten what he'd needed. Something about the place made him feel... off. Hell, the entire day felt off.

Maybe he'd been pushing himself too hard lately. Though he was almost positive by now that this wasn't a fever, whatever it was. Probably a curse, then. Which meant... well, it could mean anything. He'd left the apartment so quickly he'd forgotten his network device and his phone, which meant he hadn't even had a chance to glance at the network.

He shrugged his shoulders to let off some tension as he let himself lean into the bench. At this rate he'd have to head back to his apartment, as much as he'd rather not right now. ]

[ Lucky for Eames, he wasn't so far from said bench. He almost missed the fact it was Arthur entirely, from the dark, but there was a nearby light from a storefront in combination with a streetlamp that made him pause. He stops in front of him. ]

Nice night, isn't it?

[ The strange thing is, Arthur knew it was Eames approaching before he even said anything. It wasn't so much a scent as a change in the air, a disruption of what had been the stale air typical of winter only seconds before.

Arthur didn't budge from his position on the bench. His eyes were closed as he answered Eames' statement. ]

Don't tell me you followed me here, Eames.

Not quite, but I did come to find you.

[ Eames plops himself down on the bench next to Arthur, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, fingers linking together. He keeps an eye on Arthur, all the same, observing him. ]

[ Arthur shifts away from Eames on the bench almost instinctively. It's just like back in the apartment or in the drug store. He can't so much as think straight when he's in the vicinity of other people today. There's something in the back of his mind that he can't quite place. A mental itch he can't scratch, for lack of a better term. ]

I never asked you to.

I'm not here for your sake, darling.

[ His patronization is obvious. Eames takes to observing any passerbys, but today's curse seems to cause people to keep to themselves. The same reason Arthur may be, for all Eames knows. ]

You do realize what today is, don't you?

[ He raises an eyebrow at Eames' obvious question while making sure to keep his distance. ]

Monday? I don't get what you're playing at here, exactly.

[ Eames gestures at their surroundings. ]

Curse day, Arthur. Are you feeling any different?

[ Arthur's about to retaliate with an appropriately sarcastic response when something finally dawns on him. ]

Just... fatigue. [ He looks away as though suddenly finding the single street light in the distance interesting. ] What kind of curse is it?

Vampirism.

[ Eames looks vaguely amused, but his attention is back to being focused solely on Arthur. ]

[ Arthur's attention snaps back to Eames. ]

Not funny, Eames.

[ Eames' lips quirk. ]

It'd be an awful joke, if it were one.

I wouldn't put it past you. [ Arthur manages to snort out something like a laugh despite the current situation. ] I didn't exactly check for fangs when I was brushing my teeth this morn— [ He freezes. ]

...No. [ It's mumbled more to himself. ]

[ Eames' eyebrows quirk. ]

Arthur?

[ Arthur's never been a morning person, so he can't be completely sure. Still, he can remember this morning clearly enough. He'd thought it'd merely been a trick of the light. Or something. ]

Some of the legends state that vampires don't have reflections, if I remember right. [ He looks to Eames as though seeking confirmation. ]

You'd be correct. It's mostly used as a literary device, symbolism for a lack of soul.

Are you suggesting we give it a go?

No. [ Arthur shakes his head slowly. ]

[ He's not entirely sure how to approach this. For one, it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. Most importantly, he has no idea of what course of action to take, which is a new experience for Arthur. He always has some idea of what course of action to take no matter what the situation. ]

I haven't eaten all day, but I feel like I'm starving. When I tried eating the leftovers from last night earlier, I couldn't stomach more than a bite. [ His gaze goes back to the old street light. ]

Seemed like symptoms of a fever or the flu to me.

And I'm guessing you didn't deign to take your temperature.

[ Eames pauses, stretching out to lean back against the bench, leg stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. His hands fold on his stomach, and he glances at Arthur briefly before gazing up at the dark sky. It's strange, Arthur not being able to eat. For sure, whenever there were leftovers in the fridge, Eames never had time to get to them before Arthur was wolfing them down over whatever plans he'd brought from his quaint job at Solutions. That could be very well an indicator, couldn't it? ]

Have you had any particular thirst for blood?

[ Yeah, there's no delicate way to put that. ]

I don't think we even own a thermometer.

[ He pauses to think for a few moments. ]

You cut yourself shaving this morning. [ It's more a statement than a question. ]

[ Eames thinks, rubbing at his cheeks. While smooth, there's one small clipping on his right cheek. ]

I did.

[ Arthur rests his face in his hands before continuing, which muffles his words somewhat. ] I thought I was going crazy this morning. It's all I could smell in the bathroom. In the rest of the apartment, thought not as strong.

Whenever I got close to anyone, I felt this weird urge to... I don't even know. I guess I was... hungry, now that I really think about it.

[ He chances a quick side glance at Eames. ] I can still smell it on you, even now. That's... not normal.

You can smell me?

[ Eames doesn't know whether or not to be amused or severely weirded out. Perhaps a bit of both. But, back to the matter of hand. ]

We should get out of here, if you've not eaten all day.

Look, I don't... [ He's rubbing his face now. ] I don't want to talk about this.

Let's just get back to the apartment. We can figure out what to do from there. As for the scent of blood, I'll... I'll deal.

Is Ariadne there right now? [ The concern in his voice is quite clear. ]

Edited 2010-12-18 05:52 (UTC)

She is, but I've told her to not leave her room until I gave the word.

[ Eames stands, hands slipping into the pockets of his trousers. ]

The best would be to settle you in the basement until this is over.

[ Arthur stands as well. ]

If the pattern that's been going so far this month holds, this'll be over by midnight.

[ a pause ]

I... should be able to hold out until then. And if it doesn't end at midnight, well... we can cross that bridge when we come to it. [ Arthur really hopes the pattern does hold because the idea of drinking anyone's blood is downright disgusting, present physiological cravings be damned. ]

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