Eames

ELEMENTS OF FORGERY CARVAKA IC INBOX « CARVAKA THREADS « CARVAKA CR CHART « CARVAKA APP « SANCTUM IC INBOX « SANCTUM THREAD TRACKING « SANCTUM APP « HMD « OPEN RP POST « VISUALOSITY «

"Your drink, sir."

Eames glanced up a the waiter with his little black tray, nodding his thanks before taking the rounded glass of scotch into his hand. Golden light from the table lamp turned the liquid the color of honey, and he only hoped it tasted as good. One could never quite trust the quality of these things on a first visit, and unlike noting exits, drinks were a bit harder to gauge at first glance. Liquid sunshine swirled as he glanced around the club with its polished wooden tables arrayed around an open dance floor. Couples swayed to the dulcet tones of a slow jazz band, dressed in proper suit and ties down to the last man. Shallow shadows filled the space between tables, offering the illusion of privacy, music acting as a further shield. He had met people in much worse places. 

Lips pursed around his glass, drinking while glancing at his watch, middle finger twitching against the glass in time to the tick of the needle. Not late yet, he was just early, but even so. If it had been anyone else he might not have agreed to this at all. A small part of him continued to think it was a bad idea, kept looking into the shadows for the trick, the glint of the knife meant for his back. Which was unfair. What had happened before was Cobb's fault, and Eames had made it clear to the man he was never to be contacted again. A few to many brushes with death could do that to a relationship. 

Yet history could not be erased, only repeated. So he waited, letting the horns roll over him and drown out the small voice that said to run.