Eames and Natasha (Nov. 14)
Nov. 14th, 2015 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainEames meets Natasha at the Brownstone.
One of the things Eames loved about living in Tony's brownstone was the fact that his friend could care less about interior decorating and had given Eames free reign to decorate the communal floors. It gave Eames something to do with pieces he 'acquired' or some of the original works that he was running out of room for. There was a partially drab wall on the first floor that Eames was tired of looking at when he walked into the building. This would be why he was now hanging up a landscape that, while simple, was a damn good Monet replica. Steve would probably call him on it.
Eames stepped back, checking if the painting was level. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced to see who was wandering by. "You're a new face," he remarked.
She looked nonplussed at being verbally accosted, and instead just turned up the corner of her lips as though amused. "Natasha. And you are?"
"Eames," he answered.
"Nice to meet you, Eames," she said easily.
"And you, I hope," he responded. "Are you a friend of Tony's?"
Natasha smiled, now definitely amused. "An acquaintance, I guess." She said. Friend would definitely be a stretch, and she didn't doubt Eames would know it. Something about Eames told her he was cagier than he looked.
"What lost soul led you here then?" He asked, smiling warmly.
"Clint and Philip," she said. "So I'm guessing you live here, too?"
"I do," he confirmed. "Neighbor down the hall. I'm not at the school anymore, so I haven't met this new year of students."
She nodded. Another mutant. Did any of these people know baseline humans? Natasha decided that, from here on out, she would assume everyone she met in America was a mutant unless proven otherwise.
"Are you from the area?" He asked, suspecting the answer was no, but curious since she lacked any obvious regional accent.
"Not really. But neither are you." Not with that accent. British, she'd say. Well-to-do, in all likelihood.
"Whatever gave me away?" Eames asked, voice going even posher.
Natasha gave him a slight smile. "The shirt," she said, her voice not betraying whether or not she was joking.
Eames glanced down at his shirt. One minute it was a gray paisley button up, the next it moment it was a star spangled, cowboy shirt. "Better?" he asked.
Her look of idle interest masked her genuine intrigue. "Shapeshifter?" She asked, rather than answering his question.
"My, aren't you even keeled," Eames commented. "My secret gift is accessorizing."
"So you're naked over there, hanging paintings?" She asked, now sounding more obviously amused.
"Not necessarily. I don't do illusions, thank god. It would be the emperor's new clothes every time I ran into a telepath."
Natasha cocked her head, clearly inviting him to continue and clarify.
"We are all just made of atoms, darling," Eames said with a crooked smile. "Although now that you mention it, I think naked interior decorator could be a pretty good gig. Sounds like a show in the making. I've always fancied of doing something deep and meaningful with my life."
"So you turn your own atoms into clothes," Natasha translated, hoping her English was up to this particular task. She was momentarily tempted to switch accents, to one closer to the man's own, but suppressed the urge. That was a skill she would keep to herself for now.
"I've never claimed to be a scientist," he told her. "That's why we have Tony. How about you? What brought you to New York?"
Natasha shrugged. "School."
My, wasn't she taciturn. "The academic type?"
"Me or the school?"
"Let's go with you."
"Not really." That much was true. Certainly, she learned things all the time. She learned them fast, and well. She'd had to. But Natasha rarely bothered to learn things just for the sake of learning, which, she understood to be the real base of academia.
"Well, you're in for some fun then," Eames commented.
She quirked an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
"Hopefully learning how to deal with mutant powers makes up for the basic boarding school education vibe."
Natasha got the sense that Eames knew a thing or two about boarding schools. Both his accent and his demeanor seemed consistent with that kind of lifestyle. "We will see. I cannot say that I have much experience with boarding schools, so I might have to take your word on them."
"It's a very special school for wizards they have upstate," Eames told her. "Hope you like it."
She blinked at the wizards reference, before remembering those Harry Potter movies they had watched as part of their lessons on American and British culture. Natasha quickly covered with a slight laugh. "So what do you do now that you have graduated?"
"Living in domestic tranquility, dabbling in the arts, and auditing fashion classes," Eames answered, intentionally choosing his most impractical activities. If he came across as an eccentric fop, that was exactly how he liked it.
Well, that was quite an assortment. Still, even that list didn't feel complete to Natasha. She didn't press, though. That would likely only lead to him further obscuring whatever else filled in the rest of his day. "That's quite the collection."
"We all need hobbies. How about yourself?" He asked, wondering how short an answer she'd give.
"Mmmm." Whether she was agreeing with him or not was open to interpretation. "I read, I dance, I go running." All true, though certainly not a complete list.
He glanced over her, briefly assessing. "Ballet?" He asked.
Natasha nodded.
"Think you'll want to make a career of it?" Eames asked with idle curiosity. Ballet was a rough field.
"I suspect I will not be tall enough." Most ballerinas were around 165 cm in height, and Natasha was nowhere near that. She doubted that would change much, given her age. Luckily, she had never counted on being a professional dancer, even though she loved it. She had been taught for years that her future lie in another field entirely. "What sort of career interests you? Fashion?"
He seemed canny for a fashion magnate, but he'd also said that he was auditing fashion classes.
"I know how that goes," Eames said with a small laugh. He let the appalling shirt he'd shifted fade back to its slightly tamer original shape. "I'm not certain yet," he admitted. "I do love making things. It'll be difficult to settle on any one art, though. I think career wise I'm going to bank on being a tolerable house wife to my significant other, since he's the business minded one."
"I'm guessing he lives here, too?" Since Eames had mentioned living in domestic bliss and being a housewife. "What's his name?"
"Arthur. He and Coulson bring the somber respectability to the building, while the artists and eccentrics do their thing." He was including the resident engineers in the art category, though really, eccentrics covered just about everyone.
"Mmm. Coulson does have that sort of air to him usually, doesn't he?"
"Long, silent suffering?"
She laughed softly. "I was going with 'somber respectability,' but long, silent suffering may work, too. I'm guessing the same can be said of Arthur?"
"I think you should meet him and report back to me. I wouldn't want to completely color your first interaction." A smile played at the corner of his lips.
"I'll do that," she agreed.
"You'll probably find him in the gym, fellow runner."
Natasha mentally noted that, and nodded. "I will keep an eye out for him," she promised.
"Excellent. I look forward to your assessment." And Arthur's. God, they probably wouldn't even talk. They'd just size each other up in a noncommittal fashion and then run seperately.
"I do not know that Arthur will appreciate that kind of informing," she said, voice dry but teasing.
"He puts up with a lot because of me," Eames assured. "So who have you met so far around the household?"
"Oh, well, I'm terrible at names," Natasha said, by way of feigned admission. She wasn't, of course, but people thinking she was could put them off their guard and make them think her unobservant. "Clint and Philip, of course. Tony. I think....tall man? Light hair? Maybe a Peter?"
"When you say tall man, light hair, was he built like Heracles and gave off a vague aura of good will toward mankind and apple pie? Or was he extremely fair and talked a mile a minute? We've two gorgeous blondes of sizable height, one being Pietro the speedster, and the other Steve."
"Oh, Pietro then," Natasha said, as though he'd jogged her memory. Another mention of this Steve. She really did need to meet him.
"None of the ladies in residence?"
Natasha cocked her had, feigning wracking her memory. "Sharon, I think."
"The cat's kind of hard to forget. Well, we have a trend of redheads it seems, and purple hair also comes as a pair. Kitty lives more often at the school, but she's the only brunette so you won't be able to miss her. Her friend Illyana pops in as well. Quite literally. Her trajectory seems to be getting better."
"Did she turn up in your room?"
"The first time, in our living room," he noted. "Thank goodness," he added.
The tiniest of smirks graced Natasha's face. "Could have been awkward," she observed.
"Very much so." He grinned.
Natasha almost wondered if Eames would've liked if she had, at least the once, just for the entertainment value. He seemed the type of man who liked to shock people.
Eames gave one more glance at the painting, confirming it was straight enough to be abandoned. "Heading anywhere in particular?
She shook her head 'no.'
"Aimless wandering, or looking for adventure?"
Natasha seized on the out he had given her. "Aimless wandering," she lied. Aimless snooping would likely be more accurate, but that tended to make people nervous and closed off.
"Well, if you're looking for entertainment or social interaction the gym's the liveliest floor around here. Too many hard workers around."
She quirked an eyebrow. "You included?"
"Not so much," he said.
"Why not?" Natasha wondered. What else was there to do with all the hours of the day if you weren't on a mission?
"I'm less obsessive about my hobbies," Eames lied, with that carefree smile on his face that used to drive Arthur crazy.
She had trouble believing the things Eames said, though he was certainly a good actor. Natasha might have put it down to her training, if not for the fact she'd been so trained because it worked. So, instead, she trusted her instincts. Rather than say anything like that, though, she gave him an idly amused smile and said, "Okay."
"Are they keeping you, or this a casual visit between school?" Eames asked curiously.
"I'm pretty sure this is just a casual visit," Natasha said wryly. She wasn't exactly someone you 'kept,' voluntarily.
"So no worries about living with the oddities. Am I keeping you from anyone?"
Natasha shook her head 'no.' "If I am keeping you, however, I promise I won't be offended."
"Just hanging art, really," Eames said. "I was thinking I might head to the kitchen for refreshment, but no grand plans today."
"Alright, then."
Eames arched a brow. "Want anything? Or shall I let you continue your adventure?"
She eyed him up and down. He seemed like a man who might know things, more than he was telling or showing. Natasha couldn't say it with any certainty, but something told her that Eames had secrets of his own. Natasha wondered if they were things she needed to look at. "Sure. I could stand a drink."
"Well then, shall we?" He offered his arm.
One of the things Eames loved about living in Tony's brownstone was the fact that his friend could care less about interior decorating and had given Eames free reign to decorate the communal floors. It gave Eames something to do with pieces he 'acquired' or some of the original works that he was running out of room for. There was a partially drab wall on the first floor that Eames was tired of looking at when he walked into the building. This would be why he was now hanging up a landscape that, while simple, was a damn good Monet replica. Steve would probably call him on it.
Eames stepped back, checking if the painting was level. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced to see who was wandering by. "You're a new face," he remarked.
She looked nonplussed at being verbally accosted, and instead just turned up the corner of her lips as though amused. "Natasha. And you are?"
"Eames," he answered.
"Nice to meet you, Eames," she said easily.
"And you, I hope," he responded. "Are you a friend of Tony's?"
Natasha smiled, now definitely amused. "An acquaintance, I guess." She said. Friend would definitely be a stretch, and she didn't doubt Eames would know it. Something about Eames told her he was cagier than he looked.
"What lost soul led you here then?" He asked, smiling warmly.
"Clint and Philip," she said. "So I'm guessing you live here, too?"
"I do," he confirmed. "Neighbor down the hall. I'm not at the school anymore, so I haven't met this new year of students."
She nodded. Another mutant. Did any of these people know baseline humans? Natasha decided that, from here on out, she would assume everyone she met in America was a mutant unless proven otherwise.
"Are you from the area?" He asked, suspecting the answer was no, but curious since she lacked any obvious regional accent.
"Not really. But neither are you." Not with that accent. British, she'd say. Well-to-do, in all likelihood.
"Whatever gave me away?" Eames asked, voice going even posher.
Natasha gave him a slight smile. "The shirt," she said, her voice not betraying whether or not she was joking.
Eames glanced down at his shirt. One minute it was a gray paisley button up, the next it moment it was a star spangled, cowboy shirt. "Better?" he asked.
Her look of idle interest masked her genuine intrigue. "Shapeshifter?" She asked, rather than answering his question.
"My, aren't you even keeled," Eames commented. "My secret gift is accessorizing."
"So you're naked over there, hanging paintings?" She asked, now sounding more obviously amused.
"Not necessarily. I don't do illusions, thank god. It would be the emperor's new clothes every time I ran into a telepath."
Natasha cocked her head, clearly inviting him to continue and clarify.
"We are all just made of atoms, darling," Eames said with a crooked smile. "Although now that you mention it, I think naked interior decorator could be a pretty good gig. Sounds like a show in the making. I've always fancied of doing something deep and meaningful with my life."
"So you turn your own atoms into clothes," Natasha translated, hoping her English was up to this particular task. She was momentarily tempted to switch accents, to one closer to the man's own, but suppressed the urge. That was a skill she would keep to herself for now.
"I've never claimed to be a scientist," he told her. "That's why we have Tony. How about you? What brought you to New York?"
Natasha shrugged. "School."
My, wasn't she taciturn. "The academic type?"
"Me or the school?"
"Let's go with you."
"Not really." That much was true. Certainly, she learned things all the time. She learned them fast, and well. She'd had to. But Natasha rarely bothered to learn things just for the sake of learning, which, she understood to be the real base of academia.
"Well, you're in for some fun then," Eames commented.
She quirked an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
"Hopefully learning how to deal with mutant powers makes up for the basic boarding school education vibe."
Natasha got the sense that Eames knew a thing or two about boarding schools. Both his accent and his demeanor seemed consistent with that kind of lifestyle. "We will see. I cannot say that I have much experience with boarding schools, so I might have to take your word on them."
"It's a very special school for wizards they have upstate," Eames told her. "Hope you like it."
She blinked at the wizards reference, before remembering those Harry Potter movies they had watched as part of their lessons on American and British culture. Natasha quickly covered with a slight laugh. "So what do you do now that you have graduated?"
"Living in domestic tranquility, dabbling in the arts, and auditing fashion classes," Eames answered, intentionally choosing his most impractical activities. If he came across as an eccentric fop, that was exactly how he liked it.
Well, that was quite an assortment. Still, even that list didn't feel complete to Natasha. She didn't press, though. That would likely only lead to him further obscuring whatever else filled in the rest of his day. "That's quite the collection."
"We all need hobbies. How about yourself?" He asked, wondering how short an answer she'd give.
"Mmmm." Whether she was agreeing with him or not was open to interpretation. "I read, I dance, I go running." All true, though certainly not a complete list.
He glanced over her, briefly assessing. "Ballet?" He asked.
Natasha nodded.
"Think you'll want to make a career of it?" Eames asked with idle curiosity. Ballet was a rough field.
"I suspect I will not be tall enough." Most ballerinas were around 165 cm in height, and Natasha was nowhere near that. She doubted that would change much, given her age. Luckily, she had never counted on being a professional dancer, even though she loved it. She had been taught for years that her future lie in another field entirely. "What sort of career interests you? Fashion?"
He seemed canny for a fashion magnate, but he'd also said that he was auditing fashion classes.
"I know how that goes," Eames said with a small laugh. He let the appalling shirt he'd shifted fade back to its slightly tamer original shape. "I'm not certain yet," he admitted. "I do love making things. It'll be difficult to settle on any one art, though. I think career wise I'm going to bank on being a tolerable house wife to my significant other, since he's the business minded one."
"I'm guessing he lives here, too?" Since Eames had mentioned living in domestic bliss and being a housewife. "What's his name?"
"Arthur. He and Coulson bring the somber respectability to the building, while the artists and eccentrics do their thing." He was including the resident engineers in the art category, though really, eccentrics covered just about everyone.
"Mmm. Coulson does have that sort of air to him usually, doesn't he?"
"Long, silent suffering?"
She laughed softly. "I was going with 'somber respectability,' but long, silent suffering may work, too. I'm guessing the same can be said of Arthur?"
"I think you should meet him and report back to me. I wouldn't want to completely color your first interaction." A smile played at the corner of his lips.
"I'll do that," she agreed.
"You'll probably find him in the gym, fellow runner."
Natasha mentally noted that, and nodded. "I will keep an eye out for him," she promised.
"Excellent. I look forward to your assessment." And Arthur's. God, they probably wouldn't even talk. They'd just size each other up in a noncommittal fashion and then run seperately.
"I do not know that Arthur will appreciate that kind of informing," she said, voice dry but teasing.
"He puts up with a lot because of me," Eames assured. "So who have you met so far around the household?"
"Oh, well, I'm terrible at names," Natasha said, by way of feigned admission. She wasn't, of course, but people thinking she was could put them off their guard and make them think her unobservant. "Clint and Philip, of course. Tony. I think....tall man? Light hair? Maybe a Peter?"
"When you say tall man, light hair, was he built like Heracles and gave off a vague aura of good will toward mankind and apple pie? Or was he extremely fair and talked a mile a minute? We've two gorgeous blondes of sizable height, one being Pietro the speedster, and the other Steve."
"Oh, Pietro then," Natasha said, as though he'd jogged her memory. Another mention of this Steve. She really did need to meet him.
"None of the ladies in residence?"
Natasha cocked her had, feigning wracking her memory. "Sharon, I think."
"The cat's kind of hard to forget. Well, we have a trend of redheads it seems, and purple hair also comes as a pair. Kitty lives more often at the school, but she's the only brunette so you won't be able to miss her. Her friend Illyana pops in as well. Quite literally. Her trajectory seems to be getting better."
"Did she turn up in your room?"
"The first time, in our living room," he noted. "Thank goodness," he added.
The tiniest of smirks graced Natasha's face. "Could have been awkward," she observed.
"Very much so." He grinned.
Natasha almost wondered if Eames would've liked if she had, at least the once, just for the entertainment value. He seemed the type of man who liked to shock people.
Eames gave one more glance at the painting, confirming it was straight enough to be abandoned. "Heading anywhere in particular?
She shook her head 'no.'
"Aimless wandering, or looking for adventure?"
Natasha seized on the out he had given her. "Aimless wandering," she lied. Aimless snooping would likely be more accurate, but that tended to make people nervous and closed off.
"Well, if you're looking for entertainment or social interaction the gym's the liveliest floor around here. Too many hard workers around."
She quirked an eyebrow. "You included?"
"Not so much," he said.
"Why not?" Natasha wondered. What else was there to do with all the hours of the day if you weren't on a mission?
"I'm less obsessive about my hobbies," Eames lied, with that carefree smile on his face that used to drive Arthur crazy.
She had trouble believing the things Eames said, though he was certainly a good actor. Natasha might have put it down to her training, if not for the fact she'd been so trained because it worked. So, instead, she trusted her instincts. Rather than say anything like that, though, she gave him an idly amused smile and said, "Okay."
"Are they keeping you, or this a casual visit between school?" Eames asked curiously.
"I'm pretty sure this is just a casual visit," Natasha said wryly. She wasn't exactly someone you 'kept,' voluntarily.
"So no worries about living with the oddities. Am I keeping you from anyone?"
Natasha shook her head 'no.' "If I am keeping you, however, I promise I won't be offended."
"Just hanging art, really," Eames said. "I was thinking I might head to the kitchen for refreshment, but no grand plans today."
"Alright, then."
Eames arched a brow. "Want anything? Or shall I let you continue your adventure?"
She eyed him up and down. He seemed like a man who might know things, more than he was telling or showing. Natasha couldn't say it with any certainty, but something told her that Eames had secrets of his own. Natasha wondered if they were things she needed to look at. "Sure. I could stand a drink."
"Well then, shall we?" He offered his arm.
