[ As it happens, his hands are in his own pockets when his name rings out across the crowd, a hot knife through the butter of the general commotion of many people packed into a small space. Realistically, no one should know his name, doubly so if this is a dream, but a weapon fails to manifest on Eames' right hip, which is becoming uncomfortably commonplace, even if the situations he finds himself in are increasingly less so.
It takes him a second to recognize her, sidestepping a large blue- man? No, scratch that. Alien. Definitely an alien. ]
York, what a pleasure. [ Eames smiles and reaches a hand out to her when they're close enough, ready either to shake York's hand or pull her in for a friendly pat on the shoulder, whichever she seems more amenable to. Last time they saw each other, Eames was lying in a hospital bed recovering from what should have been a life threatening wound; but he understands that most well adjusted people don't usually use battle scars- mental battle scars, at that- to gauge personal and professional boundaries. ] You're becoming one of the usual suspects, I'll have you know.
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It takes him a second to recognize her, sidestepping a large blue- man? No, scratch that. Alien. Definitely an alien. ]
York, what a pleasure. [ Eames smiles and reaches a hand out to her when they're close enough, ready either to shake York's hand or pull her in for a friendly pat on the shoulder, whichever she seems more amenable to. Last time they saw each other, Eames was lying in a hospital bed recovering from what should have been a life threatening wound; but he understands that most well adjusted people don't usually use battle scars- mental battle scars, at that- to gauge personal and professional boundaries. ] You're becoming one of the usual suspects, I'll have you know.