riverviewlogs | ( feb catch-all )

[ He isn't expecting the slip any more than he expected Eames to still have parents. But then it's not something he gave much consideration to before. For as much as the other man wants to act like Arthur keeps himself closed off, Eames isn't much better when it comes to his past. Still, he doesn't comment on it. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and sighs through his nose. ]

If you want me to be honest: you've never seemed like the type. You never stay in a place for long and a dog needs more stability than that.

[ He looks down at the pin with terriers zooming around each other, ]

Especially a puppy.

[ He had tried several times to convince his mom to get him one, to no avail. He had wanted one for most of his childhood but gave up on the notion when he set out on his own at sixteen. Mentally repeating the cons of owning a dog helped squash any fleeting desire over the years. ]

[ The skepticism doesn't cease, even when he has to admit Arthur has something of a point. He knows well enough that it needs stability, and that he has none. If he'd chosen to settle down and remain content with local theater and his hometown, perhaps it would have been viable.

But he hadn't and it hadn't. The fact that he's now found himself coming back around to that role is not lost on him. But he knows more about himself now. The world, too. (Or he had). A man does not have to remain any one thing. All the world's a stage, and all.

He shrugs. ]

And I haven't had one to now, have I?

[ The closest he's come of late had been Yusuf's bloody cats, and even that's something of a stretch when they hadn't been close. Not any more so than any man and his dealer, in any case. He's seen Yusuf's rugs up closer than he likes to remember, but "friend" is a distant consideration he's not sure he'd use.

He doesn't consider this strained relationship with the man's cats a great regret. ]

[ He gives Eames another look before he looks back at the puppies they stopped at. He shakes his head, ]

You don't want a terrier. You got too small a space and they have too much energy. They'll destroy everything.

[ He turns and walks down the other side of the pins lined up, hands moving to his hips as he looks. ]

Edited 2018-02-07 07:46 (UTC)

[ Ah, now that's better. He hums in approving consideration, even as he stoops down to make a face at the terriers anyway. They bounce around with a sort of energy he envies--hell, he'd have envied that as a child--which speaks to the animals being treated well. It's a better sign than some he's seen.

Back home, he may not have adopted a pet himself, but if a pet store, farm, or other opportunity presented itself.... He's seen much, much worse than this, in any case.

But Arthur seems to move along, and he hangs back to watch both the man and the dogs; Arthur has always been methodical and analytical. He hadn't expected less. ]

[ He walks by what he assumes are Pomeranians and other toy dogs. Not as bad as the terriers but noisy and probably not what Eames was wanting. He considers the bulldogs and their squished faces.

He waits for Eames to come over before saying, ]

They drool a bit and can be stubborn and huffy but if you can stand that...

[ He shrugs, ]

It's an option.

Oh, so like you?

[ It's not entirely serious, but then again, if it fits... ]

[ He barely refrains from huffing through his nose at that. He glances over at Eames again, ]

Except there's little chance of me pissing on your floor.

[ And with that, he's moving onto the next pins. Those breeds are larger, automatic out. As long as Eames lives in the private housing, it's not a good option. Though he does stop when he thinks he recognizes another breed. He bends down to get a closer look and almost smiles at the barking and whining. ]

Pit bulls.

[ He's still enamoured with the bulldogs strutting around and falling over each other as Arthur moves on. He's on the brink of considering picking one up when his voice calls out and his focus is pulled away.

It's will some (minor) reluctance that he pulls away and joins him farther into the room at the pen of scrappier looking, mostly blue-gray puppies that remind him a fraction of the terriers they'd passed earlier. ]

You think?

[ The question is wholly sincere, lacking the derision or levity of their banter thus far. His attention then shifts to the puppies themselves who are all quick to whine over one-another and shove each other out of the way for individual attention. ]

[ Arthur gives another shrug, reaching down to rub one of the puppies' heads and it leads to two others coming over to try and nudge the other one of the way. ]

They get bigger than a bulldog but they are loyal and protective, easier to train, and very affectionate.

[ As Eames can see with the whining puppies trying to lick and nuzzle at Arthur's hand. ]

[ He gives a soft, hidden sort of smile at the explanation, an expression that broadens as he watches Arthur interact with the puppies. He makes a quick decision then, reaching into the pen to pick up one of the smaller puppies that keeps getting shoved out of the way. It's quick to yip and nuzzle both, clamboring to try and crawl up Eames' arm.

The idea of the dog growing is a daunting prospect; a pitbull is usually bigger than he'd expected, but as the puppy is eventually wrangled and nestled in his arms (for the moment, at least), that seems a small, distant consideration. ]

The reputation doesn't bother you at all, hm?

[ Arthur straightens back up, leaving the other puppies to whine and bark in protest. Shaking his head, ]

That reputation belongs squarely on the shit owners, as far as I'm concerned. Their nature is more gentle than people think. It always has been.

[ He demonstrates again by reaching over to the puppy Eames is holding and rubs a finger along the small muzzle. The puppy tries to lick at his finger. Not bite. (Though with one this young, teething hasn't happened just yet.) ]

Edited 2018-02-08 02:12 (UTC)

[ The answer makes an astonishing amount of sense, given what of Arthur he's seen, but that rationality blindsides him when he's shaken out of focus on the dog by the adamant declaration.

He takes it back: this is far more like Arthur. A product of a tragic upbringing and not near enough trust. Sentimentality Eames is positive is better left unshared.

Instead, Eames pivots, as if the question (and the response) hadn't been the affirming declaration he knows it to be. ]

You know, I always took you more for cats, but she really seems to like you.

[ He snorts softly at that, completely oblivious to any conclusions Eames has come to on his own. He gives the pup's nose a little boop with his finger before taking his hand back. ]

Cats don't like me.

[ He pulls the sleeve of his jacket up enough to show the inside of his right forearm. Eames may have noticed the small group of scars there. White, faded and easy to miss for anyone not looking. ]

Getting a set of claws in your arm at six is a pretty good way to ensure you won't want one later on in life.

[ Unexpected. He frowns and then turns back to the puppy, holding her up as she tries to lick him. ]

Cats don't like anybody, darling. Never did like them.

[ He then holds the puppy out to Arthur. ]

[ Arthur hesitates for a moment, the excuse of not wanting to hold her on his tongue. But she turns her head to look at him and any and all resolve dissipates completely. He carefully takes the puppy from Eames and holds her against his shoulder. Much the same way he did with Philippa.

The puppy squirms and whines some but his hand rubs soothingly up and down her back, applying just so much pressure, and her eyes close in contentment. ]

[ He can practically see the argument forming in the crease in Arthur's brow, but as no one can resist the charms of cute animals, the man relents and takes the puppy from him.

He couldn't look more self-satisfied about it, both in getting Arthur to cave and in the fact that the puppy takes to him with minimal complaint. But instead of reaching to pet the dog, his hand settles against Arthur's cheek instead. It's such a quick reflex, retracted barely a second later either as Eames realizes what he's done (or worse, it's still such a seemingly normal interaction that he doesn't think twice), before he turns toward the back half of the shop. ]

I suppose I'll have to feed her too, hm?

[ The reaction is not commented on or even paused over. ]

[ Arthur is grateful that Eames turns away in the moment after, his own eyes still wide and heart lurching in his chest. A twisting sort of ache follows, tilting his head to brush his cheek against the puppy's side, almost as if trying to comfort himself in the wake of that painful reminder of what once was.

And what won't be again.

Somehow, he still manages to keep his voice calm and neutral. ]

And then some, if you want to be a good owner.

Edited 2018-02-11 09:47 (UTC)

Darling, I'm not about to leave her sitting in a box, honestly.

[ Though he's still turned away and it doesn't sound confrontational at all, only the same level of acute amusement it has been since earlier in the day. The dog puts him in a good mood. Arthur puts him in a good mood--sometimes--though he's less likely to directly correlate the two aloud. He turns back only as Arthur parts from the puppy, still no clue that he'd even caused an incident. ]

Though yes, I did ask for help for a reason.

[ He rubs the dog's back again, keeping her close and finding her warmth and weight comforting and, oddly, allows him to focus on the task at hand. ]

You'll need food and vitamins. Treats. Stuff to clean her teeth. That's just to start with.

[ He finally turns to look back at Eames. ]

You're going to need a cart for all of it.

[ Which is Arthur speak for 'go get one'. ]

[ Eames gives a defeated sigh that's entirely too large for his level of annoyance, which is actually very minimal considering the obstinance he's used to with current company. But whether he's softened by what he's seen or encroaching loneliness or it's the magic of a dog, it seems so much less important than usual. Fighting isn't pressing. Teasing isn't even really pressing. They just...are.

But despite the "protest," he comes back with the cart anyway, following Arthur and the of-yet unnamed puppy. As he catches up, he leans over to make a face at the dog who licks his nose in protest. Or affection. ~~Or both?~~ ]

[ Arthur glances over his shoulder just in time to see the nose licking and he turns his head away as a laugh erupts out of him. Much against his own will. How dare. The puppy gives a whine and starts to lick at his neck and ear and he lets out something high pitched and surprised that bleeds into a laugh as he tries to move his head away and shift the puppy in his arms.

When she's just squirming in his arms against his chest he tries to clear his throat like none of that had happened and nods to the puppy vitamins. ]

She's going to need those.

[ He gives a soft hum, gives the puppy a scratch, and tosses the vitamins into the cart without heavy regard. Sure, his "profession" here isn't the most lucrative he's had, but he hasn't had time to acclimate to his traditional sense of taste (read: expensive) in the time he's been here; the dog can take a priority without undue worry.

(Or, at least, what he thinks of as undue worry. It's a problem for a later date.)

Food is loaded in after, the most obvious secondary necessity of the trip, and they move onto collars next, which does require a pause for consideration. Eames screws up his face as he looks between the collars and Arthur holding the dog and back again, which only makes him feel indecisive.

What a ridiculous thing to stall over. ]

[ Arthur watches Eames agonize over picking a collar and rolls his eyes before walking over to stand beside him and hold the puppy out to nose at the collars on display.

When she finds one she tries to nip at, Arthur pulls her away from it. ]

That one. She likes it.

[ He picks up the collar and regards it for a moment, before holding it up as an alarming match for his shirt. ]

Well, she's certainly got taste.

[ He looks back over at Eames' shirt and makes a noise at the back of his throat before rolling his eyes. His voice is flat as he turns to keep walking. ]

I had actually managed to block that out.

( feb catch-all )

it's a valid question okay

huff

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:)