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i see your star
[Eames and his mother aren't so similar at first glance. Some people might accuse him of being posh, (simply for sounding vaguely middle class, he'd wager,) but he's not gentle or delicate unless he needs to be. Something about him that's casual, that hints he's not afraid of getting in the muck and dirt. His mother, on the other hand, is refined. Poised and elegant in the way she holds herself. Really it's no wonder she's a muse when she looks like a painting come to life: Vibrant red hair that cascades in large curls even from the hasty ponytail it's pulled into, bright green eyes that glitter with knowledge and mischief. Accent just pronounced enough that the Irish lilt enhances the melodic timbre of her voice. Where Eames passes easily for human, she is ever so slightly inhuman. Not enough that it raises alarms, but enough that those in the know might see her for what she is.]
[One way they're extremely alike, however, is the way they argue. The family resemblance is uncanny in the rhythm of it, the sarcasm interspersed with sharply pointed comments. The way she raises her eyebrows and mockingly asks, "oh, should I read your mind next time?" Could easily be mistaken for having come from Eames himself if he weren't standing across from her, rolling his eyes.]
[So if someone fancied letting themself into Eames' home for whatever reason, this is what they'll be greeted with. Eames and his mother standing in the living room, arguing about god knows what.]
[One way they're extremely alike, however, is the way they argue. The family resemblance is uncanny in the rhythm of it, the sarcasm interspersed with sharply pointed comments. The way she raises her eyebrows and mockingly asks, "oh, should I read your mind next time?" Could easily be mistaken for having come from Eames himself if he weren't standing across from her, rolling his eyes.]
[So if someone fancied letting themself into Eames' home for whatever reason, this is what they'll be greeted with. Eames and his mother standing in the living room, arguing about god knows what.]
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Maybe just for this week, while she's still in town.
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[He rubs Eames' arm, just really enjoying being in bed with this man.]
Does she live in Faery?
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How long has it been since you saw her?
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Thirty years or so? Maybe a little more.
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[He idly draws circles on Eames' arm, the corner of his mouth curling into a soft smile.]
That's as long as I've been alive.
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I suppose that is a long time for a mortal.
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[He’s sleepy and it’s clear in his voice, though it can’t stop him from doing some quick math.]
That would only be about… a year and a half, for me.
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[But he knows enough about mortals to know it's not strange for a grown man not to see his parents in person for a couple of years here and there.]
That's not too bad.
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[Arthur's too tired to really consider it.]
I could nap.
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Go ahead.
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Will you stay with me?
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[boy has it]