"That's true." He replied, nodding, "And honestly you really oughtn't try to control that sort of thing, only gets frustrating when you aren't able to. Easier just to roll with it in the rare cases that it happens, yeah?" At least that was how Eames generally handled things, and it did seem to work for him.
There was a smile then as he asked Arthur to pass the salt, and he knew as soon as his fingers brushed Arthur's while accepting it just what was going to happen.
It was another flash.
All he knew was that they were crusaders of a sort, though just whose crusade or when, he didn't know, he remembered that their group had been sent to rout out a coven of witches, ones that could call down demons, they had been winning until someone called down a storm.
The rain was torrential and was slowly but surely winning out over the bonfires, smelling of oil and a little bit of sulfur. Most of, if not all, of the rest of the crusaders were dead, and Arthur and himself were staring each other down, Eames so, so sure that Arthur had been possessed that he himself was still untainted. Eames was just faster, knife finding its way easily between Arthur's ribs, finally meeting his eyes as he did so, murmuring an apology.
Of course, he had no way of knowing that Arthur was absolutely sure of the same thing; that Eames was the one possessed and he was the one still pure.
There was a sharp insuck of breath and the saltshaker clattered to the tabletop. Eames looked decidedly gray, and he pushed his chair away from the table, excusing himself quietly before padding away to go be sick in the bathroom sink.
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There was a smile then as he asked Arthur to pass the salt, and he knew as soon as his fingers brushed Arthur's while accepting it just what was going to happen.
It was another flash.
All he knew was that they were crusaders of a sort, though just whose crusade or when, he didn't know, he remembered that their group had been sent to rout out a coven of witches, ones that could call down demons, they had been winning until someone called down a storm.
The rain was torrential and was slowly but surely winning out over the bonfires, smelling of oil and a little bit of sulfur. Most of, if not all, of the rest of the crusaders were dead, and Arthur and himself were staring each other down, Eames so, so sure that Arthur had been possessed that he himself was still untainted. Eames was just faster, knife finding its way easily between Arthur's ribs, finally meeting his eyes as he did so, murmuring an apology.
Of course, he had no way of knowing that Arthur was absolutely sure of the same thing; that Eames was the one possessed and he was the one still pure.
There was a sharp insuck of breath and the saltshaker clattered to the tabletop. Eames looked decidedly gray, and he pushed his chair away from the table, excusing himself quietly before padding away to go be sick in the bathroom sink.