[ After he receives the message from Eames, he goes about his day. Some of it drags, purely because they don't have much directive at the moment. But he's been making himself useful where he can, picking up courier jobs or small one-offs he can leave easily. So he spends most of the day assisting an aging duchess with organizing her wine collection, a job he earned purely by flirting with her outrageously. She's harmless and titters happily at his jokes and good looks and everyone wins out in the end.
It's easy, then, to meet at Le Grenouille just before eight. By his clock, he's about seven minutes early, something he takes advantage of by insinuating himself at the bar's corner, back to the wall. The bartend sets his glass of absinthe in front of him and he settles in to wait.
Though true to his word, he wore trousers that showed more stocking. From how he crossed his legs, the description he gave Eames will suffice. ]
[Most of Eames' day is spent listening in on people's conversations, both Frenchman and COST member alike. He needs a grip on what's happening within COST and what's happening with Paris.
Impatient for the evening, he ends up going on a walk and getting distracted, arriving a few minutes after at Le Grenouille, hands stuffed in pockets and eyes scanning the crowd. His eyes track a pair of long legs at the bar, and he smirks a little, certain he's just found Jack Simon.
He's an interesting fellow, seems to have a few tricks up his sleeve, and Eames wants to learn more about him. And, well... he's incredibly attractive. He strolls over casually.]
[ When Eames enters the bar, November is fairly sure he knows it's him, even without having seen a picture. There's a set to his shoulders and the way his eyes scan the crowd means he's looking for someone.
Thankfully, he's correct in his read. And he is thankful, because Eames is good looking along with being sharp witted. His lucky day.
November uncrosses his legs and sets the heels of his shoes along the stool bar under him, extends a hand out in greeting. ]
You presume correctly, Eames. [ Having shaken so many politician's hands, he opts for something a little less formal. His hand lingers, long fingers brushing over Eames' wrist before he pulls away. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiss kiss bang bang // nov/eames
[ After he receives the message from Eames, he goes about his day. Some of it drags, purely because they don't have much directive at the moment. But he's been making himself useful where he can, picking up courier jobs or small one-offs he can leave easily. So he spends most of the day assisting an aging duchess with organizing her wine collection, a job he earned purely by flirting with her outrageously. She's harmless and titters happily at his jokes and good looks and everyone wins out in the end.
It's easy, then, to meet at Le Grenouille just before eight. By his clock, he's about seven minutes early, something he takes advantage of by insinuating himself at the bar's corner, back to the wall. The bartend sets his glass of absinthe in front of him and he settles in to wait.
Though true to his word, he wore trousers that showed more stocking. From how he crossed his legs, the description he gave Eames will suffice. ]
no subject
Impatient for the evening, he ends up going on a walk and getting distracted, arriving a few minutes after at Le Grenouille, hands stuffed in pockets and eyes scanning the crowd. His eyes track a pair of long legs at the bar, and he smirks a little, certain he's just found Jack Simon.
He's an interesting fellow, seems to have a few tricks up his sleeve, and Eames wants to learn more about him. And, well... he's incredibly attractive. He strolls over casually.]
Jack Simon, I presume?
no subject
Thankfully, he's correct in his read. And he is thankful, because Eames is good looking along with being sharp witted. His lucky day.
November uncrosses his legs and sets the heels of his shoes along the stool bar under him, extends a hand out in greeting. ]
You presume correctly, Eames. [ Having shaken so many politician's hands, he opts for something a little less formal. His hand lingers, long fingers brushing over Eames' wrist before he pulls away. ]
Please, let me get you a drink.