paradoxlol | .060 | Accidental Video.

[Arthur's sitting on his couch, cross-legged, in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. His hair's actually... floppy... for once, which probably makes him look younger than he actually is. He's had a few glasses of wine, which is probably not a good idea, what with the lingering Death Toll effects. His voice isn't slurring, not yet, but it's definitely relaxed. This message is clearly intended for one particular person, but Arthur accidentally botched the filter thanks to the alcohol. This is why you don't drink and blog.]

I know I promised you a bottle of wine. So, you should hurry over before I finish this. [He holds up the bottle.] Particular bottle of wine without you.

[Arthur pours another glass.]

It's not that I'm lonely; I'm bored. I think I've been through every book I own at least twice. I even memorized a poem while I was stuck in bed. [He glances at the camera with a playful look.] It made me think of you. How's your French? [He offers the camera a little smirk, then begins to recite some ~French poetry~, his voice somewhat lyrical from the alcohol.]

De ce terrible paysage,
Tel que jamais mortel n'en vit,
Ce matin encore l'image,
Vague et lointaine, me ravit.

Le sommeil est plein de miracles!
Par un caprice singulier
J'avais banni de ces spectacles
Le végétal irrégulier,

Et, peintre fier de mon génie,
Je savourais dans mon tableau
L'enivrante monotonie
Du métal, du marbre et de l'eau...

[Arthur's going to keep going, tipsily reciting this poem because, IDK, it's about dream architecture kind of ~~I'm terrible with poetry, so I could be totes wrong~~. It's a somewhat long poem, so ENJOY THAT, BARGE.]

[OOC: SO OBVIOUSLY THIS POST IS FOR ARIADNE. But I didn't want to do a private post, so feel free to troll Arthur or assume he's like, hitting on you or whateverrr.]

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[She flops into a chair with an amused sigh.] You know yourself better than I do. If you're feeling better, then do whatever you want.

[Teasingly:] I thought McCoy released me into your custody. [He takes the extra glass he already set out on the coffee table and pours the remainder of the wine in it before handing it off.] Shall we toast?

He did, but I didn't think you were a big fan of nursemaids.

And no, you don't get to make that into a playing nurse joke.

[She takes the glass of wine, looking slightly bemused.] What should we toast to?

I'm not. [He smiles. If he were Eames, there'd be a playing nurse joke as we speak.] And I won't.

[Holding up his glass, Arthur offers:] To dreams of Paris. [A bit of a bastardization of the poem's name, but the meaning still holds.]

[She laughs, because it's obvious that only a slightly-tipsy Arthur would think of something so sentimental.]

All right, to dreams of Paris.

[Her next words are in nearly-fluent French:] Your inflection could use some work, though.

[Arthur takes a drink and settles back on the couch.]

Moving on from nursemaid to teacher? Whatever happened to architecture?

Do you see any building that needs doing? I have to find alternative career paths.

[It's probably really pretentious to be having a conversation in French, but OH WELL. It's just the two of them. She doesn't have to be anything but herself with Arthur. And a glass of wine.]

[THEY ARE SUPER PRETENTIOUS HIPSTERS.]

Ah, but there are always opportunities to build. You just have to find them. [Like with the PASIV. They need to get on that soon.]

[That just makes her giggle. Maybe not quite so pretentious. Also, back to English because.] Is that supposed to be some kind of grand, sweeping metaphor about life? Or some romantic schlock about the two of us?

No, I was being more literal than that. You can always [HERE COMES THE USER NAME.] build in dreams.

True. We have a bit of a surplus of PASIVs now.

[She glances sidelong at him.] Still, the last time you were here you didn't seem terribly keen on it. [He'd given Perry the key, anyway.]

[Arthur seems to sober up some. He glances down at his glass.] Yeah. Well. Things change. [Is he hoping to forget about Perry out of guilt? MAYBE.]

[She has a sneaking suspicion of what he's talking about. She hesitates a moment, but they have been making out lately, so really, she's allowed. So she runs her hand along his shoulder blades soothingly.] Wasn't your fault you got pulled off the Barge. And it's not your fault Perry got pulled off, either.

I didn't finish what I started. [Which, to him, is bad enough, even if he had no control over it. Arthur doesn't like leaving things unfinished.]

Through no fault of your own. And now you have another chance, and I know you'll make it count. [She believes in you, Arthur.]

Perry was my third chance. How many more am I gonna get before the Admiral kills the deal?

It's not as though you've been incompetent. The Admiral would be stupid to kill your deal because your inmates leave, which is something you can't help.

Hell, I haven't even had an inmate yet, in over six months. Except for that one time, for about two days. He'd better not kill my damn deal.

I shot my first inmate in self defense. I threatened to kill my second one. [And he incepted Perry during a flood...] My track record isn't the best.

[But then again... He looks at Ariadne, brow raised.]

Who was your inmate?

You were making real progress with Perry. Besides, I'm sure there have been way worse wardens than you. [She smiles faintly.]

Ah, his name was Anders. I only spoke to him a couple of times, and he disappeared from the Barge just a couple of days after I was assigned to him.

That's why it's so frustrating. I could have done it, if the Admiral didn't-- if this ship... [He sighs.] It's pointless trying to find something to blame.

That's such... a waste. I'm sorry.

You're telling me. [She snorts faintly.] It was only a week or so after you disappeared. A few other people left around that time, too.

I was pretty down for a while, there.

But - hell with it. Even if I'm not assigned to an inmate, I can still help people.

Right. You have the art room. [He takes another drink of wine and sets the glass down. He's... probably had enough for the evening.] It's a valuable tool for rehabilitation.

Yeah, art therapy, or whatever. [She smiles vaguely and shakes her head.] Sounds kind of stupid, I think, but art lessons at least give us all something to do with our hands that doesn't involve beating each other up.

Anyway, I'm sure you'll get a new inmate soon, Arthur, don't worry about it. And you've got me, until then. [She bumps his shoulder affectionately.]

It doesn't sound stupid to me. Art therapy has a pretty decent track record. It builds camaraderie, promotes communication-- it's even said to reduce stress and feelings of trauma. [Why do you even know this, Arthur?]

Yeah. I can't say that I mind that. [He turns to her, brushes his hair back, and smirks.] You don't get into trouble as much as an inmate.

[Why DO you know that, Arthur? She's just going to laugh a little.] Arthur, the walking encyclopedia.

Maybe not quite as much. Doesn't mean I never do, though. [Her smile turns flirtatious.]

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