Arthur's not one for breaking into people's places most of the time (he can get his information in other ways), but he does know how to do it, and do it he does. He picks the lock of Eames's apartment and slips inside, and normally he doesn't give a damn what the forger is up to, but he's worried because he hasn't heard back from him in days-- and he's not worried about him, he's not. He's just wondering if Eames is actually doing his job or bumming around in his apartment, so he has to make sure.
It doesn't seem that Eames is there though, Arthur realizes after doing a quick onceover of the place, holding his gun protectively like he didn't just break into the place. It's in Eames's bedroom that he comes across something, and although it isn't Eames, it is a bit confusing.
At first it just looks like boxes, but Arthur can be just as curious as anyone else, so of course he opens one of them.
"What?" he whispers to himself, forgetting all about his search.
The box is filled to the brim with magnets.
Opening every box there reveals the same result...
...and all Arthur can think is... why?
Out of all the research he'd done on Eames, on everyone involved with Eames, he'd never heard anything about this bizarre little collection...
Well, little wasn't really the right word. Massive was a more appropriate term.
Taking a handful out of each box, he examins them more closely, discovering they are all different. One is shaped like the Las Vegas sign, one is simply the letter Q, one is advertising a chiropractor's office, one of them with a Disney character Arthur can't remember the name of, one in Japanese, one in Russian... there are literally thousands of them, each one unique.
"What on earth--" Arthur says, at a loss because really, who collects magnets and who collects them to such an extent? Did he seriously carry the boxes with him wherever he went?
Arthur had never been left with so many unanswered questions so suddenly, and he feels so foolish for not discovering this information before. Sure, it isn't really important, but he makes an effort to know absolutely everything about his co-workers just in case, and now he's at a loss because he never knew this. He knew the name of Yusuf's fourth girlfriend in high school, her age, her GPA that year, and her fucking locker combination at that time, but he didn't know Eames collected useless little magnets.
"What are you doing?"
At least Eames sounds good-humored when Arthur is discovered, though he still jumps and scrambles, tipping one of the boxes so that magnets spill ungracefully around him.
"Why do you have all of these?" Arthur asks instead.
"Oh, I get magnets from every place I go as my own little souvenir," Eames says simply. "As you can see, I've been around quite a lot."
"Every place as in every city or every place as in everywhere including the market, the theater, the doctor's office-"
"Well, for someone like me who is almost never in the same place twice, every time I go somewhere it's kind of new and exciting," Eames replies, shrugging. "Don't you collect things, Arthur?"
Arthur most certainly did not. He couldn't afford to haul useless little trinkets around... but he did remember that his mother used to collect music boxes, that he would go into the room and pick out his favorite one, wind it, and let the tune soothe him over and over...
but that's a digression.
"You're not going to question why I'm in your apartment?" Arthur asks.
no subject
It doesn't seem that Eames is there though, Arthur realizes after doing a quick onceover of the place, holding his gun protectively like he didn't just break into the place. It's in Eames's bedroom that he comes across something, and although it isn't Eames, it is a bit confusing.
At first it just looks like boxes, but Arthur can be just as curious as anyone else, so of course he opens one of them.
"What?" he whispers to himself, forgetting all about his search.
The box is filled to the brim with magnets.
Opening every box there reveals the same result...
...and all Arthur can think is... why?
Out of all the research he'd done on Eames, on everyone involved with Eames, he'd never heard anything about this bizarre little collection...
Well, little wasn't really the right word. Massive was a more appropriate term.
Taking a handful out of each box, he examins them more closely, discovering they are all different. One is shaped like the Las Vegas sign, one is simply the letter Q, one is advertising a chiropractor's office, one of them with a Disney character Arthur can't remember the name of, one in Japanese, one in Russian... there are literally thousands of them, each one unique.
"What on earth--" Arthur says, at a loss because really, who collects magnets and who collects them to such an extent? Did he seriously carry the boxes with him wherever he went?
Arthur had never been left with so many unanswered questions so suddenly, and he feels so foolish for not discovering this information before. Sure, it isn't really important, but he makes an effort to know absolutely everything about his co-workers just in case, and now he's at a loss because he never knew this. He knew the name of Yusuf's fourth girlfriend in high school, her age, her GPA that year, and her fucking locker combination at that time, but he didn't know Eames collected useless little magnets.
"What are you doing?"
At least Eames sounds good-humored when Arthur is discovered, though he still jumps and scrambles, tipping one of the boxes so that magnets spill ungracefully around him.
...and well, saying 'nothing' probably wouldn't suffice.
"Why do you have all of these?" Arthur asks instead.
"Oh, I get magnets from every place I go as my own little souvenir," Eames says simply. "As you can see, I've been around quite a lot."
"Every place as in every city or every place as in everywhere including the market, the theater, the doctor's office-"
"Well, for someone like me who is almost never in the same place twice, every time I go somewhere it's kind of new and exciting," Eames replies, shrugging. "Don't you collect things, Arthur?"
Arthur most certainly did not. He couldn't afford to haul useless little trinkets around... but he did remember that his mother used to collect music boxes, that he would go into the room and pick out his favorite one, wind it, and let the tune soothe him over and over...
but that's a digression.
"You're not going to question why I'm in your apartment?" Arthur asks.