storytime

Jul. 29th, 2012 07:50 pm
beachlass: father and daughter hug from Bon Cop Bad Cop (glomps)
[personal profile] beachlass
A few days ago on twitter, [personal profile] anatsuno mentoned a couple of hilarious typos she'd read.

One of them was: yurt/comfort.

Eames' first objective was pickpocketing a pair of sunglasses to hide the black eye he was sure was blooming on his face. The second was to settle into the Starbucks on Rue St Denis. A nice public place to regroup and wait for Arthur.


He ordered a coffee, keeping his body language loose, and the pilfered sunglasses on. Settled into an armchair with a magazine and a good view of the door. Sent Arthur a text.


It was almost an hour before Arthur showed. His eyebrows were drawn together in a worried crease, and he checked on Eames before ordering coffee. “Not a random mugging then?” Eames asked and Arthur huffed unhappily at him before ordering something with extra shots of espresso to go.


He herded Eames out the door, and towards a hatchback with New York plates and a bike rack. And bikes. Definitely not the rental car they've mostly left parked in the hotel's underground lot.


“Arthur, I don't think stealing some tourist's car is quite the low profile we're going for here” Eames started to argue, but at an unimpressed look he subsided and got into the car.


Apparently, Arthur had held this car in reserve, for a clean escape if one was needed. Eames would have been more impressed if Arthur hadn't also insisted that they weren't going back to the hotel to collect their things. “But my favorite socks, Arthur. The pink one. My favorite.”


Arthur was not above telling him I told you so, on the subject of favorite items of clothing, and the folly of packing them on jobs.


Eventually Eames napped, as they drove a couple hours out of the city and into the mountains. They'd been to Mont Tremblant once before, skiing, and Eames was looking forward to lying low in an off-season chalet, but they turned into a park entrance, instead.


At the little park office, Arthur produced a campsite number and bought ice for Eames' eye. He had, apparently, actually been up here already. Efficient bugger, and it explained the lack of camping gear in the car. The mountain bikes were no doubt self-explanatory for injuries, and it's all very clever, but Eames really wanted to lie down with some paracetemol and his ice pack, thank you very much. And he wasn't not really looking forward to the tent. Said as much to Arthur, who smirks and replied “Not a tent, to be precise.”


The campsite they pulled into had.... a yurt? Tall and built on a platform, and already filled with gear. Eames was beginning to wonder just how hard he'd been hit on the head. Arthur started fiddling with the bikes and Eames stiffly unfolded himself from the car.


“There's a first aid kit with Advil, your side of the yurt” Arthur said. “Have a nap, and I'll deal with the bikes.”


“Are your contingency plans always this... imaginative?” Eames asked Arthur later. “Because I'm beginning to feel I've been missing out, with best laid plans, and all that.”
 

“Your marshmallow is burning.” Arthur replied.

 

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beachlass

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