OPEN | prompt seven | ARTHUR

[staircases]

prompt seven | A R T H U R prompt style. start your own thread. leave an image, a quote, anything. receive arthur. open to pre-canon, au, crossover, whatever you can come up with.

 

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dont mind me (whatever works)

[constructum]

( post-canon flavor, I CHOOSE YOU!!!! )

[staircases]

[ Arthur isn't a very social creature by nature but, to his credit, his encyclopedic knowledge of whatever city he finds himself in makes for good cover most of the time. Good enough to pass as baseline functional, at least. (Nobody ever said he was a miracle worker.) Whenever he's about to hightail it out of one country in exchange for another, he parks himself in front of the laptop for a few hours (a few days if he can spare it, but he usually can't), then he Googles the fuck out of it, pirates a Lonely Planet and tries to memorize all of the phone numbers and addresses that qualify as IN CASE OF EMERGENCY: BREAK GLASS.

It's part habit, part leftover boy scoutism and part straight-up common sense. Even when he wasn't working, the Dreamshare business had a habit of creeping up on a guy and the last thing he wanted was to be caught with his figurative pants down. (Julfa, Azerbaijan, 2007. Arthur had learned his lesson then and the lesson had been, never again.)

He wasn't always like this, of course. An obvious statement maybe, if only because who is perpetually themselves all the time. Certainly not anybody capable of positive growth and definitely not anybody in that rough constellation of people he sometimes (but not always) considered his 'close professional associates'. (He hasn't used the word 'friend' since before Azerbaijan, since before Paris and Mal.)

In three days time he has a meeting booked with the wife of an influential businessman in Mumbai and in the middle of his cross-continental game of hopscotch, he's decided to pay Ariadne a visit. Rather than bootleg his latest travel guide, he suggests that they visit a local bookshop instead. ] I know just the one, [ he says with a crook to his mouth. (Arthur always does; it makes him feel good at his job. And he is good. He keeps reminding himself that.) ]

C'mon, you'll love it.

[constructum]

[ For the most part, Ariadne had learned (after a few frustrating instances) that one could never really ultimately know, just what Arthur (or any of the others to be exact) would be up to from one day to the next. Whether it was just their lifestyles, or maybe just their need to keep people at arm's length - she honestly didn't know – and really, she wasn't entirely sure if she should. In a sense, Ariadne liked not being fully immersed in that cloud of uncertainty Arthur (and the others) kept. Of course she would never deny the fact; she was intrigued by it and wanted to know as much as she could about it. But there was still that part of her that was glad, she wasn’t always worrying about; anonymous numbers, being followed by strange vans, or even if she wouldn't make it through the night - things she only could assume they dealt with.

So for whatever reason it was that had Arthur visiting her for just a short amount of time, she wasn't about to question it (though her curiosity was clearly there, and given the right moment, she clearly would try to find out what she could), as she was honestly just glad to see her friend (even if she was fairly sure, it was only a term she would be able to use in private. Because like it or not, she would always considered him a friend. ). ] You say that like you know me. [ she says more in jest then anything (of course he knows her – he's Arthur, he knows about all of them, right?), as her attention is still focused on a group of tourist across the street from them that seemed to be attempting to test the theory of; you can never have too many pictures, which in turn seems to cause a small smile in amusement to tug at the corner of her mouth as she watches them. ]

What exactly are you looking for?