artfulforger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
artfulforger) wrote2011-06-26 03:47 am
artfulforger) wrote2011-06-26 03:47 am
A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
Securing the rooftop garden for a night had been easy. A slip of money, promise to ensure nothing was damaged, a wink and a smile. That had been the easy part. The rest...
First had been stringing up lights. Maybe it was a bit over the top but he had one shot, one chance to show he was more than a gambler and a man with a string of dates longer than his arm. An oriental rug was laid out on the wood planked decking on the roof, a small round table atop that. Matching chairs and the table dressed with linen and crystal and china. He'd overseen every detail, made sure it was all arranged.
Downstairs the doorman was waiting to see Arthur to the elevator. Music was piped in to hidden speakers, classical and soft and merely a back drop to the rest. The hour was late enough the city twinkled beyond the roof and the meal was set. Nearby a hot box kept the courses warm, another designed for the cold items say next to it. A bottle of wine chilled in a silver bucket, the metal gleaming with water droplets that slid down the sheened metal surface.
Seeing to the last detail. Himself. Taking Arthur's words to heart, wanting to see Eames himself, he'd worn jeans that fit perfectly, loafers, and a paisley print shirt in shades of plum and dark teal. Lighting the candles, he pushed the button on the remote to start the music and he waited, pacing the small confines of the rooftop.
First had been stringing up lights. Maybe it was a bit over the top but he had one shot, one chance to show he was more than a gambler and a man with a string of dates longer than his arm. An oriental rug was laid out on the wood planked decking on the roof, a small round table atop that. Matching chairs and the table dressed with linen and crystal and china. He'd overseen every detail, made sure it was all arranged.
Downstairs the doorman was waiting to see Arthur to the elevator. Music was piped in to hidden speakers, classical and soft and merely a back drop to the rest. The hour was late enough the city twinkled beyond the roof and the meal was set. Nearby a hot box kept the courses warm, another designed for the cold items say next to it. A bottle of wine chilled in a silver bucket, the metal gleaming with water droplets that slid down the sheened metal surface.
Seeing to the last detail. Himself. Taking Arthur's words to heart, wanting to see Eames himself, he'd worn jeans that fit perfectly, loafers, and a paisley print shirt in shades of plum and dark teal. Lighting the candles, he pushed the button on the remote to start the music and he waited, pacing the small confines of the rooftop.