Arthur shoved his hands in his own pocket, wishing that his totem would appear and feeling nothing but the fancy pen he'd found earlier. This was a bad idea. All of this was just plain bad.

"Make it a double." He pushed away from the table, staying close to Eames like he was a lifeline. If this really wasn't Eames, it was a good forge. Whether he actually ordered the right drink would be the tell, though. Eames had most certainly watched him drink enough bourbon to know and if he ordered Arthur vodka or something else equally wrong, he was getting that pen in his jugular.