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When Arthur shows up on his first day wearing an ancient hoodie and faded jeans, carrying a bag of sandwiches, Eames can hardly be blamed for making the wrong assumption.
“Thanks, love. How much do we owe you?”
“Excuse me?” The delivery boy sounds incredulous. And pissed off.
“For the sandwiches.” He shouts into the back, “Cobb, you ordered these, right?”
Cobb wanders in, confused. “Oh, Arthur. I thought you got in tomorrow.”
“Arthur?” Eames says, dumbfounded. “You’re Arthur?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. It’s just that Cobb didn’t mention your budding career as a rap artist.”
Arthur glares first at Eames — who’s wearing an exquisitely tailored suit — and then at Cobb. “You didn’t tell me this job had a dress code —”
“— I didn’t expect you to wear that,” Cobb says.
“— or a forger who’s an asshole,” Arthur finishes.
“Ignore him,” Cobb says, and Eames isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or Arthur.
“At least let me dress you in the dream level, darling, or you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Unless we set it at a concert —”
He’s cut off when Arthur throws the bag of sandwiches at his head.
“Christ,” Cobb says. “Eames, be nice. Arthur, find something that makes you look old enough to buy a drink.”
Eames envisions Arthur in a pair of well-fitting trousers and silently thanks Cobb for bringing him on board. “I do apologize, Arthur. Perhaps I could introduce you to my tailor?”