In this environment, without any tense preamble or the momentum of mission prep, without the weight of his own authority, Arthur looks as out of place as he ever does. He is dressed to blend in, mind you, and smartly dressed at that, with years of practice under his belt at flattering the angles of his frame without drawing attention to its overall narrowness. Slacks, button-down and tie, rolled-up sleeves, a fantastic pair of shoes—and no waistcoat, somewhat spitefully, because he does not in fact look twelve without one, Eames.

On that note, it occurs to Arthur that if anyone from back home could see him walking into the Apache like this, they'd make a huge fuss about it, rib him for actually showing up somewhere fun, and soforth. It's not that he's bad at socializing, he just... well. Whatever. Time to wait his turn at the bar.