tampered | closed / incomplete

closed / incomplete

When; Sunday, midday.
Rating; PG
Characters;

construire
Summary; Eames arrives, concerned and a little hungry.
Log;

[ While Eames might, on any other day, have been impressed by his surroundings - the amount of detail in the buildings was to be appreciated, certainly, alongside the massive carousel in the center of town that gave the entire area a romantic appeal - today wasn't that day. Regardless of the suggestion (possibility, even, fact was a bit of a stretch until they were up in the real world with enough time for Fischer to truly decide to disband his father's company) that the idea had taken, that hardly meant you could go about changing things all willy-nilly. He'd been looking forward to a reprieve from the man's militarized subconscious coming after them like bulls, not to re-anger them by disturbing their environment. They still had a whole week to wait out the effects of the sedative - plenty of time for Fischer to experience enough self-doubt to reverse their efforts entirely without provocation. Replacing the knowledge that this layer was supposed to be Fischer's reality to having him realize it was simply another dream would be, put lightly, suicide.

To be rather frank, Eames was bloody tired of this job. He was also, as it were, hungry - which seemed an odd feeling, for being in a dream. His first experience of it, actually. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[A little over a week and Arthur was already getting used to the layout of the strange city. The effects of the recent flood still showed in the streets, with bits of drying litter still strewn about in strange places. Otherwise, everything seemed to be business as usual.

It had taken about three showers before he'd finally felt clean again after washing up on that small island. His clothes, on the other hand, were beyond saving. It was absurd, he couldn't help but think with irritation — Shopping in a dream. But try as he might, something was preventing him from effecting any changes on this particular dream. He still hadn't figured out what it was that was preventing him from doing it, either. Which meant that it was time to give in and see if he could find some decent clothing for once. He was currently wearing what he'd been wearing upon his arrival: black slacks, a dark navy tie, and a faintly striped white shirt.

He turned a corner, heading towards what he'd been told was the shopping district in this city.]

[ Eames briefly contemplated the option of pickpocketing one of the projections for cash. He'd conjure his own, but with such a large change in canvas of the dream, he didn't want to risk any small - usually insignificant - additions. Certainly, the projections were behaving normally, with no obvious search or stampede to find Yusuf (though Eames would very much like to reenact such a thing, considering he can't spot head nor hide of the chemist amongst the crowd here), but who was to say that couldn't change within a moment's notice? The subconscious was a volatile thing, truly, and Eames wasn't about to lose himself to limbo over a pretty penny.

He picked one of the cafes dotting the square and began heading towards it, keeping his eyes roaming along the faces of those he passed - either in case of familiarity, or outburst in hostility. ]

[The Square, as it was called, was exactly as he'd been told. There was a large fountain in the middle with shops and various kiosks littered throughout the area. He took a few minutes to survey the area before deciding on a store front that looked promising at the opposite end of the area. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strolled casually towards the shop in a straight line. The path took him past a few of the kiosks and small eating areas along the way.

As he passed a certain café offering various French pastries, something caught Arthur's eye. Or rather, someone. That particular profile was unmistakable. He stopped in his tracks, but kept his distance, choosing to observe the individual instead. Of all of his projections to show up, it had to be one of Eames. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Cobb, he'd have expected. Mal even would have made more sense, as unpleasant of a reminder as it would've been.

The only thing to do was to approach him, if only to see what this projection of him would have to say. Alternatively, it could be Ariadne's projection, but it seemed unlikely. He'd know the forger far longer than she had, so it only made sense that his mind would be the one conjuring up a projection of him. He turned abruptly and started towards the café that Eames was currently occupying.]

[ The sheer density of smells that assaulted him as soon as he entered the cafe was staggering, at best. Most cafes within a dream had that overarching roast of a smell with the occasional sweetness of a pastry or two, experienced in whatever manner you subconsciously associated the place with scent. Yet there was a severe pin-point of something he couldn't identify - not the pain au chocolat nor the scones, something much more fruity in nature - that felt rather queer to him. His stomach rumbled in response to it almost immediately, and his eyes drifted towards the pockets of other patrons to spot any significant bulges. They weren't the square flatness he associated with wallets, though - instead he found more bulbous matter in appearance. Coined currency, was it?

He stepped further into the cafe as not to block the doorway, finding an empty booth to slide into. There was a distinct shift in weight in his own trousers that he had been meaning to discern, and he shoved a hand into his right front pocket, pulling out a rather fancy looking cellular phone that was, ultimately, definitely not his own. He turned it over before setting it on the table, searching for his totem next. ]

[Arthur slips through the doorway of the café quietly, immediately searching the store for his projection of Eames. He spots him in a booth quite a ways from the counter. As Arthur weaves his way between tables on his path to Eames, he briefly considers the possibility that this Eames is not a projection at all. It wouldn't be completely out of the question for Eames to have fallen into limbo just like himself, after all.]

[ Bloody Hell, where was the damn thing? A thorough inverse of all of his pockets led to no chip at his disposal. Just as well, he supposed - in reality, it would be in his shirt pocket on the plane. In this dream, he'd perhaps lost it while underwater some hours ago. He exhaled sharply, eyes and head moving upwards as he spotted someone's approach down to the tips of their loafers, moving up to the thick line of their brows. ]

Arthur. Changed clothes, have you?

[He looks Eames over, casually looking for anything out of place. Of course, he doesn't spot anything obvious. Which prompts him to respond to Eames' question.]

I did. Over a week ago.

[He remains standing for now, his gaze fixed on the forger.]

[ Eames' left eyebrow quirks, then the other raises to join the first. Some part of the expression is bemusement, but his eyes are calculating, studying Arthur's face closely before his gaze sweeps across the inside of the cafe. That is, above all, a strange statement. ]

You heard from Yusuf, yeah? I lost him in the middle of the change. [ His hand sweeps around their surroundings, vague to an outsider but specific to Arthur. ]

Edited 2010-10-04 00:11 (UTC)

[He decides he might as well get to the point.]

What's the last thing that you remember, Eames?

[ Gaze snaps back to Arthur, teeth beginning to work at a hangnail on his thumb. ]

In what sense? [ Pause. ] You alright, then? [ He means more of Arthur's mental state than anything else. ]

The last thing you remember before arriving here. You must have experienced a sudden transition some time in the past few hours? From being killed or otherwise. The layout of this city doesn't match that of any of the levels Ariadne designed for the job, Eames. Surely you've noticed that by now?

[He slides into the seat opposite Eames, his expression showing no signs of amusement.]

Perception is a wonderful thing, isn't it? [ Studies Arthur for a beat or two longer before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. ] My memory hasn't been nixed, it's as you already know - synchronized the kick up to Yusuf's level and have been waiting out the week for the sedative to wear off. In a few days we can off ourselves without sending us to bloody limbo.

[ Shifts back in the booth, freeing the hangnail with his teeth. ]

Yusuf must've changed it about for one reason or another. Curious how Fischer Junior hasn't reacted to it, yeah?

[He's starting to lean towards "not projection." Just a bit, anyway. His expression doesn't change when Eames leans forward.]

'Curious' would be one way to put it, yes.

[His gaze shifts to the window for a beat before settling back on Eames.]

You have your totem with you, I take it?

Lost in the river, actually. [ He doesn't look too perturbed about it. ] I don't need it to discern that this isn't reality, Arthur.

[ Eyes wander away, roving over the other patrons, then on the open display of offered pastries. ]

[Just his luck. He leans forward a bit, hands steepled on the table, and focuses on Eames' expression, looking for a reaction to what he's about to say.]

What if I told you that this was limbo? That I've been here for longer than a week, even?

[ A visible pause. ]

You got yourself killed. [ His tone is a bit flat, disbelieving. Regardless of whether or not Arthur follied, Eames knew that there was no way he was killed. At one moment, he'd been conversing with Yusuf. Another, there was a carousel. Besides - was it normal for limbo to be so heavily populated? ]

And so did you, if I'm right.

[He notes the change in tone. Too complex for his projection of Eames? Maybe. Maybe not.]

Your mistakes aren't my own, Arthur.

[ His fingers drum on the table. ]

And your last memory?

[Arthur narrows his eyes at the biting remark, but otherwise ignores it.]

The kick I'd set up had just gone off in the elevator on the second level. Instead of waking up in the first level, I was here.

[ Thumbs the side of his nose, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. ]

The elevator.

You don't recall the few hours spent on Yusuf's level after the fact, then?

[He leans back and crosses his arms.]

I don't. The last thing I remember is the second level.

[ A hum, gravely and thoughtful. ]

A chemical complication? [ Who knows what else Cobb and Yusuf kept from them. His jaw clenches briefly. ]

It's possible.

[He reaches into his right pocket for his totem. Same verdict as always.]

Regardless of how we got here, we seem to be in limbo right now.

[ Eames looks less than pleased. ]

I'll have to thank the man, won't I?

[ He's been watching exchanges at the register. ] Wherever this is, the currency is something I don't recognize.

[A hint of a smirk.]

Whenever he finally shows up here.

The currency? It's multi-colored coins. Each color denotes a different value.

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