[Introduction] "Told us we were just a vision in a dream about a shoe"
Arthur sure knew how to pick 'em. Sure, the job had sounded like a challenge, and the challenging ones always had the best payouts. But there were limits to what a man could handle, even in a dream.
The Vikings at least were easy to pick off from the position Eames had taken behind an overturned table at the end of a hallway in the hotel level: the damn fools made as much noise as a bunch of drunken football hooligans, giving their positions away. Shooting fish in a barrel, except some of the fish wore armor, which made it a bit tricky to single-shot them unless Eames aimed for their heads. Which weren't as easy targets as he'd thought. Never knew the guys wore pointy hats that looked a bit like upside down metal sno-cone holders.
The ninja (ninjas? ninja-plural? Arthur had insisted it was just "ninja", even if there were a bunch of 'em), now, those little buggers were nasty: the wall above his head bristles with shuriken that they'd thrown at him (and missed), but it's just a matter of time before they converge on him.
He's slotting a fresh magazine -- thank god that dreams allowed one unlimited ammunition -- into the assault rifle, when he feels a sting in his leg, another in the side of his neck and a third in his arm. He looks down to see a three-pointed metal throwing star sticking out of his forearm.
"Oh, bloody hell," he mutters as a black-clad figure vaults over the table, wielding a nasty-looking little knife...
He comes to, crouched at the end of an unfamiliar hallway, blood covering the long-sleeved EVE Online tee shirt and the khaki pants he'd been wearing as part of the forgery -- last time he'd ever forge as a gamer-kid ten years younger than himself; the kids these days have no sense of style [Hah!]. The gash in his throat is gone, but the non-lethal cuts in his arm and leg are still there, bleeding but not as profusely as before.
"There a medic here?" he calls out, hoping he can create a projection of one. If this is Limbo, that is...
Name: Eames
Fandom: Inception
Media: Movie/graphic novel
Typist: matrixrefugee
Other relevant info: Title and cut-text snitched from "The Shame of My Life" by the Butthole Surfers. Eames will be coming in from the same debacle that Cobb dropped in from: he's a bit cut up and thus in need of some medical attention, but he's otherwise alert and able to snerk about things.
The first commenter acts as a welcoming committee. All following interactions are deemed later in the day, when the character is settled.
The Vikings at least were easy to pick off from the position Eames had taken behind an overturned table at the end of a hallway in the hotel level: the damn fools made as much noise as a bunch of drunken football hooligans, giving their positions away. Shooting fish in a barrel, except some of the fish wore armor, which made it a bit tricky to single-shot them unless Eames aimed for their heads. Which weren't as easy targets as he'd thought. Never knew the guys wore pointy hats that looked a bit like upside down metal sno-cone holders.
The ninja (ninjas? ninja-plural? Arthur had insisted it was just "ninja", even if there were a bunch of 'em), now, those little buggers were nasty: the wall above his head bristles with shuriken that they'd thrown at him (and missed), but it's just a matter of time before they converge on him.
He's slotting a fresh magazine -- thank god that dreams allowed one unlimited ammunition -- into the assault rifle, when he feels a sting in his leg, another in the side of his neck and a third in his arm. He looks down to see a three-pointed metal throwing star sticking out of his forearm.
"Oh, bloody hell," he mutters as a black-clad figure vaults over the table, wielding a nasty-looking little knife...
He comes to, crouched at the end of an unfamiliar hallway, blood covering the long-sleeved EVE Online tee shirt and the khaki pants he'd been wearing as part of the forgery -- last time he'd ever forge as a gamer-kid ten years younger than himself; the kids these days have no sense of style [Hah!]. The gash in his throat is gone, but the non-lethal cuts in his arm and leg are still there, bleeding but not as profusely as before.
"There a medic here?" he calls out, hoping he can create a projection of one. If this is Limbo, that is...
Name: Eames
Fandom: Inception
Media: Movie/graphic novel
Typist: matrixrefugee
Other relevant info: Title and cut-text snitched from "The Shame of My Life" by the Butthole Surfers. Eames will be coming in from the same debacle that Cobb dropped in from: he's a bit cut up and thus in need of some medical attention, but he's otherwise alert and able to snerk about things.
The first commenter acts as a welcoming committee. All following interactions are deemed later in the day, when the character is settled.