OPEN and INCOMPLETE.

[dreamesbig]

Characters: Eames (dreamesbig), Arthur (specificities) and any one else around!
Setting/Location: Streamdrab.
Date & Time: Day nine.
Warnings: none!
Summary: Just another one of those "waking up" posts. Everyone is free to join!

Comments

I AM NOT GOING TO EVEN DIGNIFY THAT WITH A RESPONSE...

[specificities]

This was one of the worst ideas Eames had ever suggested. What if it was a trap? It was likely a trap. Arthur was not going to step out from behind the tree and wait to be shot. There were a myriad of things pertaining to this situation that he simply couldn't trust - lack of weaponry not withstanding, he couldn't even see Eames's face to even be sure whether or not it was him, and even that was becoming increasingly unreliable. He was distinctly, and absolutely, outside of his comfort zone. He shifted the weight of the branch into one hand, using the other to scratch the bridge of his nose, a firm scowl upsetting the curve of his lips.

By the time he had made his decision, it was already three!, and he briefly stepped out of the cover of the thick tree to hurl his chosen missile at where he had estimated the voice to be coming from. Of course, it was while the thick branch was in mid air that he noticed his target did, indeed, look similar to Eames from the hunch of his shoulders. He trusted the other to manage to duck in time, not feeling a single pang of guilt for his actions. You could never be too certain when you woke up in the middle of the woods with mud on your lapels and dead bug in your ear and your face itching with increasing intensity. The only thing he currently regretted was that he was now without a weapon - again.

BUT BABY PLEASE... I CAN MAKE IT RIGHT AGAIN...

[dreamesbig]

“…three!” and as soon as he whirled his body around to show himself, he saw a branch flying right toward his face. While his brain didn’t function quite as quickly as Arthur or probably Ariadne, he still had his reflex. So, as soon as that branch neared his face with the intent to kill (or seriously injure), Eames cursed and ducked. Unfortunately the reaction proved to be too slow for the sheer speed of it, and its skin ended up scraping the top of the Brit’s head.

Needless to say, Eames was pissed. His hands reached up to cover the injured area, checking to see if he was bleeding. While there wasn’t any evidence of blood, the man could be absolutely sure that the branch took enough strands of hair…after all, no one would like the feeling of getting their hair pulled out forcefully. After cursing under his breath for a couple seconds, trying to register what the hell had just happened, Eames lifted his head to see the source of his dismay.

…and lo’ and behold, it was Arthur. “Thanks for that, Darling. As if I needed any more Earthly substances stuck onto my hair gel. And nice throw, by the way,” he said flatly, finding it increasingly difficult to contain the sarcasm.

.... PROVE IT

[specificities]

"Thank you, Mister Eames. I personally prefer pomade to hairgel, makes the affair much less sticky," he commented just as dryly - though he could say nothing for the state of his being right now. Mud was likely still embedded in his hair, and he could feel small raised bumps on his face as he raised his hand to scratch his forehead. But, at least he was absolutely certain that this was - in fact - Eames. Any other forger would have dropped the image by now, under the idea that this was even a dream at that. Everything felt too real otherwise - the smells, the dirt on his skin, the sweat beading his hairline and brow. Regardless, he approached the forger, frowning all the while - though, this time, it was less frowning at Eames as much as it was frowning at their situation, which was something new.

"Where are we?" Arthur inquired - though at the moment it was much less like a question and far more like some sort of demand, as if Eames would have the answers he himself couldn't grasp the straws at. Though, really, he doubted Eames even knew - unless it was his fault to begin with, then which Arthur would promptly abandon the brit in the thick of the woods and vow more sternly to Cobb next time that they didn't need Eames and to next time, honestly, just hire a buxom brunette or blonde or redhead as opposed to hiring a man who could shapeshift into all those things.

Really.

Nevermind the bad experiences with beautiful women. Arthur looked about them, frown deepening. "We should get to a clearing."

/BRINGS A BOUQUET OF ROSES AND SINGS A ROMANTIC SONG OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW...

[dreamesbig]

“Oh, really?” he inquired, though not seriously as the tone of his voice was way too enthusiastic for the occasion, “That’s funny because you’re looking quite shabby this afternoon, don’t you think?” Eames approached Arthur then, rubbing the sore area on top of his head with a single hand (still).

“Not quite sure where we are, but I have a hunch that it’s Iceland, judging strictly by the outstanding scenery.” When he’d gotten a closer look at the point man, Eames couldn’t help but point at Arthur’s face and snickered. “Wh…what happened to your face? Did you rub your face in poison ivy?”

o-oh ..... /DAZZLED *o*

[specificities]

Poison ivy? Arthur squashed the feeling of horror before it could be expressed on his itchy - and now, littered with red splotches - face. He dug a nail into the line of his jaw, scratching it irritably. "Iceland?" he echoed instead, choosing to ignore all other parts of Eames' conversational skills. Then:

"The flight path doesn't cross over Iceland, Eames. We would have had to been thrown severely off course by several thousand miles, and then crashed in a way where the plane has been completely eliminated - all without a single broken bone." He tossed Eames a skeptical look, using a hand to dig into the back pocket of his slacks to retrieve his cellphone. "We're not in Iceland." He flipped it open, but before he could dial the number he had memorized to reach Cobb's pre-paid, he noted the NO SERVICE AVAILABLE displayed in red across the front screen, as well as the flashing in the corner that warned him his battery was low. Grunting in displeasure, he turned off the cellphone before returning it into his pocket, opening his mouth to--

"PEOPLE OF THE CARAVAN. WE WILL BE ARRIVING AT THE TOWN OF STREAMDRAB WITHIN TWO HOURS..."

What.

He turned his head, eyes and ears searching for where the voice was coming from. There was a slight white noise accompanying it, akin to interference on radio waves.

"OR, ALTERNATIVELY, IF YOU SEEM TO HAVE FOUND YOURSELF IN THE WOODS..."

JUST AS PLANNED.

[dreamesbig]

He was quite disappointed that the other didn’t address Eames’ remark, since he was in a bickering mood; sometimes a good argument could stray the mind away from the situation, after all. However, he knew they were in a…pickle, to say the least. They were lost in a jumbo wood full of the unknown. Which way was north, south… home? “Well, I can assure you that this isn’t a dream,” Eames stated as a matter of fact and added: “Have you checked your totem?”

But as soon as he’d asked, he, too, heard the awfully random voice that sounded like it was coming from a cellphone speaker. His head turned toward the sound, its volume increasing with each step he took. “It sounds like a radio,” he said, more to himself than his reluctant partner. “It’s from those bushes,” he pointed out, chinning toward the direction as he drew in closer.

Eames pushed aside the rather large leaves out of the way, trying to find the source of the static. “Here we are,” he retorted as he grabbed the two small devices at the bottom of the bushes. …Well, that was new. He’d never seen any netbook that fruity before, but perhaps it was the only means of communication he could get for now. Maybe Cobb had found himself one as well, and then he could finally ask someone useful about their whereabouts.

He handed Arthur the spare one and then opened up his own, surprised that the device had not already been registered.

[specificities]

"Of course I checked my totem," Arthur snapped stiffly, following Eames as the other approached the bushes. A radio would be more than useful, on the off-chance they ... were in Iceland, he would at least have contacts. Well, they were Cobb's contacts - but Arthur had been acquainted with them once. He took the device when it was handed off to him, frowning curiously at both the color and size. He flipped it open, finding the source of the voice - some sort of network post. He scanned it briefly - it seemed to suggest that there were others in the forest, just as they were. If there were others, then maybe there would be Dom - though really, he would settle even for Saito by this point.

Any other person that would help ground him in reality.

"Looks like some sort of private network," he commented. But who left notebooks in the middle of the forest? New prototypes were expensive in that itself - and if these were just laying about, that meant the person who had been holding them was subsequently missing. Or roughly separated from them. Arthur glanced at Eames pointedly, fingers flying over the keypad as he quickly registered an account, all whilst promptly turning on his heel and beginning to stride in the opposite direction, towards the vegetation that seemed less sparse that would - hypothetically - lead them out of the forest entirely. He rubbed at his face with the crook of his elbow. He would need baking soda, or at least oatmeal...

At least on this thing, he had a signal. "We need to get out of here. I'll see if I can contact Cobb through this - if he's around, then maybe he can access the same network."