hmm, this island is very suspicious.

[merrilychased]

Who: merrilychased, oneminutemaze, and shifts
What: A conference by the docks.
Where: ... By the docks.
When: day, following these threads
Warnings: none so far

Comments

[shifts]

[ Limbo can have just as many projections as the subconscious thusly permits - but the thing that separates Eames in this line of thinking is that he knows, for certain, that the job was completed. There is no viable reason for him to still be dreaming with the other two - and while he assured Ariadne in a backwards notion that he considered her quite real, it is still only a passing label, like real enough. The entire reason he let her into his flat at all was both to use her for the notes she provided and take her on for direct observance, much like what this meeting with Arthur is about - either it's worth the pursuit or can be written off otherwise.

All Eames cares about, for now, is to see why he can't forge for shit - the capability is there but the presence of it on his skin is not, and then to promptly wake up when he feels the urge, his curiousity of the landscape here too preoccupying for now to feel it just yet. He'll wake up when he's good and ready, anyway, it's how things have always been for him in dreams, though lucidity comes and goes, more rare without the device at all.

Having taken his proper time in leaving his housing - having a piss, cleaning up, filling a thermos with the rest of tea for himself, taking a jacket because he overall prefers to be toasty, he and Ariadne make their way to the docks to find Arthur, Eames altogether unimpressed. There are certain things he can do without in his dreams - Arthur, for starters, work for another point, but with this Arthur only remembering the events of the job he's bound to still be in a written mode, Ariadne's own reflections likely not to help the matter. Arthur can get straight neurotic when dealing with unknown parameters; there are some things Eames just prefers to not have to get in the way of.

Hands tucked deep into the recesses of his trouser pockets, thermos tucked between the crook of his arm and his side, they meander their way along the dock (Ariadne for her short legs, Eames for his natural gait) until they finally come across the familiar lanky form of one Mister Arthur. He is indeed dressed in enough layers that Eames figures its not altogether impossible to be from the second level - proper fit tie and vest, so on and so forth, like a uniform. He reaches up to adjust his sunglasses up the straight of his nose, gesturing with his chin toward him as he addresses Ariadne. ]

There's our Wonderboy, isn't it.

[oneminutemaze]

[ Unlike the two men, Ariadne was positively anxious to get going and get to the docks for this meeting. When she met with Eames, she hadn't been expecting Arthur to show up, and the locked message popping up in her PORTAL had made her nearly choke on a biscuit. After her conversations with both Eames and Arthur had finished, she had sat in the kitchen, tapping her fingers against the table in a nervous rhythm while Eames took his sweet time getting ready.

Finally, though, they were out and heading for the docks. Ariadne has her mask on, both in an effort to fit in with the other citizens and because she really does not want to get tortured anytime soon -- ever, if she can help it. Death may not wake them up here, but she has a feeling pain still works the same way, and they won't be able to help her if she's locked away in the Unnatural. It's not a comforting thought, but maybe it will keep them -- all of them -- from doing something stupid.

She hopes.

(Her brain helpfully supplies that she's the one has been killed and nearly killed by Mal numerous times, thanks to poking around where she doesn't belong, and she tells her brain to shut up and mind its own business.) ]

'Wonderboy', huh? That's a new one.

[ She's both curious about it and already amused. The grin on her face changes into a smile for Arthur as they continue, though. She would really like to believe that he's real -- dangerous, she knows, but she can't help it. He, like Eames, is something familiar. As much as she loves the thrill of discovery, it's good to have something to fall back on. ]

[merrilychased]

It is. [Ordinarily Arthur wouldn't have any problem snarking right back; of course, ordinarily, he wouldn't be anywhere near a scene like this, trapped in some maybe-Limbo with only two familiar faces who may or may not be projections themselves. Still, he's managed to tuck that thought away - or the worst of it, at the very least - by the time he reaches the others on the docks.]

What's the story here? [Best to cut straight to the matter, in this case.]

[shifts]

Haven't quite figured that out yet, [ Eames says with surprisingly practical honesty, a big roll of his shoulders accompanying the motion. ]

How about you first, then? A level could be anything; you understand my hesitance, I'm sure. Your lack of memory makes it at least a due question.

[oneminutemaze]

[ Ariadne is suddenly getting the feeling that she has to play referee. She's also getting the feeling that she really has no idea what she's dealing with right now, so instead of butting in, she takes a route she rarely uses -- she stands back (metaphorically, at least) and watches. There's a bit of a fidget with her sleeves, though. She would really like this to turn out well, please and thank you. ]

[merrilychased]

[Arthur would have a retort for that, as well, if he didn't have even the slightest doubt over it himself.]

I already told you. The last I saw of you, either of you, was before you went down another level. We were in the hotel Ariadne designed for the Fischer job.

[shifts]

Then it'd seem both you and Ariadne have come along with rather gaping holes in your memory. [ The frown on Eames' face isn't a light one, though it quickly dissolves itself. ]

Obviously enough, it's a dream - just with a good set of otherwordly mechanics that seem more like the subconscious decisions of someone driven by child-like fantasies. I've not yet figured out how we got here; apparently, it's impossible to leave- but people come and go all the time, so rumor is irrelevant.

[oneminutemaze]

Time paradox. [ It's almost under her breath, a throwback to a book she had read or a movie she had seen, but really... They know all about paradoxes, about how time can change in a dream. Is this so different? (Yes, but still.) ]

That includes people who are dead, and people who look like people we might know but aren't. Death here isn't like death in a dream -- you don't wake up, but you don't drop into Limbo, either. People are just brought back after a few days.

[ She's not going to suggest that it's possible that Mal could come here, join Tommy and the other dead people in this dream city. Cobb isn't here, so it doesn't matter. ]

[merrilychased]

Another dream. Right. And how the hell did we get here from Fischer's subconscious?

[Of course, his mind works quickly enough that he's already supplying his own answers, all possible but none pleasant. If Eames is right about supposed holes in their memory, then it could be that whatever Ariadne did after dropping into Limbo affected them all like this. Or they all could have been pulled into Limbo without yet realizing it. Or, maybe...

The thought that these two might only be projections hasn't entirely left him, and he's not sure that it ever will. But he needs to put it aside for now.

Either way, the only possibility he isn't going to accept is that of magic being responsible for this. That's just absurd.]

All right. [He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment.] These people that just...come and go - they have no idea how they get here even if they come back?

[shifts]

We didn't.

[ Obviously. There's no way- it seems much more natural to figure some sort of chemical reaction (perhaps in Yusuf's sedative, after all Ariadne and Arthur were the ones to go down the most often during the trial sessions while Eames did most of his grounding in Sydney, but Eames puts more faith in Yusuf's chemistry than that) affecting their memory than something supplementing Eames' own. ]

Depends whether or not you want to use the people here as reliable markings, all things considered. [ Being that they could very well just be models off their subconscious, their desires. ] But no, they've no inkling.

[oneminutemaze]

If it was something that happened in Fischer's subconscious, then I'd think the others would be here, too. But Eames has been here for a month, not to mention saying he's from afterward, and I was here for about a week before you showed up, Arthur. [ She has nothing to back that up other than gut instinct, but she believes it. Eames will probably frown at her for this, but she knows what Arthur must be thinking -- that Eames is crazy, being from after the last place and time Arthur recalls being. ]

Even if they're not real, they can be helpful. Well, some of them, at least.

[merrilychased]

[Of course. Of course. Arthur massages his forehead this time.]

Okay. If they are projections, then why are they helpful? Why haven't they tried to tear us apart by now? [Never mind the possibility that those supposed projections simply haven't realized what they are just yet - or much less that these could all be his own projections. No, never mind that.]

[shifts]

Why would they? [ Eames' eyebrows hike up curiously, if a little exasperated, though if Arthur is so convinced that he should be inhabiting Fischer's mind, it makes sense that he's on the defensive. ]

We gather intel from projections all the time, our presence here has yet to be a cause for violence. In fact, the only sorts of aggression that have initiated in this environment at all come from outside sources entirely, night terrors, so on and so forth.

[oneminutemaze]

They'll scold you if you don't wear your mask, that sort of thing, but as long as you follow their rules, they're fairly easy-going and polite.

[ She hasn't had any experience with the night terrors, so she adds nothing to that, and she isn't entirely sure she wants to try talking about other species that are capable of communication and/or magic with Arthur. Not when he's this defensive, this paranoid. ]

[merrilychased]

[Sorry, Eames, but no matter how plausible he might find it, he's still not ready to buy into the possibility that his memory is truly at fault here.]

Night terrors. [It's not a question, nor a statement of incredulity; he's done enough cursory investigation on the network to at least know of them.] If not us, then what did cause them to show up? The dreamer?

[shifts]

Projections consisting of terrors instead of idle people, the distinct details instead of just a feeling- it takes a certain state of mind. Which none of us, from what I'd thought, are prone for to begin with.

They weren't mine, in any case.