[That is something Arthur has noticed and maybe that out of everything confuses him the most - the niceness, a niceness which doesn't line up with the definitive motivation or reaction of projections in the dream at all which again points him back to the working theory (one of several) - they aren't projections. But what then, dreamers? Remotely? Or all hooked up in the same happy suspect basement? Who knows. It makes his already aching head pulse a bit more uncomfortably, like it's trying to push his skull into a new alignment.
White's words however elicit a half smile as if to say well to the bit about falling and then there's just a ginger nod of his head for the inquiry as he tucks his device away again. ]
Yeah. Shouldn't take long, [ he says and doesn't specify friend or driver or flatmate, but in fact all three are accurate in some sense - or past tense for the second maybe.
The pause is a cross between amused and something like resigned to the possibility as he adds, ] -unless he gets lost or something.
[ He's not sure if Yusuf's been in the Underground himself yet. ]
[Seeing as it's almost a break right here. Larry has no idea about the theory of this place being a dream. For some reason it really has not crossed his mind. His dreams are sometimes very real, but never in a way that they keep on rolling like this. It's too episodic. And the highs are too high. Happy dreams usually get to a ridiculous point before bursting. At least his do. Everyone is different.
In his head gunshot wounds make it all pretty fucking real.]
[Arthur shakes his head because no he doesn't mind, the most he's ever thought of objecting being kept to anywhere he might live (you can't get the smell out, and while he wouldn't mind about say, a couch, the suits are another matter.) This being none of that, he doesn't have the place to mind, much less a reason to, but he also declines the offer - polite though it is. ]
No - but thanks.
[ Maybe another day, but the scratched, dry threat of his throat already tells him better not and the swimming of his head throws in a second.
But White, Arthur remembers telling Eames, he liked. Likes rather. He tries to imagine him in the dreamshare and fails miserably though - perhaps because of his imagination (sub-par, he's been told, and he knows it's because he likes his rules, his practicalities, even in a dream and is sometimes so stuck on them that he fails to see - the saying goes - the forest for the trees) or perhaps because White is just so...
...well Arthur isn't sure of the word. Grounded? Not quite what he's looking for. Earthy? Further off. He gives up trying, to figure for the moment, finishing his water with some surprise, not realizing he'd gotten that far on it.
Presumably by now White has lit up, and Arthur eyes the cigarette thoughtfully. Eames used to smoke - especially after a fight when they were at the base - or after a meal at the Cobbs', while working on a job in Paris. He doesn't so much now, Arthur has noticed which makes it all the more problematic that it's still Eames he thinks of.
Glancing away, he absently flattens the bottle - habit, though they don't have a recycling bin anywhere remotely near this room. Free hand turning the device in his pocket idly, he ends up asking, ] Ever tried to get out?
[ Of this place, the City he means of course but doesn't think it needs clarifying. Some people have, he knows, but he also believes not all attempts are likely recorded, especially perhaps smaller ones. ]
[Chesterfields don't have a filter. It's an old line, older with all of the new types coming on in now with their filters and flavors. The old man's brand is said have a more rich flavor. It should for what it costs.
He doesn't get why Arthur is crushing his bottle. Funny how they are watching one another, out of habit or because that's how you keep company with people you hardly know. Maybe both.]
First change I could. Took a car [with Mr. Orange] and we circled around the whole place looking for a freeway entrance. Then one of those times that we thought we got home, tried on out. Looked like a goddamn horror movie.
[ He nods, takes mental note, resting his hands on his knees with the water bottle flattened and set to his side. This dream does cater to both the absurd and upsetting, from what he's seen and heard though a lot of it is the latter. Six months is a long time and yet in the scope of things maybe not enough. Arthur still doesn't feel he has a good grip on it all at least - not an absence he's fond of either.
If it didn't seem redundant, he'd shake his head but he thinks he's been doing more shaking and nodding than anything else lately so he just says,] No highways I guess? What did you see - on the border?
[There's a slight expression of oh in recognition regarding Los Angeles. Right. He remembers that one - like the City had gone on some kind of epic genre kick and not the kind of kick he'd have been hoping for anyway. Zombies, he's remembering, and then the network transmission of the equivalent to a city being annihilated - just a dream he'd kept saying to himself.]
So would I. Then zombies.
[Have put money on it, he means and laughs.
The laugh is still light, thin in an effort not to rasp, but it's genuine, dry and wry as ever at the absurdity of the situation which he knew to be par for the course in the City but seeing it at hand was different, is a bit different each time in fact - traveling City and zombies or whatever else got thrown at them.]
[Just a dream...that's what they say in the movies when they want you to lie to yourself or someone is lying to you.]
Oh ho. So you saw it too?
[The mini Romero impersonation. Larry himself puts his arms out and quirks his head to one side. A smoldering cigarette disrupts what would be a zombified slack jaw. Oh well. Enough to get a point across.]
Dumb shit. Worth seeing for yourself though instead of always wondering if that was the chance to go...
What there was to see, sure. [ Arthur musters up something like a laugh for the impression - because the point does get across and White is perhaps easy to laugh around, or something. Logic is a bit fuzzy right now of course, like everything else. The next words are sobering in a way, or Arthur's mind is just trained to go sharp at things implying exits, or both.
Rubbing the back of his neck again, he tests his weight when he stands, resting a hand on whatever's close - back of a chair, table, whichever - and deeming it likely he won't keel over again, lets go, stands still, slips a hand into a pocket thoughtlessly. ]
Stupid not to at least check. [ He agrees - because pretty much everything is worth seeing for yourself, dream or not but especially a dream - the chance to go, the chance to wake up.
Too much happens in a dream, reality gets waylaid. The hand at his neck moves round front to smooth down over his mouth and jaw before dropping to his side. ]
Not a lot of people seem to want to go back though - not as badly as I'd think is normal.
[ Not that he's seen at least. He's assimilated as much as the others on the surface of course so who's he to say, but it's a mild bait. White can throw his opinion in or not, Arthur won't press it much. ]
White's words however elicit a half smile as if to say well to the bit about falling and then there's just a ginger nod of his head for the inquiry as he tucks his device away again. ]
Yeah. Shouldn't take long, [ he says and doesn't specify friend or driver or flatmate, but in fact all three are accurate in some sense - or past tense for the second maybe.
The pause is a cross between amused and something like resigned to the possibility as he adds, ] -unless he gets lost or something.
[ He's not sure if Yusuf's been in the Underground himself yet. ]
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[Going or coming.]
Mind if I smoke?
[Seeing as it's almost a break right here. Larry has no idea about the theory of this place being a dream. For some reason it really has not crossed his mind. His dreams are sometimes very real, but never in a way that they keep on rolling like this. It's too episodic. And the highs are too high. Happy dreams usually get to a ridiculous point before bursting. At least his do. Everyone is different.
In his head gunshot wounds make it all pretty fucking real.]
You can have one if you want.
[As a courtesy.]
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No - but thanks.
[ Maybe another day, but the scratched, dry threat of his throat already tells him better not and the swimming of his head throws in a second.
But White, Arthur remembers telling Eames, he liked. Likes rather. He tries to imagine him in the dreamshare and fails miserably though - perhaps because of his imagination (sub-par, he's been told, and he knows it's because he likes his rules, his practicalities, even in a dream and is sometimes so stuck on them that he fails to see - the saying goes - the forest for the trees) or perhaps because White is just so...
...well Arthur isn't sure of the word. Grounded? Not quite what he's looking for. Earthy? Further off. He gives up trying, to figure for the moment, finishing his water with some surprise, not realizing he'd gotten that far on it.
Presumably by now White has lit up, and Arthur eyes the cigarette thoughtfully. Eames used to smoke - especially after a fight when they were at the base - or after a meal at the Cobbs', while working on a job in Paris. He doesn't so much now, Arthur has noticed which makes it all the more problematic that it's still Eames he thinks of.
Glancing away, he absently flattens the bottle - habit, though they don't have a recycling bin anywhere remotely near this room. Free hand turning the device in his pocket idly, he ends up asking, ] Ever tried to get out?
[ Of this place, the City he means of course but doesn't think it needs clarifying. Some people have, he knows, but he also believes not all attempts are likely recorded, especially perhaps smaller ones. ]
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He doesn't get why Arthur is crushing his bottle. Funny how they are watching one another, out of habit or because that's how you keep company with people you hardly know. Maybe both.]
First change I could. Took a car [with Mr. Orange] and we circled around the whole place looking for a freeway entrance. Then one of those times that we thought we got home, tried on out. Looked like a goddamn horror movie.
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If it didn't seem redundant, he'd shake his head but he thinks he's been doing more shaking and nodding than anything else lately so he just says,] No highways I guess? What did you see - on the border?
Anything?
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[Larry shrugs before licking his lips. He then takes another drag.]
I mean with the surf not far off, I figured there'd have to be a bridge then, some land mass. Not so much.
[As for the other time. Heh. He scratches behind his ear.]
The other time the City was going places or something? It looked like Los Angeles outside. I would have put money on it.
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So would I. Then zombies.
[Have put money on it, he means and laughs.
The laugh is still light, thin in an effort not to rasp, but it's genuine, dry and wry as ever at the absurdity of the situation which he knew to be par for the course in the City but seeing it at hand was different, is a bit different each time in fact - traveling City and zombies or whatever else got thrown at them.]
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Oh ho. So you saw it too?
[The mini Romero impersonation. Larry himself puts his arms out and quirks his head to one side. A smoldering cigarette disrupts what would be a zombified slack jaw. Oh well. Enough to get a point across.]
Dumb shit. Worth seeing for yourself though instead of always wondering if that was the chance to go...
[Exhale in a sigh up into the air.]
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Rubbing the back of his neck again, he tests his weight when he stands, resting a hand on whatever's close - back of a chair, table, whichever - and deeming it likely he won't keel over again, lets go, stands still, slips a hand into a pocket thoughtlessly. ]
Stupid not to at least check. [ He agrees - because pretty much everything is worth seeing for yourself, dream or not but especially a dream - the chance to go, the chance to wake up.
Too much happens in a dream, reality gets waylaid. The hand at his neck moves round front to smooth down over his mouth and jaw before dropping to his side. ]
Not a lot of people seem to want to go back though - not as badly as I'd think is normal.
[ Not that he's seen at least. He's assimilated as much as the others on the surface of course so who's he to say, but it's a mild bait. White can throw his opinion in or not, Arthur won't press it much. ]
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