The ability she had been born to was one that was built as much of instinctive action as active observation, the years having given her more flexibility in her shifts for her having fine-tuned the raw ability already at hand, rather than having grown in power in any way. Perhaps it might have felt like cheating to borrow a few hours of Eames' dream world and flex her proverbial muscles. Perhaps, but for the fact that it was a wholly new experience and not one she would have wanted to pass up for some strange idea of fair play (as if the underlying thread of competition was of anything but of a friendliness that was at once foreign and inviting).
Shapeshifting as she knew it was not simply a physical transformation, although that was always at its core. Her ability was one that required a solid concentration, one that could be accomplished only if she sunk mind as well as body into the new image of herself. It could very well have explained how readily she took to translating that ability into the dreamscape, her mind already used to the flexation required to reshape herself mentally to match the physicality she needed to live.
The very fact that someone not born to it had such control over his own transformations (his echoing her temporary Sophia Loren in little more than a second or two being proof of that) was enough to earn a modicum of extra respect, as far as she saw it. As familiar as she was with the idea of someone manipulating the mind of someone else, the translation into what little she knew of what Eames did felt...different. More invasive, less, she didn't know. Different, though, that much she was sure of.
"My talents," she repeated, turning over the prospect of giving over the truth of herself to another person in a world she used as a safe haven. The fact that she had agreed to the dreamscape at all was proof of having decided to trust Eames as far as that, further perhaps than he might understand to allow herself to be left insensate in the presence of someone who wasn't bound to the same cause she was, but still she needed a moment to consider. "Okay. Introduce me and I'll play nice, I promise."
Returning to the thought of projections, she lifted a hand to indicate her blue form, "Should I slip something else on for now, or will this do?"
no subject
Shapeshifting as she knew it was not simply a physical transformation, although that was always at its core. Her ability was one that required a solid concentration, one that could be accomplished only if she sunk mind as well as body into the new image of herself. It could very well have explained how readily she took to translating that ability into the dreamscape, her mind already used to the flexation required to reshape herself mentally to match the physicality she needed to live.
The very fact that someone not born to it had such control over his own transformations (his echoing her temporary Sophia Loren in little more than a second or two being proof of that) was enough to earn a modicum of extra respect, as far as she saw it. As familiar as she was with the idea of someone manipulating the mind of someone else, the translation into what little she knew of what Eames did felt...different. More invasive, less, she didn't know. Different, though, that much she was sure of.
"My talents," she repeated, turning over the prospect of giving over the truth of herself to another person in a world she used as a safe haven. The fact that she had agreed to the dreamscape at all was proof of having decided to trust Eames as far as that, further perhaps than he might understand to allow herself to be left insensate in the presence of someone who wasn't bound to the same cause she was, but still she needed a moment to consider. "Okay. Introduce me and I'll play nice, I promise."
Returning to the thought of projections, she lifted a hand to indicate her blue form, "Should I slip something else on for now, or will this do?"