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It's funny how reality can often be the most tricky of all.
Eames has been in a strange hotel not borne of anyone's subconscious for three days, but no matter what door he tries to exit, it consistently brings him back to the starting point in the hotel lobby. Eames would find that perfectly normal, given his predilection for diving into people's dreams and stealing their secrets from them, but his totem tells him that this is reality and no amount of effort has given him the ability to forge.
He's actually managed to find a version of reality that makes less sense than the dreamworld.
Or maybe, maybe he never left the inception job and he's in limbo. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. If that's the case, then he's about to do himself in even worse by hooking himself up to the PASIV to go deeper into his own mind. If this really is reality, then maybe there's something he's missed. If that's true, then his subconscious could very well be the answer, if only the projections don't cotton on to the fact that he's controlling the dreamscape.
He's set up shop in one of the guest rooms, stripping off his suit jacket efficiently and draping it over the back of a chair as he lies back on the bed and fiddles with the insertion needle. Once upon a time, he'd feared going to the doctor's office and receiving his shots.
Now, look at him.
It's a living.
The count drifts away and before he knows it, Eames awakes and finds himself in much the same hotel as before with pointed differences. It's almost as though this hotel has merged with the second level of the Fischer job. Carefully, Eames sits up and listens carefully for sounds as he checks his totem (and yes, this dream, he is, in fact, dreaming). "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he coaxes, of whatever's lurking in the shadows.
Eames has been in a strange hotel not borne of anyone's subconscious for three days, but no matter what door he tries to exit, it consistently brings him back to the starting point in the hotel lobby. Eames would find that perfectly normal, given his predilection for diving into people's dreams and stealing their secrets from them, but his totem tells him that this is reality and no amount of effort has given him the ability to forge.
He's actually managed to find a version of reality that makes less sense than the dreamworld.
Or maybe, maybe he never left the inception job and he's in limbo. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. If that's the case, then he's about to do himself in even worse by hooking himself up to the PASIV to go deeper into his own mind. If this really is reality, then maybe there's something he's missed. If that's true, then his subconscious could very well be the answer, if only the projections don't cotton on to the fact that he's controlling the dreamscape.
He's set up shop in one of the guest rooms, stripping off his suit jacket efficiently and draping it over the back of a chair as he lies back on the bed and fiddles with the insertion needle. Once upon a time, he'd feared going to the doctor's office and receiving his shots.
Now, look at him.
It's a living.
The count drifts away and before he knows it, Eames awakes and finds himself in much the same hotel as before with pointed differences. It's almost as though this hotel has merged with the second level of the Fischer job. Carefully, Eames sits up and listens carefully for sounds as he checks his totem (and yes, this dream, he is, in fact, dreaming). "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he coaxes, of whatever's lurking in the shadows.
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Opening the door yields a surprise, both in the form of the PASIV and in the man hooked up to it. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised; if anyone's going to make a show of taking risks, it'll be Eames. It goes without saying that going under alone always presents a risk, one only needs to look at Cobb for evidence.
But knowing the risks is never a good balm for insatiable curiosity and Arthur enters the room and pulls out a second needle and tube.
Curiosity may have killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back.
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Usually, Arthur stands faceless in his dreams. He's a projection that represents the other half of his brain. Sometimes, Arthur exists for nothing but to act as the devil's advocate. Sometimes, he's an ally. For a predictable man in reality, his projection is terrifyingly an unknown.
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"I suppose it was only a matter of time until you came here as well."
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Fully assured, he lets the die fall back into his pocket and then rotates fully to face Eames. "That I have been, apparently, trapped in a strange hotel for several weeks now and it is, in fact, quite real. And then, one day, I open a new door and there you are."
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"Everything always does seem to roll to your plan."
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"I walk out a door, now and then, and end up in LA. Or in Chicago." He doesn't bother saying that he means his apartment. It seems likely enough that Eames has made it his business to know everything about their residences. He's not a point man, but a clever forger needs the details.
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And it drives him near-crazy thinking that.
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Outwardly, he shrugs. "You know how much I hate 'out of control.'"
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"You were the one who went under first. I merely followed to investigate."
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A careful eye, likes Eames', may note the razor thin smile that comes with Arthur's sarcasm.
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Arthur gestures toward the stairs. "After you, Mr. Eames."
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With a touch of concentration, Eames shifts himself, rolling his shoulders as he eases into the forgery of Arthur in the very same clothing that he's wearing, currently. "Come on," he encourages, flattening his vowels and affecting Arthur's accent as he presents a perfect mirror image. "Haven't you ever fantasized about vanquishing yourself in a dream?"
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All the same, he steps up next to Eames and stands at his side. Bracing an arm on the other man's chest, not looking at the borrowed face, Arthur lets himself fall backward and takes Eames with him.
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Interesting to note. Eames is a consummate observer of people, their patterns, and their behaviours and he notes this in the back of his mind to keep for a later date. That is, if he'll remember it. He's awoken with a shock, blinking groggily as he places himself at the odd Nexus Hotel once more.
He pries the IV from his arm and closes his eyes tightly before rubbing his jaw, as if coming back to his own skin takes a moment to readjust. "And here we are, back in the reality that makes no sense."
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"Here we are again." In Hell.
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"And then I turn a corner and here I am."
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But that doesn't really mean all that much in the dream world. Pretending an idle action, Arthur checks his totem again. The results are no surprise.
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But money is equally useful, as is work. Maybe it's what he needs, the chance to throw himself into something and forget the rest of the particulars.
"Ten to fifteen percent of what total?"
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"Particulars?"
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"The blonde again?"
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He doesn't even bother answering to the barb about his tastes.
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