seeorseem | (no subject)

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.

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"I'm looking for a way out."

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?"

"Nothing ridiculously high," Eames warns, given that Saito's generosity doesn't come along all the time, but Eames doesn't work for the money. He has plenty of that. He works for the thrill, the experience, and the delight of it. "Eight hundred thousand."

"It's no pittance," Arthur says, considering it. More importantly, it's work. There's no reason to run away from it, even if he has more money than he'll ever spend in a lifetime.

"Particulars?"

"Politician, European Union," Eames explains, given that he does prefer to work closer to home base. "We're doing a general sweep for the wife who thinks that her husband might be involved with either something terribly shady within his government. Honestly, chances are it's an affair. I need research on the background in case of security measures, but also to build a honey trap."

"Nice to stretch my legs, I suppose." Honestly, it's a job he could accomplish with a little bit of research in the waking world but if someone wants to part with eight hundred thousand who is he to complain?

"The blonde again?"

He shakes his head, thinking that she's a bit too out of the man's reach. "No," he muses. "No, I think something more buttoned up. More of the librarian type, with a secret underneath all those tight buttons."

"Bit restrained for you, isn't it?" Just as Eames can't resist a few 'friendly' jabs, Arthur makes an exception to throw a few at his sometimes colleague.

"It's not for you, dear," Eames replies easily, smirking as he brushes off lint from his shoulders, adjusting his grey tweed suit jacket as he does. "I have to fit her to his tastes otherwise he won't believe it's his deepest fantasy. I do so love these jobs. Lie back, think of England, and wake up rich."

"You're perverse." It's not said with any particular venom, merely a repetition of the same old argument.

He doesn't even bother answering to the barb about his tastes.

Eames smiles as if that's a compliment. "Thank you," he replies pleasantly, smoothing one of the lapels of his jacket as he regards Arthur. "Well? Are you willing to throw your hat in the ring? Do some research?"

"I suppose I could dip my toes," Arthur says, his voice and posture all but a drawl. He does not desire the job, he merely deigns to take it.