kore_logs | half remembered dream.

Entry tags:

anita blake

half remembered dream.

Who: Arthur, Eames, and YOU
When: Day 110
What: Arthur wakes from one dream to find himself in another (so he assumes).
Where: all around Kore
Warnings: none as of yet, but will update.

SITUATION 1: Locked to Eames

When Arthur opens his eyes, it takes all of two seconds before he thinks I'm dreaming and reaches for his pocket. Last thing he remembers was getting in a cab, giving the name to his hotel to the driver, and sitting back on the seat. It was a job well done, a chance to relax, because Cobb was stateside and things were okay and he was a mere few days away from getting the biggest paycheck of his life and laying low for a while. But when he opens them and sees some New England town - old, not lived in, something but it's all wrong and it's all quite shottily done. Poor architect choice he thinks, as he pulls out the dice and rolls it, waiting to see any dots other than the ones that come up. He rolls again, and again, and then a third time before pocketing the item and looking around him.

His totem's not working, which means either the point is somewhat respectable or he's not-

No. He's dreaming. Definitely dreaming. But in order to figure out this dream, he needs to figure out the point to it all. What they're trying to find. The watch-esque device is new, which is why he checks that first, looks through the names, then looks back through again.

Richard Smith.

He recognizes the name. It takes a few seconds to know why, but then the span of time it takes for him to pull up the device and send the message, before starting off into what he assumes to be town at a much faster, determined pace than before. He could be a projection, sure, or he could be a clue to what's going on and why Arthur's here at all.

meet me at the church

SITUATION 2: open to all

After meeting with Eames, Arthur finds himself on edge. Either just from the fact he doesn't know what's going on or where he is, the fact that there doesn't seem to be a way out (he's caught in a paradox, great), and the fact the entire town seems to lack any kind of technology from the last thirty years.

It shouldn't grate on him as much as it does, but it does. And as much as he'd love to stick around and continue to argue with Eames, it'll drive him to murder. It's a much better idea to just get out and walk around, learn the lay-out and become familiar with the design of it, just in case something happens. Just in case they're 'suddenly attacked' by these so called scientists. It's frustrating to the point that Arthur can feel the anger bubbling up in his chest, and he needs to move.

Which is why he's decided that walking around town, the beach, near but not close to the forest (not without extra rounds for his pistol, he's not stupid) and anywhere else. He's lost in thought for most of it, which is why he's a little more forgiving if he accidentally runs into anyone. But only slightly.

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There's nothing quite like a mysterious summons to get his interest piqued.

Eames thinks about ignoring it. The little town is full of annoying people and he doesn't really have the inclination to deal with any of them right now. But with everything that's happened recently - the earthquakes and the random bits of destruction - he's going a little stir crazy just staring at the cracked walls. So he makes sure his gun is strapped firmly under his shirt and out of the way and he begins making his way down towards the Church.

Of course he's going to scout the place out first, it's not like he forgets himself just because he can't get home.

Arthur wouldn't expect anything less of Eames - and is sure to check the surrounding area around the church before settling in against the outer wall, around the corner from the main road, with eyes in both directions. The unsettling feeling of being an outsider on the inside makes him on edge. After spending months on months learning and relearning very specific blue-prints and city-scapes, the unknown doesn't sit well with him.

He'll adapt, of course, but it's all still relatively new and it's about time he starts putting pieces together. Which is why he's following this lead - he tells himself. It's the first, and it's a good place to start. But even then, despite the roll of his dice and the weight of the cube in his hand, Arthur's fingers fidget at the item in his pocket, his eyes moving from down the road to around the corner.

At first he thinks he's hallucinating. There is no one who stands quite like Arthur, rigid and on edge - as though he's two steps away from decapitating anyone he comes across. Eames thinks projection before he can stop himself but nobody could dream up Arthur. He knows, it's instinctive, he feels the pull of it wrapped around his ribs.

So he whistles when he approaches, a Lady GaGa song that he once changed Arthur's ringtone to. It's showy and obnoxious but it's a sign. Eames sees him. Arthur can stop waiting for the other boot to drop.

At least when it comes to Eames.

Once he's reached the driveway to the church he stops, takes his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms across his chest, fingers tapping at his elbow.

"Do my eyes deceive me?"

Arthur knows someone's approaching, but his thoughts range from projection to enemy to Eames before he makes any indication that he's noticed at all. But he waits for Eames' footsteps to come closer enough that he could hear them before he turns around the corner of the building, his hands in the pocket of his suit jacket.

The song. He recognizes it, places it, and frowns. Curious, for a projection, which leads Arthur to think the opposite but he'll wait before he decides. Distantly he thinks about another layer to the dream but they walked out of the plane. Unlikely, but possible.

And seeing Eames doesn't do much to sway his thinking. Much. Yet.

Artur's eyes move to the road behind Eames, and then over his own shoulder, just as a check before he gives the forger a fairly unimpressed look. "I thought that was your specialty."

It's easy to let his gaze drift over Arthur, to drink him in like he's dying of thirst. To say he'd missed him would be a lie but there's something to be said about having someone familiar staring back. Or glaring back, as the case may be. He grins, a toothy smirk that lights up his face, thinks of how they've always been like this.

Two lions circling each other.

"Not here, love. I haven't got all that many tricks up my sleeve."

Arthur's not the only one with an interest in investigating. Anita's been here nearly two weeks at this point, but there are still bits and pieces of the town and the surrounding area that have been left unexplored. At the moment, her interest primarily lies with whatever's out there in the forest -- she'd been told about the animals lurking out there, none of them monsters but certainly rare enough that none of them existed in any place any of the residents had ever been. Either they had become extinct ages past, or they never turned up in those worlds to begin with.

Worlds. Still such a strange concept to her, though she guesses she's heard stranger.

She doesn't expect to find anyone else so near the forest's edge, as most of the residents seem to avoid it unless they're about to go hunting, but she manages to move aside just in time to avoid being bumped into by someone she doesn't recognize, having been standing with her gaze fixed on the trees and whatever lay beyond, trying to get some kind of a sense of what kind of power might be lurking out there, if any.

"Hey. Might wanna watch your step, pal." There's nothing hostile about her tone, but she raises an eyebrow at him all the same. "You okay?"

The grin relaxes Arthur more than he'd care to admit. It familiar and it's Eames, but it could also be anyone who knows anything about Eames, and that keeps Arthur on his guard. He's not convinced, not yet.

"Why not?"

The lines in his forehead darken at the comment, because this...isn't making sense. Not that he expects it to make any out-right sense. If they're dreaming (if anyone is dreaming) it will end up being a long list of clues and hints of what to follow. But that doesn't mean he has to be all that happy about it.

"Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"

He thinks about offering to take Arthur back to his house, to talk with him there instead of out in the open. But he remembers how panicked he'd been when he first arrived, how he'd assumed everyone was a threat. If anything, he doesn't want to have his throat bruised because he moves too fast.

"When did you get here?"

It's a good assumption on Eames' part. Arthur had picked somewhere relatively public for a reason, and until he knew of another reason as to why he should, he didn't trust Eames. Not yet.

"Hour ago, tops." It's closer to forty five minutes, and Arthur is aware of this fact, but he's testing to see if Eames comments on the downtime Arthur would have spent before messaging him. "Why?"

"And it took you that long to find me? Shame on you, Arthur."

He watches him and he assesses, something calculated in his expression. "Have you heard the message the powers that be left you? They did for us all. I imagine you have some concerns."

He doesn't offer to alleviate them because something else occurs to him - "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I had other things to worry about."

The mention of the message makes him tense. Is this a projection guiding him through what he's supposed to do? "Just a few." He heard it, that's for sure. Welcome to Cape Kore. He waits for Eames to explain himself. Explain these concerns he assumes Arthur has, but then he's asking another question.

And that's where Arthur frowns.

"Walking out of LA International. I hailed a cab, told the cabbie the address to my hotel, and closed the door. He started to drive off and I sat back in the seat and-" Arthur slides his hands out of his pockets, motioning to the area around them. It's overly detailed, but Arthur knows where he was before this. He knows that much, but how he got here?

Thus the dreaming.

He doesn't really see her, which causes his own issues with her perception of things around him and just how out of it he is. His talk with Eames had just made him more wary and on edge rather than calming him down. And while his walk was supposed to help with that, Arthur just found himself falling further and further into his own head.

So maybe it was a good idea he ran into this poor girl. There's no telling where he'd end up.

"Sorry-" There's nothing all that friendly about his tone, but it's not hostile either. He does stop, though, as if he's thinking about her question. "Honestly?" His eyes move from her, to the forest, then back again. "Not really sure."

She can't help but sympathize, really. His face is a new one -- someone she doesn't recognize, and that's saying something. While she's not particularly talkative over the network, she observes, and she's been out and around town enough to get a feel for the other residents.

"New arrival?" she asks with a raised eyebrow, dropping a hand to her hip. "You've got that sleepy kind of just-woke-up thing going on. Look like you could use a drink."

It's the details that make him smile. It's typically Arthur and it makes his own shoulders drop, just a fraction. He's still concerned, on edge. How can he not be? It's not like he can just automatically believe in a place like this even when he's been veering towards it for some time.

With Arthur here it throws his earlier concerns into sharp relief.

"As appealing as knowing we pull the whole thing off would be, I have just one concern. You're not planning on shooting yourself, are you? Because the clean up would be atrocious."

It had been his first thought, before he rationalized Limbo to himself, before the thought of ending up like Mal had steadied his grip.

Arthur notices the dropped shoulders in some way. Maybe not the shoulders specifically, but there's a sense of something in Eames' stance. A kind of accepted ease. What is going on?

"We did." That's not the concern. The concern is why Eames is just standing there, why he isn't explaining, and when he asks about the kick Arthur's fingers twitch only slightly.

He's thought about it. Of course he has. The handgun is still strapped to his calve, after all. He just wanted to check on a few leads first, figure out who was trying to do what and why. Catch them in their own trap, because this should be his mind populating. Why Eames would be here is another question entirely.

"You already know the answer to that question."

Something in his spine tenses when she guesses correctly right off the bat. There's a moment there when he has to catalog everything he'd been doing - how he was standing, walking, what his face was doing - before he realizes just how lost in thought he'd really been.

Was there a reason to lie? None that he could think of, and he gave her a small, tired, smile. "Drink, definitely. Though I'm starting to think you don't need to be a new arrival to need one of those around here."

"If I had any taste for alcohol, I'd probably have claimed myself a permanent seat at the bar by now, yeah." There was no denying that. This place was too small, too cramped, too empty and too ominous all at once. It gave her the creeps, made her uncomfortable and made her feel caged. She hated that part more than anything.

The smile she offers him is small, vague, but sympathetic nonetheless. "Tends to drive people to drink, I'm pretty sure. I haven't been here all that long myself, but long enough." Long enough to know that she hates it, that even St. Louis and all its monster politics was preferable.

"There's too many unanswered questions for you to put a bullet through your head, love."

He looks away, up the street, his hands in his pockets and his thumb sliding across the surface of his totem. "And I'd really rather you didn't."

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half remembered dream.

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i am so sorry it took me so long to get back to you. :C

oh honey no apologies needed I'm always here <3

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