windandstorm | (no subject)

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[Eames happens to be in a library at the moment (or what appears to be one, in any case), and is walking along the outside line of the shelves, grinning.]

This isn't half bad, really. I could offer a few suggestions, of course, but just the lack of projections means it's cosier than most dreams I've visited.

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... There are so many things I could say to that. I'm not sure where to start.

[Arthur is in a leather chair against the wall, sleeves rolled up, relaxed... like he's been sitting there a while, anyway.]

It gets weirder.

Hello, and what do we have here? [He wants to say "who", but that's just asking for it. But really, looks like an Arthur (almost), sounds like an Arthur (almost), but he's hitting all sorts of not-Arthur alerts.]

[ He just smiles at that reaction, to hide the momentary confusion. ] Why don't you tell me?

[You will not out-chill Eames, sir. Not at the moment, anyway. He's in his chill stride. (He's even stopped pacing. Just ignore the fact that he's now drumming his fingers against his arm. In a chill sort of fashion.)]

Does it, then?

I'm afraid I can't, which happens to be why I asked. I don't suppose you're trying to pull some kind of prank? [His tone says he's joking, and that he knows just how unlikely it is, but he's perfectly willing to offer it anyway. It would be slightly less outlandish than the existence of a point man doppelgänger, and there aren't too many other options.]

[He nods, standing.]

I was wondering if someone else would show up.

That would depend on the kind of prank you think I might be pulling.

Someone else? Just how long have you been here that you're thinking of it that way? [Of course Arthur's ruining Eames' glee over his new environment. He would say as much, but getting more information takes priority.]

One that involves more forging than I'd expect you— [and, in that moment, he decides; continuing with more surety and a returning grin] excuse me, him, capable of. I'm Eames, and you are?

Three months and twenty-two days.

[At least he doesn't sound upset about it. He grabs one of the books and starts flipping through it idly - he's been talking to people, not messing with things. Not really, anyway. May as well do it now, right?]

[ That's where he begins to catch on, just a bit. ] Zachary. You thought I was someone else, right?

Specificity. [More a self-directed 'of course' than anything. He shakes his head and steps forward — he'd like to know what's in the book, but he won't encroach that much on Arthur's personal space.]

And in that time, you've encountered strangeness?

Arthur. He could almost be your twin, if you suddenly developed a fetish for hair product.

[When Arthur finishes flipping through the book, he closes it. Noticing Eames interest in it though, he holds it out for him to take if he really wants - hardback, old, pages already browning... green binding with no title on the front, just some golden patterns and tracings on the spine.]

Mostly people. [Pause] And the scenery changes.

Oh, yeah. I've met him. Nice to have it confirmed, though.

[He can hardly reject Arthur's kindness, now can he? He takes the book and pages through. Of course, now that he has it, it isn't nearly as interesting as keeping his attention on Arthur.]

Like a dream. What sorts of people?

Yeah. But it isn't.

[He doesn't answer the question yet, just watches Eames, waiting to see how he'll react to that little bit of news.]

Have you? [To have been a fly on the wall for that meeting.] I imagine that was an experience.

It wasn't so bad. I just thought we had eerily similar voices for a while. Then it was awesome.

Edited 2010-11-20 07:30 (UTC)

[Eames laughs. If he'd any further doubts about this being some kind of trick, they're now fully silenced.]

"Awesome", eh? I suppose that's a better reaction than absolute confusion.

[Before responding, he turns the book over and shakes it, almost disappointed when nothing comes out.]

You know how you got here, then? [It's asked idly, even if it's anything but. It also begs the question of why hasn't he left yet, but one thing at a time.]

I was leaving the hotel in Paris, but the door out led here instead of the street.

[And, of course, he's dead serious when he says it. His hands are in his pockets, and it's probably pretty obvious that his right hand is toying with the die.]

[ He shrugs, shifting himself slightly away from Eames to find the wall or a chair or something. ] Why be confused when you can be excited? I mean, confused without excited.

Better than me, then. Although I suppose if one of us isn't dreaming, neither is the other.

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