That's because you've come in after midnight. Thinks have a tendency to die down, then. [ Eames rubs at the scruff on his jaw, glancing down at the pressed button, then up to the rows of numbers flashing as the carriage makes its way down to the ground floor. He digs out his device to find the manual he'd procured for Arthur concerning what the citizens had made of their City here, and the consequent curses and the like.

He hands it over for Yusuf to read. ]

There's this, if you'd like to have a look over, before we inundate you with information. There are- well, environmental shifts from anything I can tell, people to the weather, memory wipes, turning into animals or the opposite gender. There's no real sense to it, but all of the blame is put on what are referred to as Deities.

[ Eames promises he hasn't gone batshit, okay. ]

I'm not sure if it's the trajectory of a lack of lucidity or somehow related to the chemistry of it. [ Like a bad acid trip. ]