[ With the door shut, Arthur sets the dog down, absently smoothing his palms down the lines of his waistcoat, frowning a little as Pancake noses around Yusuf's feet before deciding to start running into Eames' shins instead. At the mention of tea however he looks up again. ]

Kettle's already on. [ If neither of them wants it, that's fine, but Arthur already has a pot of coffee going for himself. He heads to the kitchen in any case, tossing his next words over his shoulder. ] There's coffee too. [ As if either of them prefer it - but fair to put the offer there and none of the explanations they have are going to necessarily be short.

Remembering how he couldn't believe it himself, Arthur is perhaps prepared for more skepticism than strictly likely from the chemist, but it's hard to say with someone who's not usually one for going into the field in the first place. Asking what Eames has already covered is redundant; he figures he'll find out soon just by the questions Yusuf still has worth asking. ]

[ The dog is a flurry of movement by Eames' feet, either begging for attention or attempting to bowl him over with nothing more than its furious headbutting against his shins. Yusuf has never been an animal person, the cats had originally been an inexpensive solution to an occasional mouse problem- and now they were permanent residents. He has honestly forgotten what it's like to not wake up to a feline kneading his shins through the light sheets-- an alarm he never needs to set because when the cats are hungry, Yusuf knows. The little dog, Pancake, is... considerably more forceful in his affections.

If Yusuf finds it strange that they're living together, he doesn't say anything. If he finds it odd that the two seem in the habit of drinking caffeinated beverages well past midnight, he's good about keeping that to himself. And if he happens to notice that Arthur is the one to put the kettle on, as if he knows how Eames likes to come home, well, those observations are for another conversation.

Right now, Yusuf has enough questions to warrant the tea, and finds the idea more than appealing. ] If you have milk, I could go for a cuppa.

[ Eames more or less parries Pancake around like a fur-covered soccer ball, a few steps of fancy footwork reversing the herding so he doesn't trip over him entirely on his way to the kitchen. He's never been much of a cat nor dog nor bird person, but that Yusuf kept having mice issues and if Eames kept finding adorable baby kittens in boxes in shade quickly fading away while perusing the streets of Mombasa, well, he'd tell anyone he's just an opportunist but he thinks Yusuf knows otherwise (probably better.) ]

A cuppa it is, then.

[ Usually he would snipe that Yusuf could very well make his own tea, too picky for his own good no matter Eames' efforts (though they're more lazy ones than anything else). Still, he does figure the least he could do is prepare the man's tea in, well, preparation for everything else. He sets about steeping leaves, placing the mesh on top of two mugs and adding hot water as needed, letting it soak for now. ]

[ Arthur leaves it all to Eames for the moment, drawing his own already-poured cup of coffee to his mouth and leaning back against one corner of the counter. Pancake has taken to scuttling about the floor, his paws never quite gaining traction they require because his movement is so haphazard. Still not sure where to begin, he waits a few moments before saying anything else at all, his glance returning to Yusuf and wondering precisely what the last thing he remembers happens to be. ]

I assume you still have questions.

[ It's no less than saying Shoot. ]

Thank you. [ Yusuf wouldn't be able to make his own tea considering this is the first time he's seen Arthur's (Eames'? Their?) kitchen. He has no idea where the cups and spoons are, let alone the less intuitive accouterments to brewing tea!

The face he makes is animated, to say the least. Yusuf is the least of Pancakes worries, it would seem, but the chemist still keeps his gaze oriented more towards the floor whenever the scrabbling noises get closer to him. He supposes the only place to start is from the beginning. Fishing his device from the pocket of his trousers, Yusuf's hand encounters two-- his own, and Eames'. Taking a moment to compare them, Yusuf puts the one with the half-scrolled through manual on the counter for Eames to pick up at his leisure. Holding his device up, Yusuf waggles it a bit. ]

I suppose first things first. What are these? Why do I have one? How do I use it and what do I need to know to utilize it? [ They'll get into dream semantics and whether the two of them think this is a dream or... well. Yes. They'll get to that later. For now, Yusuf just wants to make sure he can avoid the mass call he'd made earlier this evening. ]

That is your device. Everyone ends up with one upon their arrival here. It works like a smartphone, really - you can send private messages, make posts on the network, call specific people, take video, photos, et cetera.

[ Eames waves a hand, briefly, before turning back to the mugs, checking the darkness of the tea. Satisfied, he adds half of the cup's volume in milk to Yusuf's (he could swear Yusuf and Arthur are born of the same ilk who put too much of anything into something they should just let be), a smaller dash to his own. Yusuf's cup gets passed off to him before he begins searching for the honey for himself. ]

It has the uncanny ability to turn itself on, on accident, however, so if the LED light turns on when you'd rather it not- well, should cut it out right away.

[ Eames having covered both the cuppa and the device's rundown, Arthur sips his coffee almost leisurely. Yusuf's arrival could mean any number of things, too many of which Arthur can think up on the spot so he shoves that questionable productivity behind a door for the moment, the fingertips of his free hand pressing in absent patterned movement on the counter top. ]

And, ninety percent of the time, you can't get rid of anything it does capture, so don't waste your time trying if it doesn't work on the first shot.

[ As Yusuf inspects the milk to tea ratio (Eames' accuracy isn't in question here, the precision however...) he turns the handle of the cup to align with his right hand for easier access. Its a valiant attempt on Eames' part and honestly, few others know Yusuf's tea preferences so he just nods his thanks. ]

I cannot imagine I would have it around while delineating my nefarious plots, but I will keep that in mind. [ Aimed more toward Arthur than Eames, Yusuf asks the inevitable question. ] Although, I have to wonder why you continue with this... device, if it is so troublesome. What attempts have you made to eject yourselves from the dream?

[ Eames' answer is welcomed of course, but of the three of them, Eames is obviously the more adaptable and Arthur is more likely to have answers. He has known Eames long enough to know that a lot of the forger's ideas and interpretations are based on conjectures, nebulous gut feelings that result in a lot of hand waving and dismissal when inquired after-- things that Yusuf can't work with right now. Yusuf needs the facts, and then he can start in on the outliers. ]

It's beneficial as far as gathering intel, [ Eames offers up, but pipes down as the subject matter comes back to where it needs to be. Pointedly, he glances at Arthur, before adding a few dollops of honey to his tea, stirring quietly. ]

[ The lax in his posture is mostly a buffer zone for his words, Arthur's cup of coffee settling with a thin ceramic clank on the counter top. ] Dying doesn't work. Shot myself, but I came to twenty-four hours later - still here. The only record we have of people leaving are network posts. Sometimes they say goodbye. A guy here said he could feel something change before he left last time and there's a chance whatever'd normally register to us as the kick might've been that. Considering he left, it makes sense but that doesn't explain why he's here again. And that's all assuming he's not a projection, which a lot of the population here seems too complex for. [ He pauses, bringing his coffee to his mouth to finish before moving to the pot again and pouring another, his back to both other men while Pancake careens across the smooth floor before doubling back and chasing something invisible out of the kitchen again. ] No one else we've met seems to think it's a dream. They call it 'a world between worlds'. [ If it was up for any argument, the snort Arthur's words carry with them says as much about how he feels on that theory: ridiculous. ]

Projections have never been terribly self aware. [ Yusuf sips his tea, not as if he has to considering it's lukewarm at best, but does to so savor the taste. ] Though, admittedly, my experience is limited.

[ If Arthur tried to shoot himself out of the dream and it didn't work, they have a bigger problem than he'd originally anticipated. He looks between the two of them. No one would describe Yusuf as an intentionally mean man, he just views things differently. The following question isn't going to be the most polite, but he needs to know-- so he asks, hoping they're far enough removed from the incident to be able to talk to him about it. ] Nothing happened in the period between the shot and the revival? You do not remember waking up in a different level or, anything other than this?

[ He doesn't comment on the projections' awareness again just yet, saving that in light of the next questions. ]

No. I mean, not as far as I can tell. I woke up in the same place, and I didn't have a hole in my head or anything but I didn't... [ He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose with the fingers of one hand, curling the other around his coffee cup like a reflex. ] ...I didn't have a pulse, no breathing was actually happening, nothing. [ Which doesn't explain why he's got all of that now but he waits for Yusuf's preferred next line of inquiry - whatever it is, turning so that he's facing both of them again, forgetting his coffee behind him on the counter as he folds his arms. ]

[ It doesn't take a clinician to see that Arthur's chest rises and falls with the normal rhythm of respiration, possibly more pronounced now that he's brought attention to it. It feels a bit like everyone in the room is aware of it-- save, of course, the corgi that trots back into the kitchen, happy and panting from its one-dog relay. Pancake stands by Arthur's feet-- which isn't far from sitting by Arthur's feet, save that the thought, perhaps, hasn't occurred just yet-- as if used to being near. ]

You were fine otherwise? With the exception of missing necessary bodily functions, you were functional- able to retain memories, count, spell, maintain balance, etcetera?

[ Eames takes a sip of his tea, countertop digging into his lower back as he leans back against it, patting his thigh to catch Pancake's attention. When the Corgi waddles over, he crouches down, rubbing the puppy behind his left ear. ] That was the easy part, sans the lack of heart beat.

You ought to tell him of the trade, [ he pipes up, too, on account of memories - the dead part hadn't been the issue at hand, he thinks, when faced with a mechanism that can completely block off a part of your memory system. ]

[ Leaning against the counter still, Arthur watches the corgi mildly, a half successful effort not to tense as much as he can't help doing at the point of the trade. He drags his gaze back to the chemist. Whereas he would argue with Eames that it wasn't easy, that he has no idea what it felt like, that if it had just been a lack of a pulse he could have 'lived' with that, he doesn't do anything of the sort in front of Yusuf, just pulling his coffee from behind him, drinking some before saying anything. ]

To be alive again, I traded my sight for thirty-two days and memories - childhood, specifically.

[ To say they weren't important is irrelevant, he thinks, though he can more or less guess the feelings on it. Still, if nothing else, it's one more thing they've tried, tested as to the limits or extent of this place's power. He scowls, thinking he'd like a word a little less supernatural than that. ]

[ The skeptical look the two men receive from the chemist right now should speak for itself, but just in case, Yusuf takes a pointed sip from his tea. ]

It would seem your answer is right there. Who did you trade these things to? There must have been a process, [ Yusuf waves his unoccupied hand. ] And whomever is in charge of the process is the link to the main subconscious. Grief often passes through a system of bargaining; the trade would make sense, assuming the subconscious was aware of a death within the system.

[ Though... how could one subconscious block out the memories of another consciousness? Doubt only colors his last few words, and he sips from his teacup to forget it was there at all. ]

It's not as though I haven't thought of it as such, Yusuf, [ Eames points out, flat - the Deities present themselves as wholly unavailable, even if the method of striking at the stability of the dream seems to lie in them, other alternatives weeded out with every day that passes. The way they came to be here, too, is a matter of concern - but there's little they can suss out while still under, that being something they need to handle when they come back to themselves. ]

But being able to reach through the immersion of a mixed pool of multiple subconscious to directly toy with memory? [ It's a frightening amount of control for any one - or more - people to have, and it requires a certain amount of subtlety. ]

They spoke to me but we never met face to face. One minute I was 'dead' and the next I wasn't. Like a switch.

[ He sets his coffee down again, not certain what branch is best to stalk out on at the moment, where they should be focusing now with a reliable chemist in their midst and - hopefully, based on the track record, not just for a day. ]

But even if we assume the Deities do represent the so-called 'main' subconscious, how're we supposed to deduce whether it's one-for-one, or if each of them is just...a facet of one mind?

[ The long and short of it, the rules don't work the way they are familiar with and for all they know they can't even be applied. It's a shot in the dark whatever their approach, which is irritating to even think about - the weak-point of the environment they're in ever elusive. ]

[ Eames has a valid point. The two of them have been playing the dream scene for long enough to know what seems natural and what seems fabricated. Neither Arthur nor Eames would be fooled by a simple subconscious- but perhaps that isn't what they're dealing with here. A single person couldn't stay down this long without implementing multiple levels. Even then, to assume that someone would be able to keep a city's worth of people (where would one store the bodies?) sedated and micromanaged? It is much too extravagant a system to assume it isn't being controlled by multiple people.

Brushing his thumb over the ceramic of his cup, Yusuf's eyes track across the tabletop aimlessly. Theories, insofar as anything as illegal and scarcely documented as dreamshare can have such, say that a mind is capable of maintaining a dreamscape because the dreamer is only focused on the part of the dream where he or she is. A person can create infinitely, but their experience in the dream is limited. One cannot be omnipotent and singularly present at the same time- hence why any Joe with a PASIV can't hook up and play God in a person's head for a little while. It requires too great a mastery over the mind. But some people think this is the result of having a set understanding of consciousness- a practiced implementation of limitations on oneself and the constructs of one's reality. If one is flexible enough, has the ability to see around such strict parameters of "real" and "impossible" than, some believe, it might be possible to work with the dream. If forgers can change their bodies, why can't a person learn to affect the psyches they perceive as their own? Yusuf has heard of theories... ]

It would be quite a talent, that much is certain... [ Yusuf grants after a moment, glancing toward Eames; pointedly not refuting the possibility. To Arthur however, he gives a small shake of his head, his shoulder rising in a brief shrug. ] Of that, I am afraid I am not certain.