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[diastereomer]

Wh-

[ Rustling can be heard over the network, like someone rolling around in their sheets despite it being nearly two in the afternoon. After a moment, the sound of an object (Yusuf's alarm clock, as it were) can be heard being picked up and put back down. His curtain is wide open, and yet the sun that usually wakes him up is not out, The City is as darker than Mombasa on a moonless night- at lest they had the stars... ]

The clock must be off- or-

[ A glance at the clock again, where the date reads on the digital face Sat Oct 15. ]

Oh, yes. The weekend, yet again.

I suppose there could be worse occurrences than a curse that tempts one to sleep the day away...

[ Noticing that little light on his device is on- he knows he didn't touch the thing- he picks it up and contemplates apologizing for any naps that he may have interrupted. ]

If this device were a woman, I might actually be flattered.

Comments

[diastereomer.livejournal.com]

Ultimately, you will find, I am not complaining.

[ There is a tilted head at the sight of the fag, a brilliant white in the darkness of the room- as if acknowledging just how out of place it is in the fingers of the woman in front of him. Perhaps it "doesn't count" when it's in a dream, but of all the times Yusuf has seen those blunt fingertips roll the packed tobacco between them, he's never seen the other actually light up. Reaching out to touch the hand sparking the lighter's flint, Yusuf can't help the way worry bleeds into his voice as he reminds, ]

Eames, we are dreaming.

[signatures]

[ Eames pauses. ] No- I know that, Yusuf, I meant...

[ He rubs at his brow, and in a few blinks of the eye it's back to his natural split hairs of his eyebrow. Fag finally lit up, he takes a slow drag, cheeks hollowing. It's another exhale before he continues. ] I meant, it's not much of a proper dream, is it?

[diastereomer.livejournal.com]

At times it certainly has all the trappings of a 'proper dream', as you say. But there absence of light, [ Yusuf gestures out the window, wondering for a split second whether the perpetual night has affected Arthur's horrible sleep schedule at all. ] Or presence of whatever else, does seem worryingly orchestrated.

[signatures]

It's difficult to find explanations for all that's going on here. I've been here for apparent- [ He flicks the tip of his cigarette toward the window, letting whatever small amount of ash collected fall away. ] Seven months, is it, and I've gotten no closer.

I'd hoped it was a natural dream of sorts, at first. [ Though that'd quickly been struck out of the question. Not with Arthur as he is. ]

[diastereomer.livejournal.com]

When I think I have an explanation, however farfetched, it inevitably resolves into nothing more than circumstance.

You thought this a dream of your own making? [ Interested, Yusuf recalls Eames' particular reputation. Not just a forger but The Forger. Though he's sure the unspoken invitation has been there, to enter the other's mind when he's supine on a cot with the heat of Mombasa pressing spots of sweat onto his patterned shirts, he's never taken the invitation. Yusuf is not a dreamer, and he has always known his limits. ]

[signatures]

The natural sort, without all the mechanics, yes. I've never quite been a naturally lucid dreamer, you know, so the lack of control here, the lack of- well, anything, and my last memory being of my hotel room, it was a first thought.

[ He takes another long drag, shuffling around on the bed a bit to prop his back against the window sill where the bed is tucked against, legs draping across Yusuf's sheeted ones. ] What else was I to think, a place like this?