agogelogs | [OPEN] i ain't a gambler

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[OPEN] i ain't a gambler

WHO? Arthur and [insert your character here]
WHAT? Shared dreaming, sans PASIV, because aliens.
WHEN? When the hotspots really start expanding and taking over hallways.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, trauma, suicidal imagery (ala Inception), angst.

i. physics can be imitated with a controlled explosion

[ It's a hallway of a hotel.

Somewhat upscale, plush carpeting, nicely labeled doors, polished elevator. There's silence and everything seems fairly normal except some things are floating. Down one section of the hallway, a housekeeping cart is unaffected by gravity, hovering in the air along with all of its accoutrements. The other section of the hall has a body, unconscious (or dead), suspended and creepily still. One door opens and Arthur pokes his head out, face alert, serious, exhausted.

If anyone looks in the room, there's more bodies, though they look less lifeless and more like they're asleep. ]

You're not supposed to be here.

[ Hope you're used to having a gun pointed in your face. If not, well, have fun. Arthur doesn't look happy to see you. ]

ii. you're waiting for a train

[ A cityscape is laid out before you, streets stretching and winding into the familiar beat of traffic patterns and neighborhoods. Cars are all along, parked curbside or sitting next to each other in their respective lanes as the lights change from red to green. It's not gridlock, but it's busy, just shy of rush hour. Rain comes down in sheets, pattering off of windshields, umbrellas, raincoats. Overfull gutters create a rushing background noise of water.

Above all the natural sounds of a city enduring inclement weather is gunfire and shouting, the screech of tires. Behind you is the distinct slap! of shoes hitting wet pavement at a rapid clip. ]

Get down!

[ If you don't react in time, you're getting tackled to the ground by Arthur, just as bullets go whizzing by. Unmistakable sounds of glass shattering and someone letting out a panicked scream pop up when those bullets connect to their end point. Arthur pops back up, annoyed and soaked through, gun in hand. He takes aim, ready to shoot at someone down the street when all other noise is drowned out by the horrible whistle and crunch of asphalt as a train comes barreling into the middle of the city street. ]

Fuck.

iii. sweet dreams are made of this

[ The house is lovely. A craftsman style, with real wood floors, wood furnishings, because that's how they've decorated it. Because she said that wood was inviting, warm, home-like. They're sitting in the living room, papers scattered all over the table and on the desk, where Dom is scribbling down notes. Mal is across from Arthur in her favorite chair, legs curled up and tucked under her – 'Dom, I want to be able to drown in this chair, that's how I'd like to go.' 'Honey, that's very unlikely.' 'Still, it's what I want.'

The PASIV sits open on a side table they borrowed from the den, one they use for dinner and movie night. Mal's been working on a new version of somnacin, one with less side effects. Arthur has his legs stretched out in front of him, a sheaf of papers on his lap and some in hand, a pen slanted behind his ear. The beginning of grey is coming in at his temples and a second look at Mal or Dom will show similar signs of age. In the background, through the doorway that leads to the kitchen, a young lady with blonde hair passes through, holds up a coffee pot and a quirked eyebrow.

"How'd you know, Philippa?"

"You're a coffee addict."

"Be nice, dear."

"Mom, you know it's true."

"Yes, that's no reason to say it aloud."

Arthur pretends to look offended, but the smile on his face is too fond to be anything but. Turning, he glances over to you, hand extended. ]

Can you pass me that folder? I think the information I need is in there. This client's case is getting tougher and tougher.

iv. don't build what you know

[ The casket isn't open, her body too mangled to save.

Instead, it's closed, matte and dark wood, as they lower it into the ground. His hands are at his side, gripped into fists so hard his knuckles have turned white.

The weather is beautiful, sunny, blue skies and fluffy clouds. It's California.

There's not much sound, even though someone is saying something in the background. Last rites, maybe. Everything is muted and there's an overwhelming sense of unfairness. Next to his legs is a suitcase– he'd come straight from the airport when he heard the news. ]

He didn't do it.

[ Arthur doesn't turn, nor does he look at you, eyes fixed on where they're shoveling dirt in. ]

v. wake up and let's be young together

[ Maybe you'll find him in a hotspot in the hallway. Or the library. Or just outside his capsule door, slumped against the wall. Careful not to step into odd light, else you'll be pulled in too.

But it looks like he's starting to try and come to. Lend him a hand, if you're feeling generous. Let him sleep on, if you'd rather not interfere. He's a big boy, after all, and he can handle himself. ]

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"Not sure. I'm going to do some more digging."

Arthur gratefully takes the folder from Henry, flips through some of the information he has stored in there. It goes by in a blur, but his mind is supplying the details in this fantasy scenario. After a few moments of study, he sets it down slowly on the coffee table in front of him, folder open to the page he was looking at. Realization pours over him like cold water.

"Be right back, gonna get some air."

Mal looks up from her paperwork and flashes him a smile. It reaches her eyes and not for the first time, he thinks she's beautiful. Dom doesn't look up, but he waves him off. Typical.

Plucking the papers off his lap, he arranges those on the table as well before standing up, angling a glance to Henry. Silently asking if he's coming before he walks out of the room, towards the patio doors.

The moment passes by in comfortable silence, papers shuffling and things being passed around. Mal asked if Henry wanted anything to drink, but he said he was fine, but thank you. He doesn't even realize that he doesn't know her name. It's only when Arthur announces that he needs air that Henry looks up from his own file.

Curiously, he sets his file down too and follows him towards the patio, hands in his pocket. The moment he starts walking, he starts to feel a little strange. Like something behind him is disappearing— what was he doing just now?

"Nice view."

Not sure why he says that of all things, but that's what he's going with apparently.

Arthur stands on the back patio, hands in his pockets. His fingers are curled around the die he knows is there. And that if he pulled it out, rolled it, the numbers would shift. This isn't reality. While he's had some difficulty telling the difference sometimes, this is one of those things he denies outright. It's too sunk in that she's gone, that he'd said his goodbyes a while ago.

As Henry steps out, he spares him a glance before looking towards the slope of the yard. There's no fence, so it's easy to see the hills in the distance. The spread of southern California in all its beauty.

"Yeah. They had a thing for aesthetics. Dom liked the house, Mal liked the view." He sounds almost wistful.

A familiar view, California. He'd recognize it anywhere. He also recognizes the past tense, and then it begins to slowly dawn on him that this is definitely a dream. There's a distinct hollowness to the scenery and the interactions he just had with 'Mal' and 'Cobb' that he recalls during some interesting dreams he'd experienced before.

He hums softly.

"You came here often?"

"Lived here for a while."

On his off times from the military and afterwards. Mal had tutted at him when he suggested getting an apartment when 'Arthur, dear, we have a spare bedroom right there.' Eventually, he'd prevailed and gotten his own place. Nearly a year later, Philippa was born and his room at the Cobbs became hers. There's a bittersweet pang as he thinks about that, about Philippa, still back home. Here she's grown up according to dream years– a glimpse of who she could be. Arthur kind of hopes he'll still be around to see her and James grow up.

"Mal was my best friend, which sort of made me me Dom's as well." Marriage did that to people (or at least it did to the Cobbs). "The young girl, Philippa, she's only about seven back home. Her brother James just turned four."

Henry floats off into his own thoughts for a second, the domesticity of it all starting to seep in as he recalls a very brief moment of attempting it.

"I see, so you often dream about...hm."

He trails off, gaze lowering slightly as he doesn't bother finishing that sentence. It's sort of implied at this point. He doesn't know if they're all dead or just some of them are dead, and as he never met Cobb face to face, he never learned his name or saw his face to confirm any of that.

"Seems you were all very close. Still see the little ones?"

Henry trails off and Arthur only feels the slightest of twinges at the words unsaid. He's made his peace. Well, at least some of it. His odd dreams on the ship as of late would say otherwise.

This dream would say otherwise.

"Dom and the kids. Mal's been gone for a little while." There, the words are out. And that's the simplest version he can give without getting too into the hairy details of they thought Dom killed her.

"It was hard for all of them, afterwards." Glancing down, he scuffs the bottom of his shoe on the neatly laid patio. "Sometimes I just wonder what it would've been like, you know?"

Ah, so only Mal has died. Fortunately, he doesn't say anything out loud and simply lets Arthur continue. Perhaps on some level, he can understand this feeling if he thought about it hard enough. He didn't know his biological parents or his half-sister, but he sometimes wondered what it would've been like if they didn't ship him off to another country and all weren't murdered.

Kind of comparing apples and oranges, as his spouse wasn't on that list, but still.

"A nice, normal life," he replies gently, a hint of wistfulness in there too. Then he lets out a little huff. "Or at least as normal as it can be, being in the dreamshare business."

"Hey, it's perfectly normal."

Well, for him anyway. He hasn't been in the game for long (not many of them have, with it being so new), but he'd been introduced early. In the military, he'd been pulled from the normal ranks because of his aptitude, his talent for following orders but adding something to the conversation as well. His young mind had taken to Project Somnacin and the PASIV like a duck to water, soaking in all the information. Then he'd met the Cobbs. Mal and her chemical genius, Dom with his ability to construct virtually anything you could ask of him.

(Later, Dom would never build, only extract, blind to the mazes– but that doesn't exist in this dream).

"It was either this or a long haul in the military, probably." Arthur squints out at the distant mountains. "If you hadn't taken your route, what would you have been?"

He mulls on that for a moment, trying to think back to his youth. As a kid, he didn't have such great aspirations and was ushered into the family business pretty young. He wants to say maybe when he was sixteen? Fifteen, even? It's all a blur and it's all he could imagine himself doing. He hadn't even considered anything else.

"Hard to say... professional skydiving instructor?"

It's a joke. He wouldn't even be able to give him a real answer without some serious self-reflection. Certainly not anything boring, though. He'd probably snap from the lack of stimulation.

At Henry's response, he laughs a little, trying to imagine it. Honestly, it's not a bad pick. Just the right amount of adrenaline, probably.

"Always a thrill-seeker, huh?"

And maybe it's a joke. Still, it was the thought that counted. Turning to face Henry, his expression settles into something more serious, even a touch vulnerable. This dream touches a soft spot, an exposed nerve; it's difficult to hide.

"If you want, I can kick you out of the dream." Whether by a concentrated kick or a shot to the head. Henry knows what he's saying.

"I– I don't think I want to leave just yet."

Yep, that's him. Always looking for excitement. He just sort of nods, looking back out at the scenery in front of them. The sun starts setting slowly, sky turning a soft orange. He senses Arthur looking at him so he turns to face him too, recognizing the expression right away.

The man needs some time alone, and he's more than willing to oblige. He nods, smiling to show he gets it.

"Whichever's less of a hassle."

Whether or not the Cobbs will see Arthur shooting Henry in this dream, he'll leave that to Arthur. He doesn't know how this particular dream works, as it's not done through the PASIV.

The projections won't really notice the gunshot. Probably.

But he hesitates, not wanting to disturb the relative peace and quiet of a dream that's– well, a dream. Not a future, not a well remembered past. Just something that will never be, even as much as he wishes it could be.

Instead of drawing a weapon, he sighs, looking away from the directness of Henry's gaze.

"You're welcome back in, if you want. Dreams have a time limit usually; we'll both get kicked out eventually."

Of course, that's an optimistic response. He doesn't know if there's a timer or if this is limbo. It doesn't feel like limbo. It reminds him of those dream dens that Yusuf runs. Those people living in dreams for hours (years). For once, he wants the pure escapism.

Turning, he slides the back door open and steps in. Mal, seemingly alert to his presence, is already shouting from the living room:

'Arthur! Tell Dom he's being rude!'

'Honey, you're not supposed to bring other people into domestic disputes.'

'Arthur isn't just other people, you awful husband mine.'

"Coming?" It's murmured towards Henry, even as he turns towards the musical laughter of the Cobb family.

The invitation comes as small surprise. He had been more than ready to exit this dream, forcibly or not, if someone wanted some privacy. It's not like he would feel comfortable sitting in on what's obviously a very vulnerable and tender moment, now that he's aware that this is a dream rather than reality.

As the sound of voices recreated from his memories float out from inside, he reconsiders. He doesn't know how to leave per se, aside from finding an obvious exit created by the dreamer nor does he think this dream operates like the ones the PASIV helps construct. So, he's taking a bit of a gamble here.

"Go on, I'll wait here."

Until it's over, he seems to say.

He doesn't want to ruin the calm for him, which is what he also assumes is the reason Arthur didn't just pop a bullet in his skull. Turning towards the scenery again, he pulls himself closer to the edge of the balcony to keep himself as detached from the subjects of the dream as much as possible.

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[OPEN] i ain't a gambler

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