Re: [Dream Training]
Eames believed in feelings. In gut instinct and self-preservation. They had kept his skin (largely) in one piece and he chose deliberately to follow instinct, even when plans best laid would trundle in the opposite direction. He hadn't been blown to pieces for it. (Yet). He listened, too. To the space between words, to the weight words acquired in the using. Hannah might not be a liar by trade, but Eames was practiced at it, darling and he knew what he was looking for.
Moment passed by moment and still no one. Not in that damp, gray street. If it had been anyone else, Eames might have thought this a colossal joke. In his own head, in his own mind, absent a single projection. It could have been a giant experiment run by Albin, but Arthur wasn't two-faced enough for that. Eames didn't trust Arthur as far as he could throw him, but he trusted that. "No. I don't suppose they did. It's information. Valuable, in the right hands. Giving it to you for free," Eames shrugged expansively.
"You do. Usually. But that's extraction. Then, if I were the architect or the dreamer, I'd spend hours and hours working out what you'd dream. This is just what it is to share a dream. I got to choose. I like Paris," Eames said, as the chairs were suddenly different and his expression was hawkish interest. "Very nice. Can you do something bigger?"