Re: [Dream Training]
Eames liked people. Rather a rum thing for a man who built his livelihood on making them as predictable as clockwork but he believed in facets and angles and he was inherently selfish, darling, he had been made that way years and years before dreaming had come along as a new career choice to walk through the minds of people whose secrets were tucked into the under-layer of their subconscious, to be plucked like an apple. But he liked people. Enough to know that occasionally, flourishes of human interest spiked.
Hannah smiled. They were all very pretty, her smiles, as if precisely calibrated but this one, Eames knew well enough. A little loss, perhaps. Perhaps, at any rate and Hannah was someone who'd take hours and hours with a notebook and finding out all her friends to build a picture. He itched faintly, somewhere. The kind that was a prickle of challenge. Which was all the for best, when people lurched out of the shadows as the dream crumpled sideways and tried to be half a dozen things as people dragged through it, like ink in water.
It wasn't a nightmare but it looked pretty close, "That isn't me, darling." Eames tried to push a little stability underneath each scenario, give it a little welly so it could take over Paris. He dreamed instead, a soft ripple that took them back to the lab. The lab where he was sat on one pallet and she on another, with Arthur's coat folded over her knees. Perhaps stability was easier. The details were largely right, if you didn't squint too closely at the corners.