Re: Dreaming: Billy & Eames
Eames dreamed traps. He dreamed locks and mazes, barred doors and steel-sunk safes. When he dreamed truthfully, deeply asleep somewhere far enough down that his unconscious roamed free, he dreamed prisons that locked you in so efficiently you couldn't find your way out. You didn't believe in a way out. Belief was vast, darling, and the loss of it was vast too. Eames didn't believe a word the boy had said so far. Nor did he think the boy believed it either.
"Oh yes. You fell. Hit a door on the way down, did you?" All drawl. Cool and casual and unaccented. Eames was a cypher and he didn't leave nearly so much of himself on display as he had in the child's dream midst a pirate ship. This dream liked to catch loose ends and yank, and Eames had no intention of unravelling. He watched the fingertip ravel in white cotton until the tip turned cherry red. This wasn't a child's dream, for all it was castles in nowhere.