Re: Eames/Holly: dreaming
Whys mattered an awful lot to the youth that Eames was presently. Why provided for the walls and the floors, the treasure at the end of the trail. But why was all around if you knew where to look and the older boy looked at younger with the candid assessment that saw what it needed to. He didn't object to being a quartermaster; Eames didn't even know what a quartermaster was. "Aye-aye," he said, cheerfully.
But he'd only intended to hurry them both along. It was the problem with dreaming like this, without a tether and a weighted pocket and a mission with other people in at fixed points to remind him. This was dreaming unmoored and without the rules Eames forgot all the ways to dream without interruption. The door was a door, wherever it went was better than whatever that was and Eames threw himself through the door and slammed it as his stomach slammed somewhere uncomfortably north of his neck and he dropped down deep.
The bed looked like something out of Sleeping Beauty, if someone had forgotten to freeze time. Moldering, and Eames met the younger boy's eyes with ones clear blue and innocent. "I don't know. It was just there," Eames shrugged his shoulders under grubby cotton white. He was a thin youth, he had the coat-hanger shoulders of a recent growth spurt but he managed to look unthreatening all the same. "Perhaps it changes."