Mental: a dream [open to sensitives] Who: Eames open to those sensitive enough to be able to reach it What: A dream Warnings: None.
[He doesn't mean to dream. But he does. Perhaps it's the heat. Perhaps it's the weight of the risk, outlined by Arthur. But he dreams and it's faint but it reaches, a little like ink twining through water stains itself a path.
It begins outside a paper castle. It is obviously paper. The crenelations and flying buttresses are rolled and snipped, like a string of snowflakes. The walls breathe, there is a faint wind and it rustles and sighs. As you walk in (if you walk in) the place is split neatly into chambers, concentric around a single chamber, like the gears of a clock. Each chamber, as they're entered, holds fragments. A woman - not a girl, a woman - dances in rain on a rooftop in Paris, round-hipped and aware of onlook, in one. There's sand in another, sand and sand and nothing but sand. In the next, it's a round of faces crammed around baize, a glass glinting amid the cards. The next and its a grubby carpet and a television set, the cartoons startling-loud and in view an open door to a kitchen, and someone passing a wad of rolled up cash into nicotine-stained fingers. Each chamber has a door out rather than in to the center. There are paper steps and they descend. Into gloom. At the bottom is a garden. It is a place to idle, it is twilight. If it is walked, there is a a pagoda with a chess board laid out. The air is nightjars and the smell of baked earth.]