Re: Janus A/Eames - log
Broken bones didn't cause Eames psychological distress. A little personal discomfort, depending on who they belonged to when they snapped (his own, darling. He wasn't empathetic in the slightest, sympathetic at an absolute push but he had to be brought to the brink). He'd broken enough to know the difference between the dull throb of a wound and the entirely different pulse belonging to a psychological state balanced on the brink, darling and he didn't stand there either. Eames wasn't delicate in any meaning of the word and Corinthian had rinsed into the cracks such as there were any. Eames had been built, you see, and with attention paid to the corners and the underskirting in a way that something that simply happened did not.
There was nothing wildly entertaining about the set-up. Eames could have told Janus that from the very beginning. If he wanted a blue experience, there were places beyond the dream clinic that Eames was very familiar with already. Eames, like all people who worked in dreams, liked dreams rather more than the work permitted. Inducing them was one thing, dreaming with the fluidity and random nature of the usual dreamer took incentives, darling and he'd tried his luck with a few.
"It means I dream the place and I'm in it, and you turn up in it," Eames confirmed. Janus didn't need to know the difference between one layer and the next, it wasn't a heist it was an invitation to afternoon tea, so much as one spider said to the fly. The cannula was taped to the ease of his elbow and Eames looked perfectly casual about this, as if it were entirely ordinary to be plugged into a suitcase full of medical paraphernalia. He leaned his weight over his hip, stretching out the length of one leg over the other as he dug into his pocket with a casual prying, pulling out a playing card and a poker-chip from the very back. There was obviously no way he'd been hiding either of those things in the side-pocket. The pants were very European that way.
"It's not Cannes," he said with an amused look in Janus's direction, "But I can put on a show for you." Eames reached over to twist one of the dials and the pumps hissed air and the plastic tubing filled. Eames leaned back comfortably into the embrace of the chair.
"It's not going to keep you under, just put you there to begin with." This wasn't a heist, you see and as the cannula filled, Eames' eyes fluttered closed, ridiculously long eyelashes on stubbled cheek and his body went lax.