"Thanks ever-so," Eames drawled in reply, then lifted his head up off the bed and tilted his head slightly as he studied the walking ink blot that was Morpheus. "You're looking more than a tad sketchy, boss. Are you feeling okay?"
He sat up properly afterwards and did his best to pull himself into focus yet again, but nothing happened, so he tried a few forgeries and wound up swearing as nothing worked. But then again, if Dream himself was looking like he'd been pulled through paintpots backwards, who knew what that meant for dreamers? "So, what's going on? What cell did you find yourself in, this morning?"