riverviewlogs | ( feb catch-all )

[ After the whole, giant-beetle-attack seemed to settle, Arthur was torn between visiting the caves and thinking it was one of the stupidest things he had ever heard. Yes, let's go walking into some caves after giant bugs try to destroy the city they live in. But the more it was advertised and the more he overheard conversations about it, his own curiosity got the better of him and he decided 'fuck it'. He knew he would just keep thinking about it if he didn't just go look for himself.

He tries to ignore how he seems to be one of the few single people around and focuses more on the sight before him once he enters the cave. It's easy enough to do; it's stunning. He takes his time walking the path, almost forgetting to blink as he tries to take in every sight and detail of the formations and clusters of crystals. Every glimmer and glow. Ever patch of color that overpowered one or blended with another. It was, for the lack of a better word, beautiful.

Eventually, he tries touching some, just to see what they feel like. Some were cold and smooth. Others, more rough and almost felt like they were buzzing. He looks up at the lights again, saying mostly to himself: ]

I can't believe they have a place like this...

[ Arthur's dreams are a mixture of memories and probably a bit more structured than most others -- a kind of side effect when it comes to building dreams and then navigating through them like a maze. It's been a long time since he's had natural dreams and not something brought on by a powerful and carefully constructed sedative.

They range from the quiet and even mundane to jarring.

One has him talking to Ariadne about art and architecture, walking down the sidewalk of a street in Paris. it's sunny, beautiful. He misses it and her. He feels himself smile a lot as she talks, hands moving as she does. There's a lightness in his chest as the dream goes on.

Another one has him in a nightclub. Also in Paris but years ago. Dark and lit by neon, the sounds of a song are muffled yet loud. Like ambient noise. He's at the bar with a drink that looks like it glows under the lights. He looks around and can't see most of the faces. There's a distinct feeling of deja vu here. He knows this place and has revisited it in his mind a few times. None of the other faces matter when he's looking for one in particular.

Another one has him getting knocked on his ass. There's no build-up to this dream, it just is. He's younger now (around nineteen) and rolling and trying to avoid a heel getting slammed down onto the mat. He manages to avoid that but still gets a foot to his chest, knocking the wind out of him and onto his back. The foot then kicks him in his butt from where he's given into staying down this time -- not too hard but enough to make him grunt. The woman attached to said foot stands over him, smirking, "You're getting too slow, kid. Step it up." It's a face he knows well and one he misses deeply.

The last dream has him on a motorcycle, speeding and weaving between cars as he goes through a tunnel. Until suddenly, he hears some kind of loud, groaning noise. Not the music he's used to that warns for the kick, no. It's not that. It's some poor imitation of it and suddenly, he's being knocked into the air and there's no gravity. The motorcycle and cars are all floating with him. He swims through the air to get to the shining smooth surface of the top of the tunnel before everything is turned vertically and he's sliding down, down. He can't stop it or grab onto anything. He slides down into bright light and the next thing he knows is rolling out onto sand. The sound of ocean around him. He scrambles to his feet and removes the helmet, afraid that this is the last place he wants to be.

But it's not. It's somewhere else. A beach he remembers from his childhood and one he was sure he would never see again. ]

Edited 2018-02-06 15:16 (UTC)

[ Whether it's one pulling the other into a dream or the other finding his way there, it becomes clear quickly that Eames is not in charge of this dream. It's no creation of his and certainly no memory of his. He's on a beach, foggy and overcast. The air is chill and there's hardly anyone on the beach this morning.

Until he looks behind him and sees a young woman with her small, dark-haired child. She's crouched down, trying to show him one of the crabs in the sand. She gives the shell a poke with a stick. Then another. Suddenly it's crawling out of the sand, claws and legs everywhere and the boy squeals with fright, trying to run away and climb onto his mother at the same time. She backs away, slinging him into her arms with practiced ease and laughing. ]

Arthur, it's okay! It's okay! It's not going to get you!

[ A lucid dreamer or not, Arthur's mind is so meticulously organized that it takes him a long while of walking through the sand of that chilly beach to figure out that it even is one. At first, he thinks nothing of it and just revels in the crunch of sand under his shoes as he takes each crooked, labored step.

It isn't a setting he remembers. And had he a choice of anywhere in the world, he'd pick something more idyllic than fog and overcast skies, doused in humidity without ever walking into the waves themselves. He'd opt for something warm, dry...something greener.

He doesn't notice either--not at first--that he's not alone, and it's only at the sound of a soft, vaguely muffled conversation, that he finally pieces together that this may not be his dream. It leaves him keeping distance, watching and biting back the urge to interrupt, wary of the scene playing out in front of him. He's not sure if this is a "mark" (the dreamer) or a projection, but in either case, it requires context. Observation. Annoyingly, patience.

Which he gives, even as the child gives a scream and runs for the safety of his mother. (It tugs at an old pain he doesn't expect, a dull ache he's never given real name to.) But as the woman tries to console the child, what's actually happened--why he can't exert any control over the dream he walks in--slams into him with enough force to leave him winded.

Arthur? ]

[ The boy whines into his mother's shoulder, little arms squeezing tighter and she keeps laughing before pointing out to the water. ]

It's going out to the water, look!

[ He gives a noise of protest, refusing to look. ]

I promise, it's leaving. Just look.

[ Slowly, he peaks out at the white foam ripping on the dark sand and the crab is there, pushing itself into the rolling water. Arthur is set back down at that and his mother stretches her arms over her head. She's only nineteen, only a few feet taller than him. ]

You wanna get some more shells? We need to be leaving in about an hour.

[ The boy frowns and looks down at the sand, digging the toe of his shoe into it. ]

Do we have to?

[ She nods, saying they do. But adding she should be home to tuck him in for bed. The child hardly looks mollified by the promise. His voice is small, almost too soft over the wave but because this is a memory, Eames can hear it as if he were right next to Arthur. ]

They don't like me.

[ She frowns at that and kneels down to be eye-level with him, asking him if he means his grandparents. He nods and Eames will hear how it's not him. They are mad at her. Upset for what she did. Not him. ]

They really don't like me.

[ He persists, not sure how to tell her about the coldness and even neglect he goes through when she's not there. Like he doesn't exist.
But she cups his face with her hands, ]

Well, I love you so I win.

[ She presses their foreheads together and it's enough to get a small smile out of the child. ]

[ It's so quiet, he shouldn't be able to hear this. And frankly, it's such an intimately small detail that Eames--for the first time in a very long time--feels incredibly uncomfortable. This isn't for him.

Arthur's going to kill him, if he finds out.

But it's heartwrenching and draws out of him a protective irritation he doesn't expect in how overwhelming the sensation of it is. Even in all of their teasing--hell, even in Arthur's leaving--there's little that can equate to the loneliness of neglectful family. Even spurning a lover.

He follows with the dream regardless--he has no other choice, even if he feels this is meant to be private and not for his ears--curious still in the face of taboo. ]

[ He barely tried ]

[ Because while Arthur has been pretty good the past few years about not getting drunk, he's definitely been indulging more. The first few times, he tried out different places to see which he liked. He settled on a quiet place with a decent selection and patrons that just want to sit and nurse their glasses. Not a very happy place but it works for him. Simple wooden interior, twinkling lights along the ceiling and booths with leather cushions.

He's usually at the bar or taking up one side of a whole booth if he's feeling the need to languish some. ]

[ Insomnia isn't new to someone that slept multiple times during the day and night with the aid of a powerful sedative. The withdrawal has been inevitable. He knew it would be bad in the first few weeks of arriving. He had managed to keep busy those nights or spend it out walking through the city, through whatever buildings or places stayed open all night.

He just didn't expect it to last through into the next month. But here he was again, walking around at night, sometimes spotting people he knows and then finding himself... alone. Some nights are quieter than others. Some nights, there are more people out and about and he can hear parties continuing into the wee hours or dates laughing and talking loudly as they make their way back to whatever housing they have.

Some nights, he's out until dawn. He's seen a few sunrises like this.

Anyone suffering from the same bouts might find him during the evening, on one of the small walkways acting as a bridge from one section to another, leaning against the railing and looking at nothing below. Usually, there's nothing or no one on the streets when he starts doing that.

Or maybe he can be found on one of the park benches watching the buildings and sky as they slowly start to light up from the sun rising. He might even be trying to sketch said buildings in a small notebook if he's not lost in his own thoughts (something he spends too much time doing nowadays). ]

[ whatever u want can go here ayyy ]

[ As the days wear on, it becomes more and more apparent that the window of belief in this whole affair being an extended fever dream or hallucination (no matter how much he wishes exactly that). As the month turns, it marks one of the longer periods of ever staying in a single place since he'd gained control over it. There's an itch in it, wanting out, which is why he jumps at the prospect of adventure the moment it's even hinted it.

But that doesn't do much for feeling trapped and listless otherwise. For that, he has to consider other solutions; if they really are here, he may as well find a way to make it feel more...if not home, at least homey.

Which is what brings up, unannounced to Arthur's door only a few rooms down from his own. ]

[ He's in the middle of skimming through the books he had checked out from the library here, still in pursuit of absorbing whatever he can from the texts, when he hears the knock. It's not at all expected when he's still as sociable as ever (which is to say he isn't).

He opens his door a crack and leans back slightly in surprise seeing Eames there. But he recovers quickly, ]

What?

[ After their past few interactions, he isn't quite sure if he's expected more of this caginess or less of it, but it's still better reaction than he had envisioned. He leans into the doorframe with a smirk, still plainly apparent through the crack in the door. ]

I need your help with something.

[ No, he isn't saying what. ]

[ His brow creases in mild confusion, ]

I thought we already had this conversation...

[ He shakes his head with a mild laugh. ]

Different "something."

[ Dryly, ]

And you're not going to tell me what that "something" is?

[ Eames rolls his eyes. No sense of adventure in this one at all. ]

No, I'm not.

[ He's not entirely sure Arthur would say yes if he did. Hell, he's not sure he'll get one in any case, but it's at least worth the try. He's not going to swallow pride when it's still wounded and healing over for just anything, not when Arthur is seemingly still so intentionally distant.

This is important. ]

[ Now it's time for Arthur to roll his eyes in return, sighing heavily and looking back at his table covered in books. They aren't going anywhere. And it's not actually pressing. ]

Fine.

[ He looks back to Eames, ]

I'm assuming you mean right now?

Edited 2018-02-07 04:49 (UTC)

Better than never.

[ He doesn't want to sound demanding, but there is a measure of impatience to it. This is, apparently, simply what life is now, this place, and no one here is getting any younger.

If he's going to settle down, he's going to do it the way he's always meant to. (Some of those things are just more easily realized than others). ]

Don't look at me like that, it'll be fun. You could use some.

[ He wrinkles his nose at Eames before grumbling under his breath as he closes the door almost entirely so he can go get his shoes and jacket. He's still grumbling something as he opens the door again, ready to go and locking the door.

He gestures for Eames to start walking. ]

Lead the way. Since you won't tell me anything.

[ And so he does, leading them out of the complex with that same satisfied smirk. ]

I promise it's not going to kill you.

[ But he doesn't give much more than this, even as they eventually make it to the center of the Quarantine and the market area surrounding the political heart of the city he hasn't yet ventured into. They pass several establishments from food to clothing to various other kitsch shops, and as they move on, it becomes more apparent that Eames is after something very specific.

He doesn't start to pause until distant sounds begin to mix with the general bustle. Distant sounds that are awfully close to that of a bark. ]

[ He gives a less than impressed look to Eames' back as he follows. He's heard that kind of proclamation before and he's just waiting for the next shoe to drop. And it's only when they stop at the pins with puppies separated into their various breeds that Arthur finally gets it. ]

Seriously?

Edited 2018-02-07 06:33 (UTC)

Deadly so.

[ He's laughing. The one thing he had expected: Arthur taking this far too seriously, and it seems he wasn't too far off. But he's not to be denied or swayed by that question; he's already perusing. ]

I can't very well pick one on my own, can I?

[ And it's probably typical that, before he can even think better of it, he's blurting out: ]

A dog is a huge responsibility! Have you ever owned one before?

[ He turns away from a group of puppies that look to be some approximation of beagle and gives Arthur a pointed roll of his eyes. ]

If I needed a parent, I'd have made up with mine years ago, thank you.

[ It's a slip. It's more than he means to say aloud. And yet, it's not all that surprising, given his own tendency to not stay in a single place for too long. ]

Unless you'd like to go into why you think I can't manage, hm?

( crystal caves - open )

( dream a little dream - open )

(for eames)

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( friendr )

( the token bar starter )

( all-nighter - open )

( wildcard )

hi u know what goes here

yus i do

<3

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boi