( feb catch-all )

[specifications]

who: arthur
what: feb catch-all for tdm prompts and w/e else gets added
when: the month of february
where: all over the quarantine, jungles, etc
warnings: will add if needed



[ Multiple starters will be in the comments labeled open or closed as needed. If you're wanting something, you can PM me at this journal. ]

Comments

(for eames)

[specifications]

[ 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!

[personifications]

[ 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? ]

[specifications]

[ 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. ]

[personifications]

[ 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. ]