Fagin never did anything without reason, and never anything without getting something in return. And yet, try as she might, Nancy couldn't figure out exactly what it was he had to gain in sending her off with an acquaintance (at best). There was something at play, and, she realized later, not something she wanted to dwell on. The other shoe would drop. It always did.
For now, though, she was left with this man known as Eames. He was handsome, sure, but just nearly everything he wore was terrible. Even Bill had a better fashion sense, and he was just a jeans and t-shirt sort of bloke.
"So I understand this whole thing is sleeping- but I'm going to make this clear to you, Mr. Eames: If you expect me to fuck you, you can get rid of the idea right now." She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other as she watched him work, going about getting set up for Intro To Dreaming or whatever. "'cause I ain't interested."
If he didn't need this favour from Fagin, Eames wouldn't be caught dead with this kid. They've just met and Eames already doesn't care for her attitude.
But needs must and Eames has agreed to training this child, so train her he will. Maybe she'll even surprise him and have some hint of natural talent, though he isn't about to hold his breath.
At her helpful comment, Eames rolls his eyes. Does she really think she's that attractive? He doesn't even look up from where he's busy checking settings on the PASIV, voice thick with sarcasm and pointed disinterest when he responds. "You're a little young for my taste, but thanks for letting me know."
That's the thing. Nancy knows she's attractive. She's had people telling her that her whole life, and she more than believes it, she knows it. Not to mention, she knew how to use it to get what she wanted.
Nancy rolls her eyes. Young. She'd been with men older than Eames. "Any time- Don't want to get you too disappointed." She resists winking.
Even if he wanted to sleep with her, he'd have to pay. Fagin made that very clear before he sent her off. She was still working. She was still his.
Wow, he's going to be so glad to be done with this girl. Eames isn't visibly annoyed, but he does offer her a thin smile over his shoulder while he busies himself making sure the sedatives are dosed correctly. Wouldn't want to put this delightful child in a coma her first time.
"Thanks for your consideration," he leans against the desk, it's a nice office that he's 'borrowed' for this, the chairs are comfortable and the room is spacious with a window that gets plenty of sun. It means he's nicely lit when he picks up one of the IVs and taps it against the back of his hand absently, "you ever had a lucid dream?"
"A lucid dream is one where you know you're dreaming," surprisingly, the general disdain he's had for her so far is gone when he starts explaining, possibly because this is a topic he has some interest in. Eames gestures vaguely as he talks, watching Nancy to make sure she's paying attention, "with that awareness, some people can control their dreams. Though that's less common."
A sigh, and he holds up the IV, "it's a good jumping off point for what I'll be teaching you."
She leans her legs up on the ottoman, crossing her legs at the ankles and showing off her broken-down sneakers.
"So you're going to stick me with that, and we're going to show up in the same dream?" She isn't sure she believes him. Fagin said it worked, and that she was going to learn. The whole thing was... odd, to say the least.
No point getting into the technical details, not that Eames even knows them all. Still, Eames gestures for her to put out her arm and comes over to crouch by the side of her chair, "I'm no architect, so I can only teach you the basics of building dreams, but let's see how you do here before we decide what I can teach you."
"Probably," he doesn't look up at her, focused on uncapping the needle and gently pushing it into her arm while she's distracted by the conversation. It's obvious he's done this a lot, quick and confident as he attaches the tube and stands to move around the desk to take his seat.
Eames rolls up a sleeve and sticks in his own IV, putting his feet up on the desk to get comfortable, "depends on how bad you are."
She doesn't really need to relax, but it certainly helps. Eames leans forward to start up the PASIV and relaxes in his chair.
Provided nothing goes horribly wrong, when next she opens her eyes, Nancy will find herself waking on a bench in an Italian(-ish) vineyard. It's beautiful — acres of farmland with workers picking grapes in the sun, a maisonette in the distance. It's realistic enough, sun warming the skin, the smell of the fruit and plants, but it's shallow. No depth beyond this. But it's a good enough base.
Eames is standing about a foot away from the bench, dressed in a linen suit and sunglasses, hands in his pockets as he looks out at everything while he waits for his guest to wake up.
"Easier said than done." But she closes her eyes and braces herself.
The light is far too bright and Nancy blinks away the bright lights of the Italian(ish) sun. When she can see, she inhales, looking at the sprawling landscape in front of her. She's dressed in what she slept in, worn-in jeans, light green hoodie.
"How'd you get that!" Is what she asks first, when she notices Eames near her. "Woah- is this- I'm in a dream?"
It's not the worst reaction anyone's ever had to this, that's for sure.
Eames turns his head to look at her and nods, tilting his head and pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look at her, "mine, specifically."
Nancy trails after him, running a few steps to catch up with him.
"I wouldn't ever want to get used to it." She looks around, tilting her head toward the sun. It's something out a movie, about some smart young thing taking a few months in Italy to perhaps write?, and at some point Nancy's imagining herself as the heroine, dark blue dress fluttering behind her, big white floppy hat. Her next step makes her realize that her sneakers are gone, replaced by a pair of sandals.
Eames' eyebrows twitch up in amusement when he looks at Nancy and he shakes his head. "The dreams aren't always like this," he reaches out a hand absently as they walk, feeling the leaves touch his fingers. He can tell the difference between this and the real thing, but a less experienced person wouldn't. It's good enough. "For your first time, I figured we'd start with something nice."
"Well that's a pity, then." She stops twirling and falls into line with him, trying her best to keep up with his pace. The platform on her shoes make it a lot easier to keep up.
"If it's a dream, I imagine it can be... anything."
"Theoretically, depending on how good you are at building them." Eames gestures vaguely with a hand and some of the plants grow and twist around eachother, forming an arch over their heads, "making a dream is different to letting your subconscious fill it in, it takes a lot of attention to detail you might never even consider to avoid breaking the immersion."
"It's not real enough, if you look at it?" It looked decent enough, but she realized as she looked at it there was no stitching, no zippers or hooks. "I'm trying to get a grasp of what you're saying."
She picked that out pretty quickly. Eames nods approvingly, "that's your subconscious-- it'll fill in with a general feeling than anything precise."
He gestures broadly as he speaks — flowing hand movements to illustrate the subconscious and more rigid ones for the other — and when he continues, he opens his jacket he gestures to the silk lining, "building a dream is a different animal, consciously making those choices is something you'll learn."
Nancy frowns in deep thought. "Alright. Pinterest in your mind, kind of. But with... a whole world, I suppose." It was interesting, and incredibly complicated, but for her, relating it to something she knew was making it just a bit easier.
inception au idek what I'm doing
For now, though, she was left with this man known as Eames. He was handsome, sure, but just nearly everything he wore was terrible. Even Bill had a better fashion sense, and he was just a jeans and t-shirt sort of bloke.
"So I understand this whole thing is sleeping- but I'm going to make this clear to you, Mr. Eames: If you expect me to fuck you, you can get rid of the idea right now." She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other as she watched him work, going about getting set up for Intro To Dreaming or whatever. "'cause I ain't interested."
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But needs must and Eames has agreed to training this child, so train her he will. Maybe she'll even surprise him and have some hint of natural talent, though he isn't about to hold his breath.
At her helpful comment, Eames rolls his eyes. Does she really think she's that attractive? He doesn't even look up from where he's busy checking settings on the PASIV, voice thick with sarcasm and pointed disinterest when he responds. "You're a little young for my taste, but thanks for letting me know."
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Nancy rolls her eyes. Young. She'd been with men older than Eames. "Any time- Don't want to get you too disappointed." She resists winking.
Even if he wanted to sleep with her, he'd have to pay. Fagin made that very clear before he sent her off. She was still working. She was still his.
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"Thanks for your consideration," he leans against the desk, it's a nice office that he's 'borrowed' for this, the chairs are comfortable and the room is spacious with a window that gets plenty of sun. It means he's nicely lit when he picks up one of the IVs and taps it against the back of his hand absently, "you ever had a lucid dream?"
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"No, I don't think so." She comes to sit, settling down into the chair that was deemed hers.
"Are those like the falling ones? Where you wake up and hit the ground?"
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A sigh, and he holds up the IV, "it's a good jumping off point for what I'll be teaching you."
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She leans her legs up on the ottoman, crossing her legs at the ankles and showing off her broken-down sneakers.
"So you're going to stick me with that, and we're going to show up in the same dream?" She isn't sure she believes him. Fagin said it worked, and that she was going to learn. The whole thing was... odd, to say the least.
A bit exciting, though.
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No point getting into the technical details, not that Eames even knows them all. Still, Eames gestures for her to put out her arm and comes over to crouch by the side of her chair, "I'm no architect, so I can only teach you the basics of building dreams, but let's see how you do here before we decide what I can teach you."
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She pauses for one moment, before he inserts the IV. "And if I'm awful at it, you'll send me back to Fagin?"
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Eames rolls up a sleeve and sticks in his own IV, putting his feet up on the desk to get comfortable, "depends on how bad you are."
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"Great." She's got to be good at this. She can't face going back to Fagin. He'd kill her, more like than not, for failing this so poorly.
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She doesn't really need to relax, but it certainly helps. Eames leans forward to start up the PASIV and relaxes in his chair.
Provided nothing goes horribly wrong, when next she opens her eyes, Nancy will find herself waking on a bench in an Italian(-ish) vineyard. It's beautiful — acres of farmland with workers picking grapes in the sun, a maisonette in the distance. It's realistic enough, sun warming the skin, the smell of the fruit and plants, but it's shallow. No depth beyond this. But it's a good enough base.
Eames is standing about a foot away from the bench, dressed in a linen suit and sunglasses, hands in his pockets as he looks out at everything while he waits for his guest to wake up.
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The light is far too bright and Nancy blinks away the bright lights of the Italian(ish) sun. When she can see, she inhales, looking at the sprawling landscape in front of her. She's dressed in what she slept in, worn-in jeans, light green hoodie.
"How'd you get that!" Is what she asks first, when she notices Eames near her. "Woah- is this- I'm in a dream?"
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Eames turns his head to look at her and nods, tilting his head and pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look at her, "mine, specifically."
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"I wouldn't ever want to get used to it." She looks around, tilting her head toward the sun. It's something out a movie, about some smart young thing taking a few months in Italy to perhaps write?, and at some point Nancy's imagining herself as the heroine, dark blue dress fluttering behind her, big white floppy hat. Her next step makes her realize that her sneakers are gone, replaced by a pair of sandals.
"Look!" She does a twirl for Eames.
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"If it's a dream, I imagine it can be... anything."
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"So my dress?"
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He gestures broadly as he speaks — flowing hand movements to illustrate the subconscious and more rigid ones for the other — and when he continues, he opens his jacket he gestures to the silk lining, "building a dream is a different animal, consciously making those choices is something you'll learn."
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