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.
Well that's a way to think about it, sure. Eames doesn't comment, either way. Instead he leads the rest of the way up the path to a set of french doors framed by lattice fencing and flowering ivy, and slides them open.
On the other side is a little paved area with a small table and seats that overlook a hills and fields. It's a beautiful scene, vaguely European with an early afternoon sun.
"So, first step--" He walks over to the table and pulls a chair out for Nancy, "I'm just going to try a few things to get a feel for your aptitude."
The doors seem so perfect in the vineyard, like they'd always been there. She steps through them wordlessly, admiring the new view in front of her. With a nod of appreciation towards Eames, she glides into her chair, crossing her legs at the knees, and leaning forward.
"Alright- hold on." She closes her eyes for a moment and screws up her nose. This is a dream. She can imagine whatever she wants. When she opens her eyes, there's a bottle of rare gin on the table and a martini glass. Absolutely perfect. And time to see if you can drink 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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On the other side is a little paved area with a small table and seats that overlook a hills and fields. It's a beautiful scene, vaguely European with an early afternoon sun.
"So, first step--" He walks over to the table and pulls a chair out for Nancy, "I'm just going to try a few things to get a feel for your aptitude."
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"Alright- hold on." She closes her eyes for a moment and screws up her nose. This is a dream. She can imagine whatever she wants. When she opens her eyes, there's a bottle of rare gin on the table and a martini glass. Absolutely perfect. And time to see if you can drink in a dream.