paradoxlol | Goodbye, Sanity~

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Goodbye, Sanity~

Have you known such a savoury grief as I? Do people say "Strange fellow!," whom you meet? — My amorous soul, when I was due to die, Felt longing mixed with horror; pain seemed sweet. Anguish and ardent hope (no factious whim) Were mixed: and as the sands of life ran low My torture grew delicious yet more grim, And of this dear old world would not let go.|

[There's a long pause in the text, then he switches to voice.]

It's Baudelaire. I can't remember the rest. I just wanted to share, because... because I woke up, and it was like when you get a song stuck in your head. An idea that replays over and over again, and you try to get it out, but you can't. [He lets out a soft snort at the thought. NOT THAT ANYBODY WOULD KNOW, but Arthur's tone sounds more like his normal, pre-Invasion self.]

The thing about an idea is... If it isn't yours, you can always trace it back to its genesis. Your mind-- your mind is-- it's this incredible tool; it retains so much more than you can even comprehend. Some speculate that you never really forget anything-- you may not recall something, but it's still there, locked inside your head. You can't, you can't make a person believe in a lie forever, not if you don't go deep enough. [He laughs hollowly] Any memory can be retrieved.

Anything...

[Murmuring:] It's on the tip of my tongue.

[He lets out a soft sigh and begins to recite, his voice going flat:]

J'étais comme l'enfant avide du spectacle,
Haïssant le rideau comme on hait un obstacle...
Enfin la vérité froide se révéla:

J'étais mort sans surprise, et la terrible aurore
M'enveloppait. — Eh quoi! n'est-ce donc que cela?
La toile était levée et j'attendais encore.

That's it. That's what I was forgetting.

[OOC: CUE ARTHUR GOING CRAZY. Or beginning to. He knows something's wrong; he knows that he should be able to check that this is reality, but the whole concept of a totem is basically gone, so he's left in a daze. IF I'M FEELING INTELLIGENT ENOUGH, his comments will become more and more surreal, but if I'm not, he'll just be in a weird malaise. By tonight/tomorrow, he'll start trying to "kick" his canonmates and himself. With a gun. The poem is "The Dream of a Curious Man", and I'm using the second translation here. OH AND: Arthur's on the deck right now, staring down at the "sea" of stars, so that's where you can find him.]

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[Oblivious, pleasant, maternal Mal is oblivious to the implications of that pause.]

Arthur. One doesn't "just" get things like Baudelaire stuck in one's head.

What's the matter?

It's important to me. I never forget what's important.

Nothing's wrong.

[There's an epic amount of "I don't believe you; talk to me" in just one word:]

Arthur.

Stop. I said I'm fine.

[Damn it, Arthur.]

...all right. But, please. Come talk to me later, won't you? I'm worried.

Where should I meet you? Backstage, behind the curtain? [Just a joke on the poem, oh ho ho~]

Edited 2011-04-28 16:23 (UTC)

[Gently; she's trying to match his mood in hopes that it will calm him.]

Il n'y a pas de rideau, Arthur. I'll be in my room later, all right?

Yeah... I'll be there.

Good.

...Please take care of yourself, Arthur.

[AND AFTER DINNER, Arthur shows up at the door. He knocks with deceptive calmness, humming a particular Edith Piaf song softly.]

[Mal's been fretting all day about Arthur and she's incredibly relieved to actually see him. She opens the door wide and lets him in.]

I'm so glad to see you. Come in, please.

[He walks in, eyeing Mal as he closes the door behind him.]

You're different. [Is that regret in his voice? Yes, yes it is.]

[She looks at him in confusion, the worried frown deepening on her brow.]

I think I am the same as I was yesterday.

[She takes a step closer, watching his face.]

You, however, seem ... not quite yourself.

I'm more myself than I've been in a long time. [He stiffens.] You're not going to do to me what you did to Cobb.

[Mal goes white as a sheet—shock and anger and alarm all at once. What she did to Cobb? Does he mean all of the horror after Limbo, her own death and everything around it? She clenches her fists at her side, quelling the urge to strike him for his terrible words, and takes a deep breath, trying to speak calmly.]

Arthur. What are you saying? I know it's not easy, and I know you're still his friend, but— [She shakes her head in protest.] I will never hurt you, Arthur.

Your his temptation. His projection of you... Trying to pull him into a neverending dream. [He shakes his head sadly.]

I know you won't hurt me, Mal, because you're not Cobb's projection of you. [He pushes his jacket to the side and withdraws his glock, pointing it at Mal.] You're mine. My projection, my temptation to stay in Limbo. A link to happier times.

[There are tears starting in her eyes as she shakes her head in protest, but when he pulls out the gun she sucks in her breath, too shocked to scream. She starts to back away, not looking away from Arthur and grasping blindly for something she can use to defend herself. Ridiculously enough, the first thing that comes to hand is a pillow, cross-stitched with flowers. She clutches it in front of her like as shield.]

I'm not a projection, Arthur. I'm real. I'm me, I'm Mal, and I'm your friend. [Her voice cracks.] You told me yourself this wasn't Limbo, when I first came here. And I didn't believe you for so long, but now—Don't you remember?

Edited 2011-04-28 18:55 (UTC)

[Arthur's never had a problem dispatching projections before, quickly and without mercy. They weren't real; they weren't people. Nobody was really getting hurt when he put a bullet in them. If he shoots Mal right now... The worst that'll happen is he'll watch his friend's shade "die". That's it. So why can't he do it? Why is there something inside his head screaming at him to stop? He hesitates, keeping the weapon trained on her.]

I was wrong. That's what Limbo does to you; it traps you in lies and memories. And then, it finally hit me. [He blinks, voice cracking a touch.] La toile était levée. You were right. You were trying to warn me, and I didn't listen.

Edited 2011-04-28 19:08 (UTC)

No. No, that's not it, that's not it at all.

[Or is it? Maybe he's right and all that struggle was fighting against the truth, and -- No. Something's wrong with Arthur now, it must be, if he thinks that she's a projection, a shade, because she knows she's not, damn it. She stops backing away, holds out a beseeching hand, while still clutching her pillow to her breast.]

Please, Arthur. Don't do this. You are real. This is real. Look at your totem.

Edited 2011-04-28 19:10 (UTC)

Totem? [That word triggers something in him, but nothing all that promising. Just a flash of white noise, this tear in his memory that keeps picking away at him.] I don't-- [He shakes his head.]

You're so perfect. [His aim wavers as he says that, a hint of despair lacing his voice.] Just like I remember. [He swallows.] Cobb never had my attention to detail. [He starts to lower the gun. This projection is too... too real. He doesn't know if he can do it.]

Your totem, yes. It was a die, wasn't it?

[She moves closer as he lowers the gun, still holding the stupid pillow in defence.]

Dom's a romantic. [Tiny smile. She's hoping to tease him out of this, perhaps.] Your precision is why we liked you. But even you couldn't -- I promise you, I'm no projection. I'm real.

[He shakes his head insistently.] I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have a totem. It's another trick, a distraction.

[He squeezes his eyes shut.] No. No, he's... He thinks of you differently. [He opens his eyes, allowing her to come nearer.] We're all splitting in two, Mal. Those of us who are dreaming. Me, Ariadne, Cobb... [Because obviously that's who Archer and Costigan are. He leaves Fischer unspoken.] You go back far enough in the network, and you'll even find another Eames. [By the name of Shinzon, apparently.] This isn't reality. It can't be.

Edited 2011-04-28 19:46 (UTC)

[A sad little laugh.] Of course he thinks of me differently; I'm his wife. [There are tears running down her face now.] You can't imagine how much I want this to be a dream, but now I know that it isn't. I still don't understand these doubles, these twins, but I know they're real, and they're not who you think they are.

[She's close enough now to touch him and reaches up to lay a hand lightly on his cheek.] I know it's dreadful here. I know it's hard. But it's not a dream.

[Arthur swallows when she touches his cheek, and he shakes his head.] You have no idea how much I wish I could believe you. But I can't. There's no way of proving this is real... All the evidence points the other way. [With that, he raises the gun, not to shoot her, but to thwack her across the head and take her out of commission. If she's right... no lasting harm. If she's lying, that's one projection down for now.]

[Well. Mal isn't expecting that. In dreams (and unbeknownst to her so far, as Cobb's projection) her reflexes are quick and dangerous; in the waking world, not so much. So even though she flails at Arthur with the pillow, it's too little, too late. The gun connects with her head hard in exactly the right spot, and she drops to the floor, unconscious.]

[Arthur, you've got a funny idea of "no lasting harm".]

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Goodbye, Sanity~

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Private (spam or assume Arthur losing it and knocking Mal out?)

SPAM - For delicious trauma

SPAM - tasty!

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SPAM - GODDAMN FFFF LOST MY TAG

SPAM - HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS.

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