Goodbye, Sanity~

[paradoxlol]

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.]

Comments

[Private]

[aforger]

Door's unlocked.

[Private]

[paradoxlol]

[And Arthur arrives, gun loaded and concealed. He knocks lightly, then enters, looking around Eames's cabin. The cabins... Larger on the inside than was physically possible. How could anybody think this is real? He doesn't say anything, but looks around in a bit of a daze.]

[Private]

[aforger]

[Eames stands as he hears the door opening, moving a hand to his own gun. While he's expecting Arthur, he's also still wary of all the inconsistencies on the network making things different than usual. As soon as he catches sight of his friend, however, his jacket is smoothed out and he's all smiles and metaphorical open arms.] "Arthur."

[After a beat, however, his expression is solemn again, ready to talk business the way he knows Arthur would like.]

whoops [Spam]

[paradoxlol]

Mr. Eames. [He nods once, then shuts the door behind him and walks further in. He doesn't bother locking it because this is going to be a quick visit. He either needs to convince Eames about the truth of things... or put him out of his misery before he's completely lost to Limbo.]

This has to stop.

[Spam] Doc today put me on new antibiotic. Then had to run haunt because boss out of town. :C /flail

[aforger]

"You believe this whole thing is a dream then?" [Eames asks with a vague undercurrent of mocking, a subtle note that only those who know him well enough, like Arthur, might be able to detect. The forger is willing to listen, but he doesn't have to agree.] "Let me ask you something: Why now?"