It's the workshop. The one in Paris. Everything was as it was. It was slightly cool, the building not made for being comfortable. It was older, not exactly organized, but usable. The rooms were the same, the patio furniture they used, the tables still set up, and even Ariadne's architecture desk was there, models filling the brim.

In fact, Ariadne is in the middle, building. She's building a model for a dream. It's at the beginning stages, unrecognizable to anyone but her - the dreamer. There's music playing and she's humming along, her brain still building even as she's working on the model. She is content, she is serene, she is in her element.

ooc: if you wish to plot about this, there can be anything from Ariadne's subconscious thinking you're dangerous or if your character knows her, maybe even Cobol appearing (which could pop up as a plot for the rest of the month). otherwise come and bother the architect.

[There’s a point when using dream-share technology for any length of time where it becomes almost impossible to dream without it. It’s an inevitable consequence that every long-term dreamer discovers sooner or later, though whether it’s merely a starting point of the damage it can cause is another matter entirely. It’s been so long now since Arthur last dreamed of anything the natural way that he’s come to accept the fact that he probably never will again. And, considering the content of some of the dreams that once plagued him, he finds he doesn’t really mind as much as he perhaps should; it’s a small price to pay to continue working with something he loves.

That is, of course, until he returns home after months away doing a job he thought impossible and curls up on the sofa to relax, the exhaustion of it all finally catching up as he falls asleep.

He’s dreaming. But this is…different. It’s not how he remembers normal dreams to feel, he’s far too aware of the surroundings even if they are initially hazy. And, as far as he can tell, he isn’t connected to the PASIV. No, that he would remember, though he reaches for the red loaded die in his pocket and rolls it across the ground to make sure. But as he follows it with his eyes, it disappears. He frowns, unimpressed, and looks up from where he’s crouching to realise he’s in the middle of a road. It’s perfectly flat, appears endless, and the black tarmac burns beneath his touch. The sun is blinding, he realises, as he pushes himself to his feet and lifts a hand to shield his eyes, and he’s in the middle of nowhere with nothing but desert on either side.

Arthur does the only thing he can do and starts walking down the centre, staring forward into the overwhelming mass of blue sky that looks as if it’s meeting with the road far into the distance. He doesn’t know where the road is going to take him, or if he’ll ever get there, but he hopes he comes across company along the way. It’s always about the journey, after all, and Arthur can be a patient man, especially if it’s going to lead him to somewhere, something, or someone worthwhile.]

Ignore this!!