[ He never quite knows how to prepare for her but there's a likelihood that preparing for things like ghosts is impossible - is supposed to be. The pause here is long, not in small part because he's trying to shake off a handful of confused adolescents who seem to think he's someone he's not, which he's getting used to - the grasping, not so much.
...it says more about him than he prefers that he reconnects, that he replies at all. It's not Mal, not Mal. But in many ways a memory has more power than the reality and Arthur has always hated psychology.
[ You're not even real. Ironically, what Mal had said to him, but that was when she was alive, and hearing it wasn't as bad as it could have been because at least she was alive. There was hope of a kind.
[This bothers him more than Eames being here. Arthur's the responsible one; the one who's more prone to the 'I told you so' that Dom sometimes needs to hear.
The thing tends to ignore. With devastating consequences.
Arthur's supposed to be with Phillipa and James.
Someone had to be there for them, during the funeral.
[ The post cuts on and then abruptly cuts off again but it's not accidental, it's deliberate. A second-guess, an uncertainty. Phillipa's grown up to live a life riddled with those (and whose fault is that, she's tempted to ask) but this isn't the time or the place for them.
She doesn't dream. She doesn't sleep (her mother makes sure).
[There is something incredibly wrong. The voice--he doesn't recognize it, but he knows it, inherently. How could anyone forget the voice of a child, even if it's distorted and changed?
[ There's a breath on her end of the line, an exhale - like a laugh or relief or tightly-held anxiety finally daring to unravel. It's only then that Phillipa realizes that she's been holding the device in a white-knuckled grip and that the grip trembles a little.
(She doesn't participate in the dreamshare. She's never allowed herself to go under. But that doesn't mean Phillipa Cobb doesn't know what it's like to question her own reality. In that way, she's truly her father's daughter, her mother's daughter.
Something is wrong.) ]
It is you. [ A smile, uncertain, breaks across the surface of her voice. ] I wasn't sure at first, but-
Where are you? What's happening? I- [ I'm scared. ] -I don't know what's going on.
[ Out and about in this mess means Arthur can run into a whole mess of different people. And sometimes, on occasion, one of these people will recognize him - or rather, think they recognize him.
The teenage boy who's trailing him now (he's pretty good at being inconspicuous, even with the lanky walk and the stand-out frames) qualifies. Though he doesn't think Arthur's Tom or Joe or John or Adam. He doesn't think he's an alien.
No, he thinks he's Brendan Frye. Which is why he's so damn confused. ]
[ Someone's following him. They're not a bad hand at it but Arthur would be shit a this job - among other things - if he couldn't spot this kind of thing. He lets it go on for another City block before rolling his eyes and turning to pause in front of a closed shop, making as if to check his device - which actually he is, he's just not reading anything on it as he instead addresses the follower, making the logical jump. ]
This'll be over a lot faster if you tell me who you think I am. Then I can tell you you're wrong, and you can stop following me.
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Arthur knows. He knows well. ]
Always the same thing? How very droll that must be for you, Arthur. We must amend that - tout de suite.
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For a second, the feed disconnects entirely...
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Really hated. ]
It's not something you can help me with.
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I don't want your help.
[ You're not even real. Ironically, what Mal had said to him, but that was when she was alive, and hearing it wasn't as bad as it could have been because at least she was alive. There was hope of a kind.
False maybe. ]
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[This bothers him more than Eames being here. Arthur's the responsible one; the one who's more prone to the 'I told you so' that Dom sometimes needs to hear.
The thing tends to ignore. With devastating consequences.
Arthur's supposed to be with Phillipa and James.
Someone had to be there for them, during the funeral.
Since Dom certainly couldn't be.]
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She doesn't dream. She doesn't sleep (her mother makes sure).
So how can she be here? How can this be real?
Again, the audio cuts on. After a silence: ]
-Dad?
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[There is something incredibly wrong. The voice--he doesn't recognize it, but he knows it, inherently. How could anyone forget the voice of a child, even if it's distorted and changed?
Not Dom. Even if it's only been a month...
But she sounds too old. Again.
Something is wrong.]
Phillipa?
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(She doesn't participate in the dreamshare. She's never allowed herself to go under. But that doesn't mean Phillipa Cobb doesn't know what it's like to question her own reality. In that way, she's truly her father's daughter, her mother's daughter.
Something is wrong.) ]
It is you. [ A smile, uncertain, breaks across the surface of her voice. ] I wasn't sure at first, but-
Where are you? What's happening? I- [ I'm scared. ] -I don't know what's going on.
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And where are you?
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cobb thinks hes in moscow. he only went to moscow twice that i recall.
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No indication of which time this is?
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The teenage boy who's trailing him now (he's pretty good at being inconspicuous, even with the lanky walk and the stand-out frames) qualifies. Though he doesn't think Arthur's Tom or Joe or John or Adam. He doesn't think he's an alien.
No, he thinks he's Brendan Frye. Which is why he's so damn confused. ]
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This'll be over a lot faster if you tell me who you think I am. Then I can tell you you're wrong, and you can stop following me.
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