[ Eames just has no bloody clue what to make of it, yet, pursing his lips a bit as Arthur turns the laptop screen toward him - which also serves to turn it away from him by the way excuse you. Still, he rubs his fingers thoughtfully across his mouth, the digits of the other hand twisting and rubbing the pads against each other, some part of him wishing he still had his totem, if only for the use of something to do with his hands. ]

Suppose there's little more to gain from this footage, anyway. [ Other than White's instaboner, as well as the rest of the room's. ] At least she's not directing either of you to any particular ideas, really, if it's something as vague as sexual urges.

How long did it last, by the by?