[In trying to make sense of this Freddy ends up flapping his hands this way then that way while swallowing up a tamale.]
When the hell was he convinced at all?
[It occurs to him now that Eames may not know the extent of just what happened while he was gone, especially if Arthur's stuck in a rut of thinking he imagined it.]
[That almost makes Freddy jealous. Almost. He wonders how many times Eames and Arthur have fought, how many times they've come together then drifted apart only to come back again. He wonders if it's dumb and naive to want to have even half that time with Larry. It's a quick temporary flare because he comforts himself knowing in the short time he's known Larry he's gained the kinds of memories he'll take to the fucking grave.]
Long time. [Orange says around this second tamale.] Too long to think you're dreaming. I mean all kinds of crazy shit happens here, you'd need a fuckin' therapist if it was in your head.
I didn't mean that, just you know a guy for so long...
[And suddenly he doesn't want to say anymore because after gunning guys down and holding his hand while he bled to death and losing his ass cherry to White it still took him time to reveal he's a cop. Somehow it just makes Orange an uncredible source when it comes to knowing who people really are, in his opinion anyway.]
After all that though I'm pretty sure he missed you.
So there was this one day where all the mistletoe in the whole fuckin' place started creepin' everywhere. I'm talkin' your bedroom, your bathroom, the kitchen, the mailbox, the fuckin' streetlight. This shit was everywhere.
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[He places his palm over where he carries a bullet scar to the belly.]
And I tell myself no fuckin' way cause this really happened.
[It's a lot better than telling Eames Orange knows this place is real somehow because he came here with White and he couldn't make White up.]
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[ Now it's Eames turn to lean forward. ] We all have physical evidence or desires that just wouldn't hold up in something created by fantasy.
[ He thumbs the side of his nose. ]
Arthur has doubts.
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When the fuck did that happen? [Because the guy's been around a long while.] Don't you have a fuckin' dog?
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[ Stupid cockblocking dog. ]
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When the hell was he convinced at all?
[It occurs to him now that Eames may not know the extent of just what happened while he was gone, especially if Arthur's stuck in a rut of thinking he imagined it.]
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Who knows. Perhaps he'd only allowed it out of a pause in his otherwise solid line of logic. I'm still not sure what he thinks, now.
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He talk to you about when you were gone?
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[ He finally digs more into his food. ] Why?
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[Freddy's still trying to decide whether to tell Eames or not.]
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[ Eames waves around him idly with a taco. ]
A dream.
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How long you known each other again?
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Eight years, or thereabouts.
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Long time. [Orange says around this second tamale.] Too long to think you're dreaming. I mean all kinds of crazy shit happens here, you'd need a fuckin' therapist if it was in your head.
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I don't think he considers the entire eight years to be inconsequential, [ he muses over his tacos, ] only this place.
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[And suddenly he doesn't want to say anymore because after gunning guys down and holding his hand while he bled to death and losing his ass cherry to White it still took him time to reveal he's a cop. Somehow it just makes Orange an uncredible source when it comes to knowing who people really are, in his opinion anyway.]
After all that though I'm pretty sure he missed you.
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Had plenty of company, besides.
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[He looks at Eames curiously, thinking the guy's dismissing the concept too easily though he wouldn't blame him for it either.]
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Nah, mate. He was just waiting to wake up because I told him I'd get him up, if we were dreaming.
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You're a pretty easy goin' kinda guy, right?
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[Hands. They're flapping.]
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[ More salsa and dip! ]
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[IT WAS GREAT. Except for having to tell Eames this one part.]
Ran into Argyle...
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[ Eames appears to be caught up with the salsa, but he's paying attention just fine. ]
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