The transition from reality into dreams was generally a long one; since most had to fall asleep before the dreams began. Thinking about their day, things they had to do tomorrow, emotions, tasks, it made the journey a lot longer. With the help of the chemicals though, Ariadne's body gently went limp, her muscles relaxing and her subconscious waking up. A slow, deep breath slipped off her lips as her head lolled to the side.
She was sitting at a desk, in a expensively upholstered chair. There were sheets of paper in front of her, a slim black pen resting at a perfect angle on top of them. Slowly raising up off the seat, she went to the window and peered streets of Paris greeted her, a similar cafe to her first workshop across the way. Going off things you know. A street lamp. Something, but not exact. She retreated silently back to the seat, pulled the chair out, sliding it parallel to the window. The feeling, as she had learned was an incredible crucial part of dream construction, was void of other people. Just the hotel room, herself and a sense of being slightly cramped surrounded her. Nothing to interfere, to draw her attention way or invade her personal space.
Arthur's hand stretched out, and lowered down onto Ariadne's hand. He caressed it back and forth and waited, watching her face closely. Even the slightest twitch or tense of a muscle was important, a sign that she was feeling something. The architect's face remained blank.
Some part of her brain wondered how long it would take before she'd feel Arthur. Or what he'd do to in order to achieve the results they'd want from the tests. She glanced around at the room. The far wall unfolded like a Jacob's Ladder, and grew steadily higher. The other walls followed in its footsteps as Ariadne changed the layout of the building. The deep burgundy color of the wallpaper faded into a light, sandy tan and lighting fixtures molded themselves into something more modern.
Arthur intertwined his fingers with hers, smirking lightly. The light that filtered through the workshop's windows made the creasing dimple in his face prominent, something that Ariadne would have taken notice of. When she still remained impassive, he gave her fingers a light squeeze.
"Never use memories." She breathed out. Ariadne watched as the building continued to rebuild itself, being reborn into something more pleasing for her. "But memories of a dream..." The Parisian styled hotel, with its Victorian decor was now forming into a hotel she'd been in, in a dream, some time ago. The skin between her fingers tingled with a slight sensation of pressure. Room 491.
