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Rose saw him get shot and went over to his side, seeing the strange attacker go try and shoot her again she retaliates by pulling her laser gun and fired back killing one of the creatures. "Are you okay? Why did you do that?"

[ Mal is quick to take the projection out afterward but it is after, and that done, she turns back to Arthur, her usual elegance tempered with something darker, sharper as she kneels at his side, unsure of whether or not the bullet killed him in one or if he's still conscious, still dreamside.

Of all the exercises in dreaming, it is these that Mal despises most and she knows her father feels the same. They don't talk about it. ]

[It's obvious that he's still with her when he groans face-down on the asphalt. The bullet was low, into the muscle and bone at his hip-- hardly deadly but enough pain to white him out for a moment.

Pain is in the mind. Miles has said it before. Arthur can't grasp it. It's not his mind they're in, but he can still feel the pain. He laughs suddenly, the sound manic.] Jesus Christ.

[ Mal's mouth is a thin line, taut like a bow and she murmurs something that isn't so much a word as an assuring sound - something most people would find superfluous at such a moment while she places a hand at the side of Arthur's face, her fingertips pressing with a paradoxical heavy lightness on his cheek. ] I'm going to wake you up, Arthur. [ She says, pretending away the twitch of her own nerves at his laugh because this is the kind of thing dreams shouldn't be used for but research is research and it doesn't fund itself, or so they've been told. They were to carry out the exercise at all costs - because they were told all costs were imagined anyway, it being a dream - but Mal is a selfish creature given over to doing what she wants, and what she wants is for Arthur to not be in pain.

She draws her hand away from his face to draw out the pistol that ends up in the deep of a holster inside the slimness of her black jacket that would sooner belong on a runway than a battlefield, flicking the safety off. ] You shouldn't do this. [ She adds, her tone ever even and quiet, tempered with the kind of resolution that will undo her one day. ]

[It's all happening so fast, too fast, and Wichita screams no! when Arthur steps in front of her because why would he even remotely think that's okay, and then they guy's just running away like he hadn't pulled a gun on them and what the fuck?!. Who even DID that? What was worse was that her immediate reaction was to go after the guy, but her gun wasn't tucked into her belt like it normally was. Where was her gun?]

Arthur? [Her normal cool is completely shattered now, because jesus why did he do that? She'd ask him if he's alright but of course he's not, he's got a bullet in him. She's searching for her cellphone, but then she realizes she can't call the cops. Or if she did, she wouldn't be able to stick around.] Hey, where did it-? God damnit, I don't know how to- What do we do? Tell me what to do.

[Hadn't figured for this outcome. It had been far too long since he'd honestly taken anyone new into the dream; Ariadne hardly counted-- she'd never meant to be under fire at all and then...

Well. It's all over now, anyway.

Arthur's teeth slowly unclench. He makes himself take a breath and push up against the nearest wall; open his eyes to focus on Krysta. There's the beginnings of a wry smile for her tone.] Don't panic. Didn't get anything vital.

[If they had he'd be gone by now, opening his eyes up above. His shoulder feels like ground chuck set en flambe, however.]

I'm not panicking. [A terrible lie, useless even, but she's not exactly all there right now. She's getting hit with a bad mixture of adrenaline and shock and that sure is a lot of blood for a bullet wound that didn't include anything vital.]

And don't... give me that look, I'm just not use to that shit. And it's kinda freaking me out that you are. Is that normal? [Because yes, during that brief moment she did forget that they were just dreaming. Because this wasn't just dreaming, not really. It all felt real.]

[Bullet wounds bleed. It's their modus operandi. Had it hit an artery the blood wouldn't be sticking his shirt to his chest, it would be dripping off fingers to pool on the ground-- something that she's far from ready to see.] I've been shot more than once, if that's what you're asking.

[More than once isn't a lie. That it's a gross understatement is neither here nor there. He once put a screwdriver into Cobb's eye when things went horribly wrong.]

[She doesn't believe him, but she's not about to argue, because she can't tell if he's over-exaggerating or ..under-exaggerating. If that was a phrase. Anyway. Krysta was making sure to give him space, not exactly racing to crowd him or anything but it was hard just standing back and letting this... be. For the first time in a while she felt guilty, really guilty.]

You still shouldn't have done that. I mean, I've never been shot before, and you've stolen that opportunity from me. [It was a bad joke, but maybe that was what she did when she was on edge.] How much time do we have left here?