If you have decided to give this fanfiction a look-see, I take this moment to THANK YOU! I created this OC awhile ago, and I've been very excited to share her with you! This takes place after the Fischer job, and the team has reunited to cause yet more trouble in the world! Yay!
Warning: there's swearing in this, not a lot, but I wasn't sure of the rating... So swearing may verge on M, but I wasn't convinced...
I don't own Inception, only the OC...
Enjoy!
Personally, Cobb was convinced this job was definitely not worth the effort he was compelled to give it. It should be incredibly simple, they were only really required to go one level down. Cobb sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead as he recalled all the little things that had gone wrong. They weren't even monumental complications, though they seemed to just keep popping up.
First, the mark decides it would be a good time for a vacation, and not to tell anyone where he was going, ultimately demanding week's worth of Arthur's time searching for him.
Then, obviously, the mark's wife had to freak at his sudden absence, creating a rift between the couple. This made it necessary for Eames to recalculate everything that could be used to get an upper hand over the mark in the dream.
Ariadne, busy with college, had gladly made them mazes, though she was nearly incapable of coming to the warehouse because of classes. Therefore, she couldn't brief them on the mazes, leaving them to figure them out individually. Given the complexity of Ariadne's style, this made the task difficult.
Thankfully, they didn't need a sedative, though they couldn't have one anyway, as Yusef's storage had somehow been contaminated, causing him to have to go out, get new materials, and recreate all the sedatives.
Finally, and Cobb was sure that this was the most minor, trivial thing that could possibly cause issues, the people closest to the mark spoke no English. Usually, this wouldn't even be an issue, as collectively, members of his team could contribute Spanish, French, German, Russian, Japanese and Italian, generally thanks to Arthur. No, these people spoke a language that Cobb considered to be sufficiently random, though he recalled Arthur telling him it was one of the more common languages. They spoke Dutch.
Cobb sighed again as he tried not to slump in his chair, which he had been occupying for the past hour and a half, listening to a gathering of the mark's associates speak to each other in mind-numbing Dutch and attempt to come up with an choppy English translation for him. A cellphone buzzing in Cobb's pocket saved him from having a mental breakdown. Holding a finger up to the group of people facing him, and being perfectly certain that they didn't understand hand signals either, Cobb pulled out the device and opened a text from Arthur. He felt the urge to throw the phone at the jumble of Dutch words that greeted him. Underneath, Arthur had instructed him to relay that message and get back to the warehouse. Cobb, not knowing what else to do, copied the words out on a piece of paper and gave it to the group. They all read it and looked at him curiously before turning to each other and relaxing into conversation that didn't seem to concern Cobb at all.
After a moments hesitation, Cobb rose from his seat and left hurriedly, eager to get fresh air. He filled his lungs with it as he hit the sidewalk outside, not caring that it wasn't the cleanest air, just happy he was out of the office building the meeting had taken place in. Upon returning to the warehouse, he found Arthur deliberately and methodically typing away into his computer, and Eames staring off into space. Rolling his eyes, he sat heavily in a chair to announce his presence, as they were both apparently to distracted to notice the door opening. Slowly, both of his team members looked up at him.
"What did you tell them?" Cobb asked Arthur wearily, referring to the message he had sent minutes before. Arthur shrugged noncommittally.
"That their assistance was no longer needed, we had all the information required, and we would contact them if need be," Arthur listed. "It was difficult though. Probably sounded like a third grader,"
"But we don't have all the information required," Cobb murmured, though he wasn't truthfully complaining.
"Never mind that. Cobb, we need an overrider," Arthur stated this with such authority and such certainty, that Eames didn't even scoff. Cobb fought to keep his face impassive, having a sort of staring contest with his point man.
"Why?" he finally asked. Arthur rolled his eyes, in a manner very unlike him.
"Because the mark is a dreamer himself. You already know that. He'll know he's dreaming, probably faster then we can even try to extract anything from him. He'll collapse the dream, or at least refuse to give us anything," Arthur sounded very much like he was explaining this to a grade schooler.
Cobb continued to keep his blank face in place as he responded. "Overriders are hard to come by,"
"Hard to come by? They might not even exist anymore," Eames scoffed.
"They exist," Arthur shot him down instantly. "And I think Cobb knows one," he was scrutinizing Cobb's face, and Cobb was nearly certain Arthur could see straight through his lack of expression. A moment of ringing silence passed.
"I know one," Cobb finally surrendered. He said nothing after that, nor did he move from his seat.
"You apparently have issues with whoever it is, and you need to get over them. We need an overrider, and we don't have a chance at this job if we don't have one," Arthur asserted firmly, finally breaking out of the staring battle to glance at his computer screen again.
"Fine. You should know one thing about her though," Cobb began, without the slightest change in his tone of voice. Arthur's eyes met his again.
"What?" he prodded, remaining unmoved by Cobb's reluctance.
"She's my sister,"
~o~
"Leather is always better, right?" Snow questioned from her position in front of the mirror. In reply, I waved my foot at her, uncrossing it for a moment before putting it back up on the table of shoes by my chair. The salesgirls around the department were looking at me accusingly, but Snow and I had worked our way through the most expensive pairs of shoes in the place, and they didn't dare piss either of us off, in hopes we would buy some.
"Leather boots," I informed her questioning look, gesturing to my shoes. Snow beamed, pivoting to see the sandals she currently wore from the back. "I liked the other ones better," I informed her, tilting my head backwards in the direction of said shoes.
"You always like boots better," Snow rolled her eyes.
"They're more you. Trust me," I persuaded, grinning as she looked wistfully at the shoes I had indicated. "Anyway, those barely count as boots. They don't even reach mid-calf,"
"You getting anything?" Snow asked, ignoring my second comment as she sat in her chair beside mine to pull off the sandals.
"Yea," I uncrossed my legs and sat straight again. I reached down, organizing three boxes. All three contained boots. Two of which went over my knees. Snow nodded approvingly.
"I think I'm getting these too," she seemed to be giving in, still holding onto the sandals.
"If you want them, get them. Then I won't have to go through your separation anxiety attack," I smirked at her scowl, getting to my feet as she organized her own dual boxes. After making the lucky salesgirl who had helped us happy with an over eight hundred dollar sale, Snow and I wandered out of the shoe department.
"Food?" Snow suggested hopefully. I agreed, and we made our way to a coffee shop, where the apparently starving Snow got a large sandwich. I stuck to my trusty slice of banana bread. "You never eat," Snow griped as we sipped our coffee.
"I eat dinner," I corrected, scanning the coffee shop for interesting occupants and coming up empty. Snow made a noise of doubt. "Don't start on my eating habits again, please," I implored, picking at my bread slice.
"Only if you actually eat that. Stop picking," Snow instructed, slapping my hand away from the bread and breaking it into good sized, though able to be eaten easily, chunks. "Now eat those, and don't pick" she gestured at it. I huffed at her, but complied. Snow nodded approvingly, going back to powering through her sandwich.
"Hey, don't you have a four o' clock coming?" I questioned her suddenly, my eyes catching a clock hanging nearby.
"Shit," Snow followed my gaze to the clock, reading that it said three fifty-five.
"You're not going to make it," I informed her helpfully. Snow glared at me before jumping up. I followed her lead, and we raced each other to the car, thankfully parked close by, as it was very awkward to run with coffee shopping bags in hand. We sped off, ready to make an attempt at turning a twenty minute drive to a four minute drive. This plan ultimately failing, we did manage it in ten.
The car screeched to a stop outside the little half underground studio, owned by Snow herself, a sign hanging outside with the words Design with Rendition inscribed in swirling print. Snow was a tattoo artist, and if you knew where her place was, it was the place to go. She was brilliant at her job, nobody left without being beyond a hundred percent satisfied with her art.
"Hi Xander. So sorry," Snow apologized quickly to the man sitting in her waiting room.
"It's fine. Gave me a chance to look through your wide book collection," Xander smirked as he gestured to the basket full of binders, all containing ideas, mostly drawn by Snow. "Hey Airika," Xander greeted me. I gave him a half wave and a smile, continuing to tag along as Snow led him back to her main room. Xander had been coming here religiously for the past months, in the process of getting huge sleeves of tattoos. Though personally disliking the idea, I had to admit, the design Snow had come up with for him was almost elegant, even in its masculinity. The next two hours passed in relative silence. I flipped slowly through magazines, not really taking anything in, just using the excuse of something to do. Once Xander's appointment had finished and he had left, Snow fell back in her chair.
"Want me to finish your feather? I'm in desperate need for a feminine design," she offered, almost in a beseeching tone. One of the perks of being Snow's best friend; I get tattoos for free. I agreed happily, moving over to her table. I pulled off my right boot and rolled up the leg of my jeans, revealing the almost finished feather on the outside of my leg, starting at my ankle and made its way up to around six inches below my knee. After switching out needle and ink, Snow worked carefully on the design, the details on the feather much more precise. A little over an hour passed, full of Snow's griping on Xander's taste in tattoo art, which I couldn't help but laugh at. As seven-thirty rolled around, Snow finished the feather. She sat back, admiring her work.
"You're amazing Snow, really," I praised her, leaning sideways to look at the finished result too.
"Am I?" she asked jokingly, smirking as she pretended to literally bask in her own glory. "Still, my best work will always be your wings. I seriously can't get over how well they turned out," she got up and pushed my shirt up my back, revealing the set of dark, intricate wings that reached from my shoulders to my tailbone. I grinned as I pictured them. They had been my first tattoo. As I had grew up, I had always been against tattoos. Once I met Snow, she had worked and worked for me to let her give me one. Finally, I had challenged her to design me a pair of wings. After many days of collaboration, my design was finally made, and I gave into her pleadings. They, of course, turned out perfectly.
After my mind was open to tattoos, I had been much more open to others, though I always had to be sure of their simple elegance. Besides the wings and the feather, I had a my zodiac sign, with the crab and name, Cancer, on my ankle, the opposite leg that the feather was on. There was also a small dove on my left hipbone. Finally, my most dramatic besides the wings, simple and short branches began on my right thigh, morphing up over my hipbone and eventually turning into easy swirls that ended on my stomach and side, though not coming close to mixing with the wings.
"So. Plan for tonight?" I asked openly as Snow returned to her chair.
"Movie and Thai food?" she suggested, shrugging. With a slight laugh, I agreed.
~o~
I was dreaming. Why the fuck was I dreaming? I sat at a table, in a boring room with boring colors and boring décor. I continued to sit, waiting for something, anything to happen. Confusion still spun through my head. I never dreamt. Not because I couldn't, but because I refused to allow myself to, using my ability to control it to my full advantage. Therefore, I knew someone was messing with my mind. I drummed my fingers on the table, waiting for whoever it was to make an appearance. Finally, the single door into the room opened. I never would've guessed who stepped out. Dom. My dear brother.
"Who gave you permission to screw with my head?" I snapped, taking in his somewhat sheepish expression.
"My team needs an overrider for our current job. You're the only one I know," he proclaimed, moving until he was across the table from me.
"Your shit is not my problem," I stated, getting up and focusing my mind. The floor started to vibrate slightly.
"Wait! Stop, Rika, please," Dom pleaded. I sighed once, but halted my progress in making the dream collapse. "You're the best there is Rika. Why don't you come back?"
"Because I don't need more shit in my life. Dreaming is a murder, kidnap, torture attempt waiting to happen," I informed him simply, glaring more at the wall over his head.
"I'm sorry," he unexpectedly burst. I stopped my glaring for a second, actually looking at him. "I know you aren't honestly staying clear of all this because of danger. I'm sorry for what I did and said to you. I want everything to be normal again,"
"Was that supposed to convince me? Do you really think anything can ever be back to the way it was between us? After all that? After Jenna?" I challenged monotonously. Dom shrugged. I scoffed.
"Whatever. As always bro, it's been a pleasure," sarcasm dripped from every letter as I spoke, and this time, he couldn't stop me as I took the dream from his control and it collapsed around us.
~o~
My eyes blinked open slowly, and I lay there quietly, brooding. A glance to my left told me it was a little after three in the morning. I considered calling Snow to tell her what happened, but that would probably just cause her to yell at me for hours. Snow didn't like being woken up. So I just lay there, thinking. At some point, I looked back over at my clock, which had progressed to eight in the morning. Acting mainly on impulse, I jumped out of bed, pulled on worn and ripped jeans, a gray t-shirt, leather jacket, and knee high boots covered in buckles. I blew out of the house, slamming the skull bucket into my head and jumping on my motorcycle before blasting off through the Paris streets. Minutes later, I roared to a halt outside the all to familiar warehouse. As I jumped off the bike, I tore off the helmet and stormed for the door. I flung in open, entering the room probably more like a storm then a person. I spotted my brother almost instantly.
"Asshole," I seethed, storming over to him. Dom looked up, almost in surprise.
"You're overreacting," he nearly put a tune to the words, like he knew I was going to do this.
"You have no right to mess with my dreams," I snarled, ignoring the paper he shoved into my fist.
"Calm down," Dom said, though he sounded bored as he did.
"No!" I screamed, feeling the urge to rip the random paper in my fingers. I did glance at it though, and despite myself, I started giggling. "You're extracting information out of Dalton Frost?" I somehow managed to ask around the giggles that were turning hysteric.
"And?" my brother questioned, almost defensively.
"You have no chance," I laughed, perching myself on his desk to read the text that decorated the sheet.
Dom made a noise of indignation. "It's an easy enough topic," he assured me.
"You have to find out his immediate plans for the most recent addition to his company," I read from the paper.
"He's barely started on it, and he's not even sure he wants to follow through. It should be simple," Dom seemed absolutely certain of his words, almost looking like he was second guessing my involvement. "Except for that he's a dreamer," he added, almost as an afterthought.
I rolled my eyes. "I've always admired your optimism Dom. But you're way over your head. Frost is one of the most experienced dreamers out there, he'll know he's dreaming before you do. Who hired you anyway?"
Dom hesitated, obviously not wanting to tell me. I waited patiently. "Cobal," he finally muttered. "To redeem ourselves from the other job we failed. They didn't give us a choice,"
His words reduced me to further hysterics. "Cobal? Your life is over. Seriously. Never do a redeeming job for Cobal, unless you know beyond a doubt, that you're going to be able to deliver. Cobal is one of the most manipulative, word bending companies ever. Though if they owe you, your life is sweet," I grinned, losing myself for a moment in triumphant memories.
"Do they owe you?" Dom asked, plainly curious despite himself.
"Cobal had owed me for the past seven years. I'm living large," I informed him smugly.
"I can tell," he scoffed, picking up my scuffed and slightly dirty helmet.
"It has character!" I snapped, grabbing the helmet from him. For the first time, other presences in the room were alerted to me by laughter coming from my right. I looked over to see a man sitting in a chair, dressed in a mustard yellow shirt and slacks.
"Do tell me this is your darling sister," he spoke, a distinct british accent coloring his words.
"Airika, this is Eames, our forger," Dom spoke. The man beamed at me. "And that's Arthur, our point man," he looked over on my left side. I followed this direction, finding myself looking at a man, wearing a suit that you only really see in display windows. He was the image of perfection, while Eames was the ultimate picture of a lazy type of casual. How bizarre. I guess Dom was somewhere in the middle of this.
"Hello. I hope my dramatic entrance brought your day excitement," I muttered, feeling suddenly awkward for my explosion at my brother.
"It surely did pet, no worries," Eames assured me, still grinning madly. I sighed, glancing back to my brother.
"Look, the only way you can approach a job like this is to open with the fact that you are in a dream. Don't even attempt to work your way around it, you'll fail. And don't threaten him. Make him think you're trying to help him, not Cobal. Now that I think of it, don't mention Cobal at all. Make a new story, like you want to know for your own personal interest or something," I listed this all before hopping off the desk and heading back for the door. "Don't try and involve me again, for your own safety," I shot back over my shoulder, pushing hair out of my face in preparation to put the helmet back on.
"At least help us with one more thing," Dom pleaded suddenly. I paused, waiting with my back to him. Hurriedly, he continued. "We need Dutch translations for his associates,"
I heard myself groan loudly before whirling around. "What do you want to ask them? Give me a list or something," I demanded exasperatedly. Almost instantly, I had a sheet of paper in my hand, passed from one of Arthur's many folders scattered around him. I repressed the urge to laugh at the organization, but plopped down at a spare desk, translating the questions for them before the next five minutes passed. "Have them write the replies, or record them or something, then email them to me. I'll translate them back," I got up, heading for the door again, determined to not be stopped again.
"Frost's new business plan is a casino line," Dom called after me. I slammed the door behind me in response, refusing to let myself be interested in my own weakness. Inexplicable rage burning through me, I slammed the helmet back on my head and roared away from the warehouse, with no intention of seeing it again for a long, long time.
~o~
"That went well," Eames was still chuckling as the door slammed. Cobb however, felt a grin slide onto his face.
"She's interested. She'll be back," he assured the other two.
"She's pissed at you. You can't expect her to actually come back," Arthur shot him down, still looking at the closed warehouse door.
"I know my sister. She's in," Cobb was so sure of his statement, that nothing Arthur nor Eames said could change his mind set. Airika was going to come back to the dream world, and Cobb was determined to keep her there this time.
Woo! So? Theories so far? On Airika? Or who is this mysterious Jenna? Thoughts? Love it? Hate it (which would sadden me greatly, but I suppose it would be good to know)?
Send a review my way with any thoughts you have! Reviews are what I live for, they inspire me to write more and write faster!
Until next time...
Mio